Don't have an account yet? 
Forum Search
I'm Feeling Lucky
Searching for: Posts from Immortes.|
Immortes OFFLINE   Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Tue, 12/09/2023 13:00 (1 Year ago) |
|
Username: Immortes Character reference: boop Art type: TBOI Inspired YCH (the chibi one) payment: 150k PD password: the boi's theme anything else?: for a friend!!!!! [Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Mon, 11/09/2023 12:00 (1 Year ago) |
|
Username: Immortes Bloopem: PJ bloopem Password: p4n Payment method: PD + grass gems [ 45k in total ] Tip: 10k Other: So cute thank you!! [Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Fri, 08/09/2023 00:54 (1 Year ago) |
|
Character: Calverus - friend's OC :) Reference/pose: ref by me! :) no posing requests, but cal is known for his argumentative and fierce nature, so take that into account. FB/HB/HS: HB Lined/Flat/Shaded: Shaded please Payment: 60k PD? Tip? 10k PD Other: thanks in advance :3 [Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Wed, 30/08/2023 16:49 (1 Year ago) |
|
bump bump bump [Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Fri, 25/08/2023 22:36 (1 Year ago) |
 image manip by me [Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Fri, 25/08/2023 05:09 (1 Year ago) |
|
Practically ripping the door to his quarters off its hinges, Lysander stormed into the minimalistic area he was allowed. Tibon's mother had provided him with room and board in exchange for his service. It was more than many avians could ask for from their employers. Likely, her experience as a mother pained her to see another go without a roof over their head. Perhaps he would get her something if he was granted the chance to return here. Though, he thought bitterly, he was rarely ever so fortunate. He was a refugee, a runaway fleeing the endless onslaught of hateful whispers and stares, rumors and whispers. No matter how many hopeful gazes were leveled in his direction, he would never allow himself to grow close to an employer or his coworkers. All the better to leave quietly when no one suspected and no one had a chance to point a finger in his direction. Even if elves, in general, were kept in reasonably good standing, the council had too much power to be trusted with dealing with this matter lightly. Packing was a brief affair. Years of changing destinations without end had taught the avian to pack light. He carried few items of sentiment, only keeping that of necessity. Clothes and bedding, sundry household items, some food, important files of identification, and a suitcase for carrying luggage. Such austerity could be emotionally taxing, but it spoke volumes regarding convenience. Lysander kept his movements fluid and organized to hide the budding ache in his chest. But why? Indeed, this bohemian lifestyle was nothing new to him at this point. Getting sentimental was fighting against factors kept out of his control. For one reason or another, the working life would never be stable or settled, and thus, neither would he. Still, he would miss Tibon's kindness and the gentle gaze of his mother watching her son grow up. The innocence of the elven boy was a fleeting and fragile beauty, like morning dew or the ripe sweetness of fruits before they succumbed to rot. An old aphorism from his earlier teachings floated into his mind about how only faith in the sunshine's return could last through the night. It would be twilight now, then. Golden hour. Despite his earlier fury, Lysander was in no real hurry to leave. He hovered uncertainly on the cusp of the doorway, neither moving in nor out. Golden eyes captured every speck. Between the gentle sway of gossamer, sunlight illuminated the swell and ebb of dust as it rose and settled on the wood. The light pooled over every scratch on the floor until it shyly reached for his hand. Clenching his hand, he let it grasp at him like a child, begging for him not to leave. Lysander let it. He would probably never remember this place, and his forgetfulness bred regret. But a spoonful of sugar would help the medicine go down. Silently indulging himself one more minute, he left the shimmering dust behind. Keeping his pace brisk but unhurried to the stray passerby, Lysander exited the plaza. The ache dogged him with each step, but he leaned into the throb, knowing it would fade in time. It was a bit late for the growing pains. He felt the wind tease the stubborn set at his jaw with stray fingers, calling him to the sky. However ironic it sounded, Lysander was less familiar with the skies of Silverwood than the ground. Faintly, he remembered a name called the Silver Path - the stretch that separated rain-draped glades and silken boughs from the hallowed capital's golden touch. A city of splendor, yes, but also with many jagged edges and gold that lacked the sun's gentle glow. Someone called to him in low but stern tones. It took two tries before he recognized he was being addressed. Even from a distance, Lysander's eyes danced over the navy hues and velvet dressing of guild robes. It was unmistakably regal, lending a certain dignity to its dresser. The avian stiffened warily as he eyed them, wondering how hard they would push him if he refused. The strangers before him were wary themselves, but just beneath lingered a ponderous hostility. They asked if he had the letter. I do. There were only three elves and one driver. He could've just flown away, but he didn't. Lysander's eyes shuttered into brooding slits, and he shook his head at the proffered hand. "Just put my stuff in the trunk.." He muttered. The doors slammed shut, trapping him in shadow. Of all things to be first observed, the Council Halls were unmistakably solemn and ancient. Carved of a firm and unyielding stone, no sunlight could soften the furrows and cracks that ran down its side. Only a master's craftsmanship kept the walls from becoming too severe. Gold ran up gilded arches and ivory pillars, beaming proudly in the pre-noon light that cascaded amply from open windows. There was surgical cleanliness to the marbled stone with no roughness or sun-showered dust. Looking up at the architecture now, Lysander couldn't help but wonder if the inspiration behind these halls had been a palace, a cathedral, or a mix of both. Precise and pure, but cold all the same. Few lingered long enough to gawk at him. Many coughed and looked away, pretending to be occupied with the marble walls or their tasks. Heels slammed against the floor, and papers rustled. Still, his keen ears drew the whispers to his ears and along his spine like cobwebs. Lysander bound his arms tighter together, fighting against a swell of self-conscious nervousness. He marched with stiff legs and an expression of cold restraint. This was the same scrutiny he'd endured all his life, only with more civilized trappings. Different people, same ideologies. I thought I had escaped it. But that was how the law in Aeloria worked. It was the whispering scholars, the escort, removed and curt: all fair but unempathetic and professionally distant. An electric shiver surged from head to wingtip as the doors creaked open, bidding him enter. The light was blinding. He stepped into a flood of silent memories. It was the same as giving a confession all those years ago. High-sloped windows yielded a shower of golden light to bathe the council members above him, illuminating their faraway faces and the stiffness of their bodies. They were tense, and rightly so, for a stranger stood before them, known only in rumor. He craned his neck to stare at Serafina, bedecked in dark navy blue, and the Inquisitor with the eyes of the hawk on the podium. Hunger in one gaze, an undecipherable mix in the other. Gazes flicked between each other, weighing him. In contrast to his alabaster surroundings, Lysander's ebony form and cold visage stood out awkwardly. Was I what you were expecting? He didn't dare look away from them. Golden eyes fixated on the strange beings before him, dragging at every detail. Much like outside, he found no torn edges or smoky drapes in their faces, only a brusque, storm-weathered beauty as crisp as marbled stone. [Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Thu, 24/08/2023 21:56 (1 Year ago) |
|
❥ Preferred Name: Immortes/Immy ❥ Pronouns: she/her ❥ Timezone: EST ❥ How long have you been roleplaying for?: Since 2018 ❥ How would you describe the literacy, length, and style of your posts?: Literate to advanced literate. 3+ paragraphs always. ❥ What themes, topics, or genres are you most interested in?: Fandoms/topics are listed here My favorite topics involve themes of self-discovery, hurt/comfort and most importantly character studies. I would love to focus on writing sympathetic villains/antiheroes that make us think introspectively about ourselves/the world around us. Grey morality is always a very well-received trope with me. I love to develop OCs inside and out, and RPing is the best way to go about. ❥ Whilst keeping to site rules, how would you rate the maturity boundaries of your roleplays?: Within site rules, I'm willing to go PG-13+, but will stay within comfort zones of my partner. Writing the darker parts in the prose/subtle references is probably my favorite way to go about this. The only thing that turns me off are themes of body horror (with exceptions) and heavy gore. ❥ If someone were to want to contact you about a roleplay, what would be the best method for you?: PP/PM ❥ Why did you decide to join us here?: To meet more RPers and to put all of my writing gibberish in one area. ❥ Examples of your roleplay posts (optional.): x | x | x [Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Thu, 24/08/2023 00:20 (1 Year ago) |
|
I didn't know if event points were a normal drop from the gifts or if they were meant to be something else. Thank you in advance!! [Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Mon, 21/08/2023 05:57 (1 Year ago) |
|
CH. 1 Child of the Desert silver-wood | the nouveau table A loud rattling sound to his left snapped Lysander out of his daze. Five seconds of brief confusion at the origin of such a disruptive sound yielded the answer: the pot at his cooking station. Giant bubbles were popping above the surface, accompanied by a thick foam layer. Cursing under his breath in at least three different languages, the avian yanked the pot off the stovetop and turned the heat down. The lid rattled dangerously with his abrupt motions, and some of the soup spilled onto his sleeves and arms. Burning pain erupted in his arms, but he stifled his cries to a low hiss. Slamming the pot down none-too-gently onto the table, Lysander put his hands on the lid and tried to force his frazzled nerves into stillness. He slowed his breathing, allowing his heart rate to settle. Moments later, he felt a telltale chill ripple from his fingers. Ice, to bind the agitation of fire and sing it to sleep. Once he was confident that the pot was no longer boiling, he ripped the lid off to see the damage. Vegetables cooked for too long turned soft and dissolved in the soup, while meat dried up and shriveled under the assault of the intense heat. Of course, the stillness of his hands was only temporary. Outside the frenzied havoc of the kitchen, there were customers to wait on and dishes to serve. There was no respite and no rest. The kitchen was blazing hot and foggy with steam, not to mention the constant risk of setting his feathers on fire every time he got near the stove. No sooner had one dish been retrieved than five new orders poured in. Anyone with his sense of mind should’ve resented being in such a chaotic and disorderly environment. It was not one of the avian’s strengths to multitask. But in the rhythm of his work, Lysander found a strange absence from his worries, his thoughts. Counterintuitively, the work became its own distraction, funneling his attention into the focus of a lens instead of letting it wander free. He cast a quick glance around, deliberating avoiding eye contact. But for once, he was not met with gazes poisoned by scrutiny or prejudice. Everyone was busy with their dishes or chatting with someone else to notice his fluttering anxiety. No cruel reprimand came. Satisfied, Lysander busied himself with plating, throwing into four bowls a ladle-and-a-half of fluffy rice and a generous helping of curry. He tried not to grimace at the sight of the mango fruit, stomach twisting. Outside of Black Sun territory, he was beginning to see that mango vendors were, in fact, increasingly commonplace. The fruit was not as taboo as the cult made it to be. However, his old reflexes remained ingrained. Too many nights to count, his stomach yielded its contents to the fruit’s sinful temptation. Setting the bowls aside, Lysander was just moving to retrieve a tray when the bell rang outside. “Lys, get your ass out here, pronto! Leave whatever you’re cooking!” Tibon barked from outside the main cooking area. “Guild’s sent a letter right for you!” The guild. Or more specifically, the ruling council of Aeloria. Dread slithered down his back. They couldn’t know what happened last time. I didn’t leave any trace - I couldn’t have. But how do they know? In his haste to exit the kitchen, Lysander nearly tripped over the step and reflexes alone prevented him from stumbling into Tibon. He loitered at the entrance, shifting from foot to foot like a scolded child. Furrows edged the younger elf’s youthful face and his arms were rigid with tension. A single snow-white envelope was clutched in a grip so tight it creased the paper. Forcing down his nerves, Lysander extended his hand, reaching for the mail.“May I see it?” After a few moments hesitation, the elf dropped it into his grip and backed away two paces, as if expecting the letter to morph into some raging flesh-eating beast. The avian took a moment to examine the carmine-red seal before tearing the letter open with a smooth flourish of talons. One look at the parchment script - the first two lines at least - and his stomach dropped. xxxxx𝐿𝑦𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑉𝑜𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑎, 𝐸𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎. 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑢𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑟𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠. 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑦. 𝐼𝑛 𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑘 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝐺𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑆𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎 𝑀𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎. 𝐵𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟. 𝐴𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑦. xxxxxxxxxx𝑅𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠, xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx- 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑪𝑰𝑳 𝑶𝑭 𝑴𝑨𝑮𝑰𝑪 What a welcome surprise. A growl trilled low in his throat before morphing into a cynical laugh. They actually had the bloody dignity to send a letter this time. Lysander felt his talons tighten upon the parchment, threatening to rip it apart at the slightest gesture. One glance at the younger elf’s stiffened form indicated that this was not the reaction he was expecting. He couldn't blame his friend's wariness; guild matters, political affairs, such things were not made for the descendants of folk hated for their very existence. With the events of the Northern War leaving lasting effects on the Aelorian people, their allegiances would not be easily forgotten. Where fear once set in claws, hatred and resentment oozed like blood to poison the very atmosphere where he lived. It made Tibon's mother's generosity all the more precarious. As his previous employer put it: anybody could take risks for an avian, but not when the benefits were outweighed by costs. With business already unpredictable... This could be his last day at the restaurant. The same thought had clearly occurred to Tibon. "'S it bad?" He asked hesitantly. Lysander sighed heavily. He put the letter back in the envelope. "Not terrible." He lied stonily. Anger threatened to overwhelm him — anger that once again for factors outside of his control, his right, his chance at a normal life was taken from him. Lysander took a deep breathe. "Tell the others that I've gone to deliver food for a customer in person. Don't tell her about the letter. I might be away for several hours, but I may be back by tonight." He wouldn't. "Have Claudia —" one of the younger elf chefs at the establishment — "Carry on with my dishes. The curry should be bout ready now. I've plated already. Just get it on a tray." Not waiting to see if his temper could hold out another minute, Lysander stalked towards his quarters the next door over, seething all the while [Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Mon, 31/07/2023 08:25 (1 Year ago) |
|
Immortes Vallea Lyrue Scarlet Songbird She/her 27 bird: red-winged blackbird faceclaim: Nejire-Hado description here [Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Fri, 21/07/2023 23:54 (1 Year ago) |
|
❥ Preferred Name: Immortes/Immy ❥ Pronouns: she/her ❥ Timezone: EST ❥ How long have you been roleplaying for?: Since 2018 ❥ How would you describe the literacy, length, and style of your posts?: Literate to advanced literate. 3+ paragraphs always. ❥ What themes, topics, or genres are you most interested in?: Fandoms/topics are listed here My favorite topics involve themes of self-discovery, hurt/comfort and most importantly character studies. I would love to focus on writing sympathetic villains/antiheroes that make us think introspectively about ourselves/the world around us. Grey morality is always a very well-received trope with me. I love to develop OCs inside and out, and RPing is the best way to go about. ❥ Whilst keeping to site rules, how would you rate the maturity boundaries of your roleplays?: Within site rules, I'm willing to go PG-13+, but will stay within comfort zones of my partner. Writing the darker parts in the prose/subtle references is probably my favorite way to go about this. The only thing that turns me off are themes of body horror (with exceptions) and heavy gore. ❥ If someone were to want to contact you about a roleplay, what would be the best method for you?: PP/PM ❥ Why did you decide to join us here?: To meet more RPers and to put all of my writing gibberish in one area. ❥ Examples of your roleplay posts (optional.): x | x | x [Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Thu, 20/07/2023 15:02 (1 Year ago) |
|
[Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Thu, 13/07/2023 23:01 (1 Year ago) |
 "When you don't know what to do, just take the first step. The rest will figure itself out naturally." (北斗 Beidou | Conqueror of The Sea) Appearance  Show
hidden content
 Height: 5'8 / 172.2 cm Hair Color: Waste-length dark brown, nearly black hair Eye Color: Ruby red melting into gold Clothing Preference: Build Type: Toughened and strong, Beidou is an individual known for her physical strength. The first officer isn't afraid to put her strength to use for the benefit of her crew, whether it's for adjusting the sails during a storm, or punching the enemy in the face. Internal Conflict Show
hidden content
Age: 27 years old Personality: ESTP - The Entrepeneur Entrepreneurs always have an impact on their immediate surroundings – the best way to spot them at a party is to look for the whirling eddy of people flitting about them as they move from group to group. Laughing and entertaining with a blunt and earthy humor, Entrepreneur personalities love to be the center of attention. If an audience member is asked to come on stage, Entrepreneurs volunteer – or volunteer a shy friend. Theory, abstract concepts and plodding discussions about global issues and their implications don’t keep Entrepreneurs interested for long. Entrepreneurs keep their conversation energetic, with a good dose of intelligence, but they like to talk about what is – or better yet, to just go out and do it. Entrepreneurs leap before they look, fixing their mistakes as they go, rather than sitting idle, preparing contingencies and escape clauses. 8w7 - The Nonconformist The final product of this mix is a subtype that is very pragmatic and that will do whatever it takes to accomplish their goals. They are very self-confident and ambitious. 8w7 don’t settle for anything, they always seek more. They are also strategic and tough if needed. Considering these two Enneagram types are not part of the same triad, this crossing point between the Head Triad (7) and Gut Triad (8) creates a new type that combines overthinking with instinct when it comes to making decisions. To feel safe, they become very self-protective and eventually get intensively aggressive too. Setting clear boundaries and showing their authority gives them assurance and advantage to get prepared for different situations. However, they also struggle for love and support. They need a safe space they can trust and gives them care and assurance. Enneagram 8w7s are idealistic and imaginative people, they are highly creative and perfectionists when they feel comfortable. They master their field and consider themselves the best when they hold specific positions that allows them to make important decisions. Alignment: Chaotic Good Gender: Cisfemale, she/her Addictions: Although she's fond of a good drink, she's careful to not let it impair her judgement in the case of a sudden shift in weather. Her only addiction would probably be to traveling. With a restless spirit, she's not fond of staying in one place or on land. Fears: Two fears; one is being forced to stop traveling forever, and the second is the complete destruction of her crew. Personal Strengths Other/Miscellaneous Show
hidden content
Physical Illnesses: Physical Disabilities: Psychological Disorders: Rank: Armament: Other/Not Mentioned: [Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Thu, 29/06/2023 17:28 (1 Year ago) |
|
[Read more] |
|
Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 715 |
Posted: Mon, 19/06/2023 06:56 (1 Year ago) |
|
The concept of a daemon was hardly a complex one, but it was profound to the ordinary eye. wip [Read more] |