A Character and Idea Graveyard. Necromancers Welcome
When Pen is Put to Page
I write in many different Genres and I make every effort to match my writing partners. if you're giving me two to three paragraps you can expect about the same in return, possibly a little more. if you're giving me ten paragraphs, I will do my best to match it, and have in the past.
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I've tried to include varying examples of different genres, as well as different lengths, a few starters, a few middle posts. hopefully this helps give you a good idea of my writing.
Though she couldn't get the best of reads on the entity inhabiting the Vegas Archmage, thanks to him having his own facial emotions, he did seem satisfied by her explanation. She blinked slowly, her eyes almost appearing a different color each time she did, settling on a shade of blue that was as close to purple as it could get while still being blue. She sought out her infected minions, scanning for them throughout the city. Four she’d lost in the chaos and destruction, but six still remained, at various eateries throughout the city thanks to her orders. “Tell me dragoness, those shoes. They were expensive, yes, but so are bloodworms. And your little temper tantrum over there just cost me four of them, and the three years it took for them to reach maturity in their hosts. So why don’t we just call that debt even and move on.” the remaining six hosts under her control were left to do as they wished. She’d have uses for them later, but for now, her command over them slacked.
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“There are benefits to rules. Some semblance of order must be maintained. But what the Shadow Council is doing, it's not order but tyranny. I was here for the founding of this dictatorship, and i will outlive it.” she chimed in to the conversation. Though she caught the air of rage beneath the calm exterior when the little ginger dragoness in disguise mentioned her clutches. Her own magics that halted her aging also prevented her from conceiving, though she did understand the pain of losing children. Astraya wasn’t the first dragoness that she’d encountered who had been on the receiving end of the council’s ruthlessness towards magical ‘beasts’ as they called them. It had been a while since she’d checked in on Igaret; another year and he’d be fifty. Or was it one hundred. She didn’t pretend to understand draconic aging or how it worked, and years passed far too quickly for her to accurately keep track of the past. Either way next year was a milestone, and she would have to find some sort of suitable gift.
When the woman proceeded to blame them all for messing up her life, she couldn't help but shake her head a little. With her tactics there was bound to be some collateral damage. She could feel sorry for the woman while at the same time believe her actions were still justified. There was no guilt at what she’d done, or the lives that she or Astraya had taken. These things happened, and the end results would be worth it, though Astraya’s involvement made things more difficult, as no witnesses were left who had seen what had happened from outside the building. But the dragoness seemed to agree that they should get a move on, and leaped off the building, impacting with the ground and fracturing the pavement. Nyx turned her attentions back to Pestilence for a time, but only to inform him of his options. “If you need stairs there’s a fire escape over there. I am uncertain of your capabilities in that form.” she said by way of explanation, before clicking her heels together and leaping down as well, falling gracefully and landing in a crouched position.
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Once they were all on the ground, she spoke once more, only partially directed at Astraya. “I have an outpost near here we can head back to. If you’re insistent on coming with us i don't mind.” she strode off down a back alley without further comment, keeping to the side streets and connecting gaps between buildings, worming through the city. Normally she traveled across the rooftops, hurtling herself through the sky in a series of long jumps, the closest she’d ever come to flying, but she was after all trying not to draw attention to herself, and she had passengers.
In this thread, The Blood Mage Nyxerra Belladonna has just reluctantly joined forces with a Dragoness named Astraya and a sentient Force of Nature known as Pestilence that is inhabiting the body of the Archmage of the Vegas branch of the Shadow Council. The three are reafirming their distain for the Tyrants who control any and all beings of magic, and why Nyx has started a one woman campaign against them.
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Urban Fantasy, Real world but a secret society working behind the scenes.
Iago Moriarty is prepping for a grand ball at the Royal Palace, where he intends to execute a plan that will be the spark of revolution in this kingdom, Guy Fawkes style.
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Medieval Fantasy, elven society, low to no Magic. The only male character i've sucessfully played.
Iago stood before the long mirror, straightening the cravat around his throat. His long black hair was neatly pulled back into a ponytail, tied with a green silk ribbon at the nape of his neck. As his lieutenant watched, amused, the proud elf pulled out a silver razor from his father's grooming kit, carefully removing every last sign of hair on his proper elven jaw. He wasn't going to be himself tonight. No instead he was going to be Lord Moriarty, last of his name and bastard son of the disgraced Moriarty line. In a kingdom with more human citizens than elves, half breeds were common everywhere but the noble class. Which was part of what made him so unique. The elves of the kingdom of Ilansana enjoyed many fine luxuries, from imported goods brought by ship from far exoctic places, to lavish mannors with plenty of servants, both paid and indentured. But the humans were rarely allowed to mingle in any way with the nobility. They were second class, with their own districts in the city, and places they simply were not allowed. Iago’s mother had been an exception, and his father had taken notice of the delicate featured human woman with raven colored hair. She’d been a musician, praised the land over. Many believed her to be half elven, stating that no human could have a voice so divine and play such subtle melodies. But she was human, and the widower, Lord Isandra Moriarty, knew this when he took to bed with her. Despite the shame and disgrace of his father’s actions that eventually led to his death, Iago had made a name for himself in the royal court, good enough to earn himself an invitation to attend the king's masquerade, though his included a caveat. The man was not to dance with any elven noblewoman. The stipulation did not offend him. He was beyond that, and to be quite frank, he was used to that sort of treatment. With a mask on, and without facial hair, they'd have no way of knowing it was him. And he could be quite the charmer.
“how do I look, Marcel?” he asked suddenly, turning around to face the pure blooded elf sitting on top of the dresser. A slow smile spread across the man's face as he leaned back, an almost teasing grin on his chiseled features and mischeif sparkling in his deep blue eyes. Marcel had been an asset to their cause, the seventh son of an elven noble family and one who craved change as much as the rest of them, despite his upbringing. Marcel was proof that not only Humans flew the winds of change, but they had allies within the elves as well. And he was certainly not the only one.
“it would be strange if you left without pants, My Lord...” he could not help but laugh, holding it in as long as he could just to get the sentence out. Iago too joined him, throwing a pillow from the bed at his oldest and dearest friend.
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“you know full well what I meant, you pointy eared craven.” he snarled playfully. Marcel was the man that kept him going when all else failed, reminding him that they were doing the right thing. When he’d taken over this group of rag tag conspirators, he’d brought them control, precision and leadership that they’d otherwise lacked. He had traveled the country bringing as many of the smaller groups under his leadership as he could manage. Pulling on the perfectly pressed black pants, Iago couldn't help but marvel at how far they'd come in five years. The noble caste was so blind to the plight of their people, and he, the perfect and selfless savior. So many had rallied to their cause, ready to strike and drag their overlords into the street and lynch them. But that was not the way this would go down, it was too barbaric. Too dirty. Too much of a stereotype. Iago had brought elegance and restraint to the rebellion as well, and as their leader, he was willing to show that he would fight on the front lines at their side.
As he descended the stairs, now fully dressed, emerald and onyx mask in hand, he could not help but look at his reflection. His father had been obsessed with mirrors. They'd always bothered Iago, but now he could see why, dressed in his father's finery. He was impeccable. Combine that with his natural charisma and skill, and he would have no problem completing his end of the mission. His army of peasants had been training for five long years, And Marcel had personally crafted the bombs that were going to be planted around the royal ball room. It was Iago himself who had the hardest job. Find the princess. Kill the prince. Leave with the princess. The collapsed crossbow fit perfectly in the small of his back, even if he were patted down they would not find it. The bolt itself disguised as a pen in his pocket. It was venom tipped, and made of the sharpest substance they could get their hands on. It would shred through bone and muscle with ease, delivering its deadly poison straight into the heart, so long as Iago shot true. He was not the best shot, but he was the only one who could get into the ballroom, and get close enough to the crown prince. So long as his target was standing still, Iago could strike a killing blow without a doubt.
“Be ready at eleven o clock. Our inside man in the palace will let you in, Marcel... I WILL be out of the ballroom when it blows... just be safe...” Iago rested his hands on his friend's face, touching foreheads before getting into the ornately painted carriage that would take him off to the palace. Tonight, he would change the path of Ilansana forever. And he would lead its people out of the Tyrant's shadow.
Raylin Vega carefully packed the last of her own personal belongings into two small canvas knapsacks. The head Engineer, whom she'd been apprenticed to when they'd become part of this ship's crew, had gone down on the first pod. He'd ordered her to remain and make sure that everything possible to be removed had. “pull the grommets out of the walls if you have to, I want everything!” She mimicked in a snarky and very unflattering impersonation of the man.
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She stuffed her few books in among her clothes, carefully nestling them next to the ferret sized eight legged robotic assistant her parents had given her as a gift for coming of age. It looked up at her with a click and a whrr, not unlike a purr. She smiled briefly, but turned her head at the sound of a voice echoing down the corridors. Yet another crew member who hadn't bothered to learn her name, calling out for 'droid girl' instead. She sighed, picking up the two bags and pulling up the hood on her thin, sleeveless over-shirt.
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“I'm over here... coming!” she yelled out, before stopping. Shoes. She looked down at her bare feet and sighed. She'd already packed her shoes. She'd have to dig them out of her bag once they were in the pod. She didn't feel like making the abandoned hull of the ship her home for the next year, let alone her coffin. She walked out, feet padding across the steel floors as she felt the engines wine to a halt for the last time. It brought a bit of sadness to the girl's face as she stopped and looked down the corridor to where the main engine bay was. She was only 26, but she'd been working on those engines for the past six years. She was the one who had found a way to give the engines enough power to get them into a stable orbit, though the rest of the team had been the ones to get the credit. She was okay with that. She didn't want to be the center of attention. Ever.
She moved towards the lanky man, a thin smile by way of greeting crossing her face briefly. She was wearing a skintight long sleeved shirt made of the usual nano-fabric in an almost sea green color, though her brown over shirt was a much more cottony material, as were her grease stained dark gray pants. And she was barefoot. She slipped into the pod in front of him, looking a little surprised as he joined her. She'd assumed she'd be making the drop alone, something she really hadn't been looking forwards to. She checked on everything already in the pod, making sure the straps were secure and nothing would move, before settling into one of the two remaining seats and digging through the bag in front of her, pulling out a well worn pair of shoes and putting them on before buckling in. "Once more into the breach..." she murmured, settling into the seat and closing her eyes as she tried to keep her breathing even.
Reylin is an Engeneer on the SS Pathfinder, a ship sent off from their local space station after the communications network went down galaxy wide. their mission was to find a habitable world for the people to settle on. this world they found, however, had an unusual magnetic feild. one that pulsed with electricity, frying their systems and setting their ship into a decaying orbit around the planet. left with only one choice, they strip the ship bare, and evacuate.