Syrenrei

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Although Solae had expected that her absence as a casualty of the Imperial Embassy would be noticed, her blood ran cold when the first patrol passed within close proxitity and she heard an allusion to her person. Humanity had been stripped from her existence by the rebellion. The beautiful noble was a target, a bitch, a thing for them to possess undoubtedly in an effort to communicate with the Empire. No device they found would be functional without her genetic identification. While the operation of a PEA or other long-range transmitter required her alive, she had no illusions as to what they could and would do as they gleefully utilized her to send missives. Solae would be a trophy, a depository for their lust, an avenue to take out their aggression and rage, a toy that they could force to continue one of their own genetic lines. The leader of the rebellion had not yet been unmasked to her, but her status (and that of any children she bore, bastard or not) had to be tantalizing if they must to keep her breathing. In her heart Solae was not certain that her survival of the assault on the embassy been a blessing.

Revelations regarding herself as prime prey for the coup's forces made her question the motivations of Rene. Being of noble birth was not compelling for his investment in allying with Solae; he had shed whatever finery and position he once possessed when he enlisted as a marine. They were not fellow scions of the Empire. Swooping in when she had been cornered by hostile Gids had been a risk he was not bound by blood oath to take. Had he slipped by in the shadows, unseen as he had obviously been before he leapt out and killed the sergeant, none would be the wiser.

Rene had not made any requests of her yet but it was necessity that strangled their conversation and kept them silently bound together. Solae could not find any clues in his countenance, his steady gait, his broad shoulders, nor his slightly stiff mannerisms that she suspected came from the knowledge she was a Marquise. Despite her suspicions she found that her analytical staring only made her more hyper-aware of qualities she found fundamentally attractive. Underneath the sweat and grime he was muscular but not to an intimidating degree, his step was sure and confident, his cheekbones were high, his jaw was masculine, and his hair long enough to be luxurious rather than course stubble. Once he had reached back to grab her wrist before she blundered into the vision of a contingent jogging by and her heart had fluttered at the contact.

"I know... knew the owner," Solae said as she squinted in the bright light. It was deathly silent with the singular exception of the door that was battered by the wind. No plumes of smoke nearby indicated a rebel encampment or presence. Without waiting for Rene's permission she squeezed by him and through the doorway without touching either the frame or door itself; rather, she timed to pass through while it was agape.

The interior had been predictably ran-sacked. A streak of blood as wide as a man's torso led down the left side of a grand staircase and out through were they had came. Solae paled slightly at the reminder of the inhabitant's demise but did not dwell on the crimson stains soaked into pale carpet and polished marble flooring. Portraits of the owner's ancestors had been ripped from their gilded frames and littered the entryway. Delicately she nudged the folded oil canvases to the side with her bare feet.

"He was a bachelor," she elaborated as she heard Rene enter the home behind her. "We dated briefly... long enough I know the layout and that no one is coming here. His parents and sister live on Ilnora II." Nimbly she led him towards the back of the house, navigating through hallways that once had been lavishly decorated with priceless original paintings. Only the decorative lighting above each piece remained as the rebels had sensibly looted the treasures. "My mother and father were fond of his family," she told him, trying to make conversation before they emerged in a large dining room. In the center, in front of a wall of windows programmed to let in light and yet conceal the occupants for the sake of privacy, was a statue nearly eight feet tall. The subject of the carving, clearly meant to mimic 'classical' pieces from renaissance ages, was a chiseled figure that was naked except for a draped that was not meant to completely obscure its endowment.

"I'll let you imagine why it didn't last," Solae remarked dryly as she looked at the statute and then drifted into the adjoining kitchen. Cabinets had been thrown open looking for delicacies but the majority of the food stock had not been confiscated. There would not be fine china to dine upon but the cutlery and dinnerware meant for the servants had been left untouched. She lightly touched a panel on the wall and it sprang to life as a synthesized female voice emerged from speakers seamlessly integrated across the domicile.

"Greetings, Lady Solae," it purred. Most programming did not have a sultry undertone to its artificial intelligence systems, but the yet-unnamed lord of this manor had proclivities that did not cease to amaze. He had customized his luxurious bachelor pad to emulate a woman that was absent in his life. "How may I assist you today?"

Solae groaned under her breath but turned to Rene. "Food or shower first?" she asked.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Long ago in centuries past, back when humanity was chained to a singular planet and had not discovered interstellar travel, there had been fictional stories called fairy tales read to children. Most had, according to her literature stories, meant to be allegories or cleverly disguised moral lessons that could be consumed by young minds. Her father had a few tomes of these fantastic tales on a shelf in the library, but they were for display only; he had never bothered to read them. Solae had been confined to the estate one summer in her teenage years due to a leg injury. Curiosity and a desperate need for entertainment had resulted in her reading volumes plucked from the bookcases indiscriminately. One ancient faded brown binding contained fanciful descriptions of princes, princesses, knights, villains, and the like. It had not been much to her taste and once she finished the last page she had carefully closed the book, slid it back on the shelf, and not thought of it again.

Until now.

Even with corpses strewn on the ground, blood pooling beneath the neck of a solider whose head had almost been brutally sheared off, Rene was reminiscent of a proverbial knight in shining armor. True he had a pistol rather than a sword, sullied garments instead of plate armor, and no pristine steed to carry them off towards safety, but he was a radiant beacon of protection in an terrifying blizzard of violence.

Solae's gaze had flitted momentarily to the deceased as she evaluated the situation. The spectacle of three bodies, their eyes glassy, their faces frozen, with muscle and bone visible made her stomach lurch. Muscles of her neck tensed as it forced down the bile and swelling nausea that had nearly bubbled for the surface. Solae's chest heaved with the effort as she refocused her pale eyes upon Rene.

Rene Quentain. Somewhere in the depths of her mind Solae recalled having heard the name before. There were things more immediately pressing than trying to excavate the memory associated with the allusion (for she was certain they had never met before this moment) but the familiarity spoke to a truth: he had to be noble. Sheltered as she was in the Falia lineage and employment with the embassy she'd not come across commoner names nor retain a shred of them. The slip of Rene's tongue in referring to her as lady only verified her belief. Underneath the grime that painted his handsome features was a birth of aristocracy. That he called himself a marine and tried so valiantly to self-correct into that station made Solae wonder why he hid and discarded his heritage. Was his name associated with shame or criminal behavior?

"They're all dead," she whispered, more to herself than to him. She climbed over the stone wall, undoubtedly flashing him considerably more skin than was proper, but given the circumstances neither of them could be bothered with etiquette and pretenses. News of the destruction of the Imperial Garrison slowed her mental processes as her psyche tried to shield her from grim reality. It had faltered and failed her this far but it had not abandoned her yet. Solae swallowed hard as her intellect failed her. Sanity begged her not to draw the inevitable conclusion that these two assaults met for her present and future.

"They destroyed the Imperial Embassy. I'm the only survivor," she admitted, choking on the words as tears sprang up in the corner of her eyes. "And even if you could have made it there, you couldn't have sent out a signal. The PEA requires genetic identification- living identification at that, it was recently revised in light of the rebellion on Duivis last year- which is only granted to embassy employees after their first year provided they have the correct qualifications." It was the most tactful way reference she could make to the nobility requirement without outright admitting the aristocracy were sectarian.

"My name is Solae Falia," she introduced briefly. For a second she considered not confessing that she also possessed a title, one she knew had passed to her in the last day. These enemy forces, regardless of who they were loyal to, would not let the Marquess and Marquise live if they had murdered all the diplomats and marines. "Marquise Solae Falia, but I'd prefer you just call me Solae. If they..," here she choked again, silent tears running down her face that she felt but chose to ignore, "if they executed all the supporters of the Empire, some of their homes will be empty. We might be able to find one to clean up and eat," she suggested, doing all she could to maintain some semblance of composure.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Solae had laid on the grassy slope beside the roadway for what felt like centuries but what could have been no more than an hour. As sweat cooled on her body she found herself chilled yet extraordinarily thirsty. Adrenaline had caused her to over-exert herself and made ever muscle scream in pain no matter the respite it was granted. Breathing was steady through her chapped lips whose blood had congealed with the now stopped stream from her forehead. She was light-headed and dizzy, hungry, and nauseous all at once. The noblewoman was both numb to the sensations that rolled over her body in waves of anguish and overwhelmed by them.

For all the academic learning she had conquered with almost two decades of education she did not remember any lessons in survival. Only a rudimentary knowledge of anatomy, basic emergency medicine, and vague recollections of colonization stories seemed applicable to her situation. Fresh water was her top priority; her body could not exist as long without it as food or shelter. Exposure to the elements with a climate such as New Concordia's was not a threat immediately. Solae struggled to focus on the word deficiency to center herself mentally on the pursuit of water as she started to crawl on her belly.

Singular focus brought clarity. The diplomat slowly managed to force her elbows and knees under her as she pulled herself along the scraggly overgrown weeds of the embankment. Pebbles, grit, and dirt embedded itself under her nails and in the abrasions of her knees but she didn't care- she couldn't afford to let it impede her progress. Bit by bit, with teeth clenched together in determination, and only sheer willpower to fuel her she managed to propel herself upright. Solae's gait was staggered, unsteady, and feeble but it was movement nonetheless.

Sometime during her repose on the greenery her hearing had begun to return though it was still muffled. A shrill whine, which she recognized passively as damage to her ear, persisted but with concentration could be ignored. In the distance were the shouts of either soldiers or citizens as they called to one another. Gone were the alarms of enemy attack for, in the short time that had transpired, the imperial forces had been demolished. Solae still did not grasp her situation fully but her sense of self-preservation was still kicked into proverbial high gear. Everything in her exhausted body told her that to return to the city was suicide.

Night began to descend over Armistice and the surrounding lands as Solae made her way across the landscape. Geography and astronomy were subjects she had scored well in but neither the direction of the setting sun nor the arrangements of the stars offered relief. To seek their guidance was to have a destination and she was utterly aimless in encroaching despair.

In the dwindling light she happened upon a farm with a well which she stole water from as the family happily dined behind smudged windows carved into a humble home. She felt guilty for taking from people who had so little, but her conscience did not overcome her excruciating thirst. Solae drank until she was satiated and the meal was completed. Traumatized and melancholic she watched as they cleaned the table, talked to one another, and flickered on the lights that led to the bedrooms upstairs. The peaceful joy was as foreign to her now as the agony of today had been prior to the embassy's destruction. Commoners accused the titled elites of living in bubbles, in capsules of protection that made them indifferent to the suffering of the poor. In a day's time the tables had been turned for Marquise Solae Falia.

For minutes after the last light from the farmhouse had been snuffed out she stared after its darkened silhouette. Fine people they might be but she could not gamble on their compassion. Solae did not know their circumstances. While she did not doubt they were humane and empathetic, life on New Concordia created wounds, festering wounds, and the higher social caste was almost always blamed regardless of the cause. Gentle farmers were not without limitations of the abuse they could suffer before they saw a victim such as Solae as an oppressor deserving their rage.

She turned, walking to the edge of the property and, parking herself next to a half-rotted stump, she finally allowed herself to collapse again and fall into a dreamless sleep of fatigue.

DAY TWO

Morning brought hope. Slumber had refreshed her mind. With the death of Marlene a day behind her, and no visual reminders of callous murders and near death experience, Solae found it easier to compartmentalize the past and present. Wary of venturing back towards the farm of last night she headed in a different direction as she kept Armstice's skyline on her left. One of the fields she traversed through had slightly under ripe fruit dangling from trees on its borders. She ate three that were roughly the size of her fists as she walked, discarding the skin, cores, and seeds in shrubs to make it appear an animal had devoured them instead of a vagrant.

Success emboldened her. Slowly she navigated away from rural domiciles and closer towards the surburbs that spread from Armistice in a perfect circle. When she had initially flown to New Concordia with her mother and father years ago she had marveled that so long after settlement planning was enforced stringently enough not a single estate was out of place. Now she realized that there was cruelty in such unmerciful design. People were not free, even so far away from the central planets of the empire, to build what they wished wherever their heart desired.

Thoughts of a rambling mind were interrupted by something she could not place- a sound or lack thereof had made her pause mid-step beside a stone wall she had been creeping beside for the last several minutes. Her heart raced as she struggled to find the source of the instinctual freeze in her posture but she did not have to wait long. Solae had dropped behind the wall to collect her breath (which had caught in her throat) when a booming male voice lifted from the other side a short distance away.

“Stand up slowly and keep you hands where we can see them!” called out a man that the intuitively knew was armed without peeking over the masonry that separated them.

Solae's returned hearing was both a curse and a blessing. A lethal altercation took place she deduced by the sounds of moving bodies, panting, a strangled cry, and three blasts of gunfire. Terrified to move she waited for a sign what had just transpired had ended or the parties engaged in combat had moved on. There was but a brief moment of silence and then a male voice, different from the first one she heard, muttering to himself, "“This really isn’t my day.”

Options were limited. Either she could try to escape the attention of whomever just spoke, taking her chances in solitary survival, or she could stand, expose herself, and parley. Why had that first man wanted her to come out to him instead of shooting to kill without reservations. Had someone or something wanted her alive? And why had someone intervened before she was taken captive? Was he hoping to have him for herself or were his intentions more pure? Solae's heart continued to race so hard and fast as she contemplated her choices she was worried cardiac arrest was an actual possibility. The stranger hadn't asked her to come out nor had he let the lapse in time be used to strike at her. Chances were greater he was an ally than an enemy based solely on the little information available.

"Who... who are you?" Solae asked as she rose. As the morning light shone on her beaten and stained figure her hair, still flaked in dried blood, gleamed a golden white in the soft illumination. There were very few people in the universe that had the hue the late Marquise Falia had passed onto her daughter; in fact, it was rumored to have been inserted in bloodlines through embyronic genetic manipulation and subsequent generations had created their children like designer handbags since. Technology allowed the wealthy to chose gender, hair color, and eye color as they toyed with life to feed their godly complexes. Solae had suspected but never confirmed her mother had made certain her offspring bore the recessive trait for her hair color. In any other circumstances it would have been a positive boon to recognition, but as the duke's rebellion raged on it only helped to identify her as an important target.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Are you going to go out with him? You have had a dry spell lately," Marlene teased. She gave a cheeky laugh and turned back to her work without waiting for a reply. The young countess was the epitome of modern beauty although it had not been given to her at birth physically; it was her birth into a lineage of extreme wealth that had shaped her features and physique. All of her clothes had been sent straight from designers so long as they would be appropriate for the formal business atmosphere of the embassy at which she had been stationed. Even her hair had been genetically modified to be thicker and stronger than the plebeians that made up the majority of the empire she served. Frequently Marlene complained that there was too little time in the morning for proper styling of the aforementioned expensive tresses and as a result she simply left if long and untouched. Even this cultivated envy in the office. Very few had the luxury of manipulating themselves at a cellular level to be 'naturally' attractive.

"I don't know," Solae sighed indecisively as she stared at her screen, tapping icons to adjust the font size and shift her keypad to a different language. The illuminated blue letters disappeared and were replaced by symbols utilized by another planet's native citizens. Their written language was logographic in nature rather than employing an alphabet, which meant as she translated essential documents she had to hold down multiple keys at once to create a new logograms. Understandably an extensive array of linguistic symbols, no matter the origin, could not be comprehensively included on such a small keypad.

Polished fingernails, painted with an expensive lacquer to mimic impossible health and shine, hovered above as she felt an almost imperceptible tremor in the ground. Lifting her eyes from her console she glanced around. Most of the office were still sitting at their desks or standing with others in conversation. The layout of the floor was open so that translators such as Solae and Marlene could more easily work in a collaborative fashion on a project. A row of offices were on the north and east sides of the buildings but reserved for those who had been loyal to the empire for at least two decades, had purchased favors to skip work requirements for promotion, or had simply been rewarded out of favoritism and fame. The offices were highly coveted for their privacy and even Marlene had not been able to 'out bid' any of the occupants. It was a well-known secret that half of her superiors had affairs behind the tinted windows and thick mahogany doors. It was not surprising to her that no one had poked a head outside their sanctuary of vices. Mr. Anderson in particular, her direct manager, believed even the titled men and women below him on the 'floor' were unworthy of his presence more than once a day.

Solae tried to shrug off a feeling of tension spreading over her chest, supposing that there was heavy machinery being moved down the street for construction or unrelated purposes, but then she glanced over to her glass of water. The crystalline did not obscure the minuscule ripples in the surface of her liquid beverage. Anxiety wound a knot deep in her stomach. "Marlene, do you..." she began, turning her head to look at perhaps one of her only friends in the office.

They had taken no chances in striking at the loyalists that worked inside the embassy, many of whom were well-educated, descended from prestigious bloodlines, and heavily rewarded for their fealty to the empire. Later Solae would realize they knew very few, if any, of those she had seen on a day to day basis had even the smallest chance of defecting to the duke launching his rebellion. Mr. Anderson's family had been gifted vast expanses of land on a fertile, undeveloped planet. He would have never jeopardized their gains, damning generations to veritable slavery for treachery, even if it cost him his life. Marlene was as materialistic as a human being could be, declining the pursuit of true love in favor of the richest suitor she could turn the head of on New Concordia, but she would have seen they would have used her and then killed her. Shallow she undeniably was but vapid she was not.

In the same instant the north and south walls exploded inwards, stone and twisted metal blasted in opposite directions across and through entire floor, irreverent of office walls that had been there seconds earlier. Debris collided fatally with her co-workers as it demolished everything in its path. Shrapnel impaled Marlene twice- a jagged fragment of a wall brace sliced through the right side of her throat while an indistinguishable fragment of a desk struck her shoulder with such force Solae could see the bone. The image seared itself in her mind. Never before had the young noble heiress seen anyone or anything die in front of her eyes. Death of family pets (few that there were) had been shielded from Solae as if she were a delicate flower incapable of emotional hardship. Blood oozed from Marlene's wounds, marring her previously perfect complexion. There was a gurgling noise as her head lolled to the side and her eyes fixated on the distance of non-existence. Countess Marlene Elaine Lares was no more.

Screams of abject terror and excruciating pain were drowned out by the the thunder of the destruction and a second load of fire screeching through the air before impacting with the east and west walls. Walls were crumbling as concrete, stone, and alloy fell towards the ground in massive chunks. Deafening silence, caused by the inability of human ears to cope with the violent high decibel cacophony, crippled the few people still alive. Windows had shattered and shards had been transformed into missiles that mercilessly assaulted animate and inanimate alive. What had become a plush, respectable place of work for the elite was now a death trap.

"Mother!" she called out as she walked past a library of the familial estate on New Concordia. All literature was now easily accessible by electronic device but printed volumes were kept as status symbols by many, including the Marquess and Marquise Falia. Almost all of the tomes were older than either of her parents and had been passed down by her ancestors as they had started the collection when the title of Marquess had first been bequeathed onto them. Solae paused in her hunt for the Marquise Falia as the reflection of stained glass windows glittered and shone on the bindings, giving them a mystical appearance despite their age.

"In here, dear," was the calm and composed reply of Marquise Falia. Solae tore her eyes from the allure of reading adventures, scribed by people centuries past, and continued on into one of their sitting rooms. Sitting in an antique chair upholstered in priceless burgundy brocade was a lady born and bred for the aristocracy. Never had Solae witnessed her mother falter in her representation of refined etiquette- even with her children. Her back was slightly arched so that even as she sat the Marquise's shoulders were directly over her hips. Her face did not reflect warmth nor derision; it was polite, blank, and inscrutable as always.

"Mother, I've been assigned to the embassy," Solae told her breathlessly in wonderment. She had not expected to fail her testing or interviews, but she also had not expected such a prestigious assignment from her initial application. In preparation for a less than ideal assignment she had begun a list of the essentials that would need to be shipped via interstellar means.

"Of course you have, my dear. New Concordia is not ripe with applicants that have your credentials. You are a Falia. I am sure this is only temporary until they find a place on a more appropriate planet. They would not keep a Marquise here of all places. You are meant for better things. You always have been." Her voice was even and impassive. Solae chose to believe her mother loved her but she could not ignore the possibility that this love was a result of Solae's obedience in bringing further prestige to them. It reflected well on the Marquess and Marquise that their daughter was climbing the ranks of empire diplomats.

"I'm not really a Marquise yet, Mother," she said. The title would be officially conferred onto her only when both of her parents were dead. As their only child there was no question that it would be her inheritance along with all of their material possessions. Solae stared at her mother, admiring the beautiful golden white color of her hair, the same color that had been passed to Solae and had inspired her namesake. Even if her parents were not the adoring pair applauded in fiction, she was certain that this position, and that this Falia lineage had meant she was blessed by divinity for reasons she could not comprehend.

Solae's memory dissipated. She was uncertain if she had fallen unconscious or merely been jolted into nostalgia by trauma, but the threat of her attackers was still imminent. From what little she could see from her vantage point not a soul was moving in the building; it was a still tomb for the deceased. A residual high pitched whine filled her ears yet, making her unable to discern if there was anyone approaching, but she could not lay and wait. Panicking and gasping she crawled from her splintered desk and husk of a chair to a giant chasm in the floor. Seizing the opportunity she had, knowing that it would not last if the goal was to kill everyone in the embassy, she hurtled herself into the gap that had been created.

The fall was only a single story and something cushioned her fall sufficiently that she did not break a limb on impact. Solae was terrified to look down and see what had softened her drop but she knew instinctively that it was a corpse. Men in fully body armor and wearing rifles were visible outside a window as they waited for survivors to emerge from the rubble. One of their mouths was moving, and the ground below her was vibrating, but had neither the ability nor time to deduce their next course of action. Staying low to the ground she closed her eyes, elbows and knees propelling her over slick, soft, burning, and splintered obstacles that she dared not comprehend. Her fingers jammed themselves into something brittle and, reaching for it gingerly, she confirmed she had reached a wall.

With reckless abandon Solae crawled towards a triangular crevice in the wall to her left. Every part of her ached and she became astutely aware of throbbing pain on her forehead. Shadows from the openings that had once been windows played tricks on her vision. Delirious, hallucinating, traumatized, and imagining benign changes in light were omninous, Solae finally reached her place of escape, thrust herself through the unforgiving and rough rock, leapt to her feet, and sprinted down the street aimlessly.

If she had been spotted by the soldiers that had so callously murdered every embassy worker they did not shoot and did not catch her as she fled. Perhaps it was because she turned into every alley she found, scrambling over fences and gates, ducking under shrubs, and trampling any plant life that was shorter than her knees. At least half an hour passed before the adrenaline coursing through her body gave way to sheer exhaustion. Solae did not recognize the scenery; she was sure she had not been here before, wherever "here" was. She took a few short, staggered steps into a patch of grass and then collapsed. Her blouse and skirt were drenched in sweat. Somewhere during her flight she had lost both her shoes or cast them off leaving her bare-footed. Long pale hair stained by blood was plastered to her neck and back. Muscles in her legs trembled even as she laid on the ground grateful for the respite and struggling to breathe.

She was safe... for now. But as Solae tried to process what she had just endured she was stricken with the realization that anyone bold enough to attack the embassy, and would want her dead, would have the resources to know where she lived. It was impossible to return home. She was stranded alone in foreign location without food, water, shelter, or even a way to defend herself from the wilderness much less whomever might hunt her.

[MxF] (Mature; 18+) Looking for Long Term Partner

Hello there!

My name is Syrenrei and while I am new to this site, I am not new to RP. I got my start with text-based RP back in the days of AOL chatrooms and AIM at 14 years old. I graduated from there to IRC, Gaia, e-mails, RPN, and now here! I am 37 years old, so I've been at this for some time now. In most places I am considered "literate" or "advanced" as I prefer to write at least three paragraphs per post but often write considerably more. I will make every attempt to match what you produce.

RULES:
1. I am looking for a long term role-play partner. I have outlasted many RP partners thus far. =(
2. Please be able to post at least 3 paragraphs once a week.
3. You should be at least 18 years old, but I have a soft spot for people my age (30+).
4. I do not do fandoms. OCs only!
5. I play main characters that are female exclusively because I'm a jerk and require romance in my RP. REQUIRE. I will not pretend to be happy in a role play without romance. I've tried. I can't do it. Please, please, please don't reach out to me for RP if you don't like romance or will end up making characters that are not open to romance physically, emotionally, mentally, etc.

INTERESTS:
World creation, nation building, etc.
High and low fantasy, sci-fi, futuristic, urban fantasy, post-apocalyptic, medieval settings
Social drama and political intrigue
Arranged marriages, kingdoms embroiled in war, rebellion uprisings, anything with royalty and/or nobility
Characters with major flaws

Plot Ideas

The Font

In a world with magic she is an anomaly. She is a font, a person incapable of magic themselves but able to produce copious amounts of raw arcana- and gift it to others. Their scarcity has made life for any font exceedingly dangerous. They are coveted by casters as one with their reserve at their disposal can perform great feats regularly with little recovery time. Her master, an elderly gentleman who prefers men to women and who no longer cares to use his magic, has sold her on the market.

My character= Female font
Your character= Her New Master

This can take place in the modern day world or a completely fictitious one we create ourselves. While romance is necessary, how that progresses, and how your character feels about owning another is entirely up to you. While the lore does not allow the font to safely live free (as she would be hunted by casters eager to use her), there are ample opportunities for continuing conflict in the story.

CURRENTLY SEEKING A MODERN, FUTURISTIC, OR MAGICAL SETTING (HIGH OR LOW)! My two current RPs are medieval-ish, so I want something different. =)

The Betrothed

Civilization nearly self-destructed with a war that left the world scarred and the surviving population a fraction of what it once was. From its ashes warlords emerged as they fought over territory and people. Now centuries later new nations have been established. One such nation is ruled by a monarchy who keeps the country unified but is unquestionably ruthless. To keep their bloodline strong, the emperor/king allows the citizens to compete for the hand of the prince or princess in brutal trials once they are of proper age. The victor elevates their family to nobility but at a cost- once they have had children with their royal spouse, they will meet an untimely demise. Even knowing this the 'breeding spouse' deems the contest worth the sacrifice.

Your Character= Prince or Winner of the Contest
My Character= Princess or Winner of the Contest

This idea is from a partner I've had in the past. You may either construct the royal family yourself or I will do so. There are opportunities here to overthrow the dictatorship, to have siblings vying for power, and assassination attempts.

Evermore

Most superheroes, or people otherwise affected by extraordinary circumstances, have an ability that can be used offensively or defensively. Hers is neither. She has the power of regeneration but no fighting prowess, no amplified agility, no inhuman strength, or other weaponry. She is just very, very hard to kill. She is the most literal version of a human shield and protects people as best she can- even though it is painful, even though she is lonely, even though she has lost hope of a normal life. Unbeknownst to her she has drawn the attention of those that want to harness her ability and figure out a way to recreate it- so that they may live forever. There is no ethical way to do this, so they will rely on the unethical.

My character= Modified/ superhuman
Your character= See below

This could be set in the modern day or in the past- just so long as superpowers are extraordinary instead of commonplace. Your character could be a villain kidnapping her for experimentation, a similarly powered person with good intentions, or someone who simply sees what is happening and tries to intervene. I admit I have a slight preference for a more corrupt character being swayed over the course of the RP!

The Queen and her King

In times long past, the kingdom was like so many of its peers and tracked its lineage through the male bloodline; however, rumors and scandals arose about parentage that threatened the stability of the country. For practical reasons the culture has shifted over the last centuries and now the royal family (as well as much of the nobility) is traced through the maternal line- after all, it is hard to deny from what woman a child is borne when it is so easily witnessed. The queen has just passed, leaving behind several children, two of which are female. The eldest daughter has been crowned queen but has a predicament- unlike some of her other siblings she is unwed. Now with the responsibilities of ruling riding on her shoulders, she has married for political and/or economic gain, not having met her husband until their exceedingly formal marriage ceremony. All eyes are on her and her spouse- how will they rule? How quickly will they produce and heir? And how will they handle the whispering of war brewing at the border?

Your Character= The Queen
My Character= The King

Your character may be a prince from another country, a noble man, or even a man of mixed fantasy heritage (such as a shapeshifter)- so long as you have a reason that your character's hand in marriage would be an attractive offer. Please note my character will be assertive, as she is a ruler, but I am NOT looking for a male character that is looking to be her sub plaything. Because of all the pressure on her she needs a counterpart that can allow her to 'rest' and not have to be 'in charge' constantly, who she can respect, and who could see her as more than a monarch. Also, while the kingdom is a matriarchy, men are still well-regarded. While there is some bias, there is no slavery based on gender or anything so extreme. This is NOT the Amazons.

The Risen

Everyone knows of the tale of fallen angels who have succumbed to dark forces, but what of the other? Could a demon, a devil, a damned ascend to something more? She was born a demon but is not defined by her lineage. Her parents are unarguably malevolent but she is not like them. As she has disguised herself and gone into hiding, for the sake of her sanity, her very birth has faded to nothing but a myth. Some, however, know of her existence. Demons consider her an abomination and want her dead. The angelic order are divided on whether she is worthy of their attention or if they should recruit her to help boost their own forces. By trade she is a mercenary and has mortal enemies. Sooner or later there will be a reckoning and realization that not everything is black and white.

Your character= Any fantastical creature or ordinary person
My character= A demon who is on a slow path of redemption/ascension

This is not tied to Christian mythos. When I have played this character before it has been either in a high or low fantasy world, but always with deities that were created with the setting. If you are comfortable taking a lot of liberties with the Christian mythos, we could adapt it, but this works best in a more fantastical setting, such as an alternative Earth-like world in which some magic exists.

Rebirth of Fairytales

It is a world without magic, but it wasn't always this way. If the stories are to be believed, once a witch was able to summon people from another world, and when those people arrived in the kingdoms they developed fantastical powers. They were the heroes and villains of legend, as were their children who had some magic in their blood, and those after them. But the spell was only cast once and so the magical blood has been reduced to nothing in the current day. A king and queen without children or an heir are desperate. The queen, who blames herself for their infertility, researches the blood magic rituals the witch used, and casts the summoning spell with great difficulty and the ultimate sacrifice- her life. She pulls one, two, or more people from Earth to her world, hoping they will be successors to the throne, and save them from the greedy empires on their border.

My character= Preferably a woman from modern-day Earth yanked to this other world
Your character= Either a man also drawn from modern-day Earth, or a person of your choosing in the world in which this takes place

I am totally flexible on what magical powers my and/or your character develop when they are drawn to this other world. The world in which this takes place does not have people with magical abilities save witches who cast blood spells, which have a high cost of literal blood and very little effect.

I am pretty open to most stories as long as they (and the setting) are not horribly tragic. As long as you don't plan to kill off our main characters I am game. Please feel free to reach out to me via private message or on Discord (Syrenrei#3184).

Thank you for reading!