Interested! This looks like great fun.
WanderBug Member
- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 217 (0.06 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- WanderBug 10 yrs ago
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
I've been RPing for about 10 years on and off, and I secretly want to be a writer. I'm a casual/advance RPer with a distaste for character sheets and extensive templating. I just want to write well with others.
Creative collaboration brings me so much joy, so please don't hesitate to message me if you're interested in telling a story together!
Currently in: San Francisco
Creative collaboration brings me so much joy, so please don't hesitate to message me if you're interested in telling a story together!
Currently in: San Francisco
Most Recent Posts
At the mention of Estelle, she laughed, ”I wish I could have seen that! ‘Stell is a tough one, and I’ve not gotten near her just yet—and of course you both can come. I’d appreciate the company."
Esme paused and grinned devilishly at Trill, “and I do mean the Rivers. I understand the sentiment, and that only makes being on the other side a more interesting affair. I’ll be sure to keep an eye on the on the seasonal attire and report back.”
She lifted herself up and stood, peeking up at the sky. At midday, the sun was still high in and would remain there for many hours before dusk came. It was the middle of summer, which meant the days were long and the nights short.
“I’ll be gathering some things from my room, and I can meet you at the south exit when you’re ready.”
Esme waved goodbye and continued to her quarters, located in the west wing of the university. It was a quieter, greener place, brushing right next to the forests that surrounded the academy. It seemed located in a world of its own, despite being an half an hour ride from Meridell.
When she first arrived, she wondered about the practicality of having a university, so boastful of its teachings and training methods, feeling so isolated from the world outside. Though there were much faster ways to get to and from locations than horseback, public transportation portals being an option, the idea of isolating yourself for learning was an romantic ideal meant for philosophizers and academics—not fighters.
Though Artemis would disagree, she mused.
She followed the cobbled road to to an old brick building, ivy and vines creeping up its walls. The wild would have devoured it long ago, but it was so old, and so enchanted, that it had practically developed a spirit of its own. One of the wooden doors acquiesced under the push of her palm, lined with her magic signature. Her quarters were modest, and she made a beeline towards her bedroom in the back. Various vials lay askew on her bedstead, and she grabbed them all, tucking them away in her leather satchel which lay at the foot of her bed. She opened the closet at the corner, and unlocked the chest that lay at the bottom—there were her weapons and valuables, which she meticulously arranged on her character; dagger in her boot, needles in the lining of her belt, and an medium sized axe strapped into the holster on her back, the only visible weapon she had. It was always put her mind in a steady place, slotting her weapons exactly where they belonged.
With satchel tucked on her shoulder, she gave one last look at her room, before turning to leave the building.
Her horse was at the west stables, near the exit, but the fasted exit to Meridell was the south. She walked quickly to the west stables and found her steed, a 5 year old horse that only responded to “carrot”.
“Dull witted as always,” Esme mumbled, giving it a quick, rough pat on the mane. She led the horse out by the reigns, and pulled herself upright on its saddle. After a quick readjustment on the seat, she nudged the side of the horse, and was sent galloping to the south exit.
Esme paused and grinned devilishly at Trill, “and I do mean the Rivers. I understand the sentiment, and that only makes being on the other side a more interesting affair. I’ll be sure to keep an eye on the on the seasonal attire and report back.”
She lifted herself up and stood, peeking up at the sky. At midday, the sun was still high in and would remain there for many hours before dusk came. It was the middle of summer, which meant the days were long and the nights short.
“I’ll be gathering some things from my room, and I can meet you at the south exit when you’re ready.”
Esme waved goodbye and continued to her quarters, located in the west wing of the university. It was a quieter, greener place, brushing right next to the forests that surrounded the academy. It seemed located in a world of its own, despite being an half an hour ride from Meridell.
When she first arrived, she wondered about the practicality of having a university, so boastful of its teachings and training methods, feeling so isolated from the world outside. Though there were much faster ways to get to and from locations than horseback, public transportation portals being an option, the idea of isolating yourself for learning was an romantic ideal meant for philosophizers and academics—not fighters.
Though Artemis would disagree, she mused.
She followed the cobbled road to to an old brick building, ivy and vines creeping up its walls. The wild would have devoured it long ago, but it was so old, and so enchanted, that it had practically developed a spirit of its own. One of the wooden doors acquiesced under the push of her palm, lined with her magic signature. Her quarters were modest, and she made a beeline towards her bedroom in the back. Various vials lay askew on her bedstead, and she grabbed them all, tucking them away in her leather satchel which lay at the foot of her bed. She opened the closet at the corner, and unlocked the chest that lay at the bottom—there were her weapons and valuables, which she meticulously arranged on her character; dagger in her boot, needles in the lining of her belt, and an medium sized axe strapped into the holster on her back, the only visible weapon she had. It was always put her mind in a steady place, slotting her weapons exactly where they belonged.
With satchel tucked on her shoulder, she gave one last look at her room, before turning to leave the building.
Her horse was at the west stables, near the exit, but the fasted exit to Meridell was the south. She walked quickly to the west stables and found her steed, a 5 year old horse that only responded to “carrot”.
“Dull witted as always,” Esme mumbled, giving it a quick, rough pat on the mane. She led the horse out by the reigns, and pulled herself upright on its saddle. After a quick readjustment on the seat, she nudged the side of the horse, and was sent galloping to the south exit.
Yup! Must be pretty common for fighters ;)
Excited to learn more about the history of the characters! and to see where this whole journey will take us.
Excited to learn more about the history of the characters! and to see where this whole journey will take us.
She ventured into the main courtyard of the academy, a large open space with green grass with a few clustered trees. Sunlight shone on her cheek as she walked out of the roofed hallway, held up by high marble columns. Suddenly her coat was a little too warm, and as she walked, beads of sweat gathered at the back of her neck.
People lay scattered around the courtyard, some laying leisurely in the sun, some showing off their combat skills to their dis-interested friends. It was a nice day, but she felt no need to bask in it. She spent most of her time either in the city, bantering with Artemis, or on missions, and put little effort in creating friendships at the university. It wasn’t a surprise. She was here to get her training finished and become a diplomat of the Kingdom—that was it.
“Hey! Where’re you off to?"
A familiar voice. A figure, Mira, waved to her from beneath a tree, speckles of shade cast on her and the person beside her—Trill? Trill. Not a chosen, but pleasant enough. Though she didn’t have many bard friends; they were a little too romantic to be around for more than a couple hours. She stopped walking and moved to sit at the corner of the path, where the stone floor stepped down into grass.
“Hey, you two,” she flashed a pleasant smile and settled into a comfortable sitting position, “I’m heading to the city to some shopping, then a party in the evening.” which was actually a mission, but she said nothing of it. The Rivers was a noble house in the city, and Esme had been cordially invited to the birthday party of the eldest son out of pure luck. The family was renowned for being disgustingly exclusive, but she’d encountered the boy’s uncle at a bar, where she challenged him to a drinking contest. She won.
“It’s a beautiful day today; perfect weather for a horseback ride to the inner city. Or laying in the grass, soaking up the sunshine. They’re well deserved pleasures.” She resisted tugging at her neck collar. It was too hot, now.
”How're you doing? It’s not much longer before we complete training."
People lay scattered around the courtyard, some laying leisurely in the sun, some showing off their combat skills to their dis-interested friends. It was a nice day, but she felt no need to bask in it. She spent most of her time either in the city, bantering with Artemis, or on missions, and put little effort in creating friendships at the university. It wasn’t a surprise. She was here to get her training finished and become a diplomat of the Kingdom—that was it.
“Hey! Where’re you off to?"
A familiar voice. A figure, Mira, waved to her from beneath a tree, speckles of shade cast on her and the person beside her—Trill? Trill. Not a chosen, but pleasant enough. Though she didn’t have many bard friends; they were a little too romantic to be around for more than a couple hours. She stopped walking and moved to sit at the corner of the path, where the stone floor stepped down into grass.
“Hey, you two,” she flashed a pleasant smile and settled into a comfortable sitting position, “I’m heading to the city to some shopping, then a party in the evening.” which was actually a mission, but she said nothing of it. The Rivers was a noble house in the city, and Esme had been cordially invited to the birthday party of the eldest son out of pure luck. The family was renowned for being disgustingly exclusive, but she’d encountered the boy’s uncle at a bar, where she challenged him to a drinking contest. She won.
“It’s a beautiful day today; perfect weather for a horseback ride to the inner city. Or laying in the grass, soaking up the sunshine. They’re well deserved pleasures.” She resisted tugging at her neck collar. It was too hot, now.
”How're you doing? It’s not much longer before we complete training."
Esmé Aziz Rafiq
The Guiding Light
Name:
Esmérelda Aziz Rafiq
Age:
29
Gender:
Female
Appearance:
At 6’ 1’’, Esme is tall and built. She has dark skin, light brown eyes, and short hair. There’s a long scar etched on the left side of her face and a mole on the right corner of her mouth. With her handsome and tall build, she stands out in a crowd. Esme is very often mistaken for a man, but uses it to her advantage when necessary, flipping back and forth between a feminine and masculine appearance during subterfuge missions. She wears heavily enchanted civilian clothes to be less suspect.
Skill(s):
Dark magic affinity, illusion focused. Her fighting specialty is in stealth and infiltration, but holds her own well with an axe. A skilled diplomatic figure.
The temple was a massive structure, supported by columns and walls. Softened and weathered with time, its marble body stood no longer as a haughty creation of Man, but a being rightly claimed by nature. Canals filled with idle water ran on either side of the room and converged to an elevated platform. Orbs of light hung in the air, like ornaments on a tree, that were made of a pure, blue light.
On the platform sat a figure swathed in drapes of swirling patterns. They were dwarfed by the grandiosity of the temple, but sat with a comfortable poise. With their legs folded beneath them, hands on their lap, they were completely still as the water, the orbs, the air. Waiting.
The sharp sound of a chime. One of the orbs began to pulsate, and the figure opened its eyes sharply—an intense gleam that reflected the light. A flash to the left. Then right. Left again.
One by one, the orbs began to dim and glow in quick succession. The entire temple lit up in a silent symphony of light. The figure traced the movement of the orb closest to them. It bobbed up and down in time with its light patterns, the only one to exhibit any movement. It jerked to the right and bumped into another, the collision creating a fierce flash. The figure flinched and lowered the rim of their hood, narrowed eyes locked onto the orb. It jerked around a bit more, excited and unsure, before it drifted in front of the sitting figure. It floated gently downwards, flashing all the while, and as it touched the ground, the other lights that filled up the room extinguished in a final flash.
The only light within the entire temple came only from the orb, but it had taken on a changed form; it looked like a glass ball now, emanating a constant light rather than being composed of it. The figure hovered a hand over the orb that rested at their knees, with long, silken sleeves dripping to the ground.
A swipe of the hand—
and the final light was extinguished, swallowing the temple in darkness.
“That’s beside the point. What matters is the application of it—the power and scope of it would be unprecedented!”
“It’s precisely then that such application requires unprecedented care."
Two people sat across from another separated by an oaken table, neatly arranged compared with the rest of the small room; colorful knick-knacks peppered the shelves and books were stacked in every crevice. One had a handsome, androgynous face and leaned forward with an arm perched onto the wooden tabletop; while the other was old and gaunt, with his back to the chair and arms crossed. They stared at each other, ignoring the soft ticking from somewhere in the room.
The androgynous figure knocked her fist on the oaken counter top in frustration, a dull noise lost amidst the intensity, “Everything has consequences. And what about the implications of not applying a new magical technique? We’ll run ourselves to our grave with only talk."
“Ah, Esme—but you're asking the right questions,” the old man said with a mischievous lilt, “that’s already half of the work needed to be done."
Esme froze a moment before leaning back into the oaken seat with a shake of her head. The man in front of her smiled in return and they sat quietly, the sound of a clock ticking dominating the silence.
“Arty,” she said, “once I do come up with a way to make this revolutionary, surely fantastical application of magic succeed, I definitely won’t come to you."
“I have no doubt,” Artemis replied. He picked up the pipe that had been resting on the table, wispy curls of smoke rising from the intricate piece, and took a deep inhale.
Esme watched him exhale, something like an old dragon, thick smoke hinting at churning embers somewhere she couldn’t see. She’d found herself enjoying his company more and more from when she first met him; they got along like friends for whom time had no cutting edge. She respected his honesty and intellect, always pushing her to look beyond what she could see. He admired her blazing charisma and quiet thoughtfulness, a combination he had encountered in very few people throughout his life.
They met while Esme had been searching for her hero advisor, something that all “heroes” were required to do as a part of their training package. The boring, patronizing, and crazy options—she’d sat through them all and decided that she was going to go mad before completing her training—then she met Artemis, a fiercely respected intellectual within the dark magic department.
Esme patted the armrest of her chair and pushed herself to stand, “Well, I’m heading out now. I’ve got to wrap up this mission before the day ends. It’s always a pleasure to see you, Arty."
"A few more before your final one, correct? And stop calling me that.” Artemis rolled his eyes, and took another inhale of his pipe.
“That’s right. I’ll be out of here soon, though perhaps not saving the world, as everyone else is convinced I’ll be doing.” She grabbed her brown coat at the hanger near the entrance and pushed down on the metal handle of the door.
“Goodbye, Esme. I expect nothing less than magical application the world desperately needs the the next time you roll around."
“I know you’ll make do with whatever I bring,” She laughed and pulled the handle behind her, the door sliding snuggly into its frame with a firm thud.
On the platform sat a figure swathed in drapes of swirling patterns. They were dwarfed by the grandiosity of the temple, but sat with a comfortable poise. With their legs folded beneath them, hands on their lap, they were completely still as the water, the orbs, the air. Waiting.
The sharp sound of a chime. One of the orbs began to pulsate, and the figure opened its eyes sharply—an intense gleam that reflected the light. A flash to the left. Then right. Left again.
One by one, the orbs began to dim and glow in quick succession. The entire temple lit up in a silent symphony of light. The figure traced the movement of the orb closest to them. It bobbed up and down in time with its light patterns, the only one to exhibit any movement. It jerked to the right and bumped into another, the collision creating a fierce flash. The figure flinched and lowered the rim of their hood, narrowed eyes locked onto the orb. It jerked around a bit more, excited and unsure, before it drifted in front of the sitting figure. It floated gently downwards, flashing all the while, and as it touched the ground, the other lights that filled up the room extinguished in a final flash.
The only light within the entire temple came only from the orb, but it had taken on a changed form; it looked like a glass ball now, emanating a constant light rather than being composed of it. The figure hovered a hand over the orb that rested at their knees, with long, silken sleeves dripping to the ground.
A swipe of the hand—
and the final light was extinguished, swallowing the temple in darkness.
“That’s beside the point. What matters is the application of it—the power and scope of it would be unprecedented!”
“It’s precisely then that such application requires unprecedented care."
Two people sat across from another separated by an oaken table, neatly arranged compared with the rest of the small room; colorful knick-knacks peppered the shelves and books were stacked in every crevice. One had a handsome, androgynous face and leaned forward with an arm perched onto the wooden tabletop; while the other was old and gaunt, with his back to the chair and arms crossed. They stared at each other, ignoring the soft ticking from somewhere in the room.
The androgynous figure knocked her fist on the oaken counter top in frustration, a dull noise lost amidst the intensity, “Everything has consequences. And what about the implications of not applying a new magical technique? We’ll run ourselves to our grave with only talk."
“Ah, Esme—but you're asking the right questions,” the old man said with a mischievous lilt, “that’s already half of the work needed to be done."
Esme froze a moment before leaning back into the oaken seat with a shake of her head. The man in front of her smiled in return and they sat quietly, the sound of a clock ticking dominating the silence.
“Arty,” she said, “once I do come up with a way to make this revolutionary, surely fantastical application of magic succeed, I definitely won’t come to you."
“I have no doubt,” Artemis replied. He picked up the pipe that had been resting on the table, wispy curls of smoke rising from the intricate piece, and took a deep inhale.
Esme watched him exhale, something like an old dragon, thick smoke hinting at churning embers somewhere she couldn’t see. She’d found herself enjoying his company more and more from when she first met him; they got along like friends for whom time had no cutting edge. She respected his honesty and intellect, always pushing her to look beyond what she could see. He admired her blazing charisma and quiet thoughtfulness, a combination he had encountered in very few people throughout his life.
They met while Esme had been searching for her hero advisor, something that all “heroes” were required to do as a part of their training package. The boring, patronizing, and crazy options—she’d sat through them all and decided that she was going to go mad before completing her training—then she met Artemis, a fiercely respected intellectual within the dark magic department.
Esme patted the armrest of her chair and pushed herself to stand, “Well, I’m heading out now. I’ve got to wrap up this mission before the day ends. It’s always a pleasure to see you, Arty."
"A few more before your final one, correct? And stop calling me that.” Artemis rolled his eyes, and took another inhale of his pipe.
“That’s right. I’ll be out of here soon, though perhaps not saving the world, as everyone else is convinced I’ll be doing.” She grabbed her brown coat at the hanger near the entrance and pushed down on the metal handle of the door.
“Goodbye, Esme. I expect nothing less than magical application the world desperately needs the the next time you roll around."
“I know you’ll make do with whatever I bring,” She laughed and pulled the handle behind her, the door sliding snuggly into its frame with a firm thud.
A discarded plate sat to the side of her computer, oil smeared on its porcelain surface. She absentmindedly swiped at a crumb on her lips, dabbed her hand on a napkin, and resumed scrolling through the photos she’d taken in the past couple months: old, young, middle-aged people of various genders, race, political alignment—some in their homes, the streets, in cafes—any space they chose and felt that they could be intimate in. She paused at a photo of two women sitting side by side, loving gazes fixed on each other, made soft and unearthly by candlelight outside the frame.
“Hello ma’m, anything else for you? More coffee?” A voice chimed to her right.
After a beat, the woman at the table smiled and said with a indistinguishable lilt, ”No, thank you. But if I could have the check, that would be lovely.”
“Sure thing.”
Shay leaned back and snuggled into the red plastic of her booth. A large backpack sat across of her, poised upright as if another patron of the establishment, and her devices were scattered across the wooden tabletop--computer, digital camera, film camera, notebook, pens--along with a few smudged plates. Eggs and sausage sizzled somewhere she couldn’t see, and soft jazz drifted amongst the low murmurs of morning. This was one of her favorite places to be in this city in the week she'd been in the city; so many interesting people came to eat here, young and old alike.
Northampton was a lively city known for its counterculture, youth, and politically liberal leanings. Its personality announced itself the moment she arrived, having been invited to a concert by the same lesbian couple that had driven her here. She’d later interviewed them, delightfully surprised to find that they were the co-founders of an queer artist commune in the city.
Shay absentmindedly smoothed out the fabric of her longyi and briefly glanced up with a gentle “thank you” when the waitress dropped the tab. The traditional Burmese wrap she wore--adorned with an orange floral pattern with velvet blue lining--muted with the years, but retained a grace that her mother oft likened to “the spirit of our tiny, resilient country.”
Traveling had been easy on this side of the states. For the past couple months, she'd stayed with friends and family up and down the east coast, but the rest of America was a friend waiting to be made. She had never witnessed the deserts of Central US, the wild coasts and crags of California, the towering redwoods and graceful pines and grand mountains--this must have been how the first American pioneers felt, she mused...beyond their inhumane treatment of millions of Native Americans.
She moved to pack up her belongings and let her mind wander: she thought of the people that had welcomed her into their homes and lives, of the all-too-human suffering and happiness she was privy to, and of future friends that would inevitably humble her.
The west was calling, and it was time to go.
“Hello ma’m, anything else for you? More coffee?” A voice chimed to her right.
After a beat, the woman at the table smiled and said with a indistinguishable lilt, ”No, thank you. But if I could have the check, that would be lovely.”
“Sure thing.”
Shay leaned back and snuggled into the red plastic of her booth. A large backpack sat across of her, poised upright as if another patron of the establishment, and her devices were scattered across the wooden tabletop--computer, digital camera, film camera, notebook, pens--along with a few smudged plates. Eggs and sausage sizzled somewhere she couldn’t see, and soft jazz drifted amongst the low murmurs of morning. This was one of her favorite places to be in this city in the week she'd been in the city; so many interesting people came to eat here, young and old alike.
Northampton was a lively city known for its counterculture, youth, and politically liberal leanings. Its personality announced itself the moment she arrived, having been invited to a concert by the same lesbian couple that had driven her here. She’d later interviewed them, delightfully surprised to find that they were the co-founders of an queer artist commune in the city.
Shay absentmindedly smoothed out the fabric of her longyi and briefly glanced up with a gentle “thank you” when the waitress dropped the tab. The traditional Burmese wrap she wore--adorned with an orange floral pattern with velvet blue lining--muted with the years, but retained a grace that her mother oft likened to “the spirit of our tiny, resilient country.”
Traveling had been easy on this side of the states. For the past couple months, she'd stayed with friends and family up and down the east coast, but the rest of America was a friend waiting to be made. She had never witnessed the deserts of Central US, the wild coasts and crags of California, the towering redwoods and graceful pines and grand mountains--this must have been how the first American pioneers felt, she mused...beyond their inhumane treatment of millions of Native Americans.
She moved to pack up her belongings and let her mind wander: she thought of the people that had welcomed her into their homes and lives, of the all-too-human suffering and happiness she was privy to, and of future friends that would inevitably humble her.
The west was calling, and it was time to go.
Really interested! The new series by National Geographic, Mars, is getting me so hyped about this topic.
Welcome, wanderer. May your journey be swift and merciful.
Currently...
Our heroes are entrenched in training, having been called to attend the academy almost a year ago with the infamous prophecy that rang throughout the world. It was the first from the royal oracle to portend a major disaster in more than a century; few took it seriously, the position being primarily a traditional one, but as tradition demands, the people follow. And as prophecies are rarely interpreted correctly, hundreds were recruited to training under the title of "The Chosen", but no one really knows what future looms ahead...
In
Spontaneity and Adaptability (Seeking High Casual/Advanced Partner)
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
@HushedWhispers PM'd you!
© 2007-2024