Wraith
Serf
- Local time
- Today 4:28 PM
- Messages
- 7
Hey there! It's me, Wraith- your friendly neighborhood ghost. I'm new to this site, but not to roleplaying (15 years of forum roleplaying alone, but I started well before that in other formats) and I'm looking for partners. Not a ton of partners, mind you, but a few good ones. Now, on other sites I've been notorious for request threads that rival Tolkien novels in length, but this time I'm going to try and keep it short and sweet. Inasmuch as I do short, which is... Not actually that short. Sound good? Awesome, then let's get down to it, shall we?
We here on a writing site like this all have a favorite author, right? Perhaps, like me, you've been following their series for years: you keep all their books on your bookshelf, or even on your headboard. You know as soon as they announce they're releasing their next book. You know the date it's due to come out. You're at your favorite bookstore the minute they open on that day. You stay up late finishing the whole book in one shot. You know all of the best lines by heart. You know exactly what parts of the books will make you laugh, and which will make you cry. You reread the best parts over and over. The heroes are your friends, the villains your sworn enemies. The books are immortal- some existed before you were born, and you know they'll last long after you are gone. The author is a legend, and you want to know all their secrets.
Does that sound like you? If so, good. But why does that all matter? Well, I would like our story together to be that series. I want to build something great together. I want to know both my characters and yours. I want to connect to them emotionally. Cheer them on through their struggles and revel in their triumphs. Mourn their losses and celebrate their gains. I want them to grow with the world around them. I want to get the same high from seeing that I got a new post from you as I do when I see my favorite author just published a new book. I want to think about the story even when I can't get on the computer. When my mind wanders while I'm doing chores, while I'm trying to concentrate on a show, while I'm lying in bed at night unable to sleep. I want it to be so much more than just a story. Are those high expectations- absolutely! Is any story likely to meet all of them? Probably not. Nothing is perfect, after all. But I'd like us to give it our best shot. If that isn't for you- you're just looking for something casual, a little something to pass the time, then now might be the time to move on. But if, like me, you crave that deeper connection to your work, please read on, and lets see if we can make some magic together.
That's all for now, folks! Feel free to check in periodically as I update things (and maybe get bored enough to actually type out some of my plots, huh?) If anything caught your interest, please shoot me a pm (as I will not be responding to any other forms of contact- you've been warned) and hopefully we can come up with something together!
We here on a writing site like this all have a favorite author, right? Perhaps, like me, you've been following their series for years: you keep all their books on your bookshelf, or even on your headboard. You know as soon as they announce they're releasing their next book. You know the date it's due to come out. You're at your favorite bookstore the minute they open on that day. You stay up late finishing the whole book in one shot. You know all of the best lines by heart. You know exactly what parts of the books will make you laugh, and which will make you cry. You reread the best parts over and over. The heroes are your friends, the villains your sworn enemies. The books are immortal- some existed before you were born, and you know they'll last long after you are gone. The author is a legend, and you want to know all their secrets.
Does that sound like you? If so, good. But why does that all matter? Well, I would like our story together to be that series. I want to build something great together. I want to know both my characters and yours. I want to connect to them emotionally. Cheer them on through their struggles and revel in their triumphs. Mourn their losses and celebrate their gains. I want them to grow with the world around them. I want to get the same high from seeing that I got a new post from you as I do when I see my favorite author just published a new book. I want to think about the story even when I can't get on the computer. When my mind wanders while I'm doing chores, while I'm trying to concentrate on a show, while I'm lying in bed at night unable to sleep. I want it to be so much more than just a story. Are those high expectations- absolutely! Is any story likely to meet all of them? Probably not. Nothing is perfect, after all. But I'd like us to give it our best shot. If that isn't for you- you're just looking for something casual, a little something to pass the time, then now might be the time to move on. But if, like me, you crave that deeper connection to your work, please read on, and lets see if we can make some magic together.
Obviously, you've probably already drawn some conclusions about me from this post so far. Most of them are probably pretty accurate, all things considered. However, this section will be an easy, bullet-pointed list of everything you need to know about me as a writer.
- I am legally disabled. This means I don't have a job, and thus have a lot of free time. However, it also means I have a lot of health issues. I have a minimum of one doctor's appointment a week, sometimes more. I often don't feel well enough to get on the computer. And I have family commitments that take up a lot of my time as well. What this means is that my posting times are at best erratic. I might be able to respond multiple times a day, or a might go a week or more without a post. I try to keep my partners informed of my schedule, but that isn't always possible. If I go a week or more without posting, by all means, feel free to bump me, but otherwise, please be patient. Despite my name I do not ghost people- I promise I'll get back to you when I can.
- I write multiple paragraph posts. 3 is my minimum, and I can go up to 10+ when inspired.
- I generally prefer writing as female characters. However, I can and do write males as well. I will always have multiple characters in a story, including both mains and various side characters. Please don't try to limit me to one!
- As a general note, I prefer romance to develop naturally. I prefer mxf pairings, and will sometimes plan them out from the beginning and try to convince the characters to click. I will not pre-plan fxf or mxm pairings. If the characters really seem to click into one of those pairings then I am comfortable allowing it to develop into a romance, but I won't try to force it, so don't expect it will happen. I'm sorry, but I've been pushed into both of those pairings too many times and I've gotten a bit burnt out on them.
- I'm comfortable with mature themes, ranging from violence and strong language all the way to the sexy stuff. Please keep in mind that these should take place as make sense with the plot, rather than happening gratuitously. I know people have kinks, but I'm not going to list them out. Why? Simple- if you can convince me that something sexy works with the characters and plot then I'm game for doing it with very few limits. If it doesn't work with the plot and/or characters then I absolutely won't do it, even if it's something I personally enjoy. If you have something you really want incorporated into the story, make sure you tell me from the beginning, and we can try and come up with a plot and characters that it will work with.
Roesia was pretending not to listen to Matthew and Daniel bickering. Yet again. In all the time she'd known them, she'd yet to be on a mission with them where they didn't fight. They were both sorts to whine, complain, and generally get grumpy when things were uncomfortable, and things were often uncomfortable while traveling. They'd been especially uncomfortable on this trip. It was the rainy season in Berylon, and the group had spent the last three weeks trekking down muddy paths chasing vague rumors. It had rained pretty heavily as well, and Roesia had eventually given into the group's pressure and used her magic to ease the rain up a bit. However, since they could run into trouble at any time, she needed to save her magic for trouble, so she'd only been able to shift the weather into a steady drizzle. They were trying to keep a low profile, so staying in inns and taverns was out of the question. Their clothing and camping gear was all sodden, and it had been over a week since they'd been able to manage a campfire, so they'd been on cold, dry rations. Or at least, they were supposed to be dry. Some of them were, by this point, rather mushy and unpalatable, but there was no alternative. As such, Matthew and Daniel had been bickering more than usual. Today they were arguing over a sock. This particular sock had a hole in it. Since the two twins had brought identical socks, though, they couldn't agree on whose sock it was. And since neither had brought a spare pair of socks, neither wanted to have to wear the holey sock.
"No, it's yours!" Matthew insisted in a heated tone from his hunched over position on his bedroll under the canvas weather shelter the group had spread over them. "I know I left my socks in my boots last night, so it couldn't be mine!"
"Then why were there no socks in your boots this morning?" Daniel countered in an equally heated tone. "That sock was on your blankets, so it's obviously yours."
Roesia glanced up for a moment from the tome she had open on her lap. She's managed to keep one of her blankets dry, namely because she was the one who had been charged with carrying the canvas shelter, so she'd made a habit of wrapping the blanket inside of it when they packed up camp in the morning. Now she was using one corner of that blanket to carefully blot the pages of the damp book, trying to dry them out a bit. Not that she was all to concerned about the book itself. It was old and extremely out of date, with totally inaccurate information. The pages were yellowed, with faded print, and already so warped from previous water damage that it would barely close. To someone who had studied the latest magical knowledge straight out of state-of-the-art universities, it didn't have much practical value. But it suited her carefully crafted persona as an at best mediocre Thaumaturge, which is why she carried it with her, took care of it, and pretended to study it from time to time.
"My sock! I'll sock you if you don't give me my good sock back!"
Roesia closed the book with an audible smack. "Will you two knuckleheads shut it?" she finally asked acerbically. "Have neither of you heard of a needle and thread?"
They finally fell silent, turning blank gazes on her. Roesia had worked with them from time to time, but she wasn't part of the regular group of full-time hires working for the lord who had hired them for this expedition. Instead, she'd been brought on to fill in for their usual mage, who was currently engaged in duties elsewhere. As such, they weren't sure how far they could push her. Especially since she held the ability to make their trek much more uncomfortable.
She sighed at the lack of an answer. "Right. One of you idiots give me the darn sock and I'll mend it, since neither of you seem to know how to sew. And whoever hands it over first gets to have two of the good socks- the person who doesn't gets the mended one."
The two men scrambled to grab the sock, which had been laying in the no-man's-land in between their two bedrolls, and Roesia rolled her eyes, digging her small sewing kit out of her bag, wondering why men were so helpless when it came to such basic skills.
In the end, it was Daniel who got the sock and handed it over to her, then triumphantly grabbed two of the whole ones. Roesia was just starting to mend it when she heard a shout from outside the camp. She glanced over and saw their scouting party returning. They'd been out since the previous afternoon, in search of any news of the necromantic cult they were supposed to be tracking down. Finn, the youngest member of their group, an 18 year old new hire who still wasn't yet worn down from miserable marches and camping on the hard ground, was running ahead of the others, clearly excited.
"We found them!" he blurted out. "We heard their base is in Derryton!"
Roesia couldn't quite muster the same enthusiasm. They'd already had several such leads, and they had all turned out to be nothing. Still, it was better than the aimless wandering they'd been doing for the past five days.
"Alright, sure," she said dully. "I guess we'll be packing up after I finish with this damn sock."
"No, it's yours!" Matthew insisted in a heated tone from his hunched over position on his bedroll under the canvas weather shelter the group had spread over them. "I know I left my socks in my boots last night, so it couldn't be mine!"
"Then why were there no socks in your boots this morning?" Daniel countered in an equally heated tone. "That sock was on your blankets, so it's obviously yours."
Roesia glanced up for a moment from the tome she had open on her lap. She's managed to keep one of her blankets dry, namely because she was the one who had been charged with carrying the canvas shelter, so she'd made a habit of wrapping the blanket inside of it when they packed up camp in the morning. Now she was using one corner of that blanket to carefully blot the pages of the damp book, trying to dry them out a bit. Not that she was all to concerned about the book itself. It was old and extremely out of date, with totally inaccurate information. The pages were yellowed, with faded print, and already so warped from previous water damage that it would barely close. To someone who had studied the latest magical knowledge straight out of state-of-the-art universities, it didn't have much practical value. But it suited her carefully crafted persona as an at best mediocre Thaumaturge, which is why she carried it with her, took care of it, and pretended to study it from time to time.
"My sock! I'll sock you if you don't give me my good sock back!"
Roesia closed the book with an audible smack. "Will you two knuckleheads shut it?" she finally asked acerbically. "Have neither of you heard of a needle and thread?"
They finally fell silent, turning blank gazes on her. Roesia had worked with them from time to time, but she wasn't part of the regular group of full-time hires working for the lord who had hired them for this expedition. Instead, she'd been brought on to fill in for their usual mage, who was currently engaged in duties elsewhere. As such, they weren't sure how far they could push her. Especially since she held the ability to make their trek much more uncomfortable.
She sighed at the lack of an answer. "Right. One of you idiots give me the darn sock and I'll mend it, since neither of you seem to know how to sew. And whoever hands it over first gets to have two of the good socks- the person who doesn't gets the mended one."
The two men scrambled to grab the sock, which had been laying in the no-man's-land in between their two bedrolls, and Roesia rolled her eyes, digging her small sewing kit out of her bag, wondering why men were so helpless when it came to such basic skills.
In the end, it was Daniel who got the sock and handed it over to her, then triumphantly grabbed two of the whole ones. Roesia was just starting to mend it when she heard a shout from outside the camp. She glanced over and saw their scouting party returning. They'd been out since the previous afternoon, in search of any news of the necromantic cult they were supposed to be tracking down. Finn, the youngest member of their group, an 18 year old new hire who still wasn't yet worn down from miserable marches and camping on the hard ground, was running ahead of the others, clearly excited.
"We found them!" he blurted out. "We heard their base is in Derryton!"
Roesia couldn't quite muster the same enthusiasm. They'd already had several such leads, and they had all turned out to be nothing. Still, it was better than the aimless wandering they'd been doing for the past five days.
"Alright, sure," she said dully. "I guess we'll be packing up after I finish with this damn sock."
Lord Castor was a businessman through and through, Fiachra could already tell that from their discussions so far. His thoughts mirrored the other lords- this would be a challenging negotiation. Fiachra knew he had plenty of negotiating tactics still up his sleeve. However, he was reasonably certain that the other man did as well.
"Thank you, Lord Castor," he said, acknowledging the other man's acceptance of his request. "It is very kind of you to allow me to interrupt your household in such a way."
He sipped momentarily at the wine glass, although the level in it did not seem to change perceptibly. Presumably it was a merely a delaying tactic as he listened to what the other man had to say.
He nodded slightly at the man's comments about the ride. It wasn't surprising, of course, that the other man didn't want to reveal his price for an alliance just yet. It was still unlikely that the other man would turn that down, unless the first round of negotiations went very sour. But there were ways to make it even more unlikely.
"Of course. I hope there will be time, but I daresay I understand if there isn't. I wouldn't want to outstay my welcome, after all."
It was a subtle jab, but one that would undoubtedly be understood. The implication, of course, being that ending the visit too soon would be inhospitable. Even if negotiations did break down, the lord would hardly want it to seem that he was throwing the prince out. After all, minds could be changed later on, and he doubted such a shrewd and practical man would want to burn bridges until it was absolutely necessary for him to do so.
He tilted his head slightly as the lord moved the topic of conversation on to business. It seemed the opening gambits were finished, and now the real work would begin.
"Oh, don't worry about Padraig," he said casually. "He'll have no problem catching up once he gets here."
Again, the implication was quite clear. The prince might value his companion's opinion, but he was not beholden to it. Nor was he afraid of carrying on negotiations on his own. Truth be told, he felt the adviser's presence was largely unnecessary. At best, it gave him a bit more of a royal aura, to have a high-ranking lord in his retinue, but that was the only real effect the other man's presence would have on the meeting to come.
Fiachra appeared to be considering Lord Castor's question for a moment. There were times during negotiations where the veiled subtleties and implications were essential. In fact, they made up the majority of such discussions. However, there were times where bluntness and plain speaking were even more important, otherwise the two parties would never get to their point at all. The prince sensed that this was one of the latter times.
"I shall not be so coy as to pretend that that was a casual question," he began. His tone, while still calm and perhaps even friendly, was lacking its earlier flippancy. It was clear that the prince was finally getting down to business.
"I'm sure you've heard many rumors about the king's health. I wish I could say that they were inaccurate. Unfortunately, I believe you can count even the worst ones as true. The healers have little confidence in his condition improving, and doubt he will see another birthday."
He paused for a moment. His outward demeanor was still incredibly calm, but he had been close to his great-uncle as a child, and the subject was always painful to talk about. Perhaps that was why he had opted for the blunt method, rather than dragging this particular discussion out.
"My father, the prince regent, has of course been doing his best to fill in as needed, although it is certainly a difficult task. He has very skilled advisers, though, and naturally, they have been quite helpful during the transition."
His description of his father's role was, naturally, a bit less blunt than that of the king's condition. He knew well what the lord would have heard about the prince. The word "incompetent" was bandied frequently, although not within the royal family's hearing. Perhaps "uninterested" would be a better description. But his reliance on outside opinions and decisions was well-known. All avoiding the subject would do was make Fiachra seem less forthcoming or honest, neither of which would earn him any favor with Lord Castor.
"Of course, the king made his choice of heir clear long ago. However, not everyone seems inclined to accept the king's authority to make such decisions. Presumably that will be your main point of interest in this discussion."
Even when speaking frankly, Fiachra was too well-trained to completely avoid the verbal gymnastics so integral to such negotiations. By framing the other claims on the throne as refusals "to accept the king's authority," he was quite literally implying that they were treasonous. And he wasn't totally wrong on the matter, although the other claimants would inevitably have their own arguments on why that was not the case. But of course, while placing his father's claim as the only valid one gave him a considerable legal advantage to stand on, legalities did not win wars- armies did. He could deny the others' claims as much as he wanted, but that meant nothing unless he had the strength to enforce his father's.
"Thank you, Lord Castor," he said, acknowledging the other man's acceptance of his request. "It is very kind of you to allow me to interrupt your household in such a way."
He sipped momentarily at the wine glass, although the level in it did not seem to change perceptibly. Presumably it was a merely a delaying tactic as he listened to what the other man had to say.
He nodded slightly at the man's comments about the ride. It wasn't surprising, of course, that the other man didn't want to reveal his price for an alliance just yet. It was still unlikely that the other man would turn that down, unless the first round of negotiations went very sour. But there were ways to make it even more unlikely.
"Of course. I hope there will be time, but I daresay I understand if there isn't. I wouldn't want to outstay my welcome, after all."
It was a subtle jab, but one that would undoubtedly be understood. The implication, of course, being that ending the visit too soon would be inhospitable. Even if negotiations did break down, the lord would hardly want it to seem that he was throwing the prince out. After all, minds could be changed later on, and he doubted such a shrewd and practical man would want to burn bridges until it was absolutely necessary for him to do so.
He tilted his head slightly as the lord moved the topic of conversation on to business. It seemed the opening gambits were finished, and now the real work would begin.
"Oh, don't worry about Padraig," he said casually. "He'll have no problem catching up once he gets here."
Again, the implication was quite clear. The prince might value his companion's opinion, but he was not beholden to it. Nor was he afraid of carrying on negotiations on his own. Truth be told, he felt the adviser's presence was largely unnecessary. At best, it gave him a bit more of a royal aura, to have a high-ranking lord in his retinue, but that was the only real effect the other man's presence would have on the meeting to come.
Fiachra appeared to be considering Lord Castor's question for a moment. There were times during negotiations where the veiled subtleties and implications were essential. In fact, they made up the majority of such discussions. However, there were times where bluntness and plain speaking were even more important, otherwise the two parties would never get to their point at all. The prince sensed that this was one of the latter times.
"I shall not be so coy as to pretend that that was a casual question," he began. His tone, while still calm and perhaps even friendly, was lacking its earlier flippancy. It was clear that the prince was finally getting down to business.
"I'm sure you've heard many rumors about the king's health. I wish I could say that they were inaccurate. Unfortunately, I believe you can count even the worst ones as true. The healers have little confidence in his condition improving, and doubt he will see another birthday."
He paused for a moment. His outward demeanor was still incredibly calm, but he had been close to his great-uncle as a child, and the subject was always painful to talk about. Perhaps that was why he had opted for the blunt method, rather than dragging this particular discussion out.
"My father, the prince regent, has of course been doing his best to fill in as needed, although it is certainly a difficult task. He has very skilled advisers, though, and naturally, they have been quite helpful during the transition."
His description of his father's role was, naturally, a bit less blunt than that of the king's condition. He knew well what the lord would have heard about the prince. The word "incompetent" was bandied frequently, although not within the royal family's hearing. Perhaps "uninterested" would be a better description. But his reliance on outside opinions and decisions was well-known. All avoiding the subject would do was make Fiachra seem less forthcoming or honest, neither of which would earn him any favor with Lord Castor.
"Of course, the king made his choice of heir clear long ago. However, not everyone seems inclined to accept the king's authority to make such decisions. Presumably that will be your main point of interest in this discussion."
Even when speaking frankly, Fiachra was too well-trained to completely avoid the verbal gymnastics so integral to such negotiations. By framing the other claims on the throne as refusals "to accept the king's authority," he was quite literally implying that they were treasonous. And he wasn't totally wrong on the matter, although the other claimants would inevitably have their own arguments on why that was not the case. But of course, while placing his father's claim as the only valid one gave him a considerable legal advantage to stand on, legalities did not win wars- armies did. He could deny the others' claims as much as he wanted, but that meant nothing unless he had the strength to enforce his father's.
The clash of steel on steel filled the early morning air, the brief silences between the crashes punctuated by the chatter of conversation and the distant sound of dogs barking. Birkita blocked it all out, let the world around her fade away to a dull blur. Her cool, calculating amber eyes met her opponent's. The eyes were always where you would see the first sign of an attack, the first indication of a plan or trick forming. Right now she saw nothing but calm lurking there, but she knew from experience that that could change in a heartbeat.
She sidestepped another thrust, her sword darting out toward her opponent as well. Not a telling blow, not yet. She was testing him, his reflexes, his reaction time. And his style of blocking. All of that would come in handy soon enough. He stepped back, pulling his shield up to block her blow, as she'd expected he would, and she followed, preparing for a follow-up attack.
"Look what we have here. My Lieutenant Commander is entertaining the prince's new pet."
Cyrus stepped away from the match, snapping to attention to acknowledge the commander. Birkita sighed. Oh how she hated protocol. She lowered the blunted practice sword she'd been using, then eyed the commander critically.
"With all due respect, sir, he is not entertaining me. We're training- a practice I would highly recommend. And I'm no one's pet."
Birkita's tone was icily formal, with just a hint of distaste directed toward the commander. He narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, shoulders squared as he sized her up. She recognized men like him, had dealt with plenty of them, and she could already tell that they wouldn't get along.
"Are you disrespecting me? I am your commander, and you will show me the honor my station deserves. I hope you realize that your remaining here relies on staying on my good side. I can have you out of here in a heartbeat."
Birkita let the faintest hint of a smile play across her lips as she lifted her shoulders in a small shrug, something she knew to be a thoroughly infuriating gesture.
"Oh, of course not sir. I always treat people as they deserve to be treated."
The meaning behind her words was clear enough, and the man's face flushed red. But he seemed to realize he wasn't getting anywhere in the conversation, so he changed tacks.
"Mind you, I don't think it's a wise decision to have a new recruit training other guards. I should put you in training with the other rookies. Besides, everyone knows a woman can never measure up to her male counterparts when it comes to fighting. I don't even know why they're allowed in the guard. Oh, and you should call me commander, not sir."
The sneer in his voice was all too obvious, and Birkita took a moment to calm down before responding.
"With all due respect, sir, I believe you are mistaken. Women can be quite capable, with proper training. And I may be new to the guard, but I have eighteen years of combat training. Ten of those years in the intensive training camps of Farese. I don't think there's anything your trainers can teach me that I don't already know."
The commander raised an eyebrow. "Well, you have a high opinion of yourself, don't you? But you can't be that great, considering how badly you were injured. And in some minor skirmish too."
Birkita shrugged again. "Well, I suppose there's only one way for you to find out how good I really am, isn't there?"
"You're right, there is," he said, a wicked smile crossing his face. "And it appears that you're already armed."
He grabbed a practice sword from the nearby rack, then stepped forward into the training ring that Cyrus had so recently vacated. Birkita studied him as he approached, watching the way he moved, the way he held his sword. He was good, she could already tell. But she had fought better.
The match started suddenly, with the commander aiming an overhand cut at her, trying to catch her off-guard. But she was ready for it, and she let it glance harmlessly off her shield, beginning to circle him, the awkward gait caused by her limp drawing an amused look from her opponent. Let him smirk. He would be regretting that soon enough.
She waited for him to try a few more strikes, letting him get comfortable. Then, as he aimed one to her left, she jabbed her shield forward to meet the blow, jarring him backward, at the same time aiming a lightning-fast jab at him that he barely managed to block. Before he had a chance to recover, she began raining blows on him, forcing him to go on the defensive.
The commander began slowly backing up, his eyes widening as he realized he'd underestimated his opponent- a lesson learned just a little too late. Birkita finally left a gap in her onslaught and, as she suspected he would, he lunged out at her, trying to swing the momentum back into his favor, not realizing that he was falling right into her trap. She parried the blow with her sword blade, then viciously twisted the blade while flicking her wrist, wrenching his sword right out of his hand. It clattered across the practice yard, coming to a stop several feet away.
Birkita swiftly stepped forward before the commander had a chance to recover, shoving his shield out of the way with her own and holding the tip of her sword against his throat.
"I do believe, sir, that you are dead."
She lowered her sword and stepped back, arching an eyebrow in challenge. The commander stood frozen in shock, his mouth half open. Then she heard the sound of clapping coming from behind her, and she turned around slowly. Fyn and Scarlett were sitting on a nearby bench. Birkita hadn't realized they were there, but based on their reactions, they must have seen the entire fight.
She turned back toward the commander, who by now had turned bright red. Embarrassed or angry, Birkita couldn't quite tell. Nor did she care. He had asked for it, really.
"You're lucky I went easy on you this time," he said finally. "If I had actually tried, you'd be picking yourself off the floor right now."
Then he turned and walked off toward his office, not even bothering to pick up his sword, still laying in the dust. Birkita snorted, and just couldn't help but get in one parting remark.
"I told you I recommended training," she called after him, just loud enough to be heard. Unsurprisingly, he didn't deign to respond.
She sidestepped another thrust, her sword darting out toward her opponent as well. Not a telling blow, not yet. She was testing him, his reflexes, his reaction time. And his style of blocking. All of that would come in handy soon enough. He stepped back, pulling his shield up to block her blow, as she'd expected he would, and she followed, preparing for a follow-up attack.
"Look what we have here. My Lieutenant Commander is entertaining the prince's new pet."
Cyrus stepped away from the match, snapping to attention to acknowledge the commander. Birkita sighed. Oh how she hated protocol. She lowered the blunted practice sword she'd been using, then eyed the commander critically.
"With all due respect, sir, he is not entertaining me. We're training- a practice I would highly recommend. And I'm no one's pet."
Birkita's tone was icily formal, with just a hint of distaste directed toward the commander. He narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, shoulders squared as he sized her up. She recognized men like him, had dealt with plenty of them, and she could already tell that they wouldn't get along.
"Are you disrespecting me? I am your commander, and you will show me the honor my station deserves. I hope you realize that your remaining here relies on staying on my good side. I can have you out of here in a heartbeat."
Birkita let the faintest hint of a smile play across her lips as she lifted her shoulders in a small shrug, something she knew to be a thoroughly infuriating gesture.
"Oh, of course not sir. I always treat people as they deserve to be treated."
The meaning behind her words was clear enough, and the man's face flushed red. But he seemed to realize he wasn't getting anywhere in the conversation, so he changed tacks.
"Mind you, I don't think it's a wise decision to have a new recruit training other guards. I should put you in training with the other rookies. Besides, everyone knows a woman can never measure up to her male counterparts when it comes to fighting. I don't even know why they're allowed in the guard. Oh, and you should call me commander, not sir."
The sneer in his voice was all too obvious, and Birkita took a moment to calm down before responding.
"With all due respect, sir, I believe you are mistaken. Women can be quite capable, with proper training. And I may be new to the guard, but I have eighteen years of combat training. Ten of those years in the intensive training camps of Farese. I don't think there's anything your trainers can teach me that I don't already know."
The commander raised an eyebrow. "Well, you have a high opinion of yourself, don't you? But you can't be that great, considering how badly you were injured. And in some minor skirmish too."
Birkita shrugged again. "Well, I suppose there's only one way for you to find out how good I really am, isn't there?"
"You're right, there is," he said, a wicked smile crossing his face. "And it appears that you're already armed."
He grabbed a practice sword from the nearby rack, then stepped forward into the training ring that Cyrus had so recently vacated. Birkita studied him as he approached, watching the way he moved, the way he held his sword. He was good, she could already tell. But she had fought better.
The match started suddenly, with the commander aiming an overhand cut at her, trying to catch her off-guard. But she was ready for it, and she let it glance harmlessly off her shield, beginning to circle him, the awkward gait caused by her limp drawing an amused look from her opponent. Let him smirk. He would be regretting that soon enough.
She waited for him to try a few more strikes, letting him get comfortable. Then, as he aimed one to her left, she jabbed her shield forward to meet the blow, jarring him backward, at the same time aiming a lightning-fast jab at him that he barely managed to block. Before he had a chance to recover, she began raining blows on him, forcing him to go on the defensive.
The commander began slowly backing up, his eyes widening as he realized he'd underestimated his opponent- a lesson learned just a little too late. Birkita finally left a gap in her onslaught and, as she suspected he would, he lunged out at her, trying to swing the momentum back into his favor, not realizing that he was falling right into her trap. She parried the blow with her sword blade, then viciously twisted the blade while flicking her wrist, wrenching his sword right out of his hand. It clattered across the practice yard, coming to a stop several feet away.
Birkita swiftly stepped forward before the commander had a chance to recover, shoving his shield out of the way with her own and holding the tip of her sword against his throat.
"I do believe, sir, that you are dead."
She lowered her sword and stepped back, arching an eyebrow in challenge. The commander stood frozen in shock, his mouth half open. Then she heard the sound of clapping coming from behind her, and she turned around slowly. Fyn and Scarlett were sitting on a nearby bench. Birkita hadn't realized they were there, but based on their reactions, they must have seen the entire fight.
She turned back toward the commander, who by now had turned bright red. Embarrassed or angry, Birkita couldn't quite tell. Nor did she care. He had asked for it, really.
"You're lucky I went easy on you this time," he said finally. "If I had actually tried, you'd be picking yourself off the floor right now."
Then he turned and walked off toward his office, not even bothering to pick up his sword, still laying in the dust. Birkita snorted, and just couldn't help but get in one parting remark.
"I told you I recommended training," she called after him, just loud enough to be heard. Unsurprisingly, he didn't deign to respond.
The title here is pretty self-explanatory. This is what I'm looking for in a partner. I generally try not to be too demanding, so if you have any concerns over what I've written here (ie if you aren't sure you meet all the criteria) feel free to message me anyway. The worst that can happen is that I say no, right? And we might both be pleasantly surprised.
- My main criteria in a partner is that our writing styles will line up decently well. Otherwise, no matter how engaging the plot is, it just doesn't quite feel right to me. So I will want to look at some of your previous writing to see if I think we'd be compatible. Don't worry, I'm not too picky- I'm mainly looking for glaring stylistic differences, not trying to nitpick every little thing. Besides, my writing style can be adaptable, so I can match with a lot of things. If you have stories on here I can track them down and read through a few posts no problem. If, like me, you're new and don't have posts here, or even if you just want me to consider a specific writing sample, feel free to share it in your first message to me.
- BE WILLING TO COMPROMISE! I'm sorry for shouting, but that's an important point for me. No matter how compatible we are as partners, no two people will ever have the same opinion on everything. We're both going to have to give a little in order to get a story we both enjoy. If I'm the only one who ever gives in when our opinions differ then I'm going to lose interest in the story quite quickly.
- Patience. I can't always respond quickly. I ask that you respect that and not harass me for posts. So long as you keep reminders friendly we should be fine on this count.
- I do ask that you please be able to write at least 3 paragraphs per post. They don't even have to be long ones, but this ensures I have enough to respond to (exceptions can be made during dialogue or other situations that need a rapid back-and-forth.) In return I promise to do my best to give you plenty to build a reply off of as well.
- I prefer partners who are willing to write as multiple characters, as well as a willingness to write multiple genders. It's not required, but it's definitely a bonus. I also have a preference for dynamic characters with multiple personality facets. The more interesting your characters are, the more invested I'll become in the story.
- I sometimes have off-the-wall crazy ideas. I'd like a partnership where I feel comfortable sharing these with you. As such, I kindly request that no matter how strange they seem, you not judge me for it. Remember that you always have the option to say no, and I will never be upset if you don't like my suggestions. And I would also like it if you feel comfortable bringing even your wildest ideas to me as well. After all, that's how you build a fun, unique story. And again, the worst I can do is say no.
So if you've made it this far (or, let's be honest, skipped the boring part above and only plan on revisiting it if this section is interesting enough), you're probably wondering what sorts of things I write. Well, wonder no further! I do not have any definitive plots listed, but instead, some of my general interests, as well as some vague descriptions of not-fully-fleshed-out plots I have floating around. If you're more of a "pick someone's set plot and roll with it" type of person, feel free to let me know that, because I have some pretty well-developed ideas I can suggest as well. I just find that I get more interest in the ones that can be tailored to both of our liking, so those are the ones I've included here.
Genres, and My Opinions on Them:
Genres, and My Opinions on Them:
- Fantasy. I write fantasy a lot. Mostly sword-and-sorcery style, but I can do others as well. Everything from high to low fantasy, really.
- Action/Adventure. Um, yes please! Have I mentioned that I'm a DM? I like a healthy measure of action and/or adventure, preferably with other elements thrown in.
- Historical. I love historical stories, in the right era. I'm good with Medieval or Renaissance Europe. Maybe Victorian era. Vikings are nice as well. Other ancient civilizations are open for discussion. Anything with technology more advanced than rudimentary fire arms is not going to fly for me.
- Romance. Fun as a side plot, but not the main focus. And again, I prefer it to develop naturally.
- Sci-Fi. Eh. Not really my thing. Occasionally I'll get the odd hankering for a sci-fi story, but only very specific plots, so this will be a hard sell for me.
- Real World/Modern. Extremely, extremely rare. Even then, it's almost always with low fantasy elements thrown in.
- Slice-of-Life. Hard no.
- Political intrigue. God it's hard to find good political stories. Think Game of Thrones level scheming, grand plots, and dramatic rises to power and falls from grace. I love these sorts of stories (and, if we're being honest, have a well-developed, only mildly GoT-inspired plot for this if anyone is looking to get down and dirty in the mire of court politics.)
- Arranged marriages. Whether they end up working well or poorly, there's always something fun about seeing two characters get thrown together and either trying to make the most of the situation or trying to find the nearest emergency exit.
- Atypical roles. You wanna take some gender/race/pairing stereotypes or norms and then break all of them? Heck yeah, let's do it! I'm all for non-traditional characters and relationships.
- Angst and comedy. Honestly, my stories will all have some angst and drama in them. I love for them to have some comedy as well. There's nothing better than a story that is able to bounce from the drama to funny, light-hearted moments and then right back. Or even inserting humor into a bad situation that the characters themselves won't be able to see until later. Let's try to make each other laugh and cry at the same time, shall we?
- Spoof. This is the pretty much opposite of atypical roles. Do you want to take all of the usual tropes and play them up to an obnoxious degree? Let's go for it and make the story as ridiculous as we can.
- Combo Time! Here's a challenge for you- let's try and come up with a plot that combines all five of the above points. Will it be hard? Undoubtedly! Will it be worth the challenge? Well, that's for you to decide. Are you feeling brave enough to take it on?
