Greetings Dear Reader,
This thread shall be used to present my roleplay ideas. I might reorganize this as soon as I come up with some new ideas and feel inspired enough to lay them into words.
I try my best to write the introductions
in a way that will involve the least bit of what could be the future partner's posts, as I shouldn't like to manipulate his/her possible personality: I would like to grant as much freedom as I can to my partner in defining the character and his/her traits.
Without further introduction:~Return from the Orient~ ~Taken~
She had been Mrs. Blackwood for over a year now, and yet in the past year she had seen or heard nothing of her husband, whom was away on a mission of the British Navy. The year was 1868 and it was a warm midsummer morning, when the butler handed her the correspondence for that day on a silver tray. She took the letters in her hand with a small nod of acknowledgement, then casually flipped through them: an invitation to an evening assembly, a note from her aunt, another note from a cousin.
All of a sudden, her heart skipped a beat. Could it be true? She read the sender's name and address once more, her lips syncing to her thoughts in utter silence:
Lieutenant R. J. Blackwood
Her hand trembled as she ripped open the envelope, to read the letter she had been yearning for so long. Her eyes took in every word as though they were droplets of ambrosia. In her great anxiety though, she could only skim through every other word or so.
Dearest Rosalie... slow post... no news of you... diverting entertainment... rich culture... civil war
She gasped at this line, only to go on with renewed attention:
returning to England in a few months, according to orders, towards the end of July.
She read that sentence once more, to make sure she had not been mistaken. She had not been, and yet it did not make sense as the present date was July, the 18th. She took the envelope in her hand only to note that the paper did seem weatherworn and was filled with many stamps from foreign countries and languages she could not understand or even read. Then it finally came to her: the letter had been sent more than two months ago and so, her husband's arrival could be expected at any moment.
The young wife, Rosalie, had barely a few days of experiencing married life, as her husband, a Royal Navy officer, had been called away on a mission to Japan by duty to the British crown. In a year, he returns as completely changed man, though Rosalie does not notice at first, as she had had so little time to spend with him on the whole. By and by it turns out he had been engaged in certain improper activities and has grown fond of many Japanese ways.
Even though bondage is really not one of my greatest kinks, the art of Shibari seems very appropriate in such context. I am not that well-versed in Japanese culture or history, I am only aware of the very basics, but since my character is the one being initiated in them, such a lack of knowledge will surely not be to the expense of the quality of the roleplay.~Woman, Vanity is thy name~
(Era: Renaissance Fairytale)
Princess Beatrice was acclaimed for her beauty throughout and beyond the lands of her father, King Threbe, however she was just as infamous for her pride and shallowness. Many wealthy suitors came to ask for her hand but she mockingly turned all requests down, one after the other with no remorse.
The young King Michail, the ruler of a neighbouring, prosperous country had heard stories of the Princess' contradictory personality and appearance, and one day he decided to take a look for himself and make an honest proposal of marriage, because such an alliance would surely benefit both countries.
All goes on according to plan, until the actual proposal of marriage. Even though Beatrice found the young suitor easy on the eyes, her pride won against her heart and she refused him, like she had done with many others.
To her misfortune, her father the King chose that very moment to grow tired of Beatrice's vain nature and so, he announced that she shall either marry King Michail, or she'll be married to the first beggar to show up in front of the grand palace the next day. She refused once more, too proud to change her will.
What neither Beatrice nor her father were aware of, was the fact that one of King Michail's loyal men overheard this conversation and swiftly sent him word of the news. The young King decided to teach the Princess a lesson for life: masking himself with painted scars to the point of unrecognizability, putting on raggedy clothes and waiting for the heavy palace doors to open at dawn, as if he were waiting for pittance like any other beggar.
This story is inspired by the Grimm fairytale entitled "King Thrushbeard" and the 1984 Czechoslovakian movie with the same title. I found the setting and situation one that lends itself for a less vanilla story that should be told, however I do not require the main plotline to go precisely as in the original Grimm version.
As this is a fairytale, the basic time setting I had in mind was Renaissance, although Rococo might work quite as well. ~A Mermaid's Tale~
(Era: Early Victorian Fantasy)
Marmora (read: Maar-mow'-rah), the main character of this story, is a mermaid living in the North Atlantic Ocean, in a Utopian society of sorts: social ranks are nigh nonexistent, sexual differences between her people have never been a subject to quarrel, and neither have been any physical differences - everyone is equal no matter what colour their hair, eyes or scales are. Even though down bellow everyone is born with cold blood, a good heart is always there to accompany it and so they all live in the spirit of sister- and brotherhood. Greed, wrath and malice are words entirely unknown to this creature, her people never even use them in conversation, unless they are speaking of the "legged ones", living above the surface, and tainting whatever they get their hands on, just because they believe Earth belongs to them.
Her people have always been fond of their cold habitat, spending most of their time in the deep shores of the Bay of Biscay, where the dimmed rays of the Sun still reach and vegetation still grows, but deep enough to remain unbothered by humans, save for the occasional shipwrecks and cargo that submerge to the bottom of the sea. However, with the summer approaching, they often migrated to the shores of Iceland or Norway to remain within the underwater temperature span most comfortable to them.
Our story starts in 1829 (according to the humans' calculations) on such an annual journey, one that is most grimly remembered by her people, as the Voyage under the raging sky which claimed its innocent victims. Though the surviving mermaids and -men resumed their migration in hope of brighter days awaiting them, they never realized that two of the washed up victims were not those of the storm, but those of the humans whom were approaching the sandy shores.
Ostiama (oh-stee-ah-maa') and Marmora were both laying on the whitewashed coast of Ireland, brought there by the turbulent waves, unaware of their circumstances, resting in unconsciousness after the struggle between life and death that they had been through. With the break of dawn and the first rays of light, Ostiama opened her deep green eyes, narrowing them as the Sun, rising from the hills, shone into them. She needed a couple of moments until she realized where she was, entering an instant state of panic. She fluttered her tail frantically, the cobalt blue scales glistening with the droplets of salt water resting on them, but the water from the waves was too shallow for her to swim in. She tried to push herself up with her hands, only to feel a terrible pain in her left shoulder. Still pushing up with her right arm, she swiftly threw her head to the other side side, her long, damp, rusty red hair flying to her right side, along with some strands of algae caught in it. Terror was written all over her features, as she saw her wound, covered in carmine blood.
For the first time, her eyes wondered farther, to notice her sister, Marmora, also unconscious just like she had been only a little while ago, but she was visibly breathing as she lay there on her back, her long, dark auburn hair tangled around her torso and arms, with a few algae leaves caught in it as well. Her scales had a metallic gold shine with a coral base colour, and they glistened ever so enchantingly as the waves kept on washing up against her tail and the golden translucent fin, fanning out on the sand like a veil.
Ostiama parted her lips to speak up "Marmora!", she tried to call out, but all she managed was a weak whisper, as she was wounded, but after all, sound travels so much more easily underwater and speaking in that environment required a lot less effort.
Ostiama could now see the approaching figures on the top of the hill, their silhouettes dark against the Sun as a backdrop. She became further worried and tried awakening her sister once more.
"Marmora!" she called out again, this time receiving a subtle reaction. Marmora shifted slightly, fluttering her lashes to reveal her deep mahogany irises; she looked around to realize she was on unknown territory, the breeze blowing lightly against her body confirming the fact that she was above sea level. She turned to her left, towards the direction of the noise that woke her up, to face the worried Ostiama.
"Oh, dear sister, where are we?", she asked uneasily, her voice a similar whisper to the other mermaid's, as her vocal chords weren't used to such stress either.
"I... I don't know... " was the response, followed by a push with her arm, to lift her chest from the ground and get a better look at the people approaching. She went on "we need to hide... there are legged ones on the hill over-- ", but she wasn't able to finish, as Marmora cut in the very moment she spot the wound:
"Ostiama, you're bleeding! Let me take a look." and with that she turned on her belly, to make her way to her sister, whom lay higher on the shore, "You should have told me as soon as I woke up", she scolded in the quiet tone of a whisper. Upon inspecting the wound, she was relieved to find out it was a minor one, probably causing a great deal of pain when under effort, but not even close to putting her life into danger. "You will heal, I promise, just as soon as we can make our way back into the water" Marmora said comfortingly.
All the while Ostiama kept her uneasy gaze on the nearing humans. In that very moment she was sure they had been spotted as one of the people pointed in their direction and then they all hurried their steps. She looked her sister directly in the eye, grasping her forearm tightly as an emphasis to what she had to say.
"Listen to me, very carefully, Sister. They are approaching, and you've heard the tales of those who had been captured - they never end merrily. You cannot bear my weight and I can't make it to the water on my own, so leave me here and save yourself!"
Marmora shook her head quickly, "No, no, no! Do you think I could do that? I'll never leave you I promise!" she whispered, dragging her heavy body closer to hers to lay her pale cheek on her sister's. "Now, " she went on, helping her up and looking towards the waves "put your arm around my shoulder, it's not such a long way after all"
I'm a little unsure about what I want to happen to the two washed up mermaid sisters: perhaps they will be separated, the humans leaving the wounded one either to die or to be collected by someone else (this alternative possibly resulting in their eventual reuniting). Marmora could end up as a showcase item, or a circus attraction, or the private jewel to some wealthy gentleman, or perhaps all of the above as she changes owners along the way - I couldn't tell. Who are the people approaching? What is their intention? What is to become of the washed up mermaids? I should think it's all up to me and an eager writer to find out.~To Sir Richard, with Lust~
Isabella Crane had always been one of those people whom took their correspondence by far too seriously. She enjoyed that time of every day that she dedicated to the writing of letters and notes. No, she didn't only enjoy it, she was looking forward to it every day, regarding it as her very favourite pastime. Her writing was always impeccable, and she always seemed to know how to start and how to end a letter, in any situation that could ever arise.
Yet now it was as if all of her ideas and thoughts referring to correspondence had been drained from her mind. She just sat there in front of her mahogany writing desk and held on to her still quill, like she had been for the past half hour. The date was staring right back at her defiantly from the upper right-hand corner, mocking her for not having anything else to say.
London, May 29th 1873
Sir Richard and her seemed to have so many subjects of common interest to discuss yesterday afternoon--Yesterday afternoon
, she thought. What a perfectly splendid afternoon it was. She couldn't have dreamt of a more perfect time for her slightly bad tempered dog - or that nasty, vile creature
, as her chaperone liked to call it - Puddles to break free; or a more perfect timing for her to trip and fall; or a more perfect moment for it to start pouring; but above all these, she couldn't have thought of any better moment for Sir Richard Grandstoke to show up and offer his help.
She smiled in the warm candlelight. Her quill started to shift around on the paper, sizzling delicately with every curve of every letter she contoured:
Dear Sir Richard,
As soon as the post was delivered, she picked out that one letter from the pile - the one that bore a handwriting she now could recognize anywhere - and let her eyes roam over the words on the envelope, anticipating the content on the inside with great anxiety. For a mere moment she brought the letter to her heart, then turning towards the narrow staircase leading upstairs and making her way to her bedroom.
"Miss Isabella, are you not going to see to the rest of the correspondence?" her chaperone asked worriedly, bothered by the exaggerated moodiness taking over her charge lately: just a few weeks ago Isabella wouldn't have a minute of rest until having opened every envelope that had been delivered to her.
"Oh, hush, Ellie." was the prompt answer "I shall, but in a while. This time, do remember not to disturb me with unnecessary issues." she went on, patting Puddles on the head as she passed by him, just before entering her chambers, locking the door behind her to block out the disapproving glare of her chaperone.
She sat down on the cushioned armchair, reaching for a silver letter opener which she carefully slipped into the paper to rip it up on the upper edge. She extracted the folded paper from the inside, flipping the first page to read the coveted words.
Her hand started to tremble after only the first paragraph, and she found herself in need of setting the letter down into her lap, unable to focus on the lines as paper implicitly shook as well. She lifted it back up, the further words putting her into that desperate state of anxiety she shamelessly loved so much.
Towards the middle of the note she let out a desirous sigh, her right hand making its way to the base of her neck, her thumb and index finger curling around it in a semicircle, then moving lower, caressing the fair, bare skin, all the way to the neckline of the black broadcloth dress, twisting around the red ribbon, lining the collar and forming a bow in the middle, the lowest part of the cut.
Inspired by the multiple two people roleplaying via internet and eventually meeting to do it all live
plotlines, an idea laced with a touch of Victoriana, came to mind. A story evolving around a couple: Sir Richard Granstoke and Isabella Crane.
The two of them met on an afternoon in Hyde park, and engaged in a conversation after a series of comical events. As it turned out, Sir Grandstoke lived his bachelor life in a remote villa, north of Ipswich, on the coast of the North Sea, and only came to Town in matter of business, leaving the very next morning. Isabella figured she didn't have the chance to express her gratitude for his helpfulness in spoken words, and so she writes him a friendly letter. A faithfully corresponding relationship builds up between the two, and in a matter of time Isabella is invited to visit him in his villa, properly chaperoned, of course.
I would like Isabella to be a little less of a ladylike lady: having been left with an inheritance of 20,000 pounds, she is completely able to sustain herself financially and so she is in no need to sport a perfectly acceptable behaviour to catch herself a husband - she might even be a little bit of a feminist.
I also had in mind the letters taking a more erotic turn as the relationship intensifies: allusions and hints should be very welcome and even lewdness concealed in high-class expressions and propriety.~Opium Dream~
(Era: Late Victorian)
Dr. Theodoric Kemp, has been the 11th physician that Harriette Rosehill had seen only in the past half a year, since her return to Town. The previous verdicts had always been the same: nerves, nerves, nerves - perhaps a change of air might help; even though she had tried the so called prescriptions, having had spent holidays of various lengths at Bristol, Bath, Windsor and Salisbury, Harriette's insomnia and terrible headaches had never ceased to occur on a regular basis.
This time it would be different though, as Dr. Kemp suggested a novel treatment and Miss Rosehill agreed to its terms quite, quite quickly. He recommended a mixture of substances - opium and several additional components, forming a concoction of his own invention - to be smoked once ever week. It had only been tested on a few subjects, or so he said, with the mention that the results achieved so far had all been positive. The price of it was not something she worried about, and she had made that clear, but the Doctor insisted the treatment would be free of charge, as it was still on an experimental level of sorts.
Harriette was from a well-off family, the daughter of an Earl and so she had been expected to marry for the past couple of years, but she never seemed to find her match, to the grief of her father whom had threatened to leave most everything to her second cousin by marriage, if an heir was not produced. Of course, he loved her by far too much to take any such actions.
As gossip had it, Miss Rosehill was, at the age of 27, a spinster in the making. Her father though, a good humored, jolly man, had always stood by his idea that all of those headaches and other complaints, were only his daughter's making: an excuse to visit all those physicians in hope of finding her other half in her own whimsical way.
Harriette had agreed to Dr. Kemp's suggestion of taking the first dosage of her medicine in his residence, making it seem like a friendly visit. She was, obviously skeptical to this idea first, but after his explanation she warmed up to the thought.
Dr. Kemp's innovative treatment was, as he had already told her, an experiment and his medical colleagues and assistants scorned him for engaging in research that might put the lives of his patients into danger. In his own opinion, however, it was all in the name of health and progress and the disdainful people surely use the mask of contempt to hide their envy. At the same time, the experimental nature of the medicine was the reason why none of his patients were allowed to take it on their own, as they required constant supervision.
Miss Rosehill decided she was by far too advanced in age to worry about such silly things as convention and idle gossip that such a visit might cause - it was 1887 after all, not the Dark Ages. Her father on the other hand, was probably overwhelmed with the suspicion of a potential son-in-law. All in all, everyone seemed contented.
The unsuspicious Harriette will undergo the prescribed treatment weekly, without ever remembering what goes on when she is drugged. The mixture basically leaves her in a dreamlike state, and as soon as the effects wear off, her consciousness holds on only the image of a very realistic dream, without any actual realization of what had happened, convinced that she had only fallen into a slumber like she has had the previous week.
In time though, the memories become more and more vivid, leading her to a state of confusion as to what is real and what is not. The opium causes addiction in a short while and she gradually becomes fascinated by the time she spends under the effects of the drug, asking for more.