Any Swords, Sorcery, Cyberpunk & Soul-Stealing Swords - Literate Writer Seeking 1x1

[Olligarchy]

Hello and welcome to my ad,

I would like to begin with a note regarding formatting. In the short time I've been on this forum I've come across some truly awe-inspiring ads and, having just picked my jaw off the floor, can readily attest that my ad will look nothing like them at all. I am a Web Designer by education, but it's been years since I so much as looked at CSS, so the kind of formatting that creating something like some of you true diehards have would probably either take inordinately long or simply see me throwing away the towel in disgust before I even post anything.

So in short? I'll focus my attention on delivering what I'm good at... writing and hope it's enough to catch your interest. That alright? Thanks!

About Me
My name is Olli, and I am an experienced writer who has been in the business of written roleplay for decades now. I tend to favour writing medium- to long-term stories and prefer writing in the third-person past tense, multi-paragraph. I am usually available for at least one solid post a day, possibly more depending on the length and and posting rhythm we settle on. I have many writing samples available if you'd like one to verify my literacy level.

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Current Interests
Sword and Sorcery:
Think Conan the Barbarian, Elric of Melniboné and Red Sonja. I am interested in writing either Conan or Elric, or in crafting original characters and a whole new world with a like-minded partner. Also open to bringing these characters to other settings to interact with characters in them.

Cyberpunk:
Whether set in Altered Carbon, Blade Runner, Cyberpunk 2020/2077, or a world of our own making, I long for some proper neon noir. Bonus points if you'd like to write an enigmatic 'voice in my character's ear.'

Forgotten Realms/D&D/Baldur's Gate
Call it what you will - I have a wealth of characters and canon muses in this world. I am open to 1x1 or even forming a party to adventure up and down the Sword Coast and beyond.

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Also open to
Urban Fantasy
Think Vampire: The Masquerade, Underworld, or the like - Vampires, Werewolves, and those caught in between. I write multiple vampire and werewolf characters and am open to pairings like Vampire x Vampire, Werewolf x Werewolf, Vampire x Werewolf or even Vampire/Werewolf x Human (with me as the supernatural) for the right partner.

I am also interested in setting these stories in different historical periods or fantasy worlds.

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Surprise Me
Got an idea that doesn't fit into these boxes, but resonates with you? Feel free to pitch it to me! The worst I can say is "no."

Well okay not the WORST thing, but... I try to be nice!

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Whilst I primarily write OC's and have quite a number of them, some even described in sheets and the like, I also write a fairly sizeable number of canon characters in various fandoms. I will list them below here in alphabetical order.

Spoiler: Fandoms and Canons in Alphabetical Order

A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones: Daemon Blackfyre, Daemon Targaryen (Rebel Prince), Jaime Lannister, Ned Stark, Robert Baratheon, Tywin Lannister

Altered Carbon: Takeshi Kovacs

Babylon 5: G'Kar, Jeremy Sinclair, John Sheridan, Londo

Blade Runner: K

Buffyverse: Angel, Giles, Spike

Conanverse: Conan

Cyberpunk (2020/2077): Johnny Silverhand

DC Comics: Aquaman, Batman, Damian Wayne, Dream (of the Endless), Hal Jordan, Jason Todd, John Constantine, Lex Luthor, Oliver Queen, Superman, Vandal Savage

Dragonlance: Raistlin Majere, Sturm Brightblade

Dune: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, Leto Atreides, Paul Atreides, Vladimir Harkonnen

Elric Saga: Elric of Melniboné

Firefly: Malcolm Reynolds

Forgotten Realms (Baldur's Gate): Astarion, Bane, Gale, Lae'zel, Szass Tam, Torm

Greco-Roman Myth: Ares/Mars, Jupiter/Zeus

Historical: Aurelian, Charles XII (of Sweden), Gustavus Adolphus

Lord of the Rings: Aragorn, Elendil, Isildur, Sauron

Marvel: Doom (Victor von), Kilgrave/Purple Man, Magneto, Moon Knight, Punisher, Thor, Tony Stark, Wolverine

Norse Myth: Baldur, Heimdall, Odin, Thor

Star Wars: Anakin/Vader, Kyle Katarn, Revan

Stargate: Anubis, Apophis, Baal, Jack O'Neill

Van Helsing: Gabriel Van Helsing

Warhammer 40k: Horus, Leman Russ, Rogal Dorn, Sanguinius

Wheel of Time: Loghain, Mazrim Taim, Rand

Witcher: Emhyr, Geralt

Thank you for getting this far! I will leave you all with this wee mood setter for my proposed Elric of Melniboné writing below here.

Happy reading and writing!

Mood Piece/Writing Sample

Stormbringer—the Chaos Blade and Daughter of Arioch, Lord of Chaos—howled through the air like the reaper's touch before embedding into the fleshy chest of the slaver with a meaty thunk. The blow itself sent viscera and gore splaying all over and would've been lethal in its own right, but it was not the pain and realisation that he was to die that saw a look of muted horror come upon the Manling's face:

It was a simple understanding.

"You are taking my soooul!" He shrieked, the pain he felt in his mortal coil paling in comparison to the sensation of the unholy weapon draining his very essence in order to provide unholy vitality to the man holding the other end of that accursed weapon:

Elric. The Once Emperor of Melniboné, now better known to the Young Kingdoms as the White Wolf.

He'd seemed an innocuous target when the slaver and his half-dozen brigands had set upon him. Just a lone rider on a long since abandoned road somewhere in the Borderlands. Little had they known that such a frail man could've wrought so much pain and destruction, with that obsidian-coloured blade of his carving them all root from stem till but the slaver himself remained standing; right up until Elric buried Stormbringer in his chest.

'YEEES!' The Sword howled in Elric's mind, letting out a wail of pure, sensual satisfaction. It crooned... not just for blood, but for him. It was wed to its wielder, had been ever since he'd wielded it in order to save his lady love... Cymoril.

Cymoril. That name cut through Elric's placid, composed mind like Stormbringer through the slaver's soul. Pulling out his blade, he let the now soulless husk of the once-slaver fall on the copse, next to his men.

His blade swished to one side, cutting through the air once more—only this time it was to swish away the blood and gore from it before sheathing.

Cymoril. Elric thought, closing his eyes in pained sorrow.

A year... a year now since I left the Dragon Isle. A year since I turned my back on my people, my throne... a year since I abandoned all that was dearest to me. For a year now I have lived only to take other lives since I condemned myself to killing to save yours. A year now since I stopped being the Emperor of Melniboné... in order to become the one they call...

His crimson eyes opened.

...the White Wolf.

 

[Olligarchy]

Writing Samples

Celebrations at Cavers House	Across the Rainbow Bridge to Valhalla	The Exile of Thay	World's Finest	La Mia Cosa

 

[Olligarchy]

Writing Sample (Court Intrigue/Romance/Victorian Era) - Celebrations at Cavers House
The celebrations were already in full swing by the time that esq. Henry Douglas, the 21st Lord of the Manor of Cavers, entered the balcony overlooking the great hall of Cavers House. The chandeliers had been polished to such a glory that the whole of the solid oaken dancing floor appeared to be shining thanks to their radiance. All around him he could hear and see the sounds of merriment, intrigue and gossiping as the great lords, ladies, and knights of Roxburgh indulged in the young lord's hospitality. Many were partaking of the fine vintages and foods that had been imported from the Continent at great expense to the dangerously threadbare coffers of the Lord of the Manor, but Henry could thank Jove that not many had yet heard the rumours of where his father's indulgences had led them.

"Enjoying the celebrations?" His mother's plummy accent called out from behind him. The Lady Catherine was a handsome woman whose health had held out in spite of her husband's giving out at only the age of 56. Despite having only recently come to his power, Henry had even heard rumours that several of the more established men in attendance had expressed interest in courting the matronly Catherine. She was of proven fertility thanks to the one son she'd managed to squeeze out in spite of her husband's seeming impotence, but in truth the reason they were likely after her hand was her able hand at courtly intrigue and gossip. Little passed from one set of lips to a set of ears in the Borders that she did not hear of.

"I am certainly making an attempt to." Henry responded, turning partially to face her whilst also keeping an eye on the guests in attendance. The proceedings seemed to be continuing of their own power and he figured he could linger a while longer before having to dive into the flurry of apologies, well-wishes, and subtle japes at his father's passing, "Though I am told by Roger that we're running dangerously low on certain vintages—Champagne especially. It would appear that Lord Frederick has indulged rather heavily since his arrival."

"Oh, he would, the old goat." Catherine beamed, moving to stand next to her son. She was near a head and a half shorter than he, "Ever since his wife—the Lady Agnes—caught him in cahoots with a scullery maid he's been on the leash and I am told she does not even allow him a glass of whisky before bed. This appears his one chance at enjoyment and he is no doubt taking it."

Henry found the corner of his mouth tugging at his mother's words and directed his azure blue gaze onto the dancing floor, catching sight of Agnes the younger... Lord Frederick's daughter dancing with another young man. Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he considered verbalising his question, only for his mother to answer the unspoken question.

"A bright girl and one with a dowry to boot." She began promisingly enough, "And yet I'm afraid to say that she's been rumoured to have grown rather too fond of riding out in the country."

The polite and seemingly innocent turn of phrase let Henry know that were he to marry Agnes it would've been unlikely he'd be the only one sampling of her honey, so in spite of his financial travails he decided against courting said lady. There were certainly a number of other eligible bachelors—both young and old—in attendance and even though the name of Cavers no longer had quite the same shine to it as in feudal times, he expected no issue in requesting the chance to court one of them. They'd all come to his celebrations after all—indicating that he was in good standing—and he wouldn't have been the first or last young lord suffering from some fiscal troubles. All of that could be solved.

"Interesting." He stated suddenly, a queer sight catching his eye. He'd caught sight of an individual he did not quite recognise and he found his attention diverted to them with silent abandon. His mother too caught where he was looking and after arching one gracefully manicured eyebrow joined him in his musings.

"My, my..." She murmured before sipping wine from her goblet, "...it appears to be someone even I cannot name."

Who are they? Henry found himself musing, tapping his hand on the inlaid wood of the balcony thoughtfully before heading off to the dance floor to find out.

 

[Olligarchy]

Writing Sample (Urban Fantasy/American Gods inspired) - Across the Rainbow Bridge to Valhalla

'CARRY WE WHO DIE IN BATTLE'
'OVER LAND AND SEA'
'ACROSS THE RAINBOW BRIDGE'
'TO VALHALLA'

The several-decades-old heavy metal music rang through Baldur Odinsson's ears far too loudly for it to have been good for his hearing, but the Bright-Eyed one did not care. He'd lain dying far too long ago to truly have a worry for such mundane things as having his eardrums perforated by music being played too loudly.

"Wouldn't that be just the thing, mother?" He murmured to himself over the music as he rotated his right wrist towards himself, increasing the amount of gas being fed into the engine of Sleipnir, "Learning that in addition to mistletoe you failed to secure my well-being from sound itself?"

The memory of Frigga—his mother—was a sour and almost maudlin one, but the crashing crescendo of the metal music emanating from his AirPods brought him right back to the present.

'ODIN'S WAITING FOR ME'

The words of Manowar's 'Sleipnir' did not ring true in this case, but they did serve to fuel his ichor enough that the roar of Sleipnir's engines caused the highway around him to fade into a mere blur which soon enough deposited him on what appeared to be the beginnings of a bridge hanging over the clouds.

The Bifrost was as beautiful as it had been nearly two centuries ago when he'd last visited this place. Even though it existed out of time and space—as understood by humans anyway—Baldur could see the Nine Realms underneath his combat-booted feet. Just like the Gods and Giants which had upon a time used it to travel to and from Asgard, it had long since fallen to decay thanks to its abandonment after Ragnarok.

Well... almost abandonment. A single solitary figure yet stood between him and what had once been his father's Realm. The figure was tall and clad in a blood-red tunic and armour made of finely woven rings of iron that gleamed in the eternal seeming sunlight.

Despite the imposing appearance of the Horn Bearer and the timbers of steel in the, "Stǫðva!" ["Halt!"] he uttered upon sighting the one-time Prince of the Aesir, it was clear that he would not have been able to bar anyone's path. The red colour of his tunic was not thanks to dye, but thanks to an ever-bleeding wound on his stomach.

"Easy there, Rig." Baldur retorted in English rather than his native Norse as he brought Sleipnir to a halt in front of Heimdall... the Guardian of the Bifrost and god who'd supposed to have died at the hands of the wily Loki all those centuries ago, "Just wanted to see that ugly mug of yours after all these years!"

"Ah... Baldur, I almost did not recognise you in that... outfit." The Father of Men retorted, slowly lowering his blade when it became apparent that the once dead Prince of Asgard did not mean to force a crossing into the abandoned citadel of the Gods behind him, "How many years has it been?"

"Two... maybe two and a half centuries." Baldur responded with an easy smile on his handsome features as he began to rise from atop Sleipnir to approach the other Deity, "You'd think with all your all-seeing knowledge and view from atop here you'd keep appraised of such things."

"A century may pass as soon as I blink, or it may take an eternity." The older deity expounded, "I have not the will to note each and every passing human folly."

"Well, you should try it sometime." Baldur practically chortled, the music still blaring into his ears as he leaned back on the motorcycle he'd ridden onto the Rainbow Bridge, "If for nothing else then to pass the time. It has been more than a thousand years since Ragnarok and here you s-..."

"Yes, here I stand." Heimdall interjected with surprising fervour for a man who'd been bleeding to death for such a length of time, "But that does not explain why you continue to torment me each and every century."

"You woun..." Baldur began to snark, only for his jaw to suddenly click shut when the eternal seeming sunshine around them darkened and yet another section of the bridge they were standing on cracked a bit to indicate that yet another of the few remaining Faithful had perished. The sight made even him swallow his words.

Heimdall was nonplussed however, his cool grey gaze meeting the sky-blue eyes of his kinsman with the silent expectation of a man—a god—who'd known he was to die for a long time.

"It won't be long now." He whispered, only for that whisper to carry across the entire length of the bridge, "The sacrifices and false prayers grow less and less and soon enough you needn't bother to visit for my duty shall be done."

The fatalistic words caused Baldur to look down from their elevated perch onto the Old World that stretched underneath their feet. He could see all of it from a position perched atop Scandinavia with but the lands across the Seas that Vikingr had crossed upon a time hidden from his gaze.

"I refuse to believe that." He stated with far more steel than even Heimdall had ever remembered hearing from him, "I've thought of what you said during our last mál [conversation] and I've decided that I'm going to do it."

Heimdall let out a strangled combination of a laugh and a gasp of pain at the dead god's vim before moving to challenge such a bold claim.

"You mean to do it? You?" He laughed, "The only God who managed to die only to ascend once again after Ragnarok? You mean to find the gods and goddesses lost and forgotten since their titanic struggle and restore them to their place in these halls?"

"Yes." Baldur reaffirmed, his divine gaze finding his first target from on-high. He pointed at the solitary figure back down on Earth, drawing Heimdall's all-seeing gaze upon you as well.

"Starting with that one."

 

[Olligarchy]

Writing Sample (D&D) - The Exile of Thay
Morkai Astano's obsidian eyes opened to the pitch-black darkness of the cells around him. The Thayan had been stirred from his sleep by the combined sound of the distant, iron-hinged doors being opened and the smell of rancid Eltabbar air. Though disgusting and filled with the stench of garbage and rotting flesh, it was a far cry from the desolation that surrounded the slaves held underneath the City.

There had been a time when the pale, malnourished Sorcerer had smelled that air just about daily. A time when his name had been whispered in every corner of Thaymount as a thing of foreboding. A shape of the things to come.

A time… not now.

It had been nearly a year since the Zulkir had discovered that while he had a nominal ability to cast magic by the Rite, his true power came from the Blood. A year of sweat, blood, and tears since his red robes had been torn asunder, and he'd been fitted with an anti-magic collar that left his neck raw and bloody even now. The feel of it, though oppressive and rough against his bloodied skin, was naught when compared to the sense of loss when it came to his magic. Where once it had coursed through his veins like fire, it was now a distant song that he could not hope to reach. It was that distance… this damned collar that kept him from his vengeance.

His eyes fluttered as they got used to the momentary lance of light that penetrated the darkness in front of him. The Slave drivers had come and were whipping forth yet another line of slaves captured out on the frontier. Their wails and pleading came in many languages. Some Morkai understood, some not, but either way… their new Masters cared not. Ushering each slave into a pen of their own, they eventually turned on their heels to head back, throwing but the briefest of glances at those already here to do a rough calculus on how many were left to be cast into the Pit before disappearing from sight like the gossamer wings of a Faerie.

The door closed shut with a hollow conclusiveness, sealing Morkai in with his new companions. Turning his eyes from side to side, he spotted another figure different from the others in the cell next to him. Clambering up and straightening out his hollowed, malnourished frame, he made his way to the bars that separated them. Emerging from the shadows like a wraith clad in grey rags, he smiled at the figure opposite him. There was an eerie air to him, and not just because of their surroundings, but because of the sense of whispers that surrounded him and the pitch-black darkness of his eyes. Those eyes seemed to drink in what little residual light remained while also looking through his opposite number's being and into their very soul.

"My, my…" He greeted with a tongue filled with a combination of formal and precise diction and the cosmopolitan menace of the Thayan upper-crust, "…what have we here? Yet more chaff for the fire or the conflagration itself?"

 

[Olligarchy]

Writing Sample (DC) - World's Finest
The Hudson Nuclear Power Plant - NYC - USA - Earth

Sometime after Midnight

"Brother Eye: we've located the Enchantress." The Batman's voice rasped into the communicator embedded deep into the recesses of his black cape and cowl as the Batmobile raced down the streets of Westchester County, New York,"The Hudson Power Plant."

"Curious." The digital voice informed,"It would appear that the lead encasing of the power plant helped her escape notice by both the Kryptonians and my own scans."

"She's not alone." Batman continued, eyeing his own scanners as he and Robin raced closer and closer to their target,"I am picking up at least a half a dozen other Registered vital signs in addition to a nearly hundred hostages."

"Confirmed. I am starting a General Alarm for all active members of the League in the vicinity to assist."

"Negative, Brother Eye." Damian Wayne... Robin's, nasally voice stated from his seat next to his father,"We've got this."

"My analysis disagrees with your assessment of the situation, Robin. If you disagree with my actions you are eligible to fill out Survey 2B..." The Boy Wonder reached out and muted the microphone in his ear, giving his Father and Mentor a silent glare before engaging again,"I can't believe we're taking orders from a toaster."

"Brother Eye is a highly advanced and sentient artificial intelligence." The Batman rasped,"Capable of watching and assessing the requirements for ending crime all over the planet."

"So we're doing as it wants? Waiting?"

"I didn't say that." His Father rasped, causing a devilish smirk to appear on the boys features as Batman pressed the pedal to the metal, causing the batmobile's engine to roar like a jet engine as he drove through the chain-link gate and into the yard where a number of thugs - regulars from Blackgate and Arkham - were milling about aimlessly around some lit up barrels. The not-so-dynamic duo were launched from their seats by the ejectors when they were, but a few meters away - causing them to superhero land right amidst the criminals which they engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand battle.

"It's the Bat!" One of them called out, taking a swing at the man with his baseball bat. The ad hoc weapon was blocked by the Caped Crusader's left gauntlet - shattering the wooden bat,"And Robin" Damian grumbled from the side, his katana still sheathed with him - at least for now - using the deadly martial arts he'd learned from his grandfather, mother and even the man next to him to horrifying effect. He was manhandling men twice his size despite his age with ridiculous ease.

The confrontation was all too brief and in seemingly no time at all the Father and Son team were making their way into the shadows of the powered down plant. Having entered mostly undetected they paused at a terminal which Batman accessed, his eyes narrowing as he listed out what he felt was the most relevant info,"They've powered down the cooling tanks."

"She's going to let it blow?" Robin asked rhetorically,"We have to stop her." His father nodded and they continued in deeper and deeper into the plant until they - using some batclaws - managed to make it to the cavernous central hall, creeping in on the topmost metal pillars near to the ceiling and taking in the sight.

"June Moon, the Enchantress." Batman listed quietly, pointing at some of the Registered live signs they'd picked up,"Bane, Cheetah... I think that's Corbin." He paused, knowing Damian wouldn't know who that is,"Metallo. Powered by a Kryptonite heart."

"Someone has been busy." The Boy Wonder murmured, his heart palpating rapidly. He was excited. No beating up some lame duck thugs from the Penguin with Jason for him tonight. This was the big leagues,"But don't many of them hate each other?"

"The Enchantress is a mistress of Black Magic and a Succubi to boot." His Father grunted, scanning the environment with his cowl and coming to a decision,"She can alter even their emotions to suit her fancy. For a time at least."

A low, red hued light came on to indicate that the plant was getting ready to blow.

"We have to distract them long enough to stabilise the plant and free the hostages." Batman grunted, overriding his son who was already opening his mouth in order to volunteer to be the distraction,"The plant controls should be in that office over there." He nodded to the metal box on their eye levels guarded by some Blackgate inmates,"Engage, take over and seal yourself in. We can't let them get away with this."

"But Father -"

"Now, Son."

Damian gave him a scowl, but having come this far... nodded and using his batclaw began to move towards his target even as his father dropped down right in the middle of the magical circle the Enchantress had created to stop herself from being attacked. All pairs of eyes snapped into him at once.

"Ah, Batman." The Sorceress Queen greeted,"Have you come to join my Host?"

"Not tonight, Enchantress. You are to release your control of your so-called Host and to free the hostages."

"Bane... deal with him." Her command was followed by the luchador mask wearing behemoth whose very footsteps made the concrete floor tremble. He marched right up to the Dark Knight who didn't even move. He took a swing... there was a sound akin to a thunderclap and air being displaced and that fist...

...connected harmlessly with the palm of the Man of Steel's hand.

"Need a hand, old friend?" Superman asked with a brief smile directed at the man now standing behind him. HE didn't quite smile in return, but there was a brief glimmer of warmth in his tone when he responded and said,"I had it handled."

The windows shattered, spilling in additional members of the League.

The Cavalry had arrived.

 

[Olligarchy]

Writing Sample (Modern Mafia) - La Mia Cosa
Agostino's heavy fist slammed into the Chinese man's face with brutal force, throwing viscera and spittle all over the poorly lit cellar. He wasn't best pleased to be called downstairs during Easter celebrations, but Carlo had whined about the captured man not talking, so the bear-like Don had made his excuses and made his way down the stairs to 'finish up some work.' That work was now tied to a shaky wooden chair, his hair and face matted with a combination of blood, spittle, and sweat from the continued beating.

Finally satisfied that the man had been beaten to submission, Agostino grabbed him by his silken black hair and yanked him nearly face to face, his voice a low growl, "Now listen here, you chink piece of shit. You've already ruined half my Easter for me and I'll be damned if I let you ruin more of it. You're gonna talk and tell my nephew Carlo exactly what he needs to know, 'cause if you don't, you'll be talking to me again."

Pushing the thoroughly abused man away, Agostino grabbed a clean towel and began wiping his hands. His nephew Carlo was standing just behind him, eyes wide with only recently punctured innocence. Even though his father had been the fastest gun in Sicily and blood mattered, Agostino had to admit to having his suspicions on just how his nephew would fare.

"Squeeze him as much as you need." He instructed, tossing away the towel, "I want to know which shipment they're using to ferry their goods."

"S-si..." The youth stuttered as his uncle made his way up the stairs to the Sicilian manor house. The beautiful weather outside contrasted with the dark and gloomy atmosphere in the cellar, and as he closed the hatch Agostino noticed that he was being watched. His children had invited a few of their classmates to spend Easter with them, and he was fairly certain he'd seen one of them looking at some website where his name and picture were plastered among the living greats. He hadn't said anything then, but the youth had blushed scarlet at the intensity of his stare.

The youths weren't the only pair of eyes on him. He'd snuck his mistress into the manor and disguised her as the help. The young immigrant woman had thrown more than a few sultry looks his way, though he'd also thought to have seen stares of similar intensity from her directed at his wife. He of course expected the younger woman to be making a move up the totem pole soon, but damn it... why was everything going down during the one weekend he just wanted to sit down in peace?

She'd say it's for my sins. He thought, referencing the frequent arguments he'd had with his wife. Though she'd been born to this life much the way he had, their relationship had become strained and was now only held together by the children, duty, and other minor factors like her enjoying his money too much to leave.

"Where have you been?" The very woman asked when he entered the dining room to find the table full with his family and visitors, "We've been waiting for you to say grace."

Waving away her concern he settled onto his seat at the head of the table and bowed his head a bit to say grace. His eyes remained open, however, and he noticed that his daughter was motioning at his cheek. Reaching up to touch it discreetly, he realised he'd missed a few drops of blood so he wiped them on the napkin before raising his head.

"Welcome to la nostra casa. Let's raise a glass for Famiglia!"