Fx Any High fantasy, Vikings, Medieval mayhem and more - A Wayward Request Thread

[Wayward]

I'm Wayward. That's both a name and a descriptor.

I'm Adv. lit, write in third-person only and play in threads or PMs.

I love high fantasy - swords and sorcery to the more mundane - so long as there is an element in there of the unreal. I occasionally dabble in science fiction, though over the last few years it hasn't interested me much.

I very rarely play fanfics. The exception to the rule is anything within the Kushiel's universe, by Jacqueline Carey. I also make the exception for games run of an alternate RP style (D&D, Dark Heresy, etc.).

I love original plot lines and characters with personality. I am more interested in role playing for the sake of working with an interesting writer than to simply fill the time. I want to know that you and I are on the same page.

I play characters across the spectrum, and am happy to fill somewhat of a position if the plot interests me. I rarely double characters, however NPCs or minor characters are fine. I prefer to focus on one major set of character development.

I'm open-minded with game/plot mechanics, have no major issue with violence or the use of somewhat uncomfortable subjects as a plot device, however I have no interest in gratuitous gore, torture, rape, etc. for the sake of proving you're an adult.

I am comfortable with 18+ scenes though prefer that it not be the sole focus of our encounter, and that, should anything occur between characters, it happens organically.

I have a soft spot for true courtly love (secret midnight trysts, whirlwind affairs and risking it all for the sake of love and lust), acts of chivalry and characters of class. I have a weakness for corsetry, fine clothing, lace, lacing, and politics, and intrigue. Anything that diverts from reality is my drug of choice. I love being embroiled in magical mayhem, in worlds full of political peril and war. I will die for the Oxford comma.

I am deeply interested in the inner workings of the mind. Power games will almost always catch my interest, whether they're political, physical or sexual in nature. I do prefer to punish my characters, rather than let them live lightly.

I lean towards kink and bondage, where relevant. Knife play, restraints, mild torture and scenes, sadism and dominance will usually pique my attention. That being said, I am also happy to play characters of a more submissive or switch role, depending on the scenario. I do not engage in any kind of play involving a non-human or bestial creature, age-play, or scat/fluids.

If any of this excites you, PM me.

 

[Wayward]

Present interests: These are ideas I'd like to play, but have no set plot or format. How your characters fit into them is up to you. I'd very much like to do some planning before we begin.

• In the dark of the night, a waif of a figure dashed through the wheat fields. Heart pounding, nightgown tearing, breath ragged, the young woman made a break for freedom. She could hear the dogs barking behind her, baying and howling for the chase as they strained at their master’s tethers back behind the fort gate. Love alone kept the hound master from releasing the beasts. Love would not be enough to secure her freedom tonight. In her mind’s eye she could already feel the fetid breath of the creatures upon her ankles, their teeth snapping as they thirsted for her blood like a fallow deer to the slaughter.
  
  The sound of her bare feet pounding the earth and her gasping breath almost drowned out the shouts as the keep slowly woke in the dead of night. Before long, everyone would know she was gone, and there would be a price on her head. The petty Lordling would much rather see her beheaded than bear the shame of being abandoned. There would be no reconciliation this time.
  
  Ysabel stumbled and fell hard, letting out a yelp as she rolled down the riverbanks Semi-blinded by the thick clouds of her breath and the pitch of night, her flight from castle Prydd had only just begun. Just make it past the river…

• Bronwyn felt the first spit of rain on her face as they rode along the worn dirt track. The sky was overcast and the air carried a biting cold as she hugged her woollen cloak close to her and silently thanked the horse beneath her for sharing it’s warmth. Ahead, a worn man with deep lines in his face rode his beast as if every moment were reluctant. Lord Aaron was not known for his polite conversations and they had rode most of the way in silence, nothing but the creaking of leather and steady beat of hooves beneath them.
  
  Noble houses paid good coin for a Companion. More than most of the lower houses would earn in a year, in fact. What more to gain unwavering loyalty than gold and a blood pact? For a modest sum, a family could hire a trained swordsman, sworn with life and blood to protect and serve their household and all within. The very same men the Royal family themselves used. But Bronwyn was no man, nor was she ever to be sworn as Companion, yet here she was on her way to meet her first charge.
  
  It couldn’t get much worse from here.
  
  As they turned a corner in the mud road, the trees parted to reveal grey, cold hills and a ramshackle keep. It would have been a beauty in it’s prime, this large building, but now the roof sagged in parts and the mortar flaked. It’s gardens hand been left to fend for themselves and one could see where the thatching had been hastily patched in sections. It seemed to blend into the hill itself, almost as if one’s eyes found it hard to focus on such a structure, and in the grey, rolling clouds, the stone seemed to be built out of the sky itself.
  
  A gruff voice ahead pulled Bronwyn from her thoughts. “This is it. I’ll come inside and see that you’re settled and then you’re on your own,” the Lord announced, urging his horse forward.
  
  The young woman slumped in her saddle, brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”
  
  “Do I look like a joker, m’lady?”
  
  Bron swallowed. “No, my Lord. Sorry.”
  
  “You’re to do as you’re told here. Stay out of trouble. Keep your head low. Gods know I had a hell of a time making you vanish. There'll not be a second time. You should be safe this far North, but should you be stupid enough to cross the border, you're as good as dead,” he shot her a glance over his shoulder. “You’ll have no contact with the Order and you’ve only heard of me in passing, hear? You’ll start a new life out here for all the good it will do you.”
  
  Bronwyn was struck by a rush of fear. Up until this point, the finality of this trip had evaded her and the events of the last few weeks were nothing but a blur.
  This was it. This backwater ruin in the middle of nowhere was a keeping place for someone without a name, a family. It was where she’d be forgotten. The Order had no place for people like her. Better dead and gone than born with tits instead of balls, she thought, swallowing again the lump in her throat.
  
  The Lord dismounted as they reached the gate and looked expectantly at the young woman, her face and hands numb from more than just the cold this time.

• The atmosphere of the camp had noticeably changed as Arvid watched the men and scurry about. They grabbed rations and cloaks and shields and swords, a certain sense of excitement now audible between the ranks. The camp would stay here overnight and a small portion of the raiders would remain in case trouble rose, but every other able-bodied man and woman began the march inland towards the promised riches.
  
  The sound of rhythmic footsteps provided the beat for the marching songs, Arvid’s mother tongue ringing out around him as they passed the trees and hills. They were songs about victory in battle, the glory of the gods and, of course, beautiful women. There was a certain serenity to their progress, like the calm before the storm. Everyone was in good spirits and they had yet to bid friends farewell to blade or axe. Everyone, it seemed, was caught up in the promise of raiding a wealthy keep and the surrounding village and so it wasn’t long before songs turned to talk, and talk turned to who wanted to take what, and who was going to fight who for the biggest prize. The scouts who had garnered information on the area and its spoils were keen to tell stories of what they had seen and heard.
  
  They had worked the men up into quite a froth with stories about the noble family there, when one of the men yelled out that Arvid should find his wife there and really show his father that he had come of age. Raucous laughter ensued as several people clapped him on the back heartily, and the tale moved on to talk of the horses in the stables and grain in the barn, but something about that thought remained with him. As they marched on, Arvid had more than a little time to think about the playful suggestion, which was a dangerous thing in and of itself, for spending too much time on nonsense comments often gives them time to solidify into something more in our head. By the time they had reached their destination – a short trip from where they would attack at dawn, but far enough to avoid suspicion – the moon had already crept over the horizon and the sky reddened into a brilliant sunset, and the Jarl’s oldest son had made up his mind.
  
  Tomorrow he would prove himself to everyone.