DmitriNoir

I'm also posting this to apologize for the slow development of the plot/prompt for the role play. I haven't gotten around to finishing I yet since I have University duties I have to attend to :( I migh get it posted within a week

When Antonin interrupted the Prince mid-sentence to let him take in the nearby sounds of what seemed like a pack of wolves, the smithmage half-expected him to widen his eyes in fear instead of the vibrant excitement that now shone through his soulful, golden eyes. The same eyes that looked at him with awe and admiration as he retold the stories of his innumerable adventures in and out of the kingdom. The same eyes that hardened like steel with strength and determination as he let loose an arrow that pierced the exact center of a faraway target--many times over. The same eyes that were trained on his mother and father with a tenderness that told of immeasurable love and the greatest devotion. The same eyes that shone with unshed, held-back tears, spoke of sadness, anguish, bitterness, yet courage and dignity at the same time while looking back at a place he once called home--a home he won't probably be ever coming back to. A home that would never feel the same without the vibrant laugh of his mother and the comforting presence of his father. A home that he strive to forget as they ride farther and farther away. Now, Antonin would be damned if he let the secretly adventurous Prince experience more pain while he was around. And that involved the physical type, too. Anwyn was far from incompetent. He could hold his own in a fight, probably striking down most of his enemies with his trusty bow and arrow in less than a few minutes before delving into the fight with his preferred meelee weapon, felling several more. (His guardian has not missed the way the Prince worked to keep his body in peak condition, his physical training giving way to a statuesque build that was not only beautiful and graceful, but built with lean muscle as well--muscles that his guardian admired more than he cared to admit.) But the Prince has lived a mostly sheltered life before their adventure, a life mostly spent in the castle with palace tutors for academics, and palace guards, wooden dummies, or even Antonin himself for physical training. He still has a lot to learn of the world outside the four walls of the kingdom, and Antonin wouldn't want Anwyn's first learning experience with him to be a terrible one. But then again, he was just probably too protective of his charge. Throughout their time together, they both have developed a close relationship not many other people except his family have and Antonin has had it in him to coddle the boy when he's not pummeling his ass in a duel. The other knights and guards at the castle even started to call him Mother Goose every time they see him with the Prince. Probably why it took a few moments' hesitation before he followed the Prince's galloping steed as it headed straight towards the wolf pack. "Your Highness, wait!" With a flick of his reins, he followed swiftly behind the royal. He understood the urgent need for shelter as well as the craving for some heat and repose from the bitter cold as the darkness of night continued to creep in. But then again, "They're wolves! Not dogs. There's a reason they're called wil--" Antonin abruptly stopped his horse as he saw the sight in front of him. On the snow, a few yards outside of a decently-sized caved knelt Anwyn, a small, white-furred wolf cub in his arms. He was cooing and cuddling the small wolf in his arms which made such an adorable and heartwarming sight that it took a few moments for Antonin to notice that the woods had gone quiet. Where...? From around them and from inside the cave, glowing blue eyes, one by one, appeared out of the gloom. A chill ran down the smithmage's spine. Fuck. "Anwyn." He called in a calm and quiet voice. "Put down the cub slowly and keep your eyes to the ground, okay? No. sudden. movements." Antonin never took his eyes away from the eyes that were trained upon them. A whispered incantation caused a shimmer and the air and what was supposed to be Antonin's empty hands now held a glowing blue sword. "Whatever you do. Do not make any noise." There could be nothing angrier than a wolf seeing its offspring in a stranger's hands.

Yep! More than, even. I just haven't had the time to go ahead and reply because I'm also managing 3 other roleplays and 2 of those I GM :'( Maybe a few hours from the moment I post this, I might get a post up :D

I'm still continuing to write out the plot/writing prompt, so in the meantime, here's a sneak-peek at the title banner for the roleplay ;) Stay hyped, dears! :D

Lol don't hurry too much. I haven't gotten my character done yet either xD

Your lair is AMAZING :o

Absolutely! Just choose a dragon and its lore and you'll be good to go. :)) what's your username? i'll be sure to add you!

Alrighty! I'll just finishing writing the backstory for my dragon and then the plot and we'll be ready to RUMBLE xDD

Karna could always shake him awake lmao it wasn't THAT bad of an injury so he could still be awoken from his unconsciousness--probably.

Great! *laughs menacingly and rubs hands together* Kidding ;)

lol is that sarcasm i sense? xD

If it's okay with @Rolynight, that is :)

So I'm planning for the 2 newcomers to distract the group just enough so the red one could make its escape. But then either Elliot sees it silently sneaking away and tries to apprehend it or it attacks him--whatever you guys want it to be. But either way, Elliot gets "overcome" and is carried away in its talons to DragonSoul.

Ten flushed a dark crimson as embarrassment coated his features. Damn. As a scholar, he knows better than to take things at face value--especially with non-human races. Guess he needs to brush up on his studies of Diplomacy rather than focusing on his pursuit of Arcane and Alchemical knowledge. He leaned onto his staff and did a clumsy half-bow. "I beg for your forgiveness. It was out of line for me to take your actions as hostile." The runesmage was quite justified with his action, though. Despite his readings on giants and orcs being mostly tranquil and gentle, his past experiences with them have proved to be quite horrible. He still had some scars to show for it. However, it was hypocritical of him to develop a stereotype on the whole race just because of a terrible experience or two. He straightened from his bow. Over the crouching giant's shoulder, Ten could see the dragon laying prone under the feet of the hybrid. It seems as if the fight was over as well as the possibility for harm. Ten should know better than to think that. Because just as the sparks from the hybrid's electrical died down the dragon emitted a long, low keening noise that reverberated through the forest, causing several leaves to vibrate. And the same sound echoed from the woods around them. From several directions. Merely a moment later, sounds of heavy wingflaps were heard and two more dragons appeared. One multicolored and the other a smoky grey. Seems like the red dragon called for reinforcements.

The high-noon sunlight struggled to worm its way through the overcast grey sky as the lone ship rocked to and fro in the ocean's waves. The cawing of seagulls high above the mast and the shouts of the deckhands doing their respective duties were the only sounds that wafted through the air aside from those of the surf and waves against the ship's sides. On the edge of the ship's prow where all the noise faded into a faint hint of a whisper sat a man, cross-legged, with his staff resting on his lap--seemingly unbothered by his precarious position especially with the boat's erratic movements. One glance at him would make anyone think he was asleep, but Tenebrous Light was simply meditating to the sound of the rising and falling waves. Far across the horizon lay an island city overrun by an evil entity, and that island was their destination. A few days ago, the lightmage was in a booth of his favored pub consuming his normal fare of steak and steamed greens, a large tome in front of his plate opened to a page of flowing letters. He was deeply engrossed in his food and in his reading when the entrance bell resounded with its tinkling melody. He would not have looked up and would have proceeded with his miniature quest for knowledge and sustenance had not a tingling feeling of familiarity trickled along his skin. Looking up, he saw that eyes were already trained upon him. Whom he saw reminded him of the priests and priestesses in the temples of the Goddess to which he was a disciple, the Altus Arcantian Goddess of Light--Orelian. The newcomer shone with light pouring out of every surface of her skin, much like the same priests and priestesses that were touched and blessed by his deity. It did not take much to convince the lightmage to aid the lady--Marceline, as she introduced herself--in a mission to purge a city of the evil that resides there. In her distinctly softspoken manner, she outlined her noble cause and successfully convinced Tenebrous Light into joining forces with her. Now, Ten sat and stared at the vast expanse of the ocean in front of him and said a silent prayer to Orelian, praying for guidance and success in their quest. Taking a piece of golden chalk from his satchel, he draw a character* on the flat surface of the prow and whispered his plea. His words were swallowed by the sea-breeze that blew through the ship just as one of Marceline's followers emerged from below decks, unnoticed by the lightmage as of the moment.