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Tim the Yeti male Member

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STATUS: Roleplaying is temporary, World of Warcraft is eternal. 11 days ago
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Status

Recent Statuses

11 days ago
Current Roleplaying is temporary, World of Warcraft is eternal.
4 likes
1 mo ago
I think Pokemon: Radical Red has got to be my favorite ROM hack ever, even if I'm not good enough to play anything above easy at the moment...
2 likes
1 mo ago
I am both impressed and envious of y'all out here able to keep up with multiple RPs at a time. I have neither the time nor the mental bandwith these days lol
2 likes
1 mo ago
How do you make holy water? You boil the hell out of it!
6 likes
1 mo ago
Bumpin' is the name of the game in these here parts. It ain't much, but it's honest work.
2 likes

Bio

Please take a look at my current interest check here to get an idea for what sort of roleplay I'm seeking at the moment.


As it stands, this bio is a little outdated, I just don't have the heart to get rid of it just yet. Cheers!




Hello and welcome to my all-inclusive interest check! Please come in and have a look over everything I've laid out. I hope to keep this up to date with plots, pairings, and other general bits of roleplaying inspiration.

If anything interests you, I ask that you PM me instead of replying to this thread. I really want to keep this thread looking nice and tidy, and it is incredibly likely that I won't see your reply. PMs are the best way to reach me.

Thank you!

Status: Open and Searching
Current Plot Craving(s):
"An Autumn Wedding"
Current Pairing Craving(s):
P R I N C E ❤ P R I N C E S S



My name is Tim and I'm a 25 year old Male who got hooked on roleplaying around 2009 when Deviant Art chat rooms were a big thing. Since then, I've been in and out of the game, but I've never stopped writing. I'm well out of school now and have entered the general workforce, and on top of my job, I have several hobbies that have been known to demand my attention. But, no matter what happens, I am the sort of person who believes in maintaining an open line of communication with my roleplaying partner(s), and regardless of how busy I can get, I tend to churn out at least a post a day (sometimes two) most of the time, and a post every other day at all other times.

That being said, I recognize that things happen and schedules change. If something is to happen in my life that will draw me away from our roleplay, I will not hesitate to notify you. And I do ask that you offer me the same courtesy.


G E N E R A L P R E F E R E N C E S
★ = optional but strongly desired!

  • High Preference for Romance
  • M/F Romantic Pairings (Female Partner Preferred)
  • Smut
  • Story:Smut Ratio = 60:40 or 70:30
  • High Casual - Advanced (except during scenes with heavy dialogue/action)
  • Multiple Characters1 ★
  • Focus on World Building and Character Relationships
  • Character Sheets ★
  • OOC Planning (Story Arcs, Character Arcs, Villains, Plotting, etc.)
  • General OOC Communication (Discord is Ideal)
  • Monster Girls2 ★ (not furries!)
  • Harem Romance ★★


1 Please note that, while I do ask that my partners are open to playing multiple main characters, I do not expect for the bulk of the roleplaying labor to be placed upon their shoulders. Therefore, on top of playing my main character, I am more than happy to take point when it comes to playing villains and side characters, coming up with story arcs, and the general flow world building. Naturally, I would like for this roleplay to be a collaborative endeavor, but I also want to ensure that my partner doesn't feel as though the burden of storytelling is tipped unfairly.

2 Please ALSO note that my request for monster girls does not mean that I ONLY wish you to play monster girls. To be frank, such a lack in variety would be truly boring and I GLADLY accept more common races such as Humans, Elves, and the like. My request was never meant to replace the standard, but rather to accent it.



G E N R E S

Fantasy || Action || Adventure || Romance

P O T E N T I A L S E T T I N G S

Medieval || Victorian || Steam Punk || Silk Punk || Diesel Punk

(note that all settings take place in an entirely fictional world)


"An Autumn Wedding"


Palara has not seen war in nearly a century – a feat due in no small part to the actions of Queen Anwyn the Wise, the first noble from house Thiria to take the throne, and her diplomatic prowess that secured alliances between nearly all of her country’s neighboring kingdoms. Since then, the Royal Court of Thiria has held ruling power over Palara, and has made use of the peace that followed their first queen’s reign to shift the kingdom’s focus from warfare to knowledge.

With this era of newfound peace upon them, the rulers that followed in Lady Anwyn’s wake have saw to the construction of magnificent universities and great libraries which bolstered the already impressive cities of Palara with their intellectual pursuits. However, when it came time for discovery, researchers looked not to the lands beyond Palaran borders, but instead to the catacombs that lay beneath their feet. For as long as anyone can remember, the maze of crypts and tunnels that expand endlessly downward have remained enshrouded by the unknown.

Who build them?

For what purpose do they serve?

What knowledge is hidden away in their depths?

When at last researchers discovered the answers to these questions while under the reign of the most recent Thirian King, a man named Lord Ifor, they were stricken with regret. For, caught up in the excitement of discovery and intellectual advancement, they carelessly stumbled upon an ancient and powerful force that, if roused, could level the world without much thought or remorse.

Fear gripped Palara as the news of these new and terrible findings reached the surface. Hastily, the house of Thiria tried to bury the secret – only to find their efforts in vain. Rumors escaped through their fingertips and made their way across the lands to allies as well as enemies who, being mortals subject to greed and lust, demanded a share of this “power” without quite realizing what it was that they were asking for.

Needless to say, King Ifor denied all of them, certain that they and their people would be driven to ruin if they were given just a taste of what lurked beneath his kingdom. But his refusal only led to insistence, then accusations of betrayal, and, tragically, declarations of war. Suddenly Palara, a kingdom that had not known warfare in nearly a hundred years, was threatened with annihilation at the hands of people it once saw as friends.

Left with no choice, King Ifor called upon a distant country for aid and, forced to go against his wishes, organized a royal wedding that would secure the bond between them. On his side, a young bachelor prince, the son of the Grand Duke and Duchess of the Thirian court, was offered up for a marriage with their high princess.
W I P

"The Second Coming of the Eternal Shadow"


Long ago, in a time almost beyond memory, a powerful curse blinded the Gods and forced the world into what would come to be known as the First Century of Darkness. Without their sight, the divine could not see the fractures between the realms. And so, Demons slipped through into the mortal realm where, in their lust for bloodshed, they embarked upon great, terrifying conquests filled with death and torment.

Their arrival harkened the birth of a shadow which fed off of mortal suffering and spread throughout the lands. Insatiable, it swallowed up entire provinces, leaving nothing behind but rot and decay.

After just a decade, more than a dozen great empires fell to ruin, and entire races found themselves threatened with extinction.

For a time, it seemed that all was lost.

But then, in the darkest hour, a few mortals rose up to bring hope to the hopeless. On the surface they were simple folk: farmers, merchants, florists, blacksmiths... Nevertheless, they stood in spite of the overwhelming tide of despair and took up arms against the Demons and their masters. Although the odds were against them, they fought. Indeed, many of them perished. Yet, those among them who lived continued to push back against the great shadow, undeterred by the threat of death.

And they were the ones who kept the world from falling completely into the maw of shadow.

In the end, every hero who rose up against the Demons died a gruesome death. Even so, their willingness to stand when no one else could is what kept the waves of darkness back until the sight of the Gods returned and the encroaching shade could be banished once and for all.

Then, in an act of gratitude, the Gods and Mortals came together to erect a magnificent feast hall that was dubbed The Hall of Eternity; which was then transported into the afterlife and given as a gift to the heroes who fought for the people during the First Century of Darkness. There, the heroes were free to eat, drink, and rest until the end of time.

Unless, of course, they were called upon again.

Now, around two millennia have passed since the First Century of the Darkness and the mortal world has largely forgotten about the heroes of old. Certainly there are stories, but written records of that time (and ages that came before it) are scarce.

Stories -- bard songs and fireside tales told by half-blind old nurses to the children in their care -- were some of the only things that endured the years to serve as a vague reminder of what those hundred years were truly like.

And for a time, the myths and legends were satisfactory.

That is, until the Gods fell silent once more. All of a sudden, prayers went unanswered, holy warriors lost their blessings, and century-old pacts between the divine and their loyal servants were severed. Without warning, the very presence of the Gods vanished behind their ancient temple doors, and try as they might, no mortal could budge them to see where their beloved deities had gone to.

Despair settled across the lands.

Then, three great storms erupted in the corners of the world. These unnatural tempests tore through the kingdoms of mortals, bringing with them obtuse weather patterns that threw the very seasons off of their normal cycle. Crop fields flooded. Thunderstorms split ancient trees in twain. And blizzards raged through the southern plains.

Naturally, the Demons showed themselves not long after -- taking advantage, yet again, of the ever-growing fractures between the realms to slip through and resume their crusade for mortal bloodshed.

But neither storms nor Demons could compare to the most unexpected threat that would arise from the Silence of the Gods:

The Iron King.

For it was he, a mere mortal, who would drag the world down into another Century of Darkness. By his own hand, he fed the eternal shadow. Beneath his fist he crushed the provinces that once saw the birth of great heroes. And at his word, he was deemed the One True God of Man, and those who did not bow to his name were executed as heretics.

Fifty years passed, and no one rose against the darkness.

Truly it began to seem that the Iron King was immortal. With each passing day, his empire grew. Monolithic gateways between the realms were erected atop the bodies of slaves. More and more Demons poured into the land, ravaging it to the brink of annihilation. Those who did not bow were slain. Those who were not slain were drained and slaughtered. And those who fled were parted from their flesh by the winds of the tempests.

All seemed lost.

But a small sisterhood, working in secret, took it upon themselves to call for help from the Hall of Eternity using a circle of ancient, forbidden magic. And Ulios, the God of the Hall sent them a hero.

Just one.

A gentle-faced man with mahogany eyes and a honey-toned voice. His name was Sir Benedict. But the stories called him Gentle Ben. Certainly with a title such as that, he was ill prepared to vanquish anything -- let alone face the Iron King.

But the deed was done, and the circle was spent. The sisterhood, having used up the last of their magic, was then left with no choice but to trust Ulios' judgement and accept that this simple man was to be their hero.

"The Price of a Wish"


Once, a great many centuries ago, there was a family of faeries who had the ability to grant a mortal any wish that they desired in exchange for a single precious memory. With such a potent magic at their fingertips, they were often sought out by tenacious humans who desired fame, fortune, and power of their own. As such, over the years, the faeries granted hundreds of wishes; and in the process great heroes were born, terrible tyrants rose to power, and bizarre fauna were crafted from the fantasies of mundane folk looking to escape their simple lives.

Yet, although satisfied with their ever-growing collection of memories, the fae grew tired of the pestering and desired nothing more than to be left alone.

So one day, they vanished.

Unsurprisingly, most humans, fickle as they were, forgot about the wish-granting faeries within just a couple of generations. But, there were those who remembered; and who, determined to a fault, continued to seek the fae out – for they and their wishes would not be denied.

Then, over the next decade, each member of the faerie family was hunted down and forced to grant wish after wish for the insatiable, greedy humans who would go on to birth an empire so great and so terrible that the sun never set on its sprawling kingdom. And the fae, pushed to their very limit, perished at the hands of these mortals until only one was left – the old grandmother who managed to escape thanks to the help of a few kind souls. Alone, she fled into the wilderness where, although back in touch with the mothers of nature, she collapsed just off of an old abandoned road where a young, kind faced boy happened to be passing by humming an old folk tune to himself.

Desperate for a drink of water, the old fae overcame her distrust and asked the young human for help. The boy stopped and looked to helpless woman. He did not know the stories of their wish-granting powers, for they had well enough faded from mortal memory. No, the boy only saw a gentle old woman in need of help, so he quickly reached for his pouch and handed her his water sack. She thanked him and drank, but it was not enough.

The old fae was going to die.

Realizing her demise was close at hand, the old woman beckoned the boy close and decided that, for his simple act of kindness to a stranger, she would pass her wish-granting powers on to him – though this had never been done before and, certainly, she was not sure how they would manifest within a mortal. Nevertheless, in her final moments, the old faerie placed a kiss upon the boy’s forehead and died.

All of a sudden, the boy felt the great old magic begin to flow through him. In that moment he knew, but could not explain how, that he had been given the ability to do great things. And so he looked to the tall, obelisk-like towers of the empire that had, for his entire life, enslaved his father, whipped his mother, and starved his friends and he wished for the power to stop the pain once and for all.

Then, just like that, a memory slipped away (a mundane memory, to be exact, for the wish-granting powers work quite differently in the hands of a mortal), and the boy’s mind was flooded with skill and knowledge that he had never before imagined. At once, the boy knew how to hold a sword and how to fight; he knew how to maneuver through the midst of a battlefield and how to beat opponents twice his size; he knew how to inspire people and raise entire armies out of farmers and countrymen.

The boy knew how to be a hero, so that is what he became.

Although he was just a child, he, armed with the wish-granting magic, went on to inspire and lead a revolution against the tyrannical kings in a war which ended in liberation. And with the empire defeated, the boy was celebrated for the amazing things that he had done, and the world slipped into a brief, quiet age of peace.

But the boy’s mind could not rest. His head buzzed with the magic of the fae and his body, having been granted amazing skills, wondrous gifts, and terrible magics, would not calm. He yearned for another taste of fame and recognition, yet no evils rose for him to conquer.

So, the boy closed his eyes and wished – and out of his wish came a great and terrible dragon which burned entire villages, wiped out vast fields of livestock, and slaughtered innocents all across the countryside.

Suddenly, the boy was needed once again.

He sprung into action, defeated the dragon, and found himself showered in praise, gifts, and political influence once more. But then it was only a matter of time before boredom struck and the boy felt compelled to give up more of his memories for more opportunities to be seen as a hero.

The cycle continued until the boy became a man. Every so often, a new monster or demon or tyrant would rise out of the blue, and the hero would step in and save the people. Sometimes, the boy would accidentally wish for a creature that he could not defeat. But more wishes easily fixed that problem. In time, the people ran out of ways to thank their savior.

Yet it was never enough for the boy, who continued to fill the world with darker and more twisted monstrosities for him to face off against. After a while, he stopped craving the fame and began to crave a challenge. But when even that no longer became satisfying enough, the selfish, impulsive “hero” began to make wishes just to cater to his own passing whims.

The world fell into chaos, and people quickly learned who was responsible. In their eyes, the young man stopped being a hero, and instead became a plague. He was shunned at first, but the didn’t stop the wishes. Then, they begged him to relent. Nevertheless, he continued. So, faced with the torment being unleashed upon their lands, a coalition of kings and queens conspired to have him assassinated.

The silent mercenary attacked the once famed hero as he slept. But he awoke and killed his assailant. Then the young man fled deeper into the forests, away from the society that now hated him, and compulsively wished himself down to only a handful of memories.

In the end, the boy, now a man, wished away almost all of his memories and awoke in the middle of a dark and sinister wood with nothing but the face of his mother lingering in his mind. Knowing not even his name, the young man made a small home for himself in the trunk of an enormous old oak. And it was there that he lived alone and afraid, because every so often a stranger would come to his door and try to kill him, and he never knew why.

But what if, instead of trying to harm the young man, someone recognized that he was no longer the impulsive, sadistic fool that had wished the world into turmoil, but rather a frightened and confused man who wanted nothing more than to know compassion?

Perhaps, then, something worthwhile could be done to heal the discord.
W I P



P R I N C E ❤ P R I N C E S S
C O M M O N E R ❤ P R I N C E S S
K N I G H T ❤ P R I N C E S S
A S S A S S I N ❤ P R I N C E S S
P R I N C E ❤ V A M P I R E S S
K N I G H T ❤ V A M P I R E S S
G U N S L I N G E R ❤ V A M P I R E S S
H U N T E R ❤ V A M P I R E S S
V A M P I R E ❤ V A M P I R E S S
C O M M O N E R ❤ A N G E L
C O M M O N E R ❤ D E M O N E S S

F I N .

Most Recent Posts

In Meow~! → 5 yrs ago Forum: Introduce Yourself
Welcome to the guild! Enjoy your stay :)
In The Second Coming of the Eternal Shadow [MxF] → 5 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
Bump~
In FEMALE [18+] looking for WELCOMES → 5 yrs ago Forum: Introduce Yourself
Welcome back!
In The Second Coming of the Eternal Shadow [MxF] → 5 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
Bump!
In The Second Coming of the Eternal Shadow [MxF] → 5 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
"Saruman believes it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. I found it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keeps the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps because I am afraid. And he gives me courage."
Gandalf


*******

Long ago the world entered a century of darkness -- a time where the Gods themselves had been blinded by a powerful curse, rendering them incapable of recognizing or fighting against the evil that had seeped into their lands. And without them monitoring the borders between the realms, Demons managed to slip into the mortal world where they embarked upon a conquest of death and torment. Then, over the course of several years, an evil shadow was birthed. Insatiable, it spread throughout the lands, swallowing up village after village, town after town, and city after city in an attempt to satisfy its hunger. But nothing could fulfill it. And so, after just a decade of darkness, more than a dozen great empires and kingdoms had been brought to ruin, and entire races of people found themselves threatened by an untimely extinction.

But, when faced with the overwhelming tide of evil, there were some who rose up against it; simple folk who took up sword and shield and fought valiantly against the Demons that threatened their homes. And yet when their companions perished next to them, these heroes continued to fight, undaunted by the prospect of death. For, even if they only managed to save one village, or one family, or one innocent life, then all their effort was worth it.

In the end, every hero who rose up against the Demons died a gruesome death. Nevertheless, their willingness to stand when no one else could saved the land from the tides of darkness until the sight of the Gods returned. Then, the encroaching shadow was banished, and every fallen warrior was recognized for their heroism by being immortalized in the Halls of Eternity where they were free to eat, drink, and rest until the end of time -- unless, of course, they were called upon again.

The stories that reflect upon the first hundred years of darkness tell of a knight called Sir Benedict.



Sir Benedict was a hero who become known not for slaying Demons and winning wars. In fact, the stories say that he seldom even drew his sword. No, Sir Benedict, called Gentle Ben by all who knew him, is said to have fought the shadow's tide with small acts of day-to-day kindness and compassion. In this way, he won the favor of the people and the gods, for he sought to bring hope to the hopeless.

Yet even so, like all the rest of the heroes, he was killed.

But, for his actions, Gentle Ben was brought to the Halls of Eternity, where he rested for the period of two thousand years that followed the first century of darkness.

In that time, the world has changed greatly. Kingdoms rose and fell. Wars burned through the lands. And entire empires fizzled out, unable to withstand the test of time. But these were all actions of mortals that were to be expected, and no Demons had shown themselves since the Gods regained their sight.

Until now.

It started when the Gods fell silent. Prayers went unanswered, holy warriors lost their blessings, and any trace of divine presence vanished behind the locked doors and within ancient temples.

Then, after a year of eerie silence, the storms began. Great, unnatural tempests erupted in all corners of the world and tore their way through the mortal kingdoms, bringing endless snow to the southern plains and devastating thunderstorms to the northern mountain ranges. Naturally, Demons showed themselves soon after. But even they and the storms were nothing compared to the rise of the Iron King. No one could have foreseen that the next century of darkness would come at the hands of a man whose rule suddenly swept across the greatest continent and threatened to spread outwards even further.

After nearly half a century into the second coming of the great shadow, no heroes rose to oppose the Demons or the Iron King.

So, a small sisterhood took it upon themselves to call for help from the Halls of Eternity, hoping to be blessed with a great hero who would vanquish the cruel king and send the Demons back to the pits from which they came.

However, instead of a great warrior, the God of the Hall saw fit to send Gentle Ben, a kind-faced man who looked ill-prepared to vanquish anything. But the deed was done and the circle was spent. And with the Iron King's spies breathing down their necks, the sisterhood had little choice but to trust the judgement of the Gods and accept that this simple man would be their hero.



*******

If you're reading this, I'm hoping that you made it through my initial scene-setting post up above. If so, thank you! Now, it goes without saying that I'm looking for someone to play through the scenario above with me.

I...
  • Am a 25 year-old Male
  • Am an experienced longform roleplayer looking for similarly experienced longform roleplayers
  • Have a job, so I understand how it is to be busy and unable to post sometimes
    • However! I expect you to be respectful! If you are going to disappear for a while, that's fine, but please let me know.
    • Also, if you don't think you can manage at least a post or two a day, I don't think I'm the roleplay partner for you. I tend to lose interest if the story doesn't progress at a decent enough pace.

Preferably this roleplay will have...
  • A MxF pairing
  • Themes of Romance, Action, and Adventure
  • Around a 60:40 Story:Smut Ratio -- I don't mind smut at all, I would just rather develop the relationship between the characters first before anything sexual happens.
  • A focus on story and world-building
  • A focus on longer posts with much detail and a decent flow
    • However, during moments of fast-paced combat or dialogue, I don't expect either of us to force out a paragraph or more. That's just silly. I recognize that there are times when shorter posts are better.

I'd also prefer it if...
  • You are okay with playing multiple characters.
  • You are find with monster-girls (NOT furries, sorry)
  • You are comfortable with a harem romance (BIG bonus if you're okay with this)
  • You would like to chat and get to know one another outside of roleplaying (I almost would like to make this a requirement because it's so much better for the writing chemistry if we are familiar with one another as people)
  • You are okay with using Discord to roleplay/communicate. I understand chatroom-based roleplaying is not for everyone, and Discord does have that annoying 2,000 character limit. I just find that roleplays tend to flow better when done in a chatroom. If not, I'm more than happy to use the RPG PM's to do our posting.

Should you feel like we would be a good match for a roleplay, please shoot me a PM with your credentials. Also, to show me that you've read through this, please include in your message the secret word that I've hidden throughout this post (hint: it's a five letter word that's been scrambled), and be prepared to provide me with a writing sample so that I can ensure that we are compatible.

I hope to hear from you!

Cheers!
In Come and sit a spell → 6 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
@raleighallynn
I'm really interested in Brats with Tats. Shall we PM to discuss it further?
In Sparks from the Blacksmith's Hammer → 7 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Blood seeped from the wound in his leg. Arter pushed himself up and dragged his way toward the tree. He leaned against its base and examined the arrow protruding from his thigh. Even the slightest touch upon the shaft sent waves of pain through his body. He gritted his teeth, knowing he could not remain there for long.

The forest was filled with noise as animals fled the oncoming violence. Footsteps echoed in the foliage around the blacksmith. It would be now or never, thought he. With one hand still clinging to his sword, he gripped the shaft of the arrow with the other. Pain coursed through him. He took a breath, held it, and pulled with all his might.

Just as the arrow was wrenched free of his flesh, he heard shouting in the distance. He froze, holding the red stained arrow aloft, allowing it to drip onto the dirt. The footsteps paused. Arter felt his breath stop, attributing to the silence of the forest that surrounded him.

*****

Meanwhile, one of the archers took pause. His fallen comrade lay at his feet with an arrow protruding from his neck. The man clenched his fist, notched an arrow, and held it in the direction of the source — the woman that stood before him. Through gritted teeth he called to his men.

“Find the smith and kill him,” he said, glaring down at his adversary. “I will remain behind and deal with the meddler.”

With those words, he let an arrow fly. No sooner had the fletchings brushed against his knuckles did the man reach for another arrow. He knew in his heart this would be the end of this. If it meant the success of the mission, however, death was a small, impermanent, price to pay.

“I embrace death,” he said, his second arrow at the ready. “Do your worst.”

*****

Arter heard the footsteps begin again, this time faster. They approached him on all sides. He swore and threw down the arrow he held in his hand. Bracing himself against the tree, the blacksmith struggled to push himself to his feet. Just as he stood, however, an archer burst through the foliage and shot an arrow in his direction.

Be it fate or luck, Arter moved just in time to avoid death — the arrow sunk itself into the wood of the tree just an inch from his throat. His enemy drew another arrow. With nothing else to do, the blacksmith hurled his blade at the man, catching him with the blunt end of the weapon and knocking him down. Then, he dove for the forest once more. He held one hand over the wound in his thigh while he hobbled between trees and around bushes.

The oncoming footsteps surrounded him again. He knew well that he wouldn’t survive another encounter.
In Sparks from the Blacksmith's Hammer → 7 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Arter awoke to the sound of birds chirping just outside his window, harkening the first day of spring. The thought made him smile as he sat up and stretched. A few warm beams of light, like strings to a harp, streamed through the cracks between the wooden blinds at the window. The smell of morning dew wafted about the room with a cooling breeze.

As Arter dressed himself, taking care to button each button of his shirt, he thought that today would be a grand day. He imagined the projects he had in store for him as he grabbed a loaf of bread from the cabinet and a slice of cheese to go with it. All the doors and shutters to the house were thrown open to allow the forest air to permeate through the cottage. With one hand, the young smith ate his breakfast, sliced bread and cheddar, while with the other he hauled open the portal that separated his smithy from his home.

The coals in the forge were still warm, and it took but a few pumps of the blower to wake the fire once again. Arter finished off the last of his meal and donned his apron. He threw a hunk of metal into the coals and listened to the sizzle of heat on steel as he opened his shop to the outside. Water-glazed, green grass and full trees met his gaze while he looked about the small clearing that contained his cottage. The man stood just outside of his home and drew in several breaths of fresh air as it swept in from the mountains to the west.

Sunlight, flickering between the clouds above, caused the shadows of leaves to dance along the ground. Arter entered his smithy and, with the light of the forge at his back, began to work. He hummed between strokes of his hammer, and thought of the crackle of the fire as added percussion to his one-man symphony while he, both the strings and the bass drum, worked away on the anvil.

Arter continued this trend for several hours. Soon, the morning waned and the smith had turned several hunks of metal into the shape of blades — albeit ones that still required shining, sharpening, and hilts. Even so, the man, proud of his work, found it time for a break. It was around noon when he paused for lunch. As he stood from his seat at the anvil, the sound of twigs snapping met his ears, and he froze in place, his head jerking to look in the direction of the unusual noise. All at once, the forest seemed to fall into silence.

What sort of creature would be large enough to make such a sound, thought he. No bears or wolves came near his cottage, and squirrels certainly did not carry the weight to snap a branch in that manner. Arter could only assume that someone had come to his home seeking his employ. But, if that were the case, why would they not use the road? Out of the corner of his eye, Arter spied his sword resting against a leg of his workstation. He pondered calling out first, in hopes of startling the stranger in the woods into coming forth. The smith even tried to convince himself that he were imagining things. In the end, however, fear got the better of the smith and he reached for his sword.

No sooner did he move his arm, but there was a loud thwick, like the snapping of a bowstring, and an arrow soared from the darkness between the trees and planted itself deep in the wooden surface of Arter’s work table.

At first, the smith froze. A misunderstanding perhaps? No. Adrenalin pumped through his veins and he seized his sword before turning and heading for his home. Two more arrows followed him and stuck in the doorway to his living room just moments after he passed it. Home was no longer safe, thought he. Arter bolted from his house and ran for the forest.

Trees passed him in a blur. Heavy footsteps followed him. The archer that sought him was not alone, though it was impossible to tell exactly how many pursued him. The sounds they made echoed off the trees as they shouted between one another.

“Cut him off!”

“On your left!”

“Aim for his legs!”

“Between those trees!”

Arter did not dare look over his shoulder. Any pause in his pace could spell the end for him. Even still, his legs already ached from running, and his breath soon grew ragged. Sweat collected in his palms and made it difficult to grasp his sword — not that it would be much help anyhow. An arrow whizzed by his head. Arter heard the archer that fired it swear loudly. He could hear his own blood pumping in his ears.

Just a little further, thought he. Then, an arrow landed. It sunk itself into his thigh and the sudden pain caused the blacksmith to trip and collapse into the underbrush, skidding to a stop at the foot of a great oak tree. Arter gripped his sword as he listened for approaching footsteps.

So this is to be the end.
In Sparks from the Blacksmith's Hammer → 7 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Name: Arter
Age: 27
Race: Human
Sex: Male

Physical Appearance: Arter stands around 5’10”, has pale skin, dark brown hair, and a slender figure. His eyes are deep blue, and he has a youthful face that betrays his skill as a blacksmith.
Clothing: Typically, Arter wears nothing more than his smithing garb — a white button up, black slacks, boots, gloves, and a darkly colored apron.
Equipment: Nothing. All of his smithing gear is kept at his home.
Weaponry: Arter carries a copper short sword that he has never had to use.

Backstory: Arter grew up in the city and learned the smithing trade from his father when he was quite young. His love of the forge grew until he was old enough to take over the business. A few years later, Arter’s father fell ill and passed away, and he decided the city life was no longer to his taste. From then on, with his mother’s blessing, Arter moved out to live in the forest alone, where he would practice his craft alone, only ever making the trip to the city when it was time to sell his wares.
In Sparks from the Blacksmith's Hammer → 7 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Roleplay


Magic has faded, and the forests are fighting back. Folk who once lived among the trees have fled toward the mountains, leaving the ruins of their once proud cities to be overcome by the rapidly encroaching wood. Now, rather than brave the dangers of walking on foot, airships have taken to the sky, and there are cities that float among the clouds, traveling over vast distances from mountain to mountain like great vessels.

Even still, there are some who cling to the old ways — refusing to believe that the ancient magics to be dead. These sorcerers harness their power through unnatural means, drawing from the blood of others and themselves to fuel crude and misshapen magic. Though it cannot compare to the magic that stemmed from the nature of the world, it remains a decent substitute for those who see no harm in tapping into the horrors of the dark arcane.

For a time, these folk were seen as loons to the masses — until war struck and rulers sought them out as tools for battle. Now, in the wake of a conflict that razed cities and brought floating castles crashing to the ground, these false magicians have found favor among the elites, and enjoy lives of luxury with ample time to study further their twisted arts.

However, with favor comes expectation, and these sorcerers and their benefactors have become disenchanted with the limits of their power. Though great, they know well they will never be as great as the mages of old. It has come time to seek to renew the magic of the forests, and already there are those who have sensed the flicker of an old flame — one that has the potential to become a raging fire once again.

In the hunt for the spark of ancient magic, no one expected the source to be a mere man; a blacksmith living alone among the forest, who has no idea the power that rests within his very being.

He whistles as he works, unaware of the claws lurking in the darkness, waiting to snatch him from his quiet life.
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