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 Zeraphia
10:07:51 Vah is less okay
Melas are honestly legit
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anyone up for an rp pm me
 Collar
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Mag

I lovee melas! One's my featured wolf right now!
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Anyone here like melas
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BJake

Gorgeous dogsss :O
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 Zeraphia
09:55:33 Vah is less okay
My one Boost BD buddy kicked the bucket a bit ago.

-WP Click-
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09:55:26 Dagon/Sheo/Moor
These 2 girlies
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 Frozen Flowers
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All my boost BD are crud but they make pretty babies XD
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09:52:48 Vah is less okay
Mag

Ooooh that is true. That is very true.

Honestly, I'd say do whichever you feel like doing.
 Magnus Bane
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Zera
But imagine breeding my boost defects together *^*
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Pain
I know<.> I just don't know what to do lol. I planned on remaking someone already so I don't know <.>
 Zeraphia
09:51:08 Vah is less okay
Mag

True, true. But I mean, it couldn't hurt to have two right?
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09:50:18 Dagon/Sheo/Moor
Mag@
An if you keep male you get free breedings to the many ladies
 The Amethyst
09:50:11 Dart
Making a paper therian mask right now nailed the caracal ears!
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I'm just conflicted <.> I already have a decent boost defect stud
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Mag@
If you make female you'll just get endless free breedings to Shade
 Zeraphia
09:49:18 Vah is less okay
Mag

Honestly, I'd keep male. That could be a solid stud for you and bring in some serious mushies.
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09:48:49 Vah is less okay
BJake

I love them all. The theme is 10/10

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Forums > Roleplay > 1x1
   1 

Edling x WinterApril 8, 2024 05:48 PM


Edling

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Posts: 1127
#3011270
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Needless to say, don't post unless you're one of us :)
Edling x WinterApril 8, 2024 05:48 PM


Edling

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#3011272
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╔══♣═══ ∴ »« ∴ ═══♣══╗

Mavros “Mav” Kerridge

╚══♣═══ ∴ »« ∴ ═══♣══╝

Aliases:

Captain Mav - Most Recent

Crimson Magician - A former label that a life of questionable thievery earned him in the Westernmost nations

Magiano - A myth, a legend, a rumored sorcerer who preys on those weak-willed to illusory and dark deceits

Gender:

Male

Age:

23

Sexuality:

Yes - Albeit Harbors Disillusionment On The Definition Of Love

Appearance:

Mavros is easily an entity that embodies the definition of what it means to be tempted by something imperfectly perfect. With an angular facial structure, akin to a diamond, Mav definitively possesses a set of higher reigning cheekbones prominent beneath sunken eyes flawed with ever-present exhaustion. In stark contrast, Mavros’ eyes are a lively spectacle made up of a striking emerald green pigment with hints of bronze peppered beside his pupil. With a semi-narrow, yet downturned shape, these eyes possess wispy onyx lashes that often spill over his sight.

In terms of other features, the most unremarkable would be the man’s nose - both mediocre and unassuming to even a seasoned critic’s eye. However, if one had to describe it, it could be regarded as pointy, paired with a straight bridge and narrow nostrils. Notably, Mav would look to have a touch of hollowness to his cheeks, and a strict jawline. While he tends to put in effort to remain clean-shaven, he’s not without periods of embracing both light and more moderate stubble peppering his visage. It often depends on circumstance, opportunity, and his mood of course to determine how much grooming he invests in himself.

Which never translates to the touseled, improper and thick ringlets atop his head. This thick, buoyant-appearing hair parrots the coloration of a raven; a wholly black shade of color, yet glossy in appearance when reflecting the sun's rays. The soft ticks and curves of his curls curtain his forehead, yet it’s not so much untamed that it impairs his vision. The style also tapers off nicely at the nape of his neck, and Mav has never been one to let it grow beyond such a length.

Being blessed to stand at a respectable height of 6’3, aside from the towering stance, the impression of being formidable falls a bit short with him. If it weren’t for the prominent toning he’s gained along his long limbs, he risks being perceived as a strictly lanky creature. Having an athletic mass, the young man carries a figure resembling a more proportional rectangular shape - with his shoulders squaring even with his hips. Mav’s skin could be perceived as a warmer shade of porcelain, and is not without harboring both accenting beauty marks scattered across the realm of his physique, and craters of imperfection in the form of various scarring. While having no mark abundantly severe, these bodily accents he has are not distinctly ignorable either.

Personality:

In simple regards, the walking scandal that is Mavros offers little incentive to there being any shred of a decent human being beneath the intricate web he calls a personality. Being just a hair shy of villainy, Mav flourishes in the position of being a person who takes all that he can, and gives little to nothing in return. From a young age, Mav has thirsted to have nothing short of everything he deserves in life, which has led him to acquire a taste for nothing but the best. A greed like Mav’s is dangerous, vicious even when it comes to his pursuit of obtaining currency or his next shiny obsession. These qualities wouldn’t necessarily condemn Mav to being that of evil, although the word ‘nice’ is not exactly a label typically associated with him. Adaptive and quick-thinking, Mav is a man who fluidly adjusts to whatever cards he’s dealt. Being armed with a silver tongue and an impressionable charisma, Mav also has a knack for talking his way in and out of trouble.

Brief History:

Recalling little before the age of six, Mavros had only one thing that belonged to him when he had gained the pity of an ensemble of priests devoted to a dying polytheistic religion in an isolated village - his name. Being one of a handful of children whom the small religious community had taken in, Mavros had considered the other children siblings, to some degree. Resources were scarce, and hunger was a close friend - yet Mavros was taught how to survive off of what was available. Learning how to properly hunt and prepare food, fish, and sew makeshift clothing, as well as learning the customs of the religion he was surrounded by were all things Mavros had under his belt by ten. This didn’t stop Mav from acquiring the skill of thieving, either. Whether it be from the food in the temples, small items from his own peers, or whatever he could from travelers who would ride down a path not so far from the village in the direction of the closest, functioning town.

His life went up in flames in the village by age twelve, when he became the sole fleeing survivor of the slaughtering persecution of the village inhabitants. The village of Magio was no more, but from the ashes of that place had birthed the tale of Magiano - a sorcerer of the dark arts who had survived the persecution of ‘the village of demons’. The myth had twisted itself over time and as it spread through various towns in the region, though in all truth the monster they had believed to exist was only a boy blessed with masterful thievery and theatrics. Often Mav’s way of travel had become reduced to hiding among cargo and being transported by ships to various ports, and adapting to survive in each new environment where he had begun to earn a new label for his thieving reputation - the Crimson Magician.

At the cocky age of eighteen, Mav had stolen from the wrong man - an apparently revered pirate by the name of Sully Seafair, whom Mav had never heard of. Whereas the older, gruff man had every incentive and means to kill Mavros for his crime, the young man convinced the pirate to allow him a chance to earn mercy - the deal struck having been for Mav to make a compelling argument as to why he deserved what he had attempted to steal. Managing a tale both compelling and amusing, Sully spared Mav, and allowed him to keep the gold ring he had previously slipped off of the man’s finger. It was the beginning of a mentorship of sorts, having been taken under Sully’s wing to learn the ropes of piracy, both on and off a ship. Over time and among new faces in Sully’s crew, it had become common knowledge that Mavros was Sully’s son, and it was a fact not questioned, even after Sully’s demise with Mavros picking up the pieces of what he had left behind and stepping into the boots of a captain just a year ago.


Edited at April 9, 2024 01:39 PM by Edling
Edling x WinterApril 8, 2024 08:48 PM


Winter0221

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Posts: 2
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❝ I will not let my bloodline dictate my destiny. ❞

Name:

Prince Kylan Ambrosius Chevalier

Gender:
Male; He/Him

Sexuality:
While technically closeted homosexual, its more hes never thought about it. He's about to think about it.

Age:
23 years old

Role:
The youngest son to the Crown of Eberhardt, politically to be married to the duchess Camilla Eberhardt of a noble family to the south of their kingdom.

Appearance:
-Kylan is.. relatively mediocre in height. He comes up only to 5'9", with his slender features befitting a doll-like prince's stature. Despite the expectations on his shoulder to be a muscled hero, if anything, he seems a tad underweight in comparison. His fancy clothing consists of vests but otherwise loose ruffley clothes that hide his scrawnier nature. Though out of everything, his legs are well toned from horseback riding.

His hair is a mess of dirty blonde waves that comes down below his shoulder blades on his back. Usually tied up the neatest his servants can with a white ribbon- keeping his hair long as a sign of his noble status and capabilities of caring for it. His skin is a light tanned from many hours still spent outside studying. His jawline is well definied with light stuble as he often kept his face as clean shaven as he could- with fierce looking furrowed eyebrows and dark brown eyes.

Basic Personality Idea: [Always subject to change as I get my grip of the character help lol]

-Kylan is arrogant, perhaps even spoiled would be the word, as befitting from someone who didn't spend much time amongst the commonfolk. He wanted for naught as the youngest, having the least amount of expectations on his shoulders in comparison to the elder children. He was still trained in things such as calligraphy, history, the likes- but startegy and war meetings bored him. They were more enticing for Dante, and he was content letting his elder brother take his role in such matters. Even then, he has a stubborn streak- believing himself capable of much more than he truly was capable. He's quick of tongue and wit. While he did spend some of his days with fine wine and parties, he still hid intelligence and cunning beyond his more carefree party exterior. He seems to have a keen interest in the world beyond, and fantasies seemingly beyond his fingertip's reach.

[ Important Backstory Information: ]
-Kylan was born the youngest child of Queen Evangeline and King Ambrose Chevalier. Being the youngest, he didn't have much importance of the crown- destined to one day simply be married off as a duke unless his two elder brothers managed to die. Whether at war, assassination, or various other means. His elder brother by the name of Dante was often away from home on many different excursions, leaving him to be closer in bond to his middle brother Alaric.

-His engagement to Lady Camilla was determined from a young age, perhaps when he was around the age of twelve was when the plans were set into motion. Though it never quite felt real or daunting outside of the knowledge- as she was a force unseen. She was known to be a sickly child, and didn't often attend any royal banquets or balls where they may have met. She has since regained her strength in adulthood, which has made the looming wedding plans all that worse. Kylan is having cold feet about the arrangement- having not been capable of meeting her.

-The rest I shall keep hidden to be discovered by, well, talking to him.

Edited at April 9, 2024 12:34 AM by Winter0221
Edling x WinterApril 11, 2024 01:37 PM


Winter0221

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Posts: 2
#3012207
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Kylan's countdown of doom was starting. It was about a month now until the wedding, and as far he was concerned, Lady Camilla would not make an appearance until the day before. There was not enough time for him to feel comfortable with the arranged marriage of someone so unknown even amongst the nobility. Though staring at himself now in the mirror, he wasn't entirely sure of himself or his plan despite how he held himself. He had bribed some of the lower servants for their clothes you see- some extra money for their silence and lack of questions about what he would use it for. Only the lords know not even he approved of what he was about to do.

. . .

Walking through town with his head held low Kylan had a number of regrets he was ticking off one by one. His hair tucked into the collar of his shirt, in an attempt to hide what others would recognize him by obviously, only made the scratchiness of the material all the worse. His expression turned upwards into a sort of grimace as he walked- the material served its purpose of not screaming 'HEY LOOK AT ME I'M RICH' but it wasn't the fine silks he was used to. He was sure his skin would be red and irritated by the time he got home, and by then, he'd have some explaining to do.

Craning his neck upwards, he shielded his eyes from the glaring sun as he determined its position in the sky. It was already a little bit past sunhigh, so a little past half the day, if he hurried he may be able to get back in time for dinner. He had left before the sun even rose for a reason. Though that was wishful thinking he'd be able to find another carriage ride back to the castle. It was much easier to find one leaving the place. Taking in a deep breath, he corrected his pace as he walked- his feet leading him on a mission.

He was headed towards the docks. Or more specifically, the alleyway of the docks. The more ruffian types as far he could gather would hang out in the areas. Easier to smuggle supplies on different ships, and conduct shady trades- all those things lessons and stories warned him away from. So surely it was only natural that he was conscious of the way his feet fell on the usual well-maintained stones turned now to rugged rubble. The royalty may not be a trained thief built for stealth- but he still had his practice from various ballroom dancing. The nobles were tasked with appearing beyond oneself, appearing more than human as his parents said it, and the ability to almost seem as if one was gliding or not making a footstep at all was a skill he usually took for granted.

He ducked into the nearest alleyway, and he could feel his skin begin to crawl under his composed facade. He could swear eyes were on him even in the limited light provided solely by the sun. There were no torches lit and leading the way in here. He exhaled sharply as he stood tall, raising his chin to seem more dignified than he looked. Almost like a cat in a way, its fur standing on edge to make it seem like a bigger predator than it truly was. Taking a cautious few steps forward, he finally called out. Despite some of his inner struggles, his voice was still smooth and steady. Not a tremor to be heard. Someone full of false confidence and dignity not welcome here. " I'm looking for someone willing to make a deal. " was all that he voiced. Waiting, hoping, that he wasn't just speaking to thin air. Part of him regretted not bringing anything for protection, the other part believed wholeheartedly that he could stand his own. The latter part won out in the end, so here he was, alone with his fists clenched. Ready to throw a punch at the nearest thing that reached out to touch him.
Edling x WinterJuly 19, 2024 11:50 PM


Edling

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Posts: 1127
#3043587
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Days where it was necessary to dock, resupply, and otherwise find leisure away from weeks aboard a ship, Mavros took naturally to inserting himself into the masses pining for quick wealth. On fair days, such as the kind he found himself thriving in, individuals with pockets greater than their intelligence seemed to be in no short supply. Times like these he had little to risk, having no need to pickpocket when he could host a variety of attractive street games rigged in his favor. All it ever really took was investing a small amount of his own coin to a handful of younger individuals to play a vital role in his charade to attract older, prideful entities to try their hand at beating the game master. Under the impression that the games that promised the winner the hefty coin pouch attached to Mav’s belt could be won so easily by young and inexperienced rascals, cocky men and women dared to impress their posse with their self-proclaimed intellect. Only to inevitably lose.

Of course, there were tirades and speculation about the unfair vantage Mav may have had, looking any more like a sore loser to be chortled at by their audience usually provided enough incentive for them to collect their deflated egos and leave. What brought more satisfaction to Mavros was up for careful debate - making such easy money, or so effortlessly ruining the days of entitled pricks with a lesson in humility. Having collected enough for the day to make himself a target, and hypocritically waltzing through streets with enough pride to smother a man and loose yet fetching attire befitting someone of true status, Mav found it in his own best interest to return to the safety net his ship provided. Perhaps later he would invest some of what he’s so rightfully earned into a few celebratory drinks at a dockside tavern.

The light thud his boots made on the cobbled streets was the only sound the towering male otherwise made as he weaved through hoards of people. Most thieves, in his observations, typically utilize either being small or having the gift of appearing unassuming and naive. Mavros had neither of those advantages. Rather than attempt to veil himself, he chose to hold his head high as if he had been born into a rank that warranted his arrogance. Despising the premise of ever making himself appear meek or lesser, Mav also made it a point to carry himself with a confidence that invited challenge. Those were his advantages though - hardly looking the part of the thief cliche.

Besides, it’s not as if Mavros could have ever survived wearing the boots of a Captain if he was solely known for being a conniving weasel among his crewmates. Through deeds both honorable and so chilling they warranted respect, Mavros’ position, despite his youth and inexperience in comparison to other men, remained unchallenged. One applaudable trait he demonstrated in every waking second of his life was his ability to study his surroundings carefully, typically preying on weakness, which had currently managed to align itself in his green gaze. A young man who was far more vertically challenged in comparison to Mavros walked with a grace unbefitting to the types of people who frequented this particularly lowly place. Slowing his own gait to satiate his intrigue about where this poorly dressed gent might have been heading, he found his curiosity encouraging him to follow.

It was hardly a long walk, even considering he had significantly deprived himself of taking the longer strides he was capable of for the sake of observing from a distance. Naturally, Mavros was more inclined to stalk easier targets to fulfill the pit of greediness he called a heart, but the mannerisms of the individual he watched struck him as a little more complex than just being an easy, gullible mark. Perhaps it was the walk that belonged to no common man, or the clear reluctance that battled and lost whatever bravery ushered the man onward into an alley, but regardless Mav had found himself too invested in feeding his curiosity to go his own way.

Comfortably leaning his frame against a few empty crates at the front of the alley, he hardly concealed the amusement reflected by his countenance. From the all too evident use of controlled conviction in the young man’s voice to the tightly clenched fists that made this man’s stance no less threatening, Mav caged a chuckle. “Haven’t you ever been told,” Mavros had begun, loosely crossing his arms across his chest and allowing the charismatic flow of his voice to carry through the vicinity the two were in, “that seeking to bargain with devil’s will cost you gravely?”

Demanding silence through a pointed, yet nonetheless amused stare, Mavros tilted his head while allowing his gaze to more shamelessly study the man before him. “There are only two things that bring men of your stature to places so far beneath them,” he smiled, almost sweetly. “Unfathomable stupidity, or urgent desperation. Now, truly I wonder, which are you? Stupid or desperate?” He prompted in a way that expressed he was far from being rhetorical and expected an answer to the question meant to be degrading to a degree solely meant for his own entertainment.


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