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Writer's notes:


I only roleplay in Direct Messages or Comments

I have no direct preference in length as long as you check grammar and spelling, as English is not my first language it's sometimes difficult for me to read "lazy" English.

Although all my characters are considered "bad" or outright "evil", they do not always come off as such from first glance. But gore, sex, and other adult contents will occur.

You are allowed to unleash whatever hell you wish upon my character, but remember that it is I who determines whether they are hit or not.

I do not write senseless smut, but sexual acts may occur story-wise.

All threads are canon, and important or life changing events may be mentioned in other threads.


I would also prefer to pitch my characters with characters that does not share their kind. As it is more fun to see what a demon would say to a fairy, than to another demon. Mixing things up can always result in strange, and possibly fantastic, outcomes. And it feels more creative as well, as you get to think more about your character's actions.




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  • (I would gladly rp a plot with you, so then what shall we plot?)

  • (Ello ello, long time no chat)





    Romus leaned against the window of the car, one earphone dangling from a pierced ear. The dirt road rocked him back and forth, his deep set, wooden eyes trained on the tree trunks that matched them. “Romus Nicolai, that’s the thirty second time you’ve said that on this ride, I swear I will bring Ymir’s wrath down on you if you don’t shut it.” Crow snapped, gray eyes fixed on the road ahead. “You can’t blame me, Ma. I don’t even know this guy. Hell, you don’t even know this guy.” The Viking-to-be grunted, scratching at the beginnings of his brown beard. “Roe, it’s just one weekend.” Crow replied, as her son reached for his phone, starting to send snaps to his treasured girlfriend, Rosa.

    “Besides, Beanie, he’s your grandfather. You need to know your family. You’re probably never going to meet Fenrir, the more male role models you have the better-“ Romus sighed, his voice like the gravel they drove on. “I have a dad, Ma. And Krampus is barely your father, he fuc- he abandoned you! You don’t know him, I don’t know him-“ His sinewy, muscled body turned to her. “He could be a child molester. I could get molested. I have a future. I’m quarterback on the team, star player, football captain and a B+ student, dammit. I don’t want it to come to an end because my creepy granddad molested me and-“

    “ROMUS. One, you failed the debate unit in English class, so don’t think you can win and argument with me. Two, Krampus doesn’t touch children!” Romus banged his head against the dashboard, groaning. “Right, he only eats them. This is bulllllshiiiiitttt.” Crow’s foot slammed down on the brake, the white-haired woman whirled on her teenage son. “Romus, enough. You’re spending the weekend with him. Now give me your phone.”

    The Scandinavian boy sat up, oval eyes wide.

    “Ma, no-“

    “Give it.”

    “But Rosa-“

    “I’ll tell her where you are, Beanie, now give it.”


    He handed the phone over to his mother. “I love you, Beanie, now go have some male bonding.”

    Romus said nothing, he only grabbed his luggage and backpack, and stepped out of the car. At that, he hiked into the Nordic mountains. Once he was far enough, he sat on a log, drawing in the dirt with a stick he found. “Hellooooo. Krampus? Granddad? G-Pa? Grampus? Oh hell-


  • Raddi woke up with a startle from his bed. Sweat dripped down his green skin, and his heart thudded. Now that he was The Rook, he should have been able to remember his dreams, but he never did. This time, one word, a name, pounded through his head as the storm raged outside:






    "loD Hoch GHERTLHUD, nuqneH, lookout valle. jatlhqa', lookout. ja' ghaH vo' pa' missing. "


    “Every Queen’s Man, please, be on the lookout for Valle. Repeat, be on the lookout. She has been reported missing from her room.”


    The voice crackled to life through the intercom system and into the tower, it’s tone anxious. The guards, or Queen’s Men, seemed to tensen up. Some were making their way down, four of them, and that’s when they saw him. Maanthaz, a menacing pale figure that seemed to glow dully in the moonlight that poured through the tower’s windows. His lightsaber was noted with a few confused tilts of the heads, but quickly, just based on his pose, the guards got into their first position in sync.


    The ribbons crackled to life, various shades of blues, oranges and purples. The light reflected over their masks like neon glinting. The roar of thunder was like a battle call,as three moved forward swiftly, their ribbons outstretching, reaching for the albino, hoping to hook around him as the fourth went to get the other seven guards in the tower. But, we all know their fate: Death.




    “What’s taking them so long?” Unlike most of his kind, Raddi was fluent in Galactic Basic to a T, due to his training. But his anger stayed in both of his languages, and the whole way he walked to the tower, he was mumbling under his breath, clearly pissed off. His mask stayed on, but his expression could be seen even in the way he walked. Hungry, anxious steps that slapped against the path way. Though, he almost ran right into who he thought were his Queen’s Men. “Where is she, the princess canno-” Anger and words were stuck in his throat as Raddi, The Rook, looked up and saw the two Twi’leks. His hands scrambled for his fighting ribbons. “Stop right there, by the order of The Rook!” He shouted. His voice was almost childish.



    Back in the ship, she sat alone, hiding tightly in the cargo deck. A shiver ran down her spine, as she felt a change in The Force. Violence and Death. Thievery. Sins. So much death- her people, her men, crying out. She wanted to throw up, but swallowed it down,

  • Lyokha feels like there's cement in his veins, hardening his blood into stone.  When he tries to get out of bed, he'll crumble to dust in a painful, but quiet display.  Sadly, when he gets out of bed the only thing that happens is that he regrets it and immediately wishes he could climb back under the covers.  Sleep was nice, sleep was good, sleep never hurt anybody.  But this whole being awake thing.. 

    He limps his way to the bathroom, every step worse than a marathon.  By the time he actually makes it into the bathroom and shuts the door behind himself, he's in so much pain that tears are prickin at his eyes in the reflection that stares back at him distrustfully in the bathroom mirror.  He barely recognizes himself-- his black hair is all over his head, and dark bruises stretch under his eyes.  His lips are pursed into a frown, and still swollen slightly from last night.  All he can taste is blood when he finally gets out of his clothes and into the shower.   When he tries to lift his arms above his head he puts his shoulder out of place for the third time in fifteen hours, but he bites his tongue to keep from crying out and uses the wall of the shower to push it back into place.  This time, he can't stop the tears from falling down his face but they're mixed in with the hot water and hidden even from the eyes of God himself.


    Fifteen minutes later, Lyokha climbs out of the shower, brushes his teeth, runs his fingers through his still wet hair and limps back to his bedroom to dress in clean clothes.  He's a monster when it comes to layers and tonight will be no different-- he picks out a blood red t-shirt and slips into it with more than a little difficulty.  Then, to top it off, he shrugs into his midnight black dress shirt--it has silver zippers gleaming on the chest pockets.  He rolls the sleeves up to his shoulders, flinching the whole while, and doesn't even bother with the buttons on the front.  His search for pants has him roaming all over his room, sifting through he clean clothes until he finds a pair dark enough to suit his fancy.  They fit his legs closely, but theres enough give to them that his movement shouldn't be hampered too much.  

    After all, he wasn't going out tonight in order to hunt down demons or monsters.  Tonight, he glances at the red numbers glaring at him through the darkness on the headstand by his band, tonight, he has a date.   It's 9:48 PM and he's already late.


    The sky is weeping gentle rain outside, just enough to make it chilly but not enough to get him wet.  It's 10:15 and he feels a little better, but he's far from one hundred percent.  In fact, he's painfully aware of every single bruise on his body.  Just as he reaches the end of the street, about to step around the corner, a mere two blocks away from the restaurant, his brain explodes in fiery pain and the last thing he sees is the ground rushing up to meet his face.

    The voices are merciless. 

    'A SOLDIER' 'EXODUS' A snake coils around a rat, crushing it's bones and squeezing until it's eyes pop from it's skull. 'THERE IS' 'BLINDING' 'MUST NOT BE PERMITTED' A man lay dead in an alley, his throat torn wide open.  Blood.  Blood.  So much blood.

    Lyokha screams until his throat is raw, he screams until the sound of his own voice drowns out the voices and he can see again.  Although there's not much to see from where he's lying on the ground.

    Dammit, it's just his luck.  Slowly, he pushes to his feet, feeling his head where he'd smacked it on the ground.  His fingers came away wet with blood, the same blood joining with the rain water as it trickled down his forehead.   He takes one last look towards the restaurant, then he turns and jogs down the street, not too sure where he's going but that there was an urgency he couldn't explain.  He had to get there fast, faster, not fast enough!

    Lyokha arrives on the scene just in time to see the flash of a bomb in the distance, just around the corner.  He pushes himself to move, move, move!  He swings around the corner just in time to see a man holding up another by a throat-- at first glance, he can tell which one is the vampire and which one is playing at being a hunter.  And he knows what he has to do, even if it costs him his life.

    And that's to chuck whatever advantage he has right out the window. "Wait, stop!" he bellows as he breaks from the shadows into the parking lot.  He has no weapons on him.  None but the black rosary he kept wrapped around his wrist, his numina, and the faith that he's doing the right thing.



  • “Valle…” A voice lured Valle out of bed. Little did she know this part was just a dream, because, when she saw who it was, her eyes widened. In her window was the old Rook, her dead father figure, sitting with his mask on, and a red ribbon in her hand. Outside, she could hear the wind howling in a night storm. Valle tugged on her dark blue hooded robe, her slippers, and practically shoved on her purple; feather lined mask before going towards the old Rook. “Rook…?” But he was out the window, so she gave chase. “Wait- wait up for me!” She had so many questions for him. In fast paced leaps, she chased after him, until, he went under brush. It wasn’t until she had gone under the brush and into the clearing that Valle saw what he was going into: A cruiser. “Wait up, please, I need answers.” But, the old Rook just went through the already open doors of the ship.


    Air flooded Valle’s lungs as she snapped out of the dream, and sat up straight in bed. Ebony colored locks fell in her face, which she brushed back out of her face with gloved fingers. After a minute to steady her breathing, she looked around her room, shuffling into her slippers, before tip toeing to the crate that acted like sort of bed stand. On top of the bed stand happened to be the old Ponga Chorus fighting ribbons the old Rook used, and her mask. She put on the mask before carefully looking at the fighting ribbons. One ribbon was crimson, and the other was a dark blue. She grabbed both, before out of the corner of her eye, she saw that a ribbon was caught in the edge  of her window, threatening to blow away in the wind at any given moment. Deja vu hit her, as she scrambled to put on the robe that she had stuffed under her bed, the same one from her dream, and put the ribbons on the inner pockets. Then, the ribbon flew off into the wind, and after it, echoing the same graceful leaps from her dream, was Valle. Rain hit her mask, and mud splashed under her slippers as she followed it down a winding path… right to the large brush of vegetation. Her breath hitched, and her skin crawled, as unsurprisingly, when she ducked under the brush and into the clearing was the same purple cruiser from her dream. “No way…” And there, right there, were the open doors. Valle moved, slipping into the cruiser, her eyes wide under the mask. She didn’t know how to fly a ship, so she slid into a small, cramped space, out of sight, out of mind, and hid there, waiting for the pilot to come back.


    Little did she know the pilot wasn’t exactly a friend. Rather, he was a thief, and he was about to steal her kingdom’s most prized possession: their holocron. It carried information on all the dances the ancient Dawnisers created, dances that even some Rooks and Queens couldn’t perform. It was guarded in a crumbling tower by soldiers, trained in the art of Ponga Chorus, the most prominent martial arts on the planet of Cantor. Each were tall in a similar lanky build, wearing the royal purple masks, with two green, slightly glowing fighting ribbons in each hand. They were pacing the hallways like caged tigers, their graceful prowl very much similar to the mentioned striped beast, heads turning around and looking over slender soldiers. Despite the fact that every soldier wore a mask, their gaze even felt narrowed. The object that they protected was silver with gilded designs all over it, shaped like a pyramid and no larger than a baseball bat, in what looked like a glass case, as if on display.

  • "Owe I dwell in the mortal realm Krampus, I am just hard to find with your own eyes. I could be in the home of saint nick changing his list, to standing right behind you as you do your...jollies. Lets just say, I am hard to track, unless I want you too." As he said that he would wink at the big fellow while chuckling.

  • "Well then, its just one of those days when you find pagans who don't want to go home and retire. Tell me Krampus, how naughty am I?"

  • "whσα! whєrє thє flαmíng fuck díd чσu cσmє frσm?!"

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Virgiliu: Tales of Legends left a comment for Mephistopheles
"// Aye long time indeed. Been a bit busy with real life shit lmao. I'm starting to get into writing again now though. It's still a bit slow as I still have things to do irl. But yee. If you wanna plot or pick up an old plot, do say so and we can kic…"
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Virgiliu: Tales of Legends left a comment on Writer's Realm Global Comment Section
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