All Seeking RP Partners

[Corax Noir]

Hello, everyone! I've just joined this site, and I'm having a bit of trouble figuring out appropriateness and literacy levels in the RP requests here. So I thought I would make my own request, to make things a lot easier for me.

Summary:

• I write about 1,000 words
• I'm slow to reply
• I'm down to try any kind of RP
• Nothing sexual
• I'm all about your ideas
• I play humans/humanoids
• No to fandom RPs
• Yes to group RPs

Now, here are the basic you need to know about me: I typically write about 1,000 words. I can write as low as 800, as high as 1,200. I prefers people of around the same level, with good literacy. I always write in third person, and I find that first person grates on my nerves. Second person is right out. I take a while to respond. I can usually do once a week, but if anyone would like a slower-moving RP for less pressure, I'd love that! Despite my somewhat bossy introduction, I'm actually pretty lax about RPing. I just ask that you not godmod, and not ghost me.

I'll no nearly any RP you can think of. As you might have guessed from me posting in this thread, I prefer no to do anything overtly sexual. Some innuendo/flirting is fine. I'm most experienced with fantasy, medieval, and modern settings. I love historical settings, and will do waaay too much research. I'm not experienced with sci-fi or romance much, but am willing to try! I'm fine with gore and violence. I like the setting to be developed while we're RPing, but some setup is definitely neccesary beforehand. Just enough for us to make our characters from. If you have a world you've created, though, I would love to make a character set in it. I almost always do male, though I can do female if you like. I don't mind at all. I generally play humans/humanoids. I've also had a few RPs where one person played only their character, and I played the rest as sort of extras. If you want to do that, we can.

I don't really belong to any fandoms, so I don't do fandom RPs, sorry.

I would also like to do group RPs. If anyone wants to co-found one with me, or has a good literate one they'd like to invite me to join, that would be great!

I have a few vague ideas, but I'm really mostly interested in hearing yours. If you need help thinking or have no idea, we can come up with one together! Here are some I like:
1. A quest-style adventure in a fantasy setting, with all the typical fantasy elements
2. A sci-fi adventure in an OG Star Trek style
3. A group of kids (or a couple of kids) in the 80s on an adventure
4. A historical narrative of any kind at all
5. An archeological dig full of booby traps and narrow escapes
6. Any scenario where I get to play a charming con artist (a favorite of mine, but rarely works with other characters)

RP Example (Most Recent)

"Our government wants what is best for you. Will you let them take care of you?"

Sonny had heard that message echo in his own voice through transport stations, gleaming government buildings, and along dusty streets where there was nobody to hear it. This, and a thousand more like it, were the soundtrack to his life. He repeated them now in his head, word for word. He wasn't nervous or scared just yet, and he was determined that he wouldn't be throughout this whole thing. But these things were a reminder that no matter what happened, he would always have someone powerful and capable looking out for his best interests. He had grown so used to hearing them at regular intervals that the silence of the cells felt strange and eerie to him. He knew exactly how long it was between each statement, exactly what order they were in. And just at the right time, his mind would go to just the right one, playing for him like he was still in Ultalla. He didn't even have to try: they just came to him, like he had a speaker in his ear playing them over and over.

The room was dark and cold, but that didn't bother Sonny - anyone who was bothered by it was sure not to last long in this program. In the beginning, some of the people had tried to get to know one another, just something to do to fill the silence. Nobody near Sonny had attempted to start a conversation, and he knew better than to try himself. It was a very bad idea to get too attached to them. The last thing he needed was to be distracted by emotions at a critical point, or to be betrayed by someone he had trusted. It was such a shame not all of them could make it through, but Sonny trusted the government when they said it was simply too delicate of a mission to send people in without having tested them rigorously first. Sonny could only hope he was good enough to make it through to the end, but if he didn't, he would be proud to give his life for such a noble and important cause.

"Together we strive for a brighter future."

Sonny's wandering gaze snapped up as he heard the blaring sound of the sirens. He strained to hear anything beyond them, wondering who had been killed this time. He couldn't understand the people who tried to escape. Not just the futility of the attempt, or the tragic waste of life necessitated by it. He didn't understand people who valued themselves so much more than the rest of the world, who, given the choice between their own life and those of billions of people, would choose theirs without hesitation. Being here was a privilege, but there were people here who acted like it was a duty they didn't want to perform. "This is not a test," a voice said, indicating that the alarm was for something else this time. Sonny listened as the voice explained their challenge, and ended with "Good luck, keep calm, and carry on." Sonny felt that familiar surge of comfort at hearing this phrase. He took it to heart, let it pound in his ears to remind him not to panic, while people in cells around him began to do just that. He remembered the first days in the cell, when he'd moved around it to get a feel for the place. He had found a strange compartment in the floor. It had been empty then, and he'd thought it rather strange. He had a feeling it might not be so empty now.

Feeling along for the hair-thin line that would tell him where the compartment was, he finally found it and dug his fingernails in to prise it open. He could feel something vaguely oblong, and what seemed to be a handle. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but this certainly wasn't it. Some sort of weapon? He hefted it in his hand, trying to get a feel for what it was. It felt like a phaser of some sort, but he didn't have time to examine it closer. He could hear running footsteps, screams, and shouts outside, and figured the others had either figured out how to get out with their weapons, or had been given something else.

"Keep calm and carry on."

Feeling along the doorway, Sonny aimed his weapon at the lock, prepared to blast his way out and defend himself if anyone should be waiting for him outside. But before he got to it, he heard a click that sounded like the door being opened. He stepped back, weapon still aimed at the door, waiting to see who it was. After a few moments, though, it seemed like whoever it was had gone away. If they were just here to help him, he wished they would have given him a chance to refuse. But it would be ridiculous to do anything about it now. Carefully but quickly - he knew he was running out of time - Sonny opened the door and moved against the wall outside. He gave it less than a second, and when nobody tried to attack him, he immediately turned to the left and hurried forward, keeping one hand on the wall so he could feel when there were any turns. In his other hand was his weapon, ready to take down anyone who tried to take him down first. He didn't want to kill anyone just yet, though he knew it would likely be inevitable later on. But if anyone tried to kill him, he wouldn't hesitate to defend himself.

He had never been particularly stealthy, but it was his good luck that there was noise all around. Cries, pleas, heavy footsteps, and the sounds of blood. He kept his breathing even and shallow, inhaling as little of the toxic gas as he could. He moved along a corridor and felt something fly past his face. Without stopping to think, he spun on his heel and shot directly at whatever it had been. His weapon made almost no sound, and he didn't stop to find out whether he had hit. He put on a burst of speed and made two more turns, but he was hardly any closer to the exit, as far as he knew. There was no way he was going out in the first round like this. He felt along the walls, getting faster, just slow enough not to round a corner and wind up shot or stabbed.

RP Example

It was a dusty day. Really, one could say it was a very dusty day. Some chickens even did say this, walking along the dirt path with feathers shielding their faces: "My dear, what a very dusty day it is!" Nobles flapped madly as their servants ran about shutting the windows so that the noble would be untouched by dirt while he was taking his fortnightly dust bath. Mother hens who stood up to stretch found that their pristine white eggs had turned inexplicably pale brown! Here next to the cornfields, the loose-soil path was throwing dust up into the air like celebratory confetti. Along the path now came a wagonfull of peasant chickens - or so they seemed. The oddball collection of small and large, sleek and puffy, fierce and soft, vertical and horizontal (could be, who's to say?) made it clear they were no family or, if they were, that one of their parents probably needed to get their priorities straight. Perhaps they were taking a pleasant peasant stroll? Were they heading off to market? Maybe they were secretly transferring a prince to safety? Why are you asking me all of these questions? You know what's happening, and you're disrupting the flow of the writing. Quit it.

Ahem. But back to our heroes. Standing on the side of the road amongst the cornstalks, the first thing a chicken would notice about the wagon might be the two large white geese pulling it, their feathers ruffled and looking very irritable about the dust blowing into their eyes. Or perhaps the large bright teal blob which, upon closer inspection, would prove to be a surprisingly durable parasol held in the wing of a tall, dark-feathered rooster. His clothing was a bit finer than that of other chickens sitting in the wagon. One might assume that he was a bit wealthier, but more likely he was just bad at appearing peasant-like. In his other wing were the reins of the geese. This rooster was Bantam Orpington, goose-breeder and wagon-driver, who just that morning had set out on what would undoubtedly prove to be an adventure full of danger, insanity, and a dash of life-threatening situations. It was enough to make anyone chicken out.

All the same, that morning as he set out Bantam had had hugs for all the ladies, just delighted to see old friends, and with many tips of the hat for the great Prince Wyan. He had been reunited with his old fledgling peer, William Alaric Brewer ("Alaric, you old so-and-so!"). He had been delighted to find that his fellow goose-breeder's wife, Colette, would be there as well. He had been quick to inform Jackie and Patch that he was, in fact, single, if they were at all interested. He'd been too nervous to do more than sneak a glance at Wyandotte, but he did manage to talk to Calhoun and so he figured he could chalk that up as a win. He started out the trip by humming the old folk song "Spotted Egg" three times in a row, but eventually fell into conversation with Colette. He had already made friendly chatter with nearly all of the flock and skirted awkwardly around Wyan while mumbling something that sounded like words, so he figured there was a good chance of making new friends on this trip. Well, close acquaintances and short-term girlfriends. Things were looking up! After all, what could go wrong with trying to sneak a teenage prince across barren lands full of angry cannibal chickens?

Bantam had been talking at Colette ever since they had left. They were just out of the town, and Bantam had run out of hens to wink at as he passed by. He had ended it with the hen he was courting just that morning, so there was no reason not to meet some other girls, he told himself. And just in a paragon of good timing, he now had two new hens who might be interested in him. Bantam was definitely not unaware of the difficulties involved in flirting with hens sitting directly behind you without turning your head, but he was giving it a valiant effort. The occasional "Shame you can't sit up here with us, Jackie", "How's the view, Patch? Can't be as pretty as you", and "Clawdia, did I ever tell you how lucky I am to have a hen like you sitting right next to me?" were the best he could pull off under the circumstances, so it was really fortunate that he had ol' Gingerbread sitting right next to him so he had something to do. "Well, most chickens attribute the Whooper Bean Swoose to Shelldon Barbu d'Uccle," Bantam was saying to her now, half watching her and half watching the road. "I'm sure you know about him: Big V? Died trying to chart the Canadian Goose Migrations by riding on the back of his goose, fell right into the sea. Anyway, after the Cygnus Rift a lot of chickens stopped breeding sweese of any kind. My father was a strictly anti-swoose rooster himself, and as for me, I'm really undecided on swans as a whole. I do find their necks rather vexing. I think I heard your husband talking about sweese, but I'm not sure where he stands on the whole issue. You don't do any swoose breeding, do you?"

As Bantam was talking, the wind made a sudden and violent attempt to wrench his parasol from his grip, but Bantam held on with a strength that he possessed in no situations except parasol-related ones, his bum levitating off the seat for a moment before the wind rage-quit and went to bother someone else. The geese, Lagle and Bezai, let out angry honks and Bantam pulled back on the reins to keep them under control. They settled, feathers ruffled and coated in a thin layer of brown dust. Bantam gave a light chuckle. "Looks like I have two Tufted American Buff Geese now," he said out loud to anyone who was listening, and then waited for everyone to laugh at his incredibly funny joke. Sadly, he didn't get quite as enthusiastic a response as he was hoping, and he butted in quickly before anyone could make a comment. "You know, I actually got this feather from an American Buff Goose," he said, gesturing to the feather adorning his hat. "It was no easy feat, but it was certainly worth it. When I finally got it, well, I'll tell you, that really put a feather in my cap."

 

[TheWoundedFalcon]

Good afternoon Corax Noir. I'm new to this website so I don't know if replying to this thread or sending a PM is how to appropriately respond. Forgive me if I've chosen the wrong avenue.

• I'm alright with any kind of word limit and believe that I can match your 1000 word requirement.
• Despite work and school I often try to reply once per day, but at least once per week.
• I'm looking for a medieval themed, fantasy based, adventure roleplay with consistent internal logic.
• In this case 'fade to black' for any such scenes is the most plausible.
• I'm open to co-creating characters and a world to explore, building it little by little.
• I can play different types of human and non-human characters but I prefer the former.
• While I am open to this kind of RP, I am woefully under informed about a majority of fandoms.
• I'd like a group RP as well, possibly in the flavor of a Dungeons and Dragons style Campaign.

My primary goal with rejoining forum roleplay is to have fun. Second on my agenda is to actively improve my descriptions, creativity, prose and vocabulary. A majority of the roleplay that I've been apart of over the years tended to die from neglect instead of reaching any kind of natural or constructed ending. Members either back out because of life responsibilities or just stop posting all together. To that end, I prefer to start with shorter themes; instead of saying that we'll write an entire book, I think it would be better to commit to half a chapter at a time. That way we can aim for satisfying conclusions to a chapter and then decide if we want to continue. I envision it as being writing a scene to completion and then going to the next logical scene based on the scenario.

I think that group roleplay would be a lot of fun too but I fear for its sudden and untimely death if all the members don't put in an effort to keep it alive.

In terms of theme, I am currently looking for either a historical narrative, apocalyptical steampunk theme or an contemporary urban fantasy.

For the former I am enamored with the concepts of medieval knights, nobility, royalty and monarchal conflicts mixing with the threat of monsters, the promise of powerful hidden treasures and the mystery of 'what lies beyond the veil'. I enjoy magic in roleplay but I dislike when it is just a cure all McGuffin used to solve any problem and without limitation. Therefore magic that has hard limits to its capability, consequences to its use and is difficult to manage tends to be more exciting for me. In general, I want to explore the idea of what kind of effects there would really be for a world filled with magic, monsters and magic treasure. I watch different videos where medieval and fantasy enthusiasts ask this question and I realize that I haven't ever delved into an RP that considers the monumental consequences of this question.

The latter has blossomed from reading different light novels and online comics. I haven't watch or read 'The Boys' but I like the question that it asks. What would actually happen if a human held supernatural abilities. Less violent that 'The Boys' and more similar in atmosphere to a series like Stranger Things. I also like the notion that the powers wouldn't be the typical super strength, speed, invulnerability or regeneration, but smaller abilities that take creative thinking to use properly: Jubilee comes to mind.

As for the apocalyptic steampunk, it mainly comes from me wanted to participate in a roleplay that takes place in the Frostpunk universe. I have little more than small scraps of ideas surrounding the supernatural nature of The Storm and the juxtaposition of Victorian era technology mixed with giant sentient automata and gunpowder muskets.

Below I have an RP example for you if you'd like a taste of my writing style. I don't know how to neatly put it in a tab like you can. I hope that it is to your liking:


EXAMPLE:

Harold muffled his wince as salty sweat invaded his eye. He hurriedly attempted to blink his vision clear. The harsh flavor of iron and grime coated his mouth but he managed to wrestle down the bubbling nausea. He raised his gloved left hand and completely covered his lips as he swallowed.

A low and rhythmic clicking growl audibly vibrated the air mere moments later.

Harold aggressively squeezed his teeth together. He felt his jaw start to go numb against the strain. He had to do it. He needed to stop himself from trembling. Every muscle was tensed and he actively held his breath. The clawing darkness offered nothing but the chilling cloudy blackness that he had become intimately familiar with.

Long deadly silence greeted him as he strained his hearing. There was no wind, only the biting cold. It threatened to drain him of his warmth and energy despite his heavy coat and thermals. Then there was the stench. That awful stomach churning odor that constantly attacked his nose and burned his eyes. It is the unmistakable foulness of rotting offal, excrement and spilled gasoline.

Something heavy and meaty audibly scrapped across the frigid metal floor. Seconds later it impacted a wall with a violent squelch. Harold sliced into his gums as he heard it slowly slide down the wall and the thud back onto the floor.

The clicking growl returned.

Harold was barely able to place its location. It was dangerously close. Pressed up against the damaged steel plating of the broken corridor wall, Harold could tell that the sound had to be directly opposite to him. He shifted his gaze diagonally up and mentally cursed. There was no power so he couldn't be completely sure of his exact location. There should have been a sign on the wall, but he couldn't make out the words.

He kept listening but didn't hear any movement. Lifting his right hand Harold reached forward and pressed his fingers against the impression of letters attached to the opposite wall. He managed to feel the familiar form of the letter 'M' before heavy footsteps started to approach.

Shit!

Harold cursed in his mind and then threw himself off the wall and into a frantic sprint. The noise from his booted footfalls caused the heavier footsteps to become powerful stomps. He could feel the walls and floor vibrate from every impact.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Harold could only trust his memory as he ran through the unforgiving darkness. He barely managed to avoid the motionless lumps on the floor by feeling the slick ichor against his boots whenever he approached one. The thunderous steps were getting louder. They were getting closer.

Please! Please! Please!

Richard begged in his mind as he sprinted and then turned sharply left at the last second.

A booming crash vibrated the air joined by the noise of shattered glass and a violent, ear shattering scream. It was a vile noise that gnawed at a primordial sense of dread within Harold. He didn't need reminding and hated how the hairs on his neck stiffened. His entire head vibrated as he felt his body flood with additional adrenaline.

Forward. Then Right. Then Left. Then. Then. Fuck!

Harold charted a mental map in his mind, plagued at every moment by the unrelenting darkness. His eyes should have adjusted. There should have been even a tiny shred of light coming from somewhere; from something! He couldn't get lost. Not now!

Harold painfully collided with something and screamed in his mind as he lost his balance and hit the floor. The surging noise of rapid stomps encouraged him to scramble back to his feet. He nearly tripped again as he sprinted to his left, kicking something heavy and meaty under him and almost falling again.

The stomps were gaining on him. He was approaching an intersection, but he didn't know which one.

Fuck. Which way? Which way!?

Harold gambled and sprinted straight ahead, praying that he made the correct choice. Then he felt himself descending. His boots didn't find purchase. There was no floor underneath him. Dismay constricted his body as he plummeted and howled a panic filled scream all the way down.


Daniel pushed an oval button on the dashboard and watched as the windshield wipers continued to scrape away the snow.

"Still nothing on comms?" he turned to his partner Sherry as she fiddled with a data pad and pressed one hand against her headphones.

"Nothing but static" she responded with a noticeable drawl. Daniel had always pinned Sherry as a Sector Three local; her ashen brown skin, pale black eyes and natural black hair was a staple of the S3 folk. Her accent always called his assumption into doubt, however. She couldn't have been a member of the upper class, the vaunted Sec-Zeros as they were known.

If she was, she wouldn't be working salvage and repair operations.

"And the last coherent message?" Daniel questioned.

"Station wide emergency. All of the signals indicate it wasn't a sanctioned drill either". Sherry thumbed through the data pad and examined different weather reports.

"You think it's the storm?" Daniel asked obviously skeptical.

"Has to be. Sector Nine nearly had its primary gen freeze last week 'cause of it. I think that the station must have lost power right after they rung the alarm." Sherry seemed convinced and Daniel knew better than to argue when she was sure of something.

"Think you can fix it if that's the issue." Daniel started fiddling dashboard, changing the radio stations.

"If they have the equipment and foot the bill then I'm sure that I can manage something that ensures power to their critical facilities. If not then we'll just have to figure something else out." Sherry shrugged and leaned back against the cushioned chair of their transport truck.

Both started to hum along to an old jazz song that started playing, their headlights cutting through the chilling darkness of the snowy road ahead.

 

[Ci Jai]

And good evening,

The main point that attracts me to your ad is the posting frequency. I'll be looking at weekends for activity. Work is important to me and I strictly prohibit anything that might distract me from that during the week. I'm apprehensive about joining a group because if my turn is next, but the last post was Monday, then everyone is waiting until Sat for me to respond. But if people are okay with that . . .

I am open to any type of RP. Like you, I could potentially spend hours researching the subjects I'm incorporating. For the sake of simplicity, we could choose a medium of Fantasy to work with if we decide to give some idea a try. That way, we both can focus on plot and development.

My other partner I know and trust IRL. She is doing me a favor by allowing me to test my boundaries in the work we do. I won't mind toning my content down for others. Mentioned, in case you glimpse our work to see how I engage. See below.

Are you LGBTQ friendly? Not sure why, but I am feeling inspired to reincarnate a gay assassin from another realm. I never did get a chance to discover his story. Not looking to romance him. I am truly flexible, though.

It used to be me accommodating others, for several years. I won't complain. I strengthened my concepts of villainy by doing so. However, it would be nice to examine scenarios in response for once. Let someone else take the lead.

I never like to be told to "look it up" but in this case, you'll hear those lil bird bodies thunking if you do (two birds, one stone). I've writing samples in an ongoing SL that will show; villainy, multi-character integration, style, length, prose, and whatever else fancies you to check. The Madness