You are either not logged in or not registered with our community. Click here to register.
October 24, 2016, 08:33:11 PM

Welcome, Guest. Please login or register.
Did you miss your activation email?

Login with username, password and session length

Click here if you are having problems.
Default Wide Screen Beige Lilac Rainbow Black & Blue October Send us your theme!

The Elliquian Herald & Post
October & November 2016

Wiki Blogs Dicebot

Author Topic: [lit. M lf lit. F] Fantasy, D/s, story-driven  (Read 215 times)

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Offline Delirium147Topic starter

[lit. M lf lit. F] Fantasy, D/s, story-driven
« on: July 05, 2014, 11:32:28 AM »
Looking for a female writing-partner who is up for intrigue, politics, background, mutual contribution to a setting, powerplay, D/s, sword & sorcery,...

I post multiple paragraphs. Depending on the rp and what my partner gives me, those can extend to quite a lot. I write mostly in third person, past tense. Though if my partner prefers another perspective, I will try to cater to that demand. I generally dislike playing a 'good' or 'evil' character. My characters tend to be rather 'neutral' on this scale: they will have good and bad qualities, or they have the right intentions but use ruthless methods. Ambition or powermongering is not 'evil'. My character's personalities will be formed over the course of years; I try to make them plausible, with specific foundations on which the character is built.

The setting is a fantasy one, with prominent roles for magic, seduction and violence. I hope to attract someone who is passionate about this kind of thing, with a creative mind and commitment.

Below is what will likely be the opening post. The man has recently ascended a throne via unsavoury means and needs help keeping it. That is where my partner comes in.

In the dimly lit hall sat on a throne of marble and ivory, was a tall man, mightily shouldered and deep of chest, with a corded neck and heavily muscled limbs. He was clad in mail and velvet, with the royal lions of Aquilonia worked in gold upon his rich jupon, and the crown of his kingdom shone on his square-cut black mane; but the great war-hammer of wrought black steel and ebony at his side, seemed more natural to him than the regal accoutrements adding to his majesty. His brow was low and broad, his eyes a volcanic blue that smouldered as if with some inner fire. They were of such a brilliant hue, it seemed they were frozen jewels, placed in the face of an antediluvian deity. They spoke of an unsettling amount of concentration and intelligence. His dark, scarred, almost sinister face was that of a fighting-man, and his garments could not conceal the hard, dangerous lines of his limbs. A strong jaw, covered with a slight stubble, holding a stern mouth was clenched. There was an agelessness about him, a stillness; on this man’s face, rage and joy looked much the same. A strong dark brow loomed overhead as the two orbs of sapphires seemed to master the flames of the sconces themselves. The king’s were sad eyes, cruel eyes, eyes of a dangerous, brooding man.

The man on the throne gave nothing away and perhaps in this lay a source of his authority. His gaze eyes flickered restless and intelligent, simultaneously mirrors and walls for the keen mind that had marked this man’s rule and life. His likeness had been painted by a master artist from across the Narrow Sea and commanded pride of place in the Great Hall of this palace. It had indeed been a hand of genius that had managed to capture the agelessness and strength in his portrait, for it was the proof of something fleeting, something beyond capture that unnerved many. His features were clear evidence of the noble Cilerian blood that flowed through his veins, made apparent in the shape of the nose and the chiseled jaw.

Atop his proud head rested the crown of the Teisterbants; It was a heavy circlet of wrought iron and hammered bronze, with crenulations shaped like the blades of swords. The metal was incised with runes of the Old Kingdom, ancient and powerful. His ancestors had picked the material and shape well, for bronze and iron were stronger than gold or silver and certainly less vain, while the tiny blades served as a constant reminder of what was expected of a Teisterbant king.

In his mind’s eye he saw himself as a younger man, barely out of boyhood, climbing the battlements at Salusa. After the ensuing sack of the settlement, he had set off on his own intent to make a name for himself in this thirsty world. All his life, he had followed a path paved with skulls, his rise to power written in blood. He had been called a slayer, reaver, sellsword,... He had lived on both sides of the law and loved as fiercely as he hated. He had slain beasts, necromancers, monsters and demons, not sparing their dark, sorcerer masters.

“King Sebadorn,” a voice pulled him from the mists of memory and into the present.

Yes. King it was now. No longer slayer, crippler or upstart. King. King! A spectre of a grin played around his otherwise unyielding mouth. Gaining a crown was easier than keeping it. Sebadorn Teisterbant had been the friend of death and hardship, and so he could appreciate his current position.

“Your Majesty,” the page persisted, per Sebadorn’s request. He was aware of his own tendency to sink away into melancholy or reflection. The king nodded to indicate he had heard the page. “My Lord King, the sisterhood have answered your summons. A priestess has arrived.”

The massive man nodded again and gestured for the page to bring the female visitor here promptly. Other servants dashed through the throne room, setting a table with fine wines and sweet foodstuffs such as sugar-coated peaches.

Sebadorn’s newly won kingdom was beset in the west by savage tribes of swarthy men that clad themselves in copper bands, feathers and leathers. What they lacked in technological advances, they made up in ferocity. Similarly, in the east the Ogres were pressing the border defences. To the south, the kingdom of Byrthe was mobilising behind the last remaining son of Valserion, the late king of Cileria. Sebadorn was alone and he needed allies, quickly, for he had to leave the capital and could not risk a dagger in his back.

Raise the stakes, he thought, and raise them again!

The Sisterhood of Bandar-Gizat was a powerful and ancient organisation of women, whose objectives and agendas had partly shaped the history of the world. The priestesses claimed to toil on a path of insight and stability, but Sebadorn recognised in them as much political as religious factors. As such, he needed them to rule, an alliance to fortify his hold over the throne... For that, he was willing to make just about any sacrifice.

If you are interested in writing with me, please don’t hesitate to contact me over PM, IM or in this thread. Much is open for deliberation and expansion. This is where I would like my co-author to come in. I was hoping the first thing of collaboration would be the fleshing out of the Sisterhood mentioned in what will likely be the opening post. Personally, I feel the Sisterhood should be something of a mix between witches and priestesses. Perhaps they lead the worship of some ancient serpent-like deity.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Picture inspiration for the sisterhood:

You can read my O/Os, as well as my old and more general request thread. These two links will give you an idea of what my likes and dislikes are, as well as my kinks.

Some references to my previous threads:

The Count of Grey (Whimsical)

Winged Shadow - Dragonlord plot (Flickaha)

Nymph(omaniac) - fantasy/historical with nymphs! (Ellipsis)

Ambrosia - modern day BDSM styled (Whimsical)

The Blade Itself Incites Violence - fantasy, 8th Century Britain inspired fantasy (Andronica) - on hold

Commotion at Luindalot - sorcerer/apprentice (LadyChevalier) - on hold

Ravenswood House - psychological erotism, Victorian Asylum (DamnedEternally) - on hold

Offline Decrepitdan

Re: [lit. M lf lit. F] Fantasy, D/s, story-driven
« Reply #1 on: July 05, 2014, 07:35:16 PM »
Id like to throw my hat in this ring! Still looking?