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First Link / Fodlan Chronicles; A Fire Emblem Based RP
« Last post by Sothis on Yesterday at 11:42:00 AM »

Fodlan Chronicles is a role-playing forums board based on the setting of Fire Emblem: Three Houses. Focusing on the Garreg Mach Monastery's Officers Academy, Fodlan Chronicles is made up of original characters and follows an original storyline, making it suitable for those who have not experienced the game but are fans of the fantasy and JRPG genre.

Rodgau Province / Ill bargains
« Last post by Simon Rose on April 04, 2020, 07:40:38 AM »

It looked so, so, common. The commonality of it bothered Simon a great deal. Lids low and thumb stroking the dark hair that bristled on his chin, he looked at the ship. His lips formed a faint frown, shadowed by the crease of his brow.

It was just so damn common! Like any other ship you would see in a harbor. Fat things that carried crates of this and barrels of that. It floated, sleepy and still in the water, sails furled and decks empty. Floated when Simon knew it could fly. He just hadn't managed to figure out how.

That annoyed him too. He had laid plans, and traps, and worked meticulously to discover that very secret. He knew it had laid in the captain, and the captain was the surest way to find out what he knew. But now that captain was dead, and his secrets with him. Eero Av Meols. Simon would never forget the name. A prince like himself, though his edge had proved duller than Simon's own.

Too aware for his own good. He'd spun Simon's compulsion spell out of control, taken insult to its use, and started a fight he'd had no hope of finishing. All his military training had not managed to stand up against Simon's Grey. It was a pity, and a waste. All Simon had wanted was the knowledge. But now he had a ship, and no way to man it.

For now.

Rodgau Province / Re: And baby makes... Four?
« Last post by Catriona Blackthorn on April 01, 2020, 09:47:05 PM »
She rolled her eyes at the meek tone that soaked his thread. Morgan was anything but meek, dancing the line between Protocol and death on an almost gleeful foot. Catriona was not fooled by that tone. She accepted it just the same. "Mhmm," she muttered at him, her eyes with a slightly dangerous glint to them. The rest of the glint was full of her appreciation for his support, for the love he held for her despite all her shortcomings. She'd better stop that train of thought before she burst into tears. She sniffed loudly in direction. "Lying does not become you," she fought the laughter from her voice and gave him a mock snarl. "I will bite you later."

Finger flexed against her and Cat's eyes closed as she stilled before leaning into him. It was nice to be able to show weakness on occasion. Being fierce, deadly and without weakness was exhausting. Her husband gave her the safe harbor to let it go. She trusted the healer, mostly, enough that the woman wasn't given a second thought as she sighed against his shoulder.

"Cruel and rude you are," she stuck her tongue out at him as he gave her a shake and smirk. His actions had the desired effect and Catriona spun to the woman. "You know very well what the fuss is about," she said to him as she tapped a finger against her lips, the healer's blush deepened and Catriona rolled her eyes. She sashayed forward, previous self doubt forgotten as she moved to lay on the bed. She sat with a bounce and the healer motioned for her to lie down. Cat doubted it was necessary but every healer did such things differently she was sure. She held her hand out for Morgan. "If you're going to fuss," she said as she placed the blame of fussing on him, "You might as well do it over here."

She was patient as the healer readied herself, Morgan's hand clutched in her own and puffed out a breath. "As you.. Hmm.. Suspect," the healer said as Catriona could feel the threads of power delving inside her, "You are very much pregnant. With twins. There are two heartbeats, and I believe there are congratulations in order, my Lady and Lord." Catriona's eyes bulged. Two? Twins? She had only expected one. One was plenty enough but two? That was going to be chaos. "You're certain?" she stared at the woman daring her to tell her it was jest only for the healer to nod in affirmation as she held up two fingers, "Two."

"Morgan?" Cat asked softly as her mind tried to make sense of the news the healer had just thrown to the wind.
SÝr Province / Re: The warlords and the jeweless boy [cw]
« Last post by Nyree on April 01, 2020, 11:14:35 AM »

Sorry did not pull at Enele the way it did at Nyree. There was no hesitation after he offered her the choice. No a heart beat between her decision and his carrying it out. Just the time it took him to summon his craft and bear down with his jaws. Nyree appreciated it. And a part of her reveled gleefully in the warlord's death. But that part was small in the heat of her anger, which stood beside something solemn that Nyree could not name.

Maybe that was what made her eyes leak and Enele followed her trail to the ship. Woods passing swiftly to either side of them. They had done this before when her feet were too slower and her shift even slower. Usually for fun. Never for this.

In the bushes, Nyree waited patiently. Sliding from Enele's back to lay flat in the ground. Stretched out in the dirt and detritus of the forest, she nearly vanished. Bits of leaf and twig clinging to her hair. Grass staining her skirts. She was a much a part of the landscape as the bush that blocked her from view. *Yes, Enele.* Or the one Enele traded skins in. Hands fisted beneath her chin, Nyree watched the ship, and pretended she knew what she was looking for.

Men were easy. They moved freely, seemingly unaware that they were being stalked. But that could be a trick, Nyree knew from tales told to her by Enele himself. Scooting on to her knees, Nyree turned to face him as he crawled out of hiding. The change like a stink on his skin. It hurt horribly, which was why Nyree always went slow. Because then it hurt less. And the change was not a hurt she liked.

Her grin was lopsided between his fingers. Her heart beat slow, slow, slow. Feeding the hungry thing inside her stomach. "Okay." As close as she could get was the thing she had been fighting years for. Blinking as slowly as her heart beat, Nyree drank in his question. She didn't want him to ask it. And didn't want to contemplate the thing they would do.

The anger would go away. They deserved it, for hurting her brother. For maybe even killing him. They deserved it. And Nyree had asked Enele to do this thing. To be more than protection and safety. She was asking him to go out and kill. So she would go with him. It was only right. And it made her heart beat faster. And her vision narrow to the fields she'd only heard about in whispers.

Never imagining it could be a place she went too.

So she told him, "I'm sure," and followed low and swift behind him, tongue licking his kiss away for safekeeping. Without looking at the man in Enele's hands, Nyree told him again. "Sure, sure." And listened to the sound of bones breaking. Fingers and toes saw her up the gangplank. Like a wild beast on all fours, her hair a tangled mess that fell in her eyes and had to be swept away. Nyree clung close to Enele's back. Pivoting away as he engaged with another man, nearly stepping on her.

It went so quickly. A splash preceding a scrape. Nyree turned, still low, knife clutched tight in her hand to watch the crossbow lift toward them. Toward Enele. He was bigger. More dangerous. Everyone was always afraid of Enele. Slapping his calf, Nyree lunged forward. Not high. Low, low, into the man's legs so he had to bring his crossbow down again to shoot her.

Forgetting the knife, Nyree bit him; hard in the thigh before she remembered and drove the blade into the calf she had wrapped herself around. It was all violence. Like a heavy blanket that draped over them. Muffled, but confined too. Everything concentrated. It made Nyree hot and too aware. Sweat salt making the cut on her cheek sting. Where it came from she didn't remember.

Just the way blood splashed hot on her hand. The moldy taste of jerkin. The strange way her craft popped and crackled. Lashing out instinctively. The way Enele's back felt flush against her own. So very different from being pressed front to front with him. And the fire she set, on accident. An upturned barrel full of dried, stinking leaves greedily absorbing her craft. She never had been good with such things, and it quickly spun out of her control with so much fuel to consume until it caught her hair too. Leaping to the wild curls that framed her face.

Nyree laughed as she smothered them with her sticky fingers. Somewhere, she had lost the knife.

Strigavi / Re: Unexpected expectations [cw]
« Last post by Little on March 31, 2020, 03:35:33 PM »
Judgement radiated from the silent warlord prince. Unsounded yet  weighty as it settled on the space between her shoulder blades. A sidelong glance telling her just what she needed to know about his opinion of her- and an oceof doubts . He stood at ease but guarded. A lift of his lip for her lack of interest. Eyes slipping back to her spine one more time. As always, she was other. Not the same as the beasts drawn to the potency of her caste. Unwilling and unable to trust they were bonded in spite of themselves. In turn, Little found the itch to quietly mend what made them stand out from their own kind pulling at her spirit no matter how hard she tried to lead a quiet life. A queen of misfits.

Ignoring them usually did the trick in getting them closer. It worked well enough on this one too. His inclination to judge her brought him near enough to supervise her work. A borrowed tool solidifying his right to stand over her watchfully. Little did not sit still or quiet. Hands busy with their task and mind full of conversation. The most unusual sort of conversation she had shared to date. Wordless, the winged warlord prince opened the well of his memories rather than his mouth. Offering first the feel of an experienced hand on a knife. Then the time-softened memory of a youth calling out a name that held a possessive note in his chest. *Eremiar. The Blood make strange names.* She told him with a hum of amusement. In the wilds names held some meaning to the bearer. They described or defined or honored.

Dipping into the stores of knowledge he shared Little turned her hand more quickly with the blade. Scales shaved away and innards spilled until fish turned into fillets. Offer accepted she went into the water to gather stones. Cleaned hands slippery on their smooth faces. Eremiar made himself comfortable on the ground. Limbs so long they would be awkward if not attached to a warriorís body. Grizzled wings with pits and valleys that glimmered in the sunshine. Nesting her stones together she bathed them in Craft until the fish sizzled when she laid them on top. A spring of green, flavorful herbs stuck under them so that the taste would cook into the pink flesh. She didnít stare, but she did wonder more about who Eremiar was.

His mind had turned, the flit of passing probes reaching towards the other man. Little wondered about him too, but only in how he fit together with Eremiar. She didnít mind complicated, but the simpler a puzzle was the easier it was to complete. And sometimes that was all a bonded companion needed before being set free. *What is that one called?* She asked. Thread unknowingly reaching across the deeper spear to spear connection of two Reds.

Briar had walked only far enough to be out sight of his father- and the odd queen. He was not a strong flier, but the rest of him was made of muscle. Strong sinew that could pull him up into the bows of a high tree. There was little to see in any direction other than more treetops. In the distance he spied a wooden roof half hidden by the trunks of trees. Wings spreading to catch the breeze he glided over, faster than on foot but not as quickly as other Eyriens could fly. Inside he found a young priestess who was surprised to find her boredom alleviated yet again. She had just finished speaking when the tip of a Red probe laced around his ankle.
We didnít go very far. Weíre in Ancravi province about two hundred miles south of the Blood Run.[/br]

Everyone knew the ancient landmark of the canyon Eyriens tested their mettle against. Even men like Briar who had never done more than looked over the edges.
Can we go home now? I have things to finish.[/br] He asked bitterly as he took the stairs out of the young priestessís temple two at a time. He didnít go back directly back, loitering a mile away in hopes that they could part company for the day. He didnít want to get involved with whatever his father had going on. And he really did have better things to be doing. Like curling up in bed with Rian. Probes stretching he wondered if he could reach her with a thread from so far away. If they both started walking now they could meet at the inn and spend the night there.
Character Applications / Re: Rose, Marcus
« Last post by The Darkness on March 30, 2020, 09:49:58 PM »
The Darkness has granted you...
Cut 61
Cut 46

The Darkness has granted you...
Cut 29
Cut 82
Character Applications / Re: Rose, Marcus
« Last post by kayndred on March 30, 2020, 08:34:57 PM »
Can I get a random BR and decent roll for the boy, and a stats roll for the white to yellow for his original family roll?
Parbelavi / Re: Oh, its you
« Last post by Lillian on March 30, 2020, 07:40:40 AM »

It was too easy to give in. His mouth silenced so much. Covering her own so that she could not complain or reject. Hushing not just Lillian's misgivings but her worries too. He gave comfort, as much as he took it.

Peitar was alive. He breathed when she breathed. His touch was warm. Leaving a trail of heat where he touched her, as if Lillian had been cold before he put hands to her. He was strong muscle beneath her hands. Strong body against her own. The pressure of her weight had no bearing on him. He didn't waver. Just took more.

Everything Lillian offered up, he took. Encouraging the hand at his cheek. Scarred skin strangely smooth beneath her palm. Ear tucked into the creases of her fingers as if she meant to tug it for all his naughtiness. Lillian didn't pull or pinch however. She clung and let him chase all the worries and sorrows from her, just as she'd been trying to do for him.

Comfort. Peitar was the last person she had expected to find it in. He was rude. Vulgar. And didn't seem to much care for her. Except now he pulled her flush. Cloak vanishing, palm pressing her hips to his. Knuckles fitting into the crease at the base of her skull. And Lillian wasn't afraid. Even when his arm pinned her wing to her body and he leaned in to kiss her deeper. Farther. The sort of kiss that promised more than comfort.

Now they stood at the brink of passion. Chin lifting, Lillian's lips parted, inviting Peitar in. Tempting him deeper. Her grip on his ear tightened, hand pressing into his cheek as she contemplated giving in to her baser urges. Of taking Peitar with her. Goading and guiding him in turn until they filled the storage room with the layers of their lust and its release.

A cough from the other room fluttered her lashes against his cheek and nose. Her body had settled into his hands, hung half suspended from his neck and held tight to his body. It was almost like floating. Drawing back, Lillian kissed him softly. Gently. Lips stroking his, and then his chin and unscarred cheek. Her craft wound itself into a tight spiral around them. Just in case. This was new ground with Peitar, and not all men dealt easily with rejection.

"We should pack these things away." Lillian felt unbearably sleepy, so she didn't let go of him. Fingers curling around his ear to smooth his hair away. Thumb stroking the strange texture of the skin across his cheek bone. It was... like but not like skin. Glossy was the only word Lillian could think of, but that was not quite right either. And she very much could not believe she was petting the face that had so frightened her before.

She peeked at him. Eyes sweeping his face as she slowly unhooked her fingers from his shoulder. Lillian couldn't help herself, and kissed him once more for being so good. Just a peck, quick and light.

Character Applications / Rose, Marcus
« Last post by kayndred on March 29, 2020, 09:49:21 PM »
Marcus Rose

The Basics

Full Name: Marcus Rose
Age: 20 as of AW103
Gender/Pronouns: he/him

Ethnicity: SL
Birthplace: Little Terreille
Current Location: Little Terreille
Profession: Delinquent boy child

Caste: Warlord Prince
Birthright Jewel: White (CUT 29)
Offering Jewel: Yellow (CUT 82)

Face Claim: Peter Badenhop

The Body

Height: 6'2
Body Type: Filling out
Hair Color: Dark brown
Eye Color: Hazel

There are hard lines lurking in Marcus' future, cutting cheekbones and a demanding jaw. Now he's still rounded by youth, not quite filled out across his shoulders, a little too long in the leg. His body is a semi-foreign thing, unwieldy and strong. He's in the prime of his youth, a young man burning bright, Descent made and future spread wide before him. There's a quickness to his smile and a light in his eyes that draws people in, a firmness of belief in him that convinces people that even the most ridiculous of schemes will work. Marcus is charming, and a devil for it. He's got poor impulse control and normally more than a few bruises to show for it.

Hair kept short, clothing on the nicer side of casual, Marcus is a young man with little direction and a handful of partially honed skills. There are scars and hardening callouses and the shadows of where definition of his muscles will be later, but now he looks like he's clinging to boyhood with both hands, even if adamantly rejects the idea.

The Mind

Craft Strengths: 10/15pts
Craft Weaknesses:

Cocky. Loud. Eldest son, and Warlord Prince besides, Marcus about ran himself when he proved too much for his mother. Often dragging both her and Marten around on 'adventures', Marcus' caste was of little speculation in his youth. That demanding, protective instinct? A Warlord Prince, without a doubt.

Age has done nothing to diminish those tendencies, and, left to be as nagging as he likes between his siblings and his mother, Marcus is an unobstructed whirlwind in the house. Quick to temper, and temper just as quick to leave, there's little volatility to him beyond an overburdened protective drive. He's made of energy and quips, and hovers in a way no one has been able to break him of. There's no small part of him that looks toward service with a kind of hungry hope, despite what his father has said and not said about its effect on their family.

It is the dream of youth to prove that they are different, after all.

The Backstory

  • Summer | Mother | Blood Female
  • Simon | Father | Green to Gray Prince
  • Anisah | Sister | Purple Dusk to Opal Queen (deceased)
  • Marten | Twin Brother | Jewel to Jewel Caste


The Writer

Player Name: Kay, Kayndred
Player Pronouns: she/her/hers
Timezone: -8 GMT
Contact: Discord, PM

Inactivity Instructions: Death, writing out, archival, adoption

Roleplay Sample:
See Michael Villiers
Rosnay Island / Re: Afternoon Snack
« Last post by Aramis Dupuis on March 29, 2020, 05:45:50 PM »
The heat reached a steady simmer, a thrum of intrigue and desire that followed his pulse. Gaze locked on her own, Aramis tracked the little movements of her pupils, the muscles around her eyes. He couldn't quite silence it, but he could come back, later, to the memories of her satisfying weight in his lap and turn each over in his mind.

For now, the present. Her roaming fingers, not quite asking, but hesitating a fraction all the same. A subtle change in temperature at their final decision, fabric parting. A flush of warmth, a prickling in his sternum. His wife. There was something of his hungry shadow that craved it, too, her attention. Maybe more partner to his caste, something not to be fed too frequently either way. But, tempered, he could let himself take it. Allow it to be given.

The heat in him rose at her affirmation. The security of her in his lap pleased. The press of her teeth to his skin had his eyelids drooping in a languorous blink. Surprise and curiosity flickered. A back-of-his-molars feeling, like when his own prey was within his grasp. Diminished slightly when she took his thumb further, tension in his belly drawing tighter instead. The less dangerous of the two. But the desire to bite was still there. To consume, if not wholly. Later, maybe.

"Mm," he breathed. Hand on her hip, steady, he leaned back, legs straightening out beneath her has he did so. Careful only to jostle her toward his spear, rather than away. The movement extracted his thumb from her mouth with a little pop, and he brought the digit to his own lips to flick his tongue out and taste the moisture there. Spread below her, curls fanning into the grass beyond the blanket, he found he wasn't displeased by the image of her astride him. Something else for later.

"And how would she like him?" He rumbled. His free hand found her leg, the curve of her thigh through her dress. Breathing momentarily not filled with the scent of her to hush things best kept from the 'bedroom'.

Welcome to Witchlight

We are an AU Black Jewels RPG that is continuously expanding the world lore to truly make it our own. Come join us and play in our sandbox!

Open for over a year, we have 9 unique races, from birds to wolf-shifters. Feel free to drop into our Discord, lurk our wanted ads, and see if Witchlight is the fantasy site you should always have been looking for.

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The seasons will change on 4/19.

Recent Topics

Ill bargains by Simon Rose
[April 04, 2020, 07:40:38 AM]

And baby makes... Four? by Catriona Blackthorn
[April 01, 2020, 09:47:05 PM]

The warlords and the jeweless boy [cw] by Nyree
[April 01, 2020, 11:14:35 AM]

Unexpected expectations [cw] by Little
[March 31, 2020, 03:35:33 PM]

Rose, Marcus by The Darkness
[March 30, 2020, 09:49:58 PM]


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