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Sweet Seals For You, Always
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DEAR READER
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Kiana Khansmith
Today's Document
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Jules of Nature
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Misplaced Lens Cap
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Claire Keane
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@crownswarrp
Officially updated our aesthetic, name and are now appless! You can also now directly join our welcome discord to submit your app and talk to other players about connections. We're so excited to see what this can do to help our group evolve. Check out our welcome discord HERE.
If you'd like something fun to do over this stormy weekend check out our RP! We're an open species fantasy RP with an original plot of a small newly formed Kingdom trying to protect itself. We'd love to have some new players! We're small in number but very interactive and always excited about new dynamics and engaging plots.
𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐔 𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐅𝐕𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃
the scourge wolf.
After much personal grief, Bintu moved to Destarin with his best friend. His dreams were pushed aside when they fell in love with the same woman, but he was too late to show it. So he stayed by their sides, no matter sorrow or happiness. Always carrying a small hope that one day he can confess his love and find she too could love him back. Now he protects her, and he cannot be swayed. Cis-man, he/him, 197 year old.
who are you?
TW: death.
Bintu was born in a small town at the edge of Destarin, belonging at one point or another to Crirtha or Withermore. He was happy, a childhood where he wanted for nothing, his father a carpenter, highly skilled, who travelled along a merchant train from town to town. His mother a much revered seer who used what little of her family’s magic that was left to help those about to give birth. His little sister, seven years his junior, had inherited some of her mother’s gift, but she had yet learned how to use it.
She never would. One horrible day, the merchant train became the victim of some border skirmish. Bintu had stayed home that summer, he’d become friends with a boy from Destarin, and they’d planned to apperntice that summer, an apprenticeship that didn’t really work out for the both of them. When there had been word about an attack, Bintu had joined the locals to figure out what had happened. He had hoped to find his family alive, instead he found their bodies.
He was twelve when his world came crashing down.
And he’d managed to get back up again, through sheer force of will, and a whole lot of fighting. His best friend and what family he had, supported him in his endeavors. Until he took a path none of them could follow.
He’d gone into the fighting ring knowing his opponent was a Werewolf, but the prize money was just too great to ignore. Despite the odds, Bintu won. A kick to the groin so vivid that eighteen year old Bintu was crowned winner, but not before having received a deep wound at his shoulder. The Werewolf, knowing there was a possiblity that the boy would die, offered to give him lessons and help, in exchange for half of the prize money. Bintu, aware of the disadvantage he’d have without, accepted. He turned his back to his family and best friend after a month of severe sickness, and spend a year learning. Upon his return, he joined his best friend, who had finally been called back to Destarin, to the town he’d never expected to settle in.
He fell in love.
But not before his best friend did. He’d seen the woman first, thought her beautiful, when his best friend went to confess his undying love. He saw her a second time, walking around offering her kindness to those around her, playing with local children and offering smiles. The second time he fell.
He was already too late, and he hid his feelings well, standing by his best friend throughout it all. A best friend who would soon have his mortal body betray him. But before he did, his best friend confessed to knowing Bintu’s true feelings.
Though he died without ever betraying those to Evelyn Scourge. And so he became her protector, her guard. He’d already become her friend by proxy, the bond shared between his best friend and his wife had been beautiful, more than he should’ve wished for. But he still wished for more, even if he didn’t think Evelyn cared for the same.
He sought love elsewhere.
Even if it was useless. No feelings for others could change how he felt about her. He married, twice. He had four children, he loved others. He adored his children. His love for Evelyn was always clear to his wives, and before long they became his exes. His last relationship stranded because of the similarities between him and Evelyn’s youngest son.
He watches and protects her still, he will never seize. He loves her and her children, and he will give her his best advice. He does not sway from her side even if he disagrees with her choices.
And despite the years, he still hopes.
what are you?
species: werewolf. weaknesses: silver, wolfsbane, holy magic, decapitation. strengths: enhanced physical traits, healing, enhanced senses, wolf shift under full moon, delayed aging, poisonous bite/deep wound. physical description: under the light of the moon, his eyes turn golden both in human and wolf form. additional notes: he can turn others into a werewolf with a bite or a deep wound, but most don’t survive the sickness that follows.
bintu asifvan is played by niek and their fc is dulquer salmaan.
Morana Laice is looking for her ressurector...
Due to responses from future applicants we are slowly updating our wanted connections to divide 'suggestions' into both 'requirements' and 'suggestions' now to avoid any confusion about what within the connection is important to fulfilling it and what is just something the person listing the connection would like.
The precipice of war continues to mount.
Each kingdom had been, in many ways, prepared for war, but not so soon, and not with a new Kingdom in a land they had thought would become the battleground between the three of them. Destarin’s resistance to be a pawn for the rulers of Keiseio was unexpected, which simply showed how underestimated those within Destarin were to those outside. The accusation of Destarin to the Kingdoms - that they had been used as a means to start a war by all three Kingdoms - was, of course, facing backlash and a manipulation of the narrative by each of the Kingdoms.
Hey, I'm the anon from before, thanks for answering my questions and I'm currently writing my application. I'll probably send it in tomorrow, but before I have another question (sorry if I'm bothering you too much). Do I need a face claim? My RP character, while being humanoid, isnt that much human and I havent found anyone resembling them. If a Face claim is necessary could I draw them instead? If a real persons face is required I'll just search some more and hopefully find a good Face Claim.
A real face claim is required as we do preference gifs to be included in responses to help with tone. It also helps other players have a clear picture in their mind, and many of our players also enjoy making manips, including to look more like the characters species - King Merrymock is a tiefling and his player has editted an image to suit. If you are having difficulties you are welcome to message the main and we might be able to help. A lot of our players follow faceclaim tumblrs that help with perhaps finding unknown faces or people of ethnicities that aren't typically Hollywood centric.
Hello, I'm thinking about joining your Roleplay, but I wanted to ask some questions first. Are you okay with Roleplayers that have no prior experience regarding Roleplaying? I've been wanting to join an RP for quiet some time, but I never did. I stumbled upon your RP by accident and think it sounds like a good choice. And I also wanted to ask: what is the difference between Species and Monsters? Since there seem to be monster hunters. Are monsters viwed differently than Species?
We have had players new to RP in the past, both new to rp and new to doing so on discord. There is a learning curve to be sure, but everyone is also very helpful and patient.
Monster would likely be closer to an animal but could also be more of the characters perspective. One of my characters hunts ‘monsters’ but it is what his coven would perceive as monsters. So there is no strict definition. Species is more generally just what something/someone is.
𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅
one-eyed bandit.
Once an untethered house-spirit, Kitaro “Kitto” (he/him) now spends his days as an untethered familiar. After 608 years, he’s restless—which has never ended well for him (see: his missing eye)—and longing for something, or someone, to give him purpose again. In the meantime, he’ll do his best to get himself into and out of trouble… because that’s what immortality is all about.
who are you?
TW: domestic abuse, servitude.
Kitaro knows he was human once. He knows he must have had a family—as all people do—but he does not remember them. He doesn’t remember anything from his previous life. Instead, the first thing Kitaro remembers is flitting around the yard of a one-room shack. He’d only been a spirit then—lost and untethered and mildly annoying. He’d knock over jars of pickled eggs and blacken the flowering vines that grew in the garden. He’d overturn pebbles and leave them strewn about the path. He poked holes in the roof and convinced squirrels to enter through the windows. But sometimes he also encouraged stubborn vegetables to grow large and unblemished. He scared strangers and bandits away. He found helpful herbs and mushrooms and gathered them along the doorstep.
The witch who called the one room shack home decided to tether the annoying spirit.
“Kitaro! Enough of all that, you’re mine now.”
She was the first, but 600 years is a long time to be alive.
Kitaro has had many masters, each with their own peculiarities. Each with many things to love and many things to hate. Though he cannot fault them much, since he’d felt the inescapable pull to them—and what did that say about him? His last master, known to most as Captain Iron Chest, had been a storm eyed, golden haired menace, who preferred the rock of a ship over the steady ground underfoot. He’d earned his sea-legs quickly and she rewarded him handsomely. For 85 wonderful years he stood at the bow of a ship and climbed the mast on four paws and let the sea spray wash away the ache of knowing he’d outlive this one too.
It’s been 8 years since his last master. Longer than he’s ever been without one and he feels it. He feels it in the way he’s become restless—sticky fingers and loosely flung magic; days spent hopping from roof line to roof line; nights spent in foreign sheets pressed against the warmth of someone not-quite-right.
what are you?
species: familiar (cat shifter/cat form). weaknesses: salt, empathetic injury, consecrated iron, magical barriers. strengths: immortal, empathetic connection, magical resistance, shifting (cat form), spell casting. physical description: in his familiar form, he takes the shape of a calico cat. he is mostly white with patches of black and orange along his back and the top of his head. due to previous injuries with previous masters, he is missing the tip of his tail and his left eye. additional notes: n/a.
kitaro is played by fizz and their fc is kento yamazaki.
Would it be alright to dm first before applying? I have a muse idea but I want to run it by you guys first
Definitely! Apologies for the delay, my work blocks tumblr sometimes.
You are absolutely welcome to reach out via direct message to discuss concepts, and if it’s easier I’m always happy to provide my discord username.
Welcome to Crown of Convergence, Fizz! Kitaro has been accepted with the faceclaim Kento Yamazaki.
The main will reach out to you with a discord link to the account you applied with ,or the email supplied. New players have 72hrs to join and make their first thread post.
Evelyn Scourge is looking for her personal guard...
Hasbaki Aneji is looking for his secret ally...
𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐔𝐒
a reflection manifested.
Molded in the image of someone mistaken for dead, Echo is a pale and flawed imitation unable to escape the nature of her creation, yet wishes to become their own being. Whether possible or not, Destarin will be where she finds out. Echo is ageless, has the appearance of a 28 year old, and uses she/they pronouns.
who are you?
tw: domestic violence, implied psychological, physical and sexual abuse, anxiety and self-image issues, existential horror, mentions of war and military.
Lillian Acheron was born to a house on the brink of ruin. Her family line had been marred by the betrayal of an ancestor back in the Forty Seasons War, one whose portrait had long since been removed from the walls of the dusty and derelict estate. Generations of her family were unable to turn the tide of their dwindling fortune and station, and now a grand manor remained as the only symbol of their great standing, hidden within dense forests and surrounded by grounds perpetually covered by snow, its stonework more alike to a tomb than hearth.
She had been raised on those hallowed grounds by a nan that did not share her blood and an old, long-forgotten loyal knight. She had dream-like memories of a stern father and a kind mother, but they were both dead and buried, lost to time. The half-demon blood within her was the only thing that reassured her that they were her parents, and the grief she felt was bone-deep; proving she was not just a child taken from the streets to be made to bear the weight of this house.
She wouldn't cower. She had been allowed into the military academy that only other children of the court were allowed to attend. Maybe a mistake, maybe pity— what did it matter? It was her perseverance and willpower that became her strength, and the reason why she did not only match the skill of her peers, but exceeded it. Her potential meant too much for it to be lost to jealousy and pettiness. Under the right attention, Lillian's magic became stronger as she weaved it with her prowess of the blade.
By the end of her time at the academy, the whispers following her changed from pity and scorn to praise and recognition. When she entered the ranks of Withermore's military at eighteen, they turned into fear and respect. The Acheron house of old was known for its ruthlessness being only met by their loyalty. Lillian delivered.
Witchblade, they whispered. Slayer of beasts, and scourge of men. A hidden weapon, its sharpness kept by the grander and grander assignments she was sent to accomplish in the name of the crown. When the drums of war arrived, she would be ready. When the time came to prove herself, she would excel.
And then, she died.
────────
THE HOMUNCULUS' ARRIVAL WAS A THING OF HORROR AND PAIN like black tar like your eyes against the sun thumbs pressing into the sockets like pins and needles and blood pouring down like a throat too sore to scream and like a deep seated bile that would not come out— yet, the first emotion the Homunculus ever felt was love.
A name rolled off His tongue and she thought: this must be mine. She would learn later the consequences and implications of the magic and alchemy —and something much, much darker— that had molded IT like clay into this: a form as easy to comprehend as It could be made into, a mind that reflected the intellect that should be. But that pull between her and Him, she knew from the start. She could reach out to it, almost tangibly, and feel the taut way her entrails were connected to his presence. As if she could use them as a rope to guide herself over to Him.
He was all she knew. In His words, she had no need for anything else. Her skin was unblemished, her hands uncalloused, and the bud of magic within her was left to wither and rot. She had no memories, but that did not matter: she was here, she would not be lost again. There was resistance, at first. Angry and upset, confused and wanting to fly away, tear herself open and free— but the pull was there. Once her knuckles had been bloodied against the walls, once she had been too tired to keep going… The pull was always there.
So she stopped. The walls stopped being bare, the windows wide and beautiful in their stonework. She tried to meet the eyes of the few animals and birds that sometimes peeked through the pine trees across the courtyard covered in untouchable snow. She knew what they were, even if she had never seen them, and they were the only things alive besides herself and Him. But every time her eyes met their beady ones, they would still and flee. The little ones, little birds and mice, died without delay. She could only see the corpses from the other side of the barred windowsill.
But it didn't matter. The outside was unnecessary. The outside was cold, unsafe, nothing like the inside with its endless warmth: warm meals, plush sheets, soft hands even with their desperate grip. Even if He was prone to fits of madness, of grabbing her shoulders and shaking her, demanding to know all sorts of whys, why her reflection was so flawed, why couldn't she be right, why she couldn't be herself! And the pull— but the pull, that disgusting pull, the one that turned her stomach inside out and she dreamt of clawing out with bloodied hands— that he had called love was still there. Even so, there was nothing else.
Years passed. The servants of the house were few, and many of them desperate for money and lodging. After all, who else would work in this accursed place? The widow of the lady had gone mad, and besides the sounds of plates breaking and furniture being thrown, there were servants that had heard footsteps where there should be silence, murmurs of their master that were met with a sweet voice, and the sound of windowpanes rattling, less like the wind and more like tapping…
So when they heard of the celebration in the town nearby, none of them rushed to their master with the news. Instead, they cowered and hid. The occupant of the carriage was boisterous and victorious as it approached down the worn road. The gates opened with a great shake, the trees rustled and birds sang as life came back into the courtyard. The main doors of the estate were opened: and it was with great satisfaction that Lillian stepped back into her home, one that she had not seen for six years.
The assignment that had taken her from her home would be a tale to be told, but she was looking forward to sharing it with her lover— she had wed a powerful witch. They fell in love as teenagers, and had seen each other grow, hand-in-hand. They had been married for little before she disappeared. When she left that morning alongside her unit to slay the devils and scourge that had made it their mission to weaken Withermore from within, she had not expected to be trapped in their dimension for years to come.
Yet even as time passed she never doubted her lover's loyalty and dedication, just as she hadn't hesitated in hers. They had promised to never leave each other, be it in life or death. As she stepped through the foyer and took off her gloves, seeing him rush down the stairs, she couldn't help but raise her chin and give him a wicked smile. 'I am here' her eyes said. 'How could you ever doubt?'. But the mirth lasted little, as the blood on his face drained, and hesitant footsteps came close behind him.
After that, things happened quickly. Lillian was a woman of little nonsense, and her decisions seldom matched the kindness of her intentions. Its arrival into this world was taboo. It was not meant to exist. It had been cruel for the Homunculus to be brought here. Yet she would take responsibility.
But the Homunculus was too startled to recover as quickly: looking at a face that looked like theirs, older but without that wrongness, that which they could recognize now as their own aberrancy. Everything made sense so suddenly that it was like a slap to the face. The strength bled out of them with quiet words of reassurance of it not being needed, a body too weak to wield the sword or wear the armour or to fight back. But the same likes, same mannerisms, same immediate recognition of what was broken beyond repair.
Of course he had hated— because it must've been hate, it must've been— it was a pale imitation. A weak, disgusting thing, failing in its purpose of existence in this world.
But mercy would not be the blade, but the cruelty of a chance. The Homunculus could not stay in Withermore, not if it (she? they?) was to live a life. They were not and had never been a child, but there had been no future in their mind besides the eternity of a companionship that they could now recognize as what it truly was. That pull had never been anything but one-sided, an unbreakable bond between the summoner and summoned, one that could be mercifully (but painfully, like tearing teeth) ignored unless she reached for it, never too far away.
And so they left; entering the carriage that would bring them to Withermore’s borders with a new name, one that she would later silently and secretly reject. Echo rolled more easily off the tongue, the original bitterness of it now just an acceptance. Letters arrive monthly with enough money for them to live comfortably and to attempt to create a life— but the reminder of the origin of their own existence brings a daily torment that she has to learn to endure. She hides herself under the hoods of cloaks and does the best to conceal both the wrongness and familiarity of her appearance and the truth of her nature. They observe, now, and try to imitate— to understand and maybe to create a self that could belong in this reality. And they struggle, wondering if this is because of the years of isolation and berating or a deep-seated and innate wrongness.
Destarin would be the stage in which Echo would either become, or accept that they never will.
what are you?
species: homunculus. weaknesses: mortal, unable to physically hide hints of her true aberrant nature. strengths: enhanced senses, minor resistance to poison, recognize the aberrant and the eldritch, sense magic, psychic effect upon sight. physical description: as a homunculus, anyone that looks at echo may suffer a small psychic effect from their eldritch nature. the sense of wrongness or oddness when looking at the type of eldritch she is is permanent, but can be accepted or resisted after the first instance. as an imitation of a half-demon, echo has red eyes and slight fangs, alongside lightly pointed ears. additional notes: echo was never intellectually a child, but most of their common knowledge is theoretical and implanted, rather than from first hand experience. the materia and means of which echo was created from gave them magical and eldritch awareness. however, as they were made to be kept safe and away from battle, echo has a harder time developing physical strength and wielding weaponry, but it is not an impossibility. echo hides their face by means of hoods and cloaks as to not startle others and to maintain anonymity, and currently dresses quite commonly.
echo is played by auberon and their fc is mai davika hoorne.
Welcome to Crown of Convergence, Auberon! Echo has been accepted with the faceclaim Mai Davika Hoorne.
The main will reach out to you with a discord link to the account you applied with ,or the email supplied. New players have 72hrs to join and make their first thread post.
do you guys have any inspiration or requests for job ideas? anything you guys would like to see more of?
Apologies for the delay! We would definitely like to see more of our titles, especially our council and military titles. Otherwise, I know people typically love to see a tattoo artist, a jeweller, a dragon rider or some sort of large animal tamer that uses them for battle, and we all would love to have more chyaracters for those our own work with so Bella would love someone at Red Thread and has a WC for it's owner, she and Valentin are also looking for his colleague who would be an alchemist of some sort, I think having a group of street performers would also be fun, or perhaps the King Merrymock would enjoy having someone to perform on stage with at Scourge House. Truly though people are open to everything and will always find characters to meet. We do also have an inspiration concepts page, it looks like it was linking incorrectly before so I have adjusted it with this ask.
trying to narrow in my ideas, but this rp seems very interesting! hoping to get an app in soon :)
Yay! We would love to see some new players, if you have any questions or need any help feel free to reach out.