Mx Female Just Another Stranger

[FractalHeat]

I’ve got a fairly chunky block of description I spent some time making that I’ll share below, but wanted to make sure that I kept this main chunk confined to what I’m hoping to find.

When it comes to the what I’m better at getting some ideas flowing and developing. I’m best with one on one character writing, as it’s how I’ve gotten to where I am with my writing and I find it to be my strong suit.

Of course, surprise surprise I’m hoping to find a more dominant female character to pair up with. The past bunch of RP’s I did were almost all with me as the one doing most of the action. They weren’t bad of course, but every once in a while it gets a little boring to always be the one taking charge. Of course, I’m open to the other side of things still as an interesting character can always be fun.

The big caveat is that I’d like there to be build up. Now, I’m not suggesting a ton of romantic/sexual tension, or a long and drawn out series of interactions/adventures. I’d want the characters to bounce off one another for a bit, help give time for the dynamic between them to be a bit more concrete before going in on anything too big. As stated before, I’m better with character writing. So getting to do a bit of bouncing at the least is what I prefer.

As for any images for my character, at least this one, I haven’t had the money to commission him so I’d hope the long description helps get something in your head that can be worked with if you’re interested. I do have others, but they’re either WIP or I’m not quite in the mood I’d need to write them.

Below I’ve got a sort of prompt and idea that may lend itself well to getting something started, but the idea itself isn’t much of a world. It’s a bit barebones, I’ll admit, and doesn’t have a ton to it, but I’d be happy to develop it further and make a little world out of it if there’s interest in what it all could be.

Mage Rivalries, a sight none too uncommon. But it wasn't unheard of to find the results of a petty squabble fueled by magic. Farmland turned into golems, holes blasted into homes or cobbled roads. Storms whipped up with lightning blasting buildings and people alike. They weren't an every day occurrence, but every so often a tale swept across town after town. 'I just heard a mage caused the earth to split, missing their foe and causing half a herd of cows to fall in!' 'Have you heard the story about the Mage who conjured a flame elemental that turned a cathedral to ash?' 'My cousin damn near lost her life fishing the other week, said she saw two Mages hurling spells at each other. Then one made a great beast emerge from the waters that almost capsized and crushed her!'

But what was even more dangerous were those who hunted these rogue mages. Some called them shadows, never visible and sometimes able to kill a mage in broad daylight without being seen. Other times a mage would simply vanish, and never be seen again. But rumors spoke of many who dealt with them, as others claimed there was an order of mages intent on trying to maintain balance and peace. Stories of mages freezing up in place, as though frozen in time, before simply no longer being there.

The one rumored about most was a figure no one could seem to put a proper name to. They were able to slip between crowds and vanish in an instant according to some. Others would whisper about a figure fast as the wind, with azure lightning in their step. Claims of seeing a dagger coated in that same azure lightning dart out from nowhere and gut a rogue mage before it vanished.

Even though Mages were secretive and numerous, a single death in a town caused the five nearby to have quite a few Inns to suddenly have a few vacancies. The real spectacles were when the night was dark, and the moon obscured. In darkened streets the sounds of yet another Rivalry causing families to hide, only to hear the distinctive sound of spells fizzling. A series of hisses and sizzling pops that brought relief to the hearts of many. Those who looked out of their homes at the fight always claimed the same thing.

"I saw the Stranger! He was calmly walking towards the mage looking calm and collected, it was incredible! The mage hurled bolts of magic at him, and he merely swatted them away! And when he got in close, he pulled out a dagger and killed the Mage in one clean cut to the neck!"

The Stranger had numerous rumors, never seen in public. Never identified, with appearances varying wildly. A grizzled old man with snow white hair, and eyes full of a killers' malice. A fit and spry young woman who kept her hair short, and had a grin that seemed to spread the infectious confidence that it displayed. Others claimed The Stranger had no discernible features, hiding in shadows and wearing a hat that kept their face just obscured enough. Wearing a long and flowing coat that helped keep their figure a mystery to any onlookers.

The only other detail that those who saw The Stranger at work could say was that his eyes burned a bright azure. Burning with a fierce determination, like what you'd see from a grand hero from children's story books. Once done with their work, The Stranger then took the body of the Mage and made off with it. Only for it to be seen yet again in the proper place, either being taken care of in the early morning by the priests or being prepared to be buried by the mortician, performing rituals to extract whatever remaining mana may have been within their body.

I can’t think of much else that would need to be said upfront, so if you started up there and read all the way down here I appreciate your interest, your time, and hope that if nothing else the rest of your day goes well.

 

[FractalHeat]

Noon, bright and hot as it had been every day before. The cool breeze offered only a moment or two of cool relief and the faint scent of baking sweets or cooking meats. The Dry Season hadn't lasted this long in a few decades at least, and while it wasn't unheard of it was still just as hard to truly compensate for. The sight of a man wearing what looked to be a full set of clothes you'd expect to see on someone in the woods or on the road was made all the more baffling by the heat that must've been beating down on him.

His gait was long and fast-paced, to the rhythm of a song that could almost be heard from the short boots of worn leather he wore. They and his pants seemed to have taken the majority of the brunt from the dry and dusty main road. His boots almost had a blinding shine to them, covered in dust and caked on dirt just before the tongue of his boot snaked upwards. The little brass hooks used to keep the laces taught and orderly were the only eye-catching thing about them, as they were the only clean things below his belt.

His pants looked about as new as anyone else's in town, if not a little more of a custom looking fit. Baggy enough that they enabled his wide stride, tight enough to fit the form of his longer and thinner legs in a flattering way. The more notable feature was that he must've commissioned the cargo pocket on his left pant leg, a rarity to see for those outside of any major towns or cities and usually a sign of wealth. Though the sign involved symmetry, which was spoiled in a way by his right pant leg's almost naked look in comparison.

His belt was simple enough, a flat and long strip of fabric that was hardened and ran through a little brass clamp that looked easy to adjust. Certainly more convenient than the choice most others had, pointing to another odd show of what may have been wealth or a simple handmade craft. Not many loops adorned his pants, but the belt seemed to be just shy of perfect as the excess fabric almost looped around to the small of his back.

Tucked in was a simpler shirt, with laces starting near the shoulders and ending at the cuffs of each sleeve. His sleeves were left fairly open, compensating for the odd choice to keep his collar tight. It didn't look uncomfortable of course, but it added to his look. Almost loose and wild, almost tight and formal. The black vest he wore helped keep him on the side of formal, but only looked to add to the discomfort that he must have felt.

It had seven buttons, and three pockets. Two just above either side of his waist and a third on the right side of his chest. The two pockets closer to his waist had chains lazily hanging out of them with different types of clasps. One vanished behind the fifth button up and peeked out every so often, a loop with a simple little mechanism within to open it and keep it closed. The other had a simple little bar and poked out from the bottom and top of the sixth button, though compared to its shiny counterpart it looked more worn. In fact, one looked almost new and the other old enough to be an heirloom.

He had nothing in the pocket on the top right, and looked almost like it was missing something as well. It was devoid of any sort of fancy adornment or even something as simple as handkerchief. Though it didn't look as lonely with the two necklaces he wore. One on older and more worn looking chains, the other on a simple cloth loop. The one that hung lower rested just above the seventh button on his vest, with worn and dirty looking chains that may have been shiny brass once. That shine was more than made up for by a bizarre jewel that shook around with the pace he walked at.

It shone a different color every time you looked at it, and felt strange to look at. It had to have been some kind of special magical item, as locking eyes with it felt like you were being watched by it. Not in a malevolent sense, but moreso by how it felt like something was alive and roiling like the raging sea within. Perhaps that was where the many brilliant colors came from, bringing to mind the question of what this man was doing with it.

The less notable necklace hung just below the trim of his collar. A simple black lace that had a little silver chest hanging from it. It seemed fairly quaint or humble compared to its vibrant partner a few inches below. However, tighter necklaces were usually a sign of something more precious, as the rumors went. Necklaces that were priceless heirlooms and family crests were never seen hanging too low for fear of a thief being able to easily cut them loose and make off with them. So why was this humble little chest more important looking than the gem throwing colors onto all the nearby shadows?

Odder still was the man's choice of hat. It looked like a teardrop on a sort of dish from above, with a little bump in the center. The black material almost hid the fact that, when looking at him head on, the brim curled up and around starting just around where it met his forehead from the side. It was adorned with a small feather, a little brown thing that looked almost unnatural or painted. Yet it caught the light in a way that no painted feather could. Nearer to the base it gained shades of turquoise and blood oranges, with a black spot in the center that radiated a more plain muddy brown.

Such formal attire, without the full commitment, made more rugged by his face. It was smoother around his cheekbones and nose, with a gentle curve going into a sharp angle from his jaw. The facial hair he bore gave him an almost sort of suave look, with features sharp and gentle in all the right places. But with the way his eyebrows were only slightly furrowed, with his tipped down a bit and his eyes dead ahead he had a look that contradicted the notion of him being a sort of noble. Especially the fire in his eyes.

The shade from his hat, darker tone of his hair that was a deep enough brown to keep his head quieter visually, and how his brows added that extra bit of shade to his eyes. It made the fire brighter. It was a brilliant flame that was unmistakable in the most unfamiliar of ways. The determined sort of look a man about to fight to the death would have, or that a noble king would bear as he makes grand declarations or commands his counsel.

His frame added to the look. It wasn't too wide, nor was it too boxy. He looked closer to a rhombus than he did a diamond or square. His legs and arms were thin, but had enough to them that he couldn't be called weak. His shoulders lent themselves well to both being slumped and held up. Though he was hunching as others looked on, it was hard to tell if it was because he was walking quickly or if he hunched like that naturally.

A small bag was slung around his shoulder, looking to contain only the essentials. His stay at the Inn must have come to an end so he could pursue work. The leather coin purse that bounced at his left side sounded hollow. And the little brass mechanism looked less polished than it had a few days ago. But where was he to go? The nearest town was miles away, and the bigger cities were weeks away when traveling by foot. He hadn't been too strapped for work as far as most murmurs and quiet whispers were traded faster than the coins at the small market.

He'd been seen helping the caravan offering little puzzles and toys to children or fine clothes to the adults unload and prepare. Another, from the farm nearby, got his help repairing their cart after he'd shown the impressive strength needed to help keep it held up. No one had seen a man with so humble a build keep a cart's side held up so well or long. And he refused half the offered pay, insisting he'd only done a simple task that would've been made easier had he known how to repair the wheel.

That and helping manage the shipment of meats and cheeses for the Bar across from the Inn brought much about him into question. He wore no weapons, wasn't bursting with muscle, was polite and well-spoken, and had the oddest assortment of worldly wisdom. 'Maybe he's from the Northeast, I hear that there's an order or knights who act like him.' 'He must be from the West Coast, no normal man with arms and legs like that could handle the things I've seen him carry! But some of those sailors have pulled off similar feats, maybe that's what those chains he wears are for.'

The rumors about his origins continued, all ignored by the man as his quick pace took him out of the town quickly. Leaving only boot prints and his odd nature behind. When asked for a name he always found a way to get out of answering, or at least to avoid anyone who tried to ask more than once. The only time he'd come close was when a little girl asked him with stars in her eyes after seeing him bring in the farmers cart. His answer was dissatisfactory for the onlooking and eavesdropping adults. But the little girl seemed fascinated by it, followed by the small gaggle of children who began to crowd him trying to wrangle a story from his tired smile.

"I can't exactly say I've got much of a name. But do you really need one? Everyone has a name, but they're all so common and interchangeable that I've had to point at people in a crowd of more than one shared a name. Just come up with a little title or nickname, and if you need a hand I'll do what I can. I'm not any sort of fancy Mage, nor am I a Hunter of the Woods. I'm just someone who wants to give a helping hand, and have plenty of good food."

 

[FractalHeat]

Noon, bright and hot as it had been every day before. The cool breeze offered only a moment or two of cool relief and the faint scent of baking sweets or cooking meats. The Dry Season hadn't lasted this long in a few decades at least, and while it wasn't unheard of it was still just as hard to truly compensate for. The sight of a man wearing what looked to be a full set of clothes you'd expect to see on someone in the woods or on the road was made all the more baffling by the heat that must've been beating down on him.

His gait was long and fast-paced, to the rhythm of a song that could almost be heard from the short boots of worn leather he wore. They and his pants seemed to have taken the majority of the brunt from the dry and dusty main road. His boots almost had a blinding shine to them, covered in dust and caked on dirt just before the tongue of his boot snaked upwards. The little brass hooks used to keep the laces taught and orderly were the only eye-catching thing about them, as they were the only clean things below his belt.

His pants looked about as new as anyone else's in town, if not a little more of a custom looking fit. Baggy enough that they enabled his wide stride, tight enough to fit the form of his longer and thinner legs in a flattering way. The more notable feature was that he must've commissioned the cargo pocket on his left pant leg, a rarity to see for those outside of any major towns or cities and usually a sign of wealth. Though the sign involved symmetry, which was spoiled in a way by his right pant leg's almost naked look in comparison.

His belt was simple enough, a flat and long strip of fabric that was hardened and ran through a little brass clamp that looked easy to adjust. Certainly more convenient than the choice most others had, pointing to another odd show of what may have been wealth or a simple handmade craft. Not many loops adorned his pants, but the belt seemed to be just shy of perfect as the excess fabric almost looped around to the small of his back.

Tucked in was a simpler shirt, with laces starting near the shoulders and ending at the cuffs of each sleeve. His sleeves were left fairly open, compensating for the odd choice to keep his collar tight. It didn't look uncomfortable of course, but it added to his look. Almost loose and wild, almost tight and formal. The black vest he wore helped keep him on the side of formal, but only looked to add to the discomfort that he must have felt.

It had seven buttons, and three pockets. Two just above either side of his waist and a third on the right side of his chest. The two pockets closer to his waist had chains lazily hanging out of them with different types of clasps. One vanished behind the fifth button up and peeked out every so often, a loop with a simple little mechanism within to open it and keep it closed. The other had a simple little bar and poked out from the bottom and top of the sixth button, though compared to its shiny counterpart it looked more worn. In fact, one looked almost new and the other old enough to be an heirloom.

He had nothing in the pocket on the top right, and looked almost like it was missing something as well. It was devoid of any sort of fancy adornment or even something as simple as handkerchief. Though it didn't look as lonely with the two necklaces he wore. One on older and more worn looking chains, the other on a simple cloth loop. The one that hung lower rested just above the seventh button on his vest, with worn and dirty looking chains that may have been shiny brass once. That shine was more than made up for by a bizarre jewel that shook around with the pace he walked at.

It shone a different color every time you looked at it, and felt strange to look at. It had to have been some kind of special magical item, as locking eyes with it felt like you were being watched by it. Not in a malevolent sense, but moreso by how it felt like something was alive and roiling like the raging sea within. Perhaps that was where the many brilliant colors came from, bringing to mind the question of what this man was doing with it.

The less notable necklace hung just below the trim of his collar. A simple black lace that had a little silver chest hanging from it. It seemed fairly quaint or humble compared to its vibrant partner a few inches below. However, tighter necklaces were usually a sign of something more precious, as the rumors went. Necklaces that were priceless heirlooms and family crests were never seen hanging too low for fear of a thief being able to easily cut them loose and make off with them. So why was this humble little chest more important looking than the gem throwing colors onto all the nearby shadows?

Odder still was the man's choice of hat. It looked like a teardrop on a sort of dish from above, with a little bump in the center. The black material almost hid the fact that, when looking at him head on, the brim curled up and around starting just around where it met his forehead from the side. It was adorned with a small feather, a little brown thing that looked almost unnatural or painted. Yet it caught the light in a way that no painted feather could. Nearer to the base it gained shades of turquoise and blood oranges, with a black spot in the center that radiated a more plain muddy brown.

Such formal attire, without the full commitment, made more rugged by his face. It was smoother around his cheekbones and nose, with a gentle curve going into a sharp angle from his jaw. The facial hair he bore gave him an almost sort of suave look, with features sharp and gentle in all the right places. But with the way his eyebrows were only slightly furrowed, with his tipped down a bit and his eyes dead ahead he had a look that contradicted the notion of him being a sort of noble. Especially the fire in his eyes.

The shade from his hat, darker tone of his hair that was a deep enough brown to keep his head quieter visually, and how his brows added that extra bit of shade to his eyes. It made the fire brighter. It was a brilliant flame that was unmistakable in the most unfamiliar of ways. The determined sort of look a man about to fight to the death would have, or that a noble king would bear as he makes grand declarations or commands his counsel.

His frame added to the look. It wasn't too wide, nor was it too boxy. He looked closer to a rhombus than he did a diamond or square. His legs and arms were thin, but had enough to them that he couldn't be called weak. His shoulders lent themselves well to both being slumped and held up. Though he was hunching as others looked on, it was hard to tell if it was because he was walking quickly or if he hunched like that naturally.

A small bag was slung around his shoulder, looking to contain only the essentials. His stay at the Inn must have come to an end so he could pursue work. The leather coin purse that bounced at his left side sounded hollow. And the little brass mechanism looked less polished than it had a few days ago. But where was he to go? The nearest town was miles away, and the bigger cities were weeks away when traveling by foot. He hadn't been too strapped for work as far as most murmurs and quiet whispers were traded faster than the coins at the small market.

He'd been seen helping the caravan offering little puzzles and toys to children or fine clothes to the adults unload and prepare. Another, from the farm nearby, got his help repairing their cart after he'd shown the impressive strength needed to help keep it held up. No one had seen a man with so humble a build keep a cart's side held up so well or long. And he refused half the offered pay, insisting he'd only done a simple task that would've been made easier had he known how to repair the wheel.

That and helping manage the shipment of meats and cheeses for the Bar across from the Inn brought much about him into question. He wore no weapons, wasn't bursting with muscle, was polite and well-spoken, and had the oddest assortment of worldly wisdom. 'Maybe he's from the Northeast, I hear that there's an order or knights who act like him.' 'He must be from the West Coast, no normal man with arms and legs like that could handle the things I've seen him carry! But some of those sailors have pulled off similar feats, maybe that's what those chains he wears are for.'

The rumors about his origins continued, all ignored by the man as his quick pace took him out of the town quickly. Leaving only boot prints and his odd nature behind. When asked for a name he always found a way to get out of answering, or at least to avoid anyone who tried to ask more than once. The only time he'd come close was when a little girl asked him with stars in her eyes after seeing him bring in the farmers cart. His answer was dissatisfactory for the onlooking and eavesdropping adults. But the little girl seemed fascinated by it, followed by the small gaggle of children who began to crowd him trying to wrangle a story from his tired smile.

"I can't exactly say I've got much of a name. But do you really need one? Everyone has a name, but they're all so common and interchangeable that I've had to point at people in a crowd of more than one shared a name. Just come up with a little title or nickname, and if you need a hand I'll do what I can. I'm not any sort of fancy Mage, nor am I a Hunter of the Woods. I'm just someone who wants to give a helping hand, and have plenty of good food."

This here is the description, don’t mind the setting I threw him in. Figured it would help get more of what he’s like and all across better than some long and convoluted attempt at putting it all into a description rather than in the style of a post.