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6 mos ago
Current happy birthday to me
11 mos ago
read Helck
3 yrs ago
Keeping an RP alive is as much the players' responsibility as it is the GM's.
3 yrs ago
The most important period in an RP's life is when the responses start to slow after the initial honeymoon phase. This is THE deciding time for whether or not an RP dies.
3 yrs ago
aviaire is terrible and bad
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@Aviaire - IDIOT
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Most Recent Posts

I got zero preferences just cuz I tend to always try and fill an archetype that's missing. Majority dudes in an RP? In comes a girl. Majority girls? Same thing. Plus I try to balance out personalities, appearances, philosophies, etc. It always pushes me to really examine everyone else's sheets and characters closely, which IMO is a good thing to do. And I get to write a whole slew of different stuff!
"I swear I'm not a suspicious person! No, really!" said Tephrys Enrona, completely unconvincingly. - Skybound
Hide your ships, hide your husbands, Safia Reges is here to hate! - Silver Gate Academy

Come one, come all, and browse the wares of the great Beatrice "Beato" Rothschild! - Fire Emblem Fates: Legacy of the Empyrean Throne

“Sir! You have to finish–”

“Not another word!” Reason shook off the binding chains of paperwork and threw open the door to his study. “I can’t possibly stand another week without Tina!”

“My lord, it’s only been six–”

“I said, not another word! Who knows what that dastardly devilish demon woman is doing to my beloved! I can’t believe it! I simply must see her!” He stopped in his tracks, so suddenly that his pursuing attendants crashed right into his back. “Well, I suppose I can’t exactly see her…”

“You’ve made that joke six times today, milord.”

“And yet it doesn’t lose its humor, does it? Nay! No! Nada! Nyet! And other forms of negative expression! I must be her knight in fur armor, and deliver her from the devil’s maw!” Reason took off at a run unbefitting of a blind man in a floor-length cape and tailored suit.

To his attendants’ dismay, as their house lord burst from the front door, they could see a newfangled northern horseless carriage waiting at the gate. When had he the time to call for one?

Reason practically dived into the backseat and slammed the door closed. Within a second, the car’s engine roared, scaring birds into the sky. The tires screeched, the window rolled down, and Reason waved goodbye to his attendants as the car sped away.

“I’ll be back soon! Don’t let the House collapse!” he shouted from the window before disappearing into the horizon.
𝔾raves 𝕄anor

The sharp screech of steel on steel rang out in the overgrown courtyard of the rotting family home as Rathas and Tobias traded lightning-quick blows. The two broke momentarily, then lunged forward at the same time. A quick three-strike exchange sent Rathas to the ground, Tobias’s sword at her throat.


“You’ve improved remarkably over the last week.” Tobias withdrew his sword, then offered her a gloved hand.

“Not enough,” she said, not moving from her position. He hesitated, then sat down on the packed earth of the dueling ring next to her.

“Your offense is superb,” he said quietly, so much so that Rathas thought she’d misheard him.

“That’s the first straight compliment I’ve heard all week outta your mouth.”

“Your defensive footwork is lacking. I was able to knock you over without so much as a sweat.”

“Ah. Yep. There’s the follow-up.” She sat up, then met his eyes. Dark. Brooding. Boring. Other words that began with B.

“What? Something on my face?” He looked away.

“Nah, I was just thinking that it’s a shame you’re not prettier. You coulda just married into a higher ranking. Wouldn’t have to deal with all this training crap.”

Tobias sputtered over his words. “I- You- I assure you, I maintain myself perfectly-”

“Nah, nah, you can’t fix what you’ve been born with, I get it,” she said. “I’ve seen plenty of ugly men. Comes with the whole ‘street urchin’ schtick. We make do.”

“I’m certainly more- more… better looking than those pirates you tarried with!”

“Yeah, but at least they had senses of humor.”

Ugh, what was she doing? Dissing the men she practically owed her life to behind their backs? Was that what she was stooping to?

It wasn’t all that bad, right? She’d managed to convince Tobias to discreetly land them all short sentences, as a precondition for her own cooperation. They’d spend a year or three in prison, tops, and maybe get their act together a little as a result. Kinda like herself, really. Nothing that bad could happen to them there, right? Tobias had even gotten them into a nicer cell block. The wonders of a noble name, even if that name was coughing its intestines onto the gilded floor on its last legs.

Honestly, what was she even here for? What was the point, working so hard to save a house that had made her life a living hell all those years ago? To stick it to her father? Or would it blemish his legacy more to let House Graves fall to ruin?



“What do you think of the Graves breeding program?”

“The– that’s certainly out of nowhere.”

Rathas had told Tobias and Elina about her history in detail after he executed her father–about the eugenics program, about the hellish training, the enhancement drugs illegally imported from House Lapseus. They’d sat in silence the entire time. By the end, Elina was sobbing.

“Tobias. What do you think?” Rathas sneered a bit at his hesitation.

“I think… Well, it’s a practice that many houses partake in. Not the–the training side, but the act of marrying in order to produce stronger gates in one's heirs…” He shuffled from asscheek to the other.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I really don’t have anything to say. I personally wouldn’t do it.”

“Yeah, you’d have to have a good gate to even consider it.”

He winced. “Well, there’s no denying that I don’t have the option. But even if I did, I don’t think it’d be very morally sound. Magusism focuses on power, yes, but also the responsibility that comes with it. Breeding children doesn’t seem very responsible to me. Also, it’s technically illegal. Code 13.11.13911a: “the act of specific selection for desirable genetic traits is outlawed.”

Rathas snorted. “Sure. Illegal.”

“Well, just because it’s illegal doesn’t mean people won’t do it. I’m sure you have plenty of experience with breaking the law.”

“Oooh, stick in the mud has splinters, huh?”

“I am simply repaying you for your earlier comment.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll take it back. You have a little something there.” Rathas shrugged. “We’ll work on it.”

“Hey, are you two done trying to kill each other?” Elina stepped into the courtyard, carrying the hem of her dress a few centimeters above the packed earth. She was wearing green today. “‘Cause I’ve got news. Some good and some bad.”

The two combatants got to their feet. “Bad news first,” Rathas said.

“Alright. The bad news is that so far, nobody’s responded to the letters I wrote. Nobody was interested in anything we had to offer. Not a single branch house wants our assistance in anything. None even wanted us as vassals.”

The group of three stepped into the parlor, setting the practice weapons by the door. Jill, the maid, handed Tobias and Rathas towels.

“Thank you, Jill,” Tobias said. “Elina, what’s the good news?”

“Well, okay, I lied. There is no good news. This one is just slightly less bad. Good-bad, I guess. The only two candidates vying for the title of House Pachel proper are Alana Pachel and Otto Barnes.”

Rathas cocked an eyebrow. She knew Alana Pachel–hell, pretty much everyone did, but she sure as hell didn’t know this other contender. The emergency political lessons she’d been taking with Elina hadn’t covered him, whoever he was.

Sensing her confusion, Elina quickly explained. “House Barnes is, well, to put it simply, the least warlike of the House Pachel subfamilies. They've been more concerned with the economic side of war throughout history, making and selling weapons, supply lines, et cetera.”

Tobias frowned. “Odd, considering we very well might have a war on our hands soon. I would think them better off in a support role, not leading the entirety of House Pachel.” He kicked off his boots.

“The two of you should clean up after you spar. We can talk more over dinner.”

Dinner wasn’t anything special. Steamed vegetables and rice.

“There’s a chronic lack of salt in the house, Toby. Are you sure we can’t get any more?”

“Focus, Elina.”

“Okay! Okay, I’m just a little worn out, you know?”

Rathas cleaned the last of her plate. She was always the first to finish, even back on the Ironmaw. Old habits from her time on the streets–you never knew who was waiting to swipe your last few chunks of hard-earned bread.

“Okay. Toby, Rath, let’s consider our positions. What do we have that other houses don’t?”


“Uhh… optimism?” Rathas gave a cheeky smile. “I mean, what other house would be trying so hard to save a sinking ship?”

“Haha. Very funny.” Tobias’s expression indicated that it was anything but.

“We have Rath!” Elina pointed her fork at her.

“Yes, and what good will I do?

“Well…” Elina thought to herself. “Toby brought you on because you were the key to stopping Peloston from running us down any further, right? What else can we make use of?”

“Her Northern background, perhaps?” Tobias mused.

“Wait, hold on, I thought you brought me on to become a Southern lord. How’s my history on the streets gonna help?”

“Wait, wait, I think Toby’s onto something.” Elina stuffed a bell pepper into her mouth, continuing to talk while chewing. “Let’s consider this. Is anyone else in House Pachel like, actually concerned about the North right now?”

Tobias leaned back in his chair. “Unlikely. Alana’s running on a platform of continuing the dominant power of her late husband, even though she curses his name. And Otto… just says he’ll do better. I don’t think he’s solidified it fully yet.”

“Rath, do you think we should be concerned about the North? If blows come to blows.”

“I… don’t know. I wasn’t really in-the-know on politics. But if I had to hazard a guess, it doesn’t seem like House Pachel is prepared to fight. And with House Lapseus to our North, I wouldn’t exactly be optimistic about…” Rathas trailed off. An idea was beginning to form in the back of her mind. “Tobias. What’s the closest military station to House Lapseus?”

“That’ll be Brickshead Fort, near the Valley of Rest,” he replied automatically.

“We’re going. Tomorrow, or the day after”

“What?” Tobias did a double take. “Why so suddenly?”

“I have an idea. A barest hint of an idea. But if it works out, I think we have a lot to gain.”

“Alright, Reina. They’re ready for you.”

“Excellent. Draw the curtains. I am ready.”

Alistair flicked the switch, then fell into step behind her as she stepped into the evening sun. They’d calculated it perfectly–the rays were at the optimal angle to strike a golden chord across the city square.

Reina was giving the speech from the third floor balcony window of Young Enterprises. Unlike many other lords, who often lived in estates built away from the bustle of daily life, House Young lived in a multi-floor suite right in the heart of their capital city, Coeus. The Young Enterprises building was 49 stories tall, the tallest building in Croania, with the Young residences taking the top 3 floors.

A crowd several thousand strong milled about in the square, all staring up expectantly at their lord. Reina had made sure to send out invitations to all the minor nobility and important investors, who watched from special seats in the surrounding buildings. All in all, an excellent turnout.

Six microphones. Two cameras. Thousands and thousands of eyes. Reina took a deep breath, then stepped up to the podium.

“My dear citizens, compatriots, friends. Thank you for attending on this fine fall evening.” She took another deep breath, then continued. “We are gathered here today, not only those in person, but those watching at home, in bars, on the street looking at public screens–we are gathered here today because of one reason: the future.
House Young has always looked towards the future. We push the boundaries of what humans can achieve, we create miracles nobody 100 years ago could even dream of, and we do it together. We set our eyes on it because it is the right thing to do–for our friends, for our children, and for our community. But most of all, we do it because we can.
‘For the Young.’ Our house motto. For the future generations, for our country, for ourselves. We innovate. We hypothesize. We succeed.” Reina raised a fist towards the air. Cheers erupted from the crowd, but something… was off. She continued with the speech nonetheless.

“Last week, I, alongside several other representatives from House Kothlin and House Lapseus, tried to negotiate with the Southern houses. We tried to push for reform, change, we tried to show them that the future is what this country must work towards. And yet, despite all our efforts, as you may have heard, those peaceful negotiations were shattered–by Southern pride, by their unwillingness to give notice to their own shortcomings, and by their sheer disrespect for all that peaceful negotiations stand for.
The attack by the South was deliberate. There was a clear plan to sabotage the talks. But they failed. They were too incompetent to carry out their plan in its entirety. Several of our own died, but they missed their key targets. And as a result, they have made a grave mistake.
House Young will not stand for this blatant attack upon our integrity, on our work, and on our people. Effective immediately, House Young declares war upon the Mage Queen!”

Reina’s proclamation rang out clearly and confidently. However, the crowd reacted not with jubilant cheers, like she expected, but with waves of murmurs and whispering, like the hissing of a steam engine.

“The Crown has ignored the plight of its peoples far too long! They sit complacent, ignorant of the suffering below their ivory towers! The lords are out of touch, thinking only of their own whims! It comes to us, House Young, alongside Houses Kothlin and Lapseus, to drag those stuck in the past towards the future!” she raised her arms outward, towards the sky. “You are strong, you are intelligent, you are wise. You are the future! For the Young!”

Reina lowered her arms. Applause and cheering broke out–but not enough. A quick count only indicated about half the crowd was participating. The rest mostly seemed to just talk with their neighbors.

As she stepped down from the podium, the curtains closing behind her, Reina snapped her fingers at a nearby aide carrying a tablet. “Quick. What’re the people saying about the speech?”

The advisor’s face was grim. “55% approval from a quick survey by Stoll Broadcasting. Sample size 600. Most are complaining that we don’t have the resources to go to war, or that you’re just as disconnected from reality as the South.”

“What? That can’t be right, send it out again.”

“Another poll, my lady! This one’s by Leichton Radio.” A woman stepped forward with another tablet. “48% approval. Same complaints.”

“You must be joking. Arthur and Mel issued their statements just a couple days ago, and they were at least in the eighties!”

The room was silent.

“It’s too late now,” Alistair said in Reina’s ear. “We can’t retract a statement that large.”

“I wasn’t even considering it,” she replied. That wasn’t a lie–there was no way she’d ever pull out from the declaration–but only fifty percent?! “This just… brings about a whole new set of worries.”

“...But before anything else… he was my friend. To Elias.”

Arthur Kothlin raised his glass and downed its contents, the harsh taste of strong liquor burning his throat. Damn Elias. Why did his favorite drink have to taste like motor oil and hand sanitizer?

The rest of the funeral goers did the same, upending their glasses in memory. Kothlin was a little pleased to see more than a few choked when the liquid hit their lips.

It wasn’t easy, preparing for a war. Papers to sign, routes to confirm, inspections to maintain–Kothlin had felt his energy draining steadily in the week following the declaration at Harrow’s. It took all he could to carve out enough time to arrange a funeral for his advisor.

The evening breeze blew his hair into his eyes. He reached up and adjusted his glasses. Even these had been a gift from Elias.

Damn. He wasn’t ever going to move on like this.

He cast a gaze around the rest of the attendees. It was a small affair, set on the peak of a small hill outside Redline’s city bounds–just a mile away from where Elias had grown up. The noonday sun was nearly entirely blotted out by the clouds of smoke and fog rising from the city. Only a few rays made their way to the graveyard, grasping at the grass like tendrils.

His eyes made their way across the faces of those gathered–friends, family, and a few bodyguards in powersuits. The ranks of his guard were populated by those similar to himself–unmarried, disconnected men and women of his army. It made it easier on everyone involved. No spouses to console, no children to throw into the system of foster care. Still, there was the occasional member who still remained somewhat involved with their family. Elias had been one of those. Kothlin spotted Elias’s mother and younger sister in the small crowd. Mark, Elias’s older brother and one of Kothlin’s senior advisors, was still mired in paperwork back in the war room.

Hania tapped on his shoulder, breaking him out of his contemplative silence. He turned instinctively, then flicked his eyes away. It was still hard to make eye contact with her–the damage to her face done by the bomb hadn’t healed. It probably never would. The doctors had said something strange infected the wounds. Hania would likely carry the scars for the rest of her life. He’d offered to send her to House Lapseus for extended care, but she’d refused. For now, she was wearing a silver mask over her bandages.

“I can’t serve you if I’m in an ICU, my lord. And right now, what you need most is my support,” she’d said.

Well, she was certainly right about that. He’d probably have keeled over sideways if it wasn’t for her help this past week.

“...My lord? Is everything alright? You’ve gone silent.”

Kothlin blinked, then realized she was addressing him.

“I’m fine. I was just… thinking.” He sighed. “When I spoke to Mel- I mean, Lady Lapseus, she said something that’s been keeping me up at night.”

“Your eye bags are looking rather dark recently.”

“Are they really? Agh, that’s not befitting of a leader. Oyel will have my head. ‘Lesson six: a ruler must present the perfect image to his subjects.’” He imitated the sallow man’s enunciation, then stood in silence. Hania simply stood next to him, scanning the horizon.

After a minute, he spoke once more, turning to face her. “Lady Lapseus… she told me, ‘Human life is a resource. How many will you sacrifice?’”

Hania shifted in her boots, not meeting his eyes.

He continued, “I didn’t answer her, back then. I still… I still don’t have an answer. I don’t know how many I can sacrifice. Does that mean… I’m not suited to lead this war? When I don’t know what I’m willing to put on the line, what I’m willing to pay, what I would give for victory? I certainly talked the talk, but can I deliver on my claims? If every death, every man and woman, means something like this? A funeral? A grave? Can I ask that of my people? Can I ask that of my men? …Can I ask that of you?”

She met his eyes this time, her gaze burning. “My lord. I would give my everything, my life, my soul, anything–”

“I know you would. I’m wondering if… if I have the right to receive it.”

Hania didn’t respond.

“Let’s go, Hania. We have a war to fight.” He turned away and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

They sat in silence for the entire car ride home.

The addressee of the Lord and Lady’s pleas snorted, crumpled the letters into a ball, and threw them over his shoulder into the half-full wastebasket in the corner. Alarick Croan, Lord, priest, and probably the most important man in the southern half of Croania lit a cigarette with his gate and drew in a deep breath.

“Damn fools. Who do they think they are…” he murmured to the empty study before leaning back in his chair and resting his boots on the mahogany desk.

After all the trouble House Dalris had caused him last year, they just expected him to acquiesce and send troops? For what? To fend off a rebellion that would collapse under its own weight in half a year?

No, House Croan had better things to be doing. There was that matter with House Aureolin’s papers, and of course the question of House Pachel’s successor after the Northern dogs had unceremoniously executed Jevin.

He absentmindedly tugged at the grey hairs on his chin before yanking out a stray stand and setting it ablaze. Harper had always complained about this tic. She said it “scuffled his pores,” whatever those damned words meant. He pulled out another hair and ignited it.

“Gonna have to send a messenger to the Pachels, maybe suss out the best man for the job.” He was talking to himself again. Another habit Harper hated. “Or woman. Alana, maybe? I know Her Holiness was considering it…”

The letter from House Dalris crossed his mind once more.

“Agh, stonge it all. Maybe dealing with some fighting would do those two some good. I’m not thinking about this anymore.”

He snapped his fingers and lit the wastebasket’s contents on fire, then took another puff of his cigarette before jamming it into his ashtray. The dark smoke from the letter rose gently up through its makeshift chimney before dispersing into the morning sky.
Lord Alarick Croan
Rosenthal Manor
1200 Rosenthal Street

Dear Alarick,

We write to ask for your prompt support for the people of House Dalris preceding the inevitable threat of Northern assault upon our lands. Our spies have confirmed that Arthur Kothlin, Reina Young, and Melodia Lapseus have issued official declarations of war and are beginning preparations for marching. Furthermore, it is almost certain they will march on House Dalris first. Cassandra has declared a state of emergency for the counties of Neril, Turing, Winston, Marches, and Cleris. We’re beginning evacuation procedures to the territories of House Aureolin and Immolis.

House Dalris’s current standing force is in no way prepared to deal with an onslaught from Kothlin’s forces. Our spies report that he has over five times the amount of trained men and women at the ready, with another several thousand on the way.

We understand that, as always, you have your own House to manage and lead. However, please consider sending either reinforcements or evacuation assistance as soon as you can.

Alfonse Dalris & Cassandra Dalris

Dear Alarick,

Alfonse has never been the best at conveying his feelings. Please, consider this request not only from a house lord, but from a friend. We need your help.

With love,
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