something about netflix castlevania felt really weird but oddly familiar in the way the story is medieval low fantasy and yet every character is not only speaking in a super modern way but constantly dunking on eachothers backstories, dropping f bombs with impunity, and going on 5 minute tangents on whether or not vampires really are killed by running water and I couldn’t put my finger on it until I realized they all talk like they’re players in a dnd campaign
Send a symbol below and I’ll describe or draw what my Muse wears in specific scenarios!
♔ - pajamas / bedtime outfit
♕ - beach / swimsuit
♖ - spring outfit
♗ - summer outfit
♘- fall outfit
♟- winter outfit
♙ - date night
♚ - casual / everyday
♛ - formal outfit
♜ - gym / exercise / training outfit
♝- crisis / war / battle armor
☠ - Everyday Going-To-School uniform
☮ - Work Uniform
☯ - Outfit They Wore When They Were 8
♠ - Clothes they wear when they just don’t care
Ω - Going-To-A-Party Outfit
♤ - Look-At-Me-I’m-Hella-Attractive Outfit
♣ - Lingerie / Underwear / Smallclothes
♧ - An outfit they wear related to one of their hobbies
♥ - A “traditional” outfit based on their heritage (i.e. kimono, sari, other folk costumes)
♡ - Superhero / Super Villain costume
♦ - Magical Girl / Magical Knight costume
♢ - FINAL BOSS Armor
♞ - you specify another situation!
"Rumour has it that you've been kicked down more flights of stairs than N'zoth has eyes. But this only seems to happen in a certain lady's tower..."
A ‘hmph’ followed as Elderoth rested his hands upon his hips. “You know, I knew she was loud. But I didn’t realize there were neighbors that could hear.” He gave a toothy grin to the anonymous asker, craning his head slightly to the side. “How exactly did you know about this tower, anyways? I was under the impression it was a pretty well-kept secret…”
📖 for what my muse would write about yours in their diary.
“Today, Eldya and I ventured forth to find another one of those relics she’s so fond of hunting. I understand her pursuit of power—probably more than most would—but she still refuses to tell me why.”Elderoth took the quill, dipped it in the small bottle of ink, and resumed writing.“If she doesn’t trust me, her actions say otherwise. Perhaps it’s shame or embarassment? I know if I felt that way towards something about myself, I would try to keep it under wraps as well.”A knowing smile tugged at his lips as he inked his writing tool once again.“Then again, the best part of a mystery is solving it. It would be boring if she just one day told me at random; there’s no fun in that. Although the parts that are fun…” A soft laugh followed at the thought, and the demon hunter prepared his quill one last time.“I’ll have to tell her that she’s cute when she’s angry, next time she’s angry.”
📖 for what my muse would write about yours in their diary.
📷 for what my muse would say to the paparazzi about yours.
💋 for what my muse would say to the person trying to woo your muse.
🔪 for the eulogy my muse would give for yours.
💌 for a letter my muse would write to yours.
📫 for a letter my muse would write about yours to a third party.
📨 for a text my muse would send to yours.
💬 for a text my muse would send to yours to a third party.
💀 for what my muse would say upon hearing about your muse’s death.
👪 for what my muse would say to your muse’s child about them.
👊 for what my muse would say upon hearing yours has been arrested.
💒 for the toast my muse would give at your muse’s wedding.
25: What are your plans for your muse in the future? 15: Does your OC have any awful fears? Do they get paralyzed with fear or can they work through their fears? 5: Were you nervous about putting your OC out there? How long did it take before you decided to play your OC here on Tumblr?
25: What are your plans for your muse in the future?
I plan to have Eldya push towards obtaining more power (through artifacts, spells, and bodily modification). She will also pay for all these grabs at power and have to deal with side effects of her actions later on. I don’t have a solid plan for how I want it all to play out, I just have a loose idea of her story arcs. I figure it’s best to keep it flexible, since I’ll be interacting with other people and that could vastly change my plans at any given point.
15: Does your OC have any awful fears? Do they get paralyzed with fear or can they work through their fears?
As a warlock, she is more than a little familiar with fear and dealing with fear, so not much frightens her. She’s purposefully built up her will to stoically ignore things that would send most people screaming from a room.
Still, she’s only mortal, and can be made afraid. If she lost control of herself, or was stripped of her power, that would terrify her. She wouldn’t give in or give up, but she’d be a mess internally and much easier to take down.
5: Were you nervous about putting your OC out there? How long did it take before you decided to play your OC here on Tumblr?
I was nervous. I honestly almost didn’t bother. I didn’t think anyone would really enjoy her because she’s intensely snarky and well… kind of a jerk. It took me about six months of hemming and hawing before I finally made her a blog. I figured I would enjoy it, if nothing else.
A clattering of bony hooves pummeled the ground at breakneck speed, trampling over grass and flowers indiscriminately, cutting a wilted broken-path straight for Silvermoon City. Hardened crimson flesh and a jet black mane of tendrils clashed with the forest’s pastel palette of cream, gold, and green. The demon’s aura of death and chaos sent small woodland creatures scattering for cover, leaving a wake of uneasy silence.
It certainly wasn’t the most discreet way to travel, but speed was of the essence, and Eldya’s Felstalker was always a reliable choice when it came to mounts. A body-length stream of inky black hair whipped behind her like a ribbon in a storm.
Pulling a note from her dusky grey robes she held the paper up, flapping against the wind. ‘Sunfury Academy, Professor Ia’rian’ it read, followed by office hours. An hour and a half to reach the city and make her way to Sunfury Academy. The note was stuffed back into her pocket, lips pressing into an irritated thin line. If she didn’t hurry she was going to miss her chance.
The Felstalker’s jaws clattered excitedly as it ran, enticed by the magic of the enchanted forest and the city just beyond, ripe with magical flesh. Drool oozed and spilled between jagged bony teeth, sizzling as it dribbled to the ground.
“You know… when most people knock, they wait for an answer before opening the door.”
Deep as summer thunder and full of disdain for the world beneath it, the voice rumbled in her ear. Cool breath washed over her skin, stirring her hair and a dark shadow swallowed her up like a black hole eating every star that crossed its path. The shadow straightened up and shifted, spitting her out as if she tasted vile and an enormous elf sidled around her without a single backward glance.
He carried a briefcase under one arm and a steaming cup in his other hand, and he tossed the former onto the sofa against the wall before setting the latter on his desk with great care. The briefcase bounced once on the soft grey cushion and settled, a dog commanded to sit and stay; not even a pen escaped its pockets. His cup filled the office with the scent of warm honey and refreshing spearmint, and he closed his eyes as he inhaled the steam.
And ignored his guest.
His office belonged in a showroom. Massive bookcases lined the walls and only a few pieces of furniture interrupted the long stretches of black walnut shelves. A fat globe took up one corner, his sofa ate up another wall, and two giant floor vases occupied a second corner and a break between his books. Silver ivy bloomed in one vase, and sprays of love-lies-bleeding spilled out of the second like trickles of dried blood against the white porcelain. Papers made neat skyscrapers atop his gargantuan desk and its polished marble surface reflected everything it caught, including the soft light from his lamp. Books filled his shelves, organized by category first, size second, and author third. When his palms settled on his desktop, the air around him wavered; an observant caster might notice the way the room seemed to slide a centimeter to the left and everything clicked into place like the final piece set down to complete the puzzle.
A faint lavender glow flared above his collar and lit up his arms for a split second before it faded out as if it had never existed.
The professor matched his pristine surroundings. Unlike his guest, he wore tailored trousers that showed off endless legs, a vest that displayed broad shoulders and a lean frame. He hadn’t even bothered to undo his tie and his only concession to comfort were the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Tattoos covered his forearms in a variety of whimsical scenes, scrollwork, and poetry, and he folded those arms over his chest as he turned to face his unexpected visitor.
Violet clouds wafted up from his cigarette, joining the steam from his tea and creating a wreath around his head. Crowning him. Here stands King Nothing. He stared at her, sizing her up as if he could see right through her potato sack robes and into all the secrets she hid inside herself. His eyes glowed in the gloom, brighter and hotter than stars despite the chill that clung to him like the last frost before spring thaws and he cocked his head, sucking down the cigarette smoke. It escaped through his nose in a slow jet seconds later; he looked less like an elf and more like a dragon ready to belch fire at the next hapless knight.
Who the hell did she think she was, barging into his office as if she had every right to be there? What did she want? He remembered every student he’d ever taught, but he didn’t recall her face–or her shapeless robes and gaudy hat–in any of his classrooms. Most of his students trembled like earthquake victims when standing in front of his door; they never knocked with the confidence of solicitors certain that everyone needed and wanted their product. They never pushed open the door with sure hands and stood in the way, gazing around the room like queens surveying the new lands they’d conquered.
They also never stood with their chins lifted so high they would have drowned had it rained. Dhel squinted at his guest and suspicion cast dark shadows in his eyes. Had someone sent an assassin? A con artist seeking to blackmail him? A thief intent on stealing anything that wasn’t nailed down–and trying to lift whatever was?
She is a stupid thief and a piss poor killer, then. An open door into an unfamiliar place is a trap. Shame she didn’t walk inside. Then I’d be blissfully alone…
“If you are here to complain about your latest grade, then save your breath,” he finally said, his voice dry as old bones. “I don’t hand out awards for piles of shit any monkey with a quill could turn in. Want a gold star for half-assed effort, go back to kindergarten.”
{{ @caladhel-iarian }}
Like the dark clouds his voice mimicked, the professor’s massive frame unsettled the air in the halls, stirring the ends of Eldya’s midnight hair into life. ‘He comes’ it whispered wordlessly. She didn’t need eyes in the back of her head, let alone demonic embellishments, to tell her he was there. The cold darkness that hung over her was all consuming, devouring the light and heat from her skin as if it were a stormy sea, dragging an entire island down into its endless abysmal depths.
His magic and strength of will clawed at her like a riptide, causing the fingers of her freehand to instinctively stretch to their full lengths at her side. Like flowers drawn to sunlight. the slender digits pushed against their gloved prisons, anguishing in their missed opportunity to sup at his soul energies. ‘No.’ she told herself. ‘Not yet.’
The massive figure sidled around her, ignoring her as if she were nothing more than a pebble in his path. The staff she held was twisted down against the floor in irritation. Reports of his sharp words hadn’t been misleading, it seemed. Though his height was vastly underrated. The warlock prided herself on being a stately 5’10”, lording over most other females of her race and standing eye to eye with most males. It really bristled her pride that he was so much taller than she was.
He’d thrown the briefcase, giving the impression that he didn’t carry anything of value in it. Curious eyes studied his lavish office, waiting for him to settle in and acknowledge her. After all, she was here to ask for his aid. It would be best not to immediately tear into him--save herself unnecessary difficulty later on. Though it was hard to stay her sharp tongue from comparing his hosting capabilities to that of a giant pitcher plant. The lure of his fancy welcoming office, bidding students and guests in, with a giant inescapable pit of flaying words at the center.
Teeth pressed down against her tongue, staying it in place as she watched him, though her proud gaze never wavered. His palms settled on the desk and she noticed the slight shift in the room, her ears pricking up lightly. Was it warded? Did he have something in his office worth warding or was it simply a paranoid measure to keep students out? A slight tilt of her head was all she offered as she appraised the ward and the odd violet glow that had surfaced on his skin for the briefest moment. What had that been? Surely not part of the ward. Amplification perhaps?
Caladhel’s eyes fell on her then, which only stirred her to stand straighter and taller, as if bracing herself against his appraisal. Professor and mage he might be, but she commanded fel fire and darkness. No one was going to look down on her, not while she still breathed. Fierce fel eyes locked onto his own and refused to look away.
Her voice rose with the pride of a queen proclaiming war plans to her disciples. “If I look like any student you’ve ever taught, then I’d recommend putting on glasses.” Dammit, she couldn’t help herself. At this rate she’d tear him apart before she ever got the information she was after. Smoothly she switched topics. “I’ve heard you’re a master of arcane magics and runes, Professor Ia’rian. I’m here today because I require your expertise.” A pause as she attempted and failed to hold her tongue “Unless I’ve been misinformed about your... qualifications.”
Would he turn her away? Did he even have the information she sought? Soon she would know what needed to be done and for once, she hoped it wouldn’t prove difficult.
1: Origins! How did you come up with the concept for your OC?
2: Were they originally well received by the fandom? Or if they’re fandomless, did the RP community take to them right away or was it hard to get attention?
3: Has your OC gone through different incarnations during their stay on Tumblr? Were they reimagined or have they stayed the same all this time?
4: How do you get into your OC’s mindset to write for them? How do you find the muse for them?
5: Were you nervous about putting your OC out there? How long did it take before you decided to play your OC here on Tumblr.
IC Interaction Questions
6: What is your OC’s family situation? Do they get along? Do they fight? Or are they alone?
7: What does your OC look for in a friend? Do they value friendship a lot?
8: What does your OC look for in a significant other? Are they looking at all?
9: What is your OC like when at work? Are they diligent? Slacker? Do they get along with their co-workers?
10: How do they deal with strangers?
Inside the Muse’s Mind Questions
11: Is there a place they go to in order to escape the world, the stresses of life? What’s their favourite place?
12: What scent calms them? Reminds them of home or something soothing?
13: Do they have any favourite foods? Would they eat it all the time if they had the chance? What do they hate to eat?
14: Pet peeves. Tell us what would really tick them off. Do they have a Berserk Button?
15: Does your OC have any awful fears? Do they get paralyzed with fear or can they work through their fears?
16: What are concepts they value? Virtues? What do they look down upon?
17: Do they have any guilty pleasures? They embarrassed about them? Do they flaunt them?
18: Do they have a guilty conscience? Why? Did they ever do something they totally regretted?
Miscellaneous Questions
19: Have they ever been injured? Sick? How do they deal with it?
20: What are Tropes you associate with your muse?
21: Name an embarrassing situation that your muse has been in.
22: If given a million dollars, what would your OC do?
23: Any ships for your OC?
24: Have you ever gotten anon hate because of your OC?
25: What are your plans for your muse in the future?
A clattering of bony hooves pummeled the ground at breakneck speed, trampling over grass and flowers indiscriminately, cutting a wilted broken-path straight for Silvermoon City. Hardened crimson flesh and a jet black mane of tendrils clashed with the forest’s pastel palette of cream, gold, and green. The demon’s aura of death and chaos sent small woodland creatures scattering for cover, leaving a wake of uneasy silence.
It certainly wasn’t the most discreet way to travel, but speed was of the essence, and Eldya’s Felstalker was always a reliable choice when it came to mounts. A body-length stream of inky black hair whipped behind her like a ribbon in a storm.
Pulling a note from her dusky grey robes she held the paper up, flapping against the wind. ‘Sunfury Academy, Professor Ia’rian’ it read, followed by office hours. An hour and a half to reach the city and make her way to Sunfury Academy. The note was stuffed back into her pocket, lips pressing into an irritated thin line. If she didn’t hurry she was going to miss her chance.
The Felstalker’s jaws clattered excitedly as it ran, enticed by the magic of the enchanted forest and the city just beyond, ripe with magical flesh. Drool oozed and spilled between jagged bony teeth, sizzling as it dribbled to the ground.
The raven haired woman in the saddle seemed used to the inhuman speed and the terrible manners of the demon. Sitting with a spine of steel and a face less amused than someone watching paint dry, she noted the city gates coming into view. “Stop.” The command was issued with authority and the promise of punishment for disobedience.
There was no hesitation as the Felstalker jerked to a halt and Eldya slid off smoothly, retrieving her gnarled walking staff from the saddle. It wouldn’t do well to bring a demon into the city, Fel knowns she was unwanted enough on her own.
A tiny smirk tugged at her lips. It was laughable really, that a city full of people who had turned to Fel energy, would ban demons. It was all the same, it was all power, and power was only capable of what its Master chose to use it for.
Hypocrites.
A dismissive flourish of her hand was given, the demon hound vanishing with a disappointed yelp. There would be no magical flesh for it to feast on, not today.
Silvermoon City lay before her, the smooth white marble walls and spires trimmed in golds and reds glittering in the sunlight. There was a time, long ago, when she called this place home but that all seemed like another life now. A memory so far removed that it felt like it belonged to someone else.
Entering the gates on foot, the Warlock squared up her shoulders and tilted her chin up, striding with purposeful steps. Her stance was bold, her strides loud. Eldya refused to shrink for anyone.
Crowds of brightly dressed elves bustled in the streets, making the whole city resemble a shimmering stained glass mural. Compared to them, the dull tattered robes she wore made her look like a smudge. A dirty smear in an otherwise beautiful work.
Blazing fel eyes sought a path and she trudged along, pride in her stance despite the whispers and stares she received.
‘It’s the soul eater!’ one citizen gasped.
Another pulled her child back against her skirts ‘The monster! Someone alert the guards!’.
‘Is that even a woman?’ yet another citizen murmured ‘She looks more like a rabid hawk.’
Nose jokes. Of course. It was always her over-sized nose, her dark skin, or the circling rumors about her madness and misdeeds. Why couldn’t people keep their idiotic thoughts to their self, instead of wasting their breath and her patience?
The best plan was to simply keep walking and usually she would have--if it wasn’t for the jab at her nose. She was nothing, if not a prideful creature, and she couldn’t help stirring the pot when such opportunities arose.
Eldya’s heel and staff clanked down hard on the stones as she abruptly stopped, hesitating a moment. She wanted him to have time to feel the weight of his mistake, to let him worry that the next breath he drew might be a face full of fel fire. Turning on her heel, she confronted the man with a sneer on her face.
“... And what exactly is wrong with a hawk?” she’d nearly hissed the question at him, fingers tensed at her side as if she were still considering that fel fire. “It’s a graceful flyer, a clever stalker, and a deadly hunter.” Narrowed eyes flicked over the man’s face as it went pale, his mouth working to form words and coming up short. “A hawk wouldn’t waste its time on a spineless worm like you.” she snarled, turning to continue her stride.
Her words were absolutely wasted on him and she knew it. He didn’t deserve to taste her fear, to hold her attention for any amount of time. He was better left devastated at the feet of some pretty young thing that wouldn’t give him the time of day, but she couldn’t help herself. The memory of his pale face made her chuckle. “Poor fool thought he was about to meet the spirit healer.” she murmured to herself in a snide tone.
It was a relief when she turned down Murder Row, a brief reprieve from the stares and whispers of the general populace. These moments were spent considering how she might be received at the academy, no doubt it would be a similar reception from the students. Would the Professor she sought be willing to speak with her? If not, it would be best to make considerations. Was the information she sought valuable enough to consider harming him for? Blackmailing him for? Perhaps.
Professor Caladhel Ia'rian, an expert in his field and instructor to the next generation of casters. It wasn’t exactly hard to dig up information on the man, as his family was well known. A little digging had turned up details about his huge family, his intricate work with runes, and his affection for very pointed words.
The Sunfury Academy was finally within sight and with only an hour left. Pushing forward, she knocked past inattentive students, her boots tapping hard against the tile floor. People several doors down the hall could hear her coming, people on the next floor could hear her too.
Each door sign was scrutinized as she passed, the heavy hem of her robes swishing around her ankles. It was a wonder she didn’t trip. Eldya was muttering off the names as she went, skipping the lecture halls. ‘Dawnweather. No.’ ‘Ardentchime. Not even close.’ There was only one office left on this floor and she was relieved to see it emblazoned with ‘Ia’rian’.
The door was cracked open, no doubt to signify his office hours were still in session. Rapping her knuckles at the door frame, she pushed the door open, stepping into view. Her wide brimmed hat would have hidden her face, had she not had her chin raised proudly.
Narrowed smoldering fel eyes were set in a face of deep caramel skin and framed by long pitch-black locks that nearly trailed the ground. The shapeless robes she wore were a dull grey color, tattered and accented with heavy chains. The woman was a shapeless blob of grey and seemed completely out of place in the school, let alone the city.
