Greetings and welcome to my thread. Thanks for stopping by. By most metrics I'm a rather veteran writer as well as a very experienced GM at various tabletops. I love creating worlds, exciting plots, interesting people to populate them. I'm a man and have been at this strange little hobby for around twenty years. Tight two-person stories have their own fun, sure, but give these people a world in which to inhabit, other character with whom to interact, and you can get the best out of a character idea. Over time I've come to find that my formerly rigid interests were quite a bit more flexible than I assumed. Given the proper story, and motivated partner, nearly anything can be made great. Even the lowest dross can shine brilliantly with proper care.
When it comes to writing style I'm capable of churning out paragraph upon paragraph of quality writing, up to and even exceeding novella if the need arises. Generally speaking, though, I tend towards enjoying leaner (but no less impactful!) multi-paragraph responses to keep the blood flowing. I write 3rd person, past tense, and generally prefer if you do the same. If you exclusively write 1st person, I can gladly accommodate. At the moment, I'm looking for a literate woman to write against for long-term stories.
As I implied above, I've got rather ecclectic tastes. I tend towards story-heavy affairs, but I can enjoy a fun-filled romp every now and then. Romance is a key factor of the stories I write. In my eyes, nothing really brings out the highs and lows of a character like it. My ratio is usually 80/20 favoring plot, but I can range down to 60/40 for particularly carnal stories. If you're looking for a quick boot-kicking, I can handle 15/85, but even pure fun needs a bit of wrapping to give it context.
Just a few small bites to get you started. Feel free to suggest your own or alter mine; we're both here for fun, after all.
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The Pearl of the Adriatic {Modern, Espionage, Military}
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One in the Chamber
{ Military, Action, Spy Themes, Over the Top, Tom Clancy }
In the 1990's with the fall of Yugoslavia, the islands of Vis and Hvar broke away from Croatia and entered the control of a fiercely independent group of futurists. Now, thirty years later, and the once sleepy islands are known as the "Dubai of the Adriatic", a center of business and a rival to Monte Carlo for its elite clientele. A seemingly poor investment at the time has blossomed into a elite getaway for the ultra-rich, its once idyllic karsts now carrying mansions, hotels, casinos, and marinas that draw more of the lifeblood of the nation to it with each passing year. The two-island nation carries a new name, one hot on the lips of any influencer, trust-fund baby, and mogul the world over, Adrija. Yet, beneath the glitz and glamour of Adrija's opulent exterior, a dark current runs beneath the surface. Not all the money coming through Adrija is legitimate, and it's this activity that has drawn an eye onto the two islands that they would rather avoid.
At the same time as Adrija was born, a group of international military, intelligence, and diplomatic officials began to meet off-the-record. They postulated that with the fall of the Iron Curtain and the entrance into the new era that a cooperation between the powers that be to handle crises with speed and precision without having to involve government bodies or the general public. To achieve this, they created and secretly arranged for the funding of an organization known as Artemis. Precious few in the world outside of the organization knew of its existence, but like their namesake they struck in the darkness with pinpoint precision. Staffed by the finest active special forces, intelligence, and counter-terrorist agents in the world, there was no prey that could escape them. When a report that the drug-trafficking and counterfeiting that had gone on through Adrija had evolved to gun-running and far worse crimes arrived on the director of Artemis's desk, a mission was put together. However, with the lack of details, an initial scouting operation was planned, and for that he selected only two of his agents to enter the so-called Pearl of the Adriatic.
The agents will need to navigate both the ultra-deluxe nightlife of the cities as well as move without a trace through the more rustic part of Old Hvar. They will need to keep to their cover, keep a low profile, and more importantly watch one another's back, because beneath the champagne and bright lights, no one is coming to help them.
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Hell Is Coming With me { Wild-West Fantasy }
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Hell's Coming With Me
{ Western Fantasy, Enemies to Lovers, Weird West, Action}
There were none so famous across the Utah Territory as the twin marshals, the Calloways. No one knew for certain their true origins and the stories were as tall as Eustace Calloway. Some said they were raised by a Shoshone fighter who fed them the food of the spirits. Others that they were the product of a long lineage of European nobility, created to be the perfect warriors. Others still claimed that they were not human at all, but angels in human form. Eustace would just laugh at these rumors when questioned, often flashing a grin to his sister, before saying, "Sir, we are just good at what we do." Whatever their origins, there was no doubting that the two Calloways were exceptional horsemen, gunfighters, and outdoorsmen; talented as could be. Their legend spread far and wide and even the orneriest outlaw knew better than to poke his head up when the two of them were in town.
Maybe the reputation finally got to their heads, or maybe forces bigger than themselves conspired against them. It didn't really matter. At the river-side city of Timbisha, a pop-up mining town, the pair were attacked in their sleep. Despite their great skill, the situation was hopeless from the get go. The two were tied and thrown over the back of a horse, carried out of town. The fact that they weren't killed was, perhaps, even more alarming. Their captors spoke a foreign language to their ears, Portuguese to Eustace's ears, but his sister wasn't certain. What she was certain of, however, was the faces of every man assembled. She never forgot a face. As they were carried away, Eustace managed to cut through his ropes on an exposed saddle nail before breaking off a piece of the metal side of the saddle and passing it to his sister. When they were both free, he looked at her and whispered the plan in a hushed tone. We spllit up and ride away, then meet up back at Timbisha. There was barely any time to nod before they both jumped up onto the saddle and bolted. The men, realizing their captives were loose, set after them. They hesitated for a moment but ultimately they chose to follow Eustace.
That was the last she saw of her dear brother Eustace.
Seven years had passed since then, and the Calloway sister had torn up the West looking for her brother high and low. The marshals weren't keen on letting her get revenge, so she handed in her badge. Lawman no more, she took on the role as a bounty hunter to finance her dogged pursuit. She found him eventually, or at least what was left of him. It didn't take a doctor to recognize the ghostly pale finger wearing his family ring that an apologetic cattle hand offered to her. She was enraged and set about looking for every man there. Yet, with each one that she pursued she was left with more questions than answers. These men were suddenly everywhere and went from nobodies to kingpins across the land. Every outlaw, as far as she saw it, owed them money or allegiance. What was worse was that they were spawning their own rumors. Rumors of their invincibility, the unnatural cloying darkness that heralded their raids, and the unholy circles of blood left in their wake. She was no thaumaturgist, but to her it sounded like foul magic. After seven years she had only managed to find one of them, already dead in the most puzzling way of all.
Until she heard word that one of them was about to hang.
She bolted across the territory to Coalville where he was being held, arriving the night before his execution. The sheriff wouldn't let her talk to him, not trusting the "fork-tongued Cajun" to have any visitors. With no option, and not willing to let the one living link to the gang die, she planned to bust him out of jail and haul him off herself. He was going to tell her what he knew. The Cajun in question, though, was not exactly what she was looking for. But what he was would prove to be invaluable to the coming struggles ahead of her....if she could get him to cooperate for more than a few minutes at a time.
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The Tragedy of Camelot {Arthurian, Genderswap}
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A Strange Camelot
{ Arthurian Myth, Alternative History, Genderswap, GM'd}
The long interregnum of Britannia has at last come to an end! News has begun to spread throughout the land that the daughter of the late Queen Uthelle, thought lost to the chaos of the civil wars, has drawn the sword from the stone. The girl, Artoria, proclaims her lordship over all of Britain and that any who wish to oppose her rule could contest her on the field of battle. Hundreds swear themselves to her, seeing her as the future of the realm and recognize her blood and claim, but not all do. Even with the wisdom of the enigmatic seer Merlin at her side, not all are convinced, and her list of enemies is long. To assist in her grand ambitions for the future, the soon-to-be Queen has put out a call for knights, the daughters of Boudica and all with the strength of heroines, to assemble at her side at the old stronghold of her mother, Caer Carlisle in the north. This bastion had stood against Pictish invasion many times, and it would be here that Artoria would amass her forces. Meanwhile, masons and builders all set to work a day's ride beyond sight of Londinum at a castle worthy of Artoria's ambition, a grand fortress that would hold the group of heroines she sought to build and her glory as queen of unified Britannia. A fortress she knows not yet the name of, but the ageless druid beside her already knows well.
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This story is not a traditional 1x1 setup, but a story wherein you will write the role of one several of the "young generation" of Knights based on a character from Arthurian lore. There are a lot of details about this story, but your role is not fixed, nor characterization set, for the knight you would portray. The story will carry you through the adventures of a Knight of the Round Table in a world where the daughters of Britain possess incredible strength, matched only by the most heroic and powerful men from other cultures. As such, they have naturally evolved into the position of leaders of the realm. You can participate in the tragedy of Camelot, in a unique telling, with a direct hand in the events.
"But, Duke," I hear you cry! I know so much about Arthurian lore, or at least the broad strokes, won't that guide my decisions? Won't that affect how I play the role? It certainly should! Whosoever you choose will be gifted, by Merlin naturally, with a vision of what is to come, allowing your chosen heroine to share in the knowledge of coming tragedies in hopes of averting them. Of course, if you know this much, you also know that messing with events to avert a future disaster can cause all manner of other changes to spiral out of control. Hopefully, this mixture of story and challenge catches your eye! I would love to run this story for an interested party.
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An August Princess {Fantasy}
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An August Princess
{ Fantasy, May-December Relationship, Age Difference, Romance, (Risk of) Pregnancy, Knight x Princess }
The Kingdom of Aureval, like many that lived along the vast tributaries of the Edouin River, threatened to fall under the invasion of the Sea Reavers. Originating from their distant realm across the Sea of Fangs, these raiders and plunderers attacked up the very river that provided wealth and transport for the kingdoms who resided along it. For years they had plundered and, in recent years, begun conquering realms; fortifying them into outposts for further assaults. The invasion seemed to be on the verge of success before divine inspiration offered hope. Sarolinne, the Quiet Judge, goddess of justice and truth sent a herald to proclaim a savior. A four-winged hawk with golden feathers landed atop the spire of the princess of Aureval's tower, and loosed a cry that was heard across the entire realm. The sickly princess had been chosen, and her ailments had been replaced with might. She was swiftly trained, entrusted with the finest arms and armor, and sent to the field. There she proved herself immediately, a girl no older than seventeen able to dispatch the hulking raiders with contemptable ease. Word soon spread of her power, of the divine strength inside of her, and soon the River Kingdoms rose as one to cast off the invaders. It would not be an easy process, but they were confident victory would be theirs.
The day of her ascension was twenty-five years ago, but in the end she had proven triumphant. She knew battle more intimately than any man, and even though her strength should have long begun to waiver, it never flagged for a single moment. With the fall of Chateau Gris, a dour bastion that overlooked the massive mouth of the Edouin, she had done what no other in the realm could have possibly done. The remaining battles to be fought would be in courts, not on the battlefield, and yet despite her wish to rest the realm looked to her for guidance. It was an imperfect process, but she began to sort through various supplicant's claims of legitimacy, sorting through the broken lineages and fallen Houses to restore the rule of the realm to the state it was almost fifty years ago. Just as she had begun to settle the final few issues, however, the question came up that she had hoped to avoid for just a few years more.
Succession
The King of Aureval had taken ill, his health holding out as long as it could bear, yet in recent months he had been scarcely able to leave his chamber for more than a meal. Naturally, as his sole heir, the question came to what would become of her hand and the line of the realm. For the entirety of her life she had known only war, and even know was greatly reluctant to take the hand of a suitor. None knew the reason; save for her. When the hawk had loosed its cry, she heard not the piercing sound of the hunting bird, but the words of the Judge. The power she held, the unquestionable authority in the battlefield, the ability for her flesh to knit itself before one's very eyes, all of these blessings came at a price; she could never take a lover nor bear an heir without surrendering that power.
With the health of her father fading, the luxury of delaying had run out. If he were to die before she had taken a husband the Crown would leave her head and pass to her cousin's family. For her to bring the realm together, she needed the authority of the crown. Much to her frustration, the realm was not sorted yet; pretenders of all stripes were on the verge of war with one another over rulership of the duchies and counties now restored. These were wars she could win with ease, wars that would wilt before her banner, but wars that cost good will and, more importantly, time she did not have.
Her most recent journey brought her to one of the border kingdoms; the realms owned by kings who owed fealty to her father but were not fully their subjects. Here, two powerful men feuded with one another. Both asserted blood-ownership of the duchy in her kingdom, and both men's claims were weak at best. Normally she would let them handle it on their own, but the duchy in question was one of particular value to the realm; the sole source of auric-electrum, the precious metal that made the enchanted weapons of the knightly elite. Untangling this mess would take time. Fortunately for her, an insider to the affair made himself known. This man, a noble son and a knight of another realm, had served both of the border kings in the past and had earned himself a position as mediator. Together, the two would be able to resolve the matter far faster than they would separately.
What neither would expect, however, is that their meetings would reveal a safe haven for the hardships both of them bore. How far would their hearts carry them? What were they to do about attraction that bridged the gap of their stations and their years?
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Sparing A Hart {Dark Fantasy}
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To Spare A Hart
{ Dark Fantasy, Toxic Romance, Switch Dynamics, , }
The city-state of Dolorov sat at the mouth of a great river and controlled the entire sheltered bay through which trade flowed as readily as the waters. This defensible position of wealth created a natural fortress and, as with all fortresses, men arose to manage it. Over the years, two great Clans emerged ahead of all others and became the preeminent families in Dolorov; the Igorov Clan, masters of sail, and the Czarny Clan, the lords of coin. Both Clans grew strong and soon the entire city was divided in allegiance between these two families. Conflict, it became clear, was inevitable. Sabotage, theft, assault, and even murders began to rise; a dark shroud over the once idyllic city. Sitting at the head of the city, the Lord-Count watched as his royal family's once-full coffers began to flag and dwindle as word spread of the dangers of the city. The heads of the Clans were regularly called to account for the actions of their kin, and while each disavowed their misdeeds, they turned a blind eye, each hoping that the next blow struck would be the one to cause their rival to stumble.
Among the Czarny, there were three members of great prominence in the new generation. Hot-blooded Fyodor, the nephew of the head of the clan, quick-witted Lev, descended of a lesser Clan and the first born with the family name, and finally Pyotr, the son of the Clan head. The three were as close as brothers and swore oaths of loyalty and fraternity to one another. Whatever would come, they promised, they would face the hardships of Dolorov together.
Shortly after winter broke, Pyotr took the opportunity to leave the walls he had known his whole life for a hunting journey out to the countryside. There, in the nearby woods, he found tracks and stalked his prey for hours, almost losing sight of the way home. Eventually, bow in hand, he cornered his quarry. A beautiful doe knelt beside a small pond to drink, illuminated by a rogue beam of sunlight. She was entirely unaware of his presence as he nocked his bow and took aim. Yet...he couldn't loose the arrow. There was something about the creature in front of him that gave him pause, and despite the journey, he could not take to felling her. Disappointed, he eased his string only to see that he was not the only predator in the glade. A wolf lunged from the brush and made to do what he would not. Pyotr didn't hesitate a moment before his arm moved and with supreme aim drove his arrow deep into the heart of the wolf.
No sooner had the predator fallen than the doe rose her head, locked eyes with him for a moment, and then rounded on the wolf and set it in a flash. Blood, fur, bones and all were devoured down the mouth of the doe. Stunned from the very sight, he watched as the doe's form shifted; cervine grace maintained even as flank became hip and hoof became hand. The creature, for there was no other word for it, that stood before him smiled even as the blood of her kill dripped down her face. The princeling turned to flee, and there she was, waiting for him as if she had always been there. She spoke as if she knew him, congratulated him for his mercy, even admiring it as she spoke of the strife that awaited him home, including his impending death. Three days, she warned, and he would fall afoul of an assassin's blade. However, she promised that she would help him avoid that, and any other, grisly fate...if he merely took her hand and promised to carry her in his heart.
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Silver and Claw {Urban Fantasy}
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Silver and Claw
{ Urban Fantasy, D/S, M/P maybe, Taming, Primal Play, Anthro optional }
Monsters lurked in the shadow of Greenvale City that belonged on the pages of storybooks. Whether it was rapacious vampires who fed on the blood of innocents, flesh-controlling wraiths who carried out their vengeance one possession at a time, or wanton and violent werewolves who tore through the weak like tissue paper, there existed no shortage of dangers. For people like (MC) and his Brothers in the Order of Michael these were not terrors to be feared, but enemies to be fought, even if it seemed hopeless. Once numbering almost thirty men strong, the war had taken its toll on the Order and now only five remained. When news of a new and even more menacing pack of werewolves moving into the area reached the ear of the Brother Superior he planned to ambush them and overwhelm them in a decisive strike. The ensuing battle was fierce and costly on both sides. The strongest of the pack were bested, but in the chaos of combat (MC) was the only one left standing of the now-fallen Order. Amidst the carnage that remained, however, he spotted something of interest. One of the wolves who had fought was not dead, simply unconscious and healing from her wounds. She was small, but from what he had seen there were wounds upon her from before the fight, wounds that bore the hallmarks of other werewolves' fangs and claws. Despite himself, he picked her up and took her back to the now-empty hideout, securing a collar of silver around her neck as an idea formed in his mind. The war against the horrors wouldn't stop even if he was the only one left to fight it, but what if he could turn one of their own number against them? Would that be enough to even the odds? Or was this merely an attempt in vain to get vengeance for the brothers stolen from him?
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Facade { Dark Fantasy, Multiple Characters }
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Facade
{ Dark Fantasy, Multiple Characters, Tragedy, Yandere, Dark Romance }
None was more beloved in the realm than the Princess, whose bright smile and beauty warmed the heart and stirred the soul of all around her. She was precious in her father's eye and lived a life straight from a bard's tale. There was one, however, whose adoration for her reached beyond mere fondness and stretched into obsession. The Crown Sorcerer, a man who had been instrumental in helping her father secure the realm from the tumult of its earliest days, now desired the hand of the princess above all else. The King, for his part, allowed his daughter to decide, though even the kindly princess seemed unwilling to answer directly. It was only when he cornered her after council and sought her hand that she rejected him firmly. Spurned now, the Sorcerer retreated to his tower after stealing something precious from the princess's chamber; a humanoid doll she had cared for since she was small, the last gift from her deceased mother. With such a precious item in his possession, he worked dark rite and ritual to imbue it with life, hoping to replicate the princess he yearned for so deeply in his creation. His ritual was successful, at least in part, the newly living young woman had much of the knowledge of the princess, but informed him that for his ritual to be truly perfect, she would need to be closer to the princess and complete the spell in person on the night of a new moon. After taking the living doll into his care and returning to the castle, presenting her under the guise of his new apprentice, he began to set the scheme in motion. What he was not prepared for, however, was that the doll was not a perfect copy of the princess, but a free soul of her own right; one that loathed the princess who stole and broke the heart of the man who cared for her above all others. Even as the Sorcerer moved towards his plan's completion, so too did the doll who sought to foil it and twist her Master to her side.
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PROJECT: Brunhildr {Space Opera, Military, GM }
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PROJECT: Brunhildr
{ Space Opera, Military, Mecha, War Story, Female Heroine x Cast, GM'd}
You awoke in a laboratory, the cold metal and glass that surrounded you completely foreign. Your memory is little more than flashes of scenes past; of pain and chemicals, of voices you didn't recognize. Why were you here? What happened to you? Your attempts to pry any sense of familiarity from the gray haze of your mind was interrupted by the sound of approaching boots. Were these the people who had brought you here, who had hurt you? The metal restraints that had once no doubt shackled your wrists had opened and the glass lid of your casket was opened. You didn't know much about this place, about yourself, or this situation....but you knew that this glass broke into long shards with pressure in the right area. More than that, you knew that somehow your hands had that strength, had that precision, to arm yourself.
Yet, the three figures who approached, armed and armored, weren't here for you; not to hurt you at least. Instead, what you would find is a galaxy on the brink of another crisis and that you could tip the scales in any direction you chose. What awaits you in the stars above? Why do you have these skills? Who are you? The answers to these questions and much more lie just on the other side of this tense confrontation.
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