Zen Archer MonkSex:
Exploration and foreplay, submissive, non-consensual, bondage… really I’m pretty much good with everything except mutilation and scat. Also, kids are out. I’m also kinda two minded when it comes to excessive violence and gore, I mean in battle go nuts, get off on it if you want, but not during sex and such. But even my offs I can take for the most part, but don’t play my character. At least not how they feel, sense and think. I can understand if someone slips up, also there’s Magical coercion, NPCing a character in extreme circumstances, as well as non-consensual and rape… there’s got to be a term for this sort of thing, but I can’t recall it right now, anyway, I think most know what I mean, let me play My character."…light as a feather, free as a bird."
Her hair flows with dark feathers woven into her raven locks that reach half way down her buttocks. One might think it takes her hours to manage such an intricate effect, but the truth is that they naturally grow there as a throwback to her plumekith celestial ancestry. More often her hair is up, showing off her smooth fair skin and luminescent tattoos that appear brightly when she is either entranced in meditation or under duress. Her movements and demeanor are birdlike; sharp, light and graceful. As such she prefers light and free clothing. When she arrived in the city she wore only a few bits of cloth strapped to protect and hold her delicate bits in place, being near impervious to cold made this seem all the more odd when the temperatures chilled, but has been informed that people generally find such practicality inappropriate for some reason. She acquiesced, as she was getting tired of having to politely refuse people who kept trying to pick her up unsuccessfully and awkwardly by her bottom. Did they think she didn’t know how to walk? Was it from riding a horse that made her walk funny and people to attempt to lift her from behind and between her legs? This made her paranoid for a bit, as she wondered why people thought she was in need of such assistance, and she made sure to avoid places where this happened too often. Now she is partial to uniforms and takes great pride in making sure she’s presentable, her march must have been coming along as well, because since she started people haven’t been picking her up. In a way it kind of made her sad, like she stopped being precious to them somehow. She’s never mentioned this to anyone, as she was afraid they’d make fun of her.Personality:
With a bright eyes and slight tilt of her head Plume observes the world. She is determined to make the world a better place, a place both free and safe. To her those things are the same, there is no freedom without peace and no peace without freedom, freedom from fear and chaos. The young Aasimar was raised close to nature, but she has also seen much destruction. In her travels with her father she’s seen the strife the lack of order has caused. She was instructed in the opposite, that freedom comes from letting things be and finding a way to accept the ever changing world, but she saw only the need for protection. She wants to protect the world and is wise enough to know that one person could never hope accomplish such a task. This was the reason she sought to joined the King’s guard.
Despite her travels she is quite naďve when it comes to society and lacks any significant higher learning. She can read and write, but is not well practiced in either. Her social skills are also subpar, but she manages to get by on her comeliness and infallible honesty. This leads her to expect others to be equally honest, and it often catches her off guard when they’re not. Sarcasm is also often lost on the girl.
Sexually, she has no prior experience, though her seal was broken during a hard ride away from bandits several years back. This was a very awkward conversation with her father who was at first worried she was wounded and then horribly inept at dealing with the subject. She had fortunately dealt with these things with her mother some decades back, but was immature and did not understand the meaning of romantic relationships.
Her two real escapes are riding and her bow, she can lose herself easily in either, through exhilaration or meditative focus. More and more she’s been experiencing feelings of carnal nature and is sometimes inappropriately candid.Background:In beneath the old willow tree the light danced hypnotically with the shadows of the leaves that rustled softly in the gentle breeze. The breath was welcome for the air was thick and sweet with the smell of fresh growth and pollen.
“…How do we know what is precious?” Plume’s asked, twirling a fresh flower bud between her fingers before laying it down with the others.
Her father stood from his kneeling place, leaving the chrysanthemums on her mother’s grave, they were her favorite. “By how much attention you devote to it when it’s yours and how much emptiness you feel when it’s gone.” She could tell from his voice that he was in pain, that and the solitary path of moisture that trickled down from his eye to drip from his chiseled jaw. She knew why he wouldn’t look at her, reminders cut deep, then with a stroke of his hand the verdant wall parted and the sunlight poured over the young girl. He held the willow leaves for her and she followed him outside.
It was an odd thing for her as a child, maturing so slowly that her mother appeared to age and wilt before her very eyes. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with that, no disease nor magic to it. In fact her mother lived until the age of seventy, long and well enough by the standards of most, and through it all she was a beautiful and loving soul. It was just hard for Plume to believe that she was but one year short yet was only now passing through the final stages of adolescence.
Her father she was closer too, an Aasimar himself, he seemed to her the pillar of all the world’s wisdom. He preferred a simple life, teaching Plume the value of things was never in its material nature as that will always deteriorate, but in its service. “In your life you will see Kingdoms rise and fall, friends grow old and die, most everything you know will transform or return to the dust from which it sprang. Do not waste your energy nor grow too attached to the fleeting, nor the promise of grandeur, all will fall.”
In this light he taught her to be in tune with herself, to move and meditate, as well as how to survive off the land. He also taught her the bow. They traveled the world by foot and horse, and lived a lonely aesthetic life.
But Plume had her own mind and thought differently. The world she saw was torn and broken, few live in peace, and even they who lived a life of relative ease were often forced to hide or fight to survive. Her mother died like a flower in a vase, kept sheltered from the world and experiencing little. Nature new different, even from the fallen new life sprung. Society was no different. On the ashes of the old a new could be born and it would be even more complex and robust than the last. Protecting those weaker than herself despite their short lives, attempting to build a world or rebuild a kingdom where peace could reign, these were all worth doing.
Whenever they’d approach a town, they would argue vigorously, and the more she aged the more vigorous the arguments became. The last time she saw him was three years ago, as she went past the city gates he would not follow.
There she worked first as a stable hand with the king’s guard. She wasn’t terribly bright, but she was hardly the fool either. Once a guard grabbed her and she reacted violently, knocking him out flat. The incident got her noticed and made her some friends, though why violence begot friendship she may never understand. Naively she did not understand why the man had assailed her so, nor why they laughed so much with references to the size of a horse’s cock. She tried to explain why they were so endowed and the studding process to some men who had seemed confused, but that only stirred them more. There were fewer female than males in the Kings service, which was only natural she supposed, but each she admired, how strong and determined they were. She wanted to be like them.
Eventually she was invited to join them for a hunt, she accepted without hesitation. The opportunity excited her as she hadn’t been on a good hunt in some time. After a day of impressing them with her skill, they settled in by a creek to bath. She had never considered the body something that needed to be hidden, but something was awoken within her and she stared.
“Do you want to kiss me?” Asked the object of her attention. Plume didn’t answer, but her bow fingers twitched, wanting something to pluck. The girls laughed and splashed her before getting dressed. Similar reactions have occurred when watching men train in the heat of day, stripping to the waist as their muscled strained in the sweat and sun. Plume’s bow fingers have never been stronger.
This is her... in her dreams...