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10 mos ago
Current What lies in the hearts of the drae if not madness? - Ma'doc
10 mos ago
Replies will be coming out in a few days. Been down sick.
1 yr ago
"Fly you fools!"
2 yrs ago
To everyone waiting on replies. They most likely will be out tomorrow or Saterday. I need to get a part for my computer!
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2 yrs ago
Sorry if replies are a bit slow. Dealing with a headache.


Hello! I'm LadyRunic! But you knew that...

I love most types of Role Play, but by far my favorites are those that are well thought out and worked with. Especially when you can find a group you can work well with. I love books- So many books. It's a running bet that I will become buried under a pile of said objects one day... I'm a tad busy, and when an Rp really catches my interest I'm inpatient for posts. It's like reading a good book and getting stuck on a cliff hanger.

You can generally expect posts regularly once a week if not more.

I've RP'd for the better part of fourteen years, so I can honestly say I have some experience and I've developed the understanding of what I expect of a partner in a one-on-one or a group. I'm also the sort who will speak up and point out something if it looks off or forms a problem to me. I spent most of a year once stuck in a Voice Chat Rp that was hell on Earth, so I'm straight forward when I need to say something. I expect this in return from my Rpers and DMs. I want to improve my writing and love constructive criticism.

Most Recent Posts

@NaturalTendencyNot at all! And you are fine. I'm just nit-picking now so that we are on the same page. I've been in an Rp where not enough questions or thoughts about my character were asked and a lot was assumed very different on my side and the GM. So that's why I'm picking thing apart now. If you want to take time and think things out and change anything, go ahead. And PM or @ me any questions. I usually look three times (at least) a day.

Assuming the adoptive mother was from a Northern merchant family, she could be very well off. The Adoptive mother would know dances and embroidery then, though not in the same style of the Southern ladies. She may also have a firm grasp on the basics of reading or writing and a very firm grasp on arithmetic. Though these skills would lean more towards the merchant side of things. Northern girls were involved in the business, unlike Southern women.

As for wolves chasing the mother and her past. I believe I have the root of an idea forming there, but it comes at a cost for you. One, I will need to know why Isolde's adoptive mother lives alone and not in a town as she is from a merchant family. Plus, Isolde and the adoptive mother would be located in the Southern reaches, near the border between North and South. You can either be surprised or ask more questions and I will answer all I can and you can approve or disapprove of the ideas.

And you're writing is lovely, my only suggestion is to work on clarity.

@NaturalTendency You are absolutely fine, and family comes first. My condolences. If you would like here's a link to the discord.
@NaturalTendency An interesting character but here are a few things I need clarified or fixed up.
-Appearance: Pointed ears
This is fine, though I will remind you that there are only humans and those humans with magic. You cannot be some precursor to elves or the like.
- Skills: embroidery
Where did she learn this along with her other skills? Sewing I could see, but embroidery is the fancy pictures people decorate clothes with.
You say she learned reading, writing, finances, etiquette... However, books are rare. Reading and writing is a skill kept mostly to the nobility and priesthood. It is even less common among the North- which I assume your character is from. Finances could be something but up north it's mostly bartering. Etiquette, I need an elaboration on... She's not learning the politics of a noble, so is she just learning good manners?
Also, while I like the bio, I must insist on knowing what this rage Isolde went through was. Green magic allows a connection to the forest but it does not turn you into a werewolf. I have no knowledge as to why she was doing some sort of count? Or why that suddenly triggered her to go berserker? And why were there corpses in the opening paragraphs? Do you have any ideas on what happened to Luna or should I as the DM draw something on my own for that? Also, how and why did a Southern woman met a Northern man who it seems have the Green? How did Luna get to the North? Why was she being chased by wolves? (Note, Wolves rarely will go after people. They will if it's a famine year, but it's not something that is common. Nature, in truth, rarely attacks without reason.)

Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

Location: Winton

The elderly owner of the inn had returned in the time the mass of the group had been gone. As the hearth crackled merrily, Denvar had urged the woman that they would appreciate a quiet evening. Ensuring the suggestion with a few golden marks that Mikhail notice was handed over with a wince. It appeared the brothers suspected a need for an evening with only the newly forming court of Fatima in attendance. Bellinar had arrived a short time later his large wings bristling as Denvar and Gen cornered their wayward brother. Faeril did not as she sat in a large chair before the hearth that warmed the inn's common room. "Where in Hell did you go?" Mikhail would hear Gennar hiss to the younger of his brothers, it appeared the trio did not wish to bother the Black Widow with this matter, nor be overheard by anyone else.

Bellinar shrugged his wings, while he was broad of chest and just as tall as Gen, the Tiger-eye Jeweled Warlord Prince did not look a bit sheepish at the scold. "Needed to take a look at the nearby villages. If there was trouble in them, thought you might like to know." His voice was a deep rumble as he glared back at Gen.

"You should have let us know, brother." His twin, Denvar was wirier than his brothers and his voice was softer but there was an iron in it that Mikhail would realize held a note of suspicion. "We lost Xandar, word is the Queen of Winton decided to ship him off to her betters." That seemed to put the larger twin, Bellinar, off balance as their conversation slipped into quieter tones as they moved towards the bar.

While on the walk back Thom peered up at Dareen and shrugged. His cheeks coloring as he looked down slightly. "I got enough of the Craft to use a bit of it, but never got a jewel." His voice was quiet, subdued as he attempted with all his might not to let anyone other than Dareen to hear him. His was a tale that was known, but not talked about among the Blood. Blood parents expected their children to have some ability with the Craft. They were expected to get a jewel their birthright ceremony. Yet there were some children like Thom who had the parentage, but not the power for a jewel. Not even the low ranking white. It was something that was either accepted and worked around with a supporting family, while everyone else would look down upon such a... disabled child. The other choice was what Thom was doing. The child was cast out, disowned and disinherited. A stain on the family that was best forgotten. There were other ways to handle it, as it varied from person to person.

It was lucky for Thom, however, as they reached the inn in decent time. Saetan had only grown more silent and the air about him seemed to sear with the cold at his displeasure of going into a hostile town. That cold turned into frost on the walls of the inn as he paused to lean against one of the supporting pillars. Thom had been more than pleased to fetch Fatima a mug, if it got him away from the frosty chill that was making Faeril shiver as she stared at the Warlord Prince who wore the darkest Jewel in all the known Realms. The three brothers were bristling and torn between stepping between Saetan and Faeril, the fact they knew they would have no chance was the only thing that was holding them back though Gennar did grip the Healer-Black Widow's chair and look ready to intercept any attack. Dunny, seemingly impervious to most things, was cuddled around Fatima's feet in a tight ball as he sought comfort from his Queen.

The fire was dimming slightly as Saetan finally spoke in a voice that sent a slightly frozen mist into the air. "So you are the witch of the Hourglass who spelled me."

"Unintentionally." The Black Widow's voice was hardly more than a hoarse whisper. It was one of the rare time the group would hear true fear in the voice of the woman.

The laughter that followed was anything but kind. "A fully-trained Black Widow does not do things 'unintentionally'. Especially when your kind have been hunted to be turned or burned." The words were a knife wrapped in satin and just as wicked. "What game do you play?"

"I play no games." Temper flared in Faeril's icy eyes for a moment before she gave an apologetic look to Fatima. "I keep to the old ways, Prince Saetan. I wove for a way to free the Blood. To keep myself from the fire and then wove to call those who could do so to myself. I had no choice in who. To know I would have to walk deep into the Twisted Kingdom of madness-"

"So you say." Saetan mocked. "Those that serve the Queens of late claim much the same. You had a choice." His own fall had come at the hands of a potion brewed by one of her caste, and since then... Saetan could not forget the torment caused by the Black Widows who turned away from the ancient laws of the Blood for this new, twisted regime.

Gen snarled. "So we know. She wove til her hands were cut up from the threads." The Warlord's own eyes gazing at the hovering form of Sybl. Faeril looked pained though she said nothing as she folded her hands in her lap, her jaw tightening as she bit back spiteful words. As much as it pained Faeril, she could not say he was wrong. She had cast a spell that had affected the lives of these people. She had justified it for the 'good of the Blood', just as that excuse was used by others in service of the Twisted Queens. For once, she had no towering pride or waspish anger to throw at a Warlord Prince. Rather Faeril found herself soundly on the receiving end of a short and pointed tempered scolding the likes she had not received in years. It stung her pride, and the Black Widow liked it less that it came from such an esteemed man. Moving a hand up she patted Gen's own, before letting her slim fingers fall back into her lap. "Would you rather look into my mind?" The Eyrien men at her back shouted in unison, utterly denying this was even a suggestion. Faeril felt her wings pull tighter against her back as she debated the wisdom of shouting them down. While it would be expected, she was certain if she made the wrong move Saetan could take it the wrong way and their potential alliance would end.

"I would. Of course, I would want assurance that I will not be interfered with." Saetan agreed with a cold glare for the eyriens.

Bellinar smiled and had no friendliness in his eyes. "Oh, we promise we won't interfere with you." "We are not putting you at risk Ashke!" "Hell's Fire, Mother Night and May the Darkness be merciful. No!" All three brothers seemed united in the fact this was not going to happen and Faeril, who they considered a kinswoman, was not going to be put into such danger. Faeril herself was giving Fatima a pleading look, knowing that the men of her erstwhile family would shout her down over this. The give and take of Blood men and women was sometimes unnessecary at other times it was like trying to maintain a herd of Scelties who had some notion that you were not going to do something. The herding dogs were very effective at herding and not just sheep.
@NaturalTendency Yes to both of your questions!
Frenn's expression didn't soften a wit though he did nod in a gruff way and his voice perhaps took a tone of understanding. "Don't need any more ill will than what goes on. Trouble from the forest coming and raiding our supplies and livestock. We thought at first it was the lads, youths always getting up to some grand adventure, or a bandit troupe. Well, a bandit troupe don't put on the skins of wolves generally and attack folk." Grumbling to himself, the man hobbled away, leaving Mira to her own mind. The inn was quiet as Ryska had taken her leave, loudly complaining of backaches, much to Yvenna's pleasure. The younger woman sighed and gave a weary, but polite smile to Mira.

"Don't mind my husband's sister or her brood. Is there aught I can do for you, Frenn's gone for your ale. Usually we keep a cask up from the cellar, but being so early..." She shrugged absently. "We've bread just about to be fresh from the fire. Last night's roast as well- though it's a bit dry." For all the hollering earlier, the wife was as mild-mannered as any tavern keeper's wife in the South.

Elsewhere in the forest, the sun was burning off the mist as it slowly rose. Arn's approach, though silent it was, did not go unnoticed. Perhaps it was fate, perhaps the hyper-awareness of a hunted beast , but the wolf's head jerked up though not in a manner one would expect. The entire front end was pulled up slightly and revealed to the hunters the beast had no bottom jaw. Rather, as Arn was close enough to see, the lower jaw was that of a human. Blood streaked, but human. The bloodied teeth bared in a snarl as the creature twisted to sit on their haunches. The form was human, clothed in the skins of many wolves. Save for bare feet and fingers blackened by dirt and soot, every other inch was covered in fur, including a tail of varying hues that hung were a wolf's would. Blood seeped from a puncture wound in the wolf-human's thigh, the leg bent as to not take weight on it. Tumbling from the hood of wolf fur, that fell from the 'face' of the wolf, hair came snarling in dreds. Yet, even as the two watched. The two ears on the top of the human-wolf's head pinned back as it made a rasping snarl again. The jaws snapping at the air.

Taking a step back, however, proved to be the creature's undoing. The wounded leg buckled and the creature fell to one side with a sharp yelp of pain.
Update is coming tomorrow! I'm ironing out some parts.
Update will be coming, I've just had a rough day.
Zatana was kneeling, her breath escaping her in ragged gasps as she fought to get her breathing under control. The fight had worn on the dark elf. Looking up as a hand touched her injured arm, the woman raised a pale brow as she shook her head in disgust. "Better my arm than your life, Your Highness." Before he moved away the woman gripped his shoulder, her voice dipping low by his ear. "Be very aware, Prince Leonidas, I will do as you bid but my first concern is keeping you alive. Be careful." It was a begging plea and Zatana hated herself for doing it, showing such weakness. It was not a dark elf thing to do. A dark elf did not beg, they did not 'please'. Releasing the Prince as he rejoined the battle, the rouge let the battle push on.

She had been reckless, foolish, careless. Zatana felt the words drilled into her crash once again driving at her flaws. She was to keep the Prince alive, to gather information, and to keep herself from the public eye. Well, that had just gone well. Gritting her teeth, Zatana shoved herself to the feet with fresh daggers. Whirling into the fray she knifed a fleeing orc in the back, feeling Naysien's song strengthen herself. Grateful for it, she pressed on to try and keep near the Prince of the Empire of Man. If there was anything about to threaten the Prince she could potentially keep the foolish boy from cracking his head open from senseless, though very effective, courage. That was the fate of too many brave Princes who took the field in history.
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