TamTam
The Ghost Neighbor
Okay, I am terrible at this, so, don't- don't mind.
My name, apparently, is TamTam! However, Tammy is the nickname or Tam as a short-form example.My friends call me bitch too.
Sooo, yes. Roleplaying! I am completely in love with it. Of course, I am not a newbie in this game. Naha, I am neither a pro either. But damn, I love it. If anything, I'd consider roleplaying as my tiny "hideout" or "safe place". It's just... creating characters, playing them, letting personalities out and developing them- or the plays themselves, the community! I am absolutely speechless and at a loss when it comes to explaining why I love it so much. I've discovered it as I was what age? 10? Possible. Which means I play for 6 years now~
Of course, I was on another side before storyteller... but I was ignored there, and every roleplay partner has left me. I lost interest in roleplaying or at least trying it.
However, my friend told me to try this site out. After debating I gave this a shot! (And clearly, I hope this will not flop...)
Now for the exciting part! You may ask, "Yeah cool story bro, but gimme the juice. What genre? What style do you play? How? Preferences? Are you picky or not?"
Do not worry mighty lady/lord, my answer shall be to your services. I will list everything I believe might be necessary/relevant...
Genre: everything except slice-of-life
Style: Usually third person, my characters are mostly with a second one (means I play more than one character at the same time, of course, I consider the judgment of the roleplay partner/ host and ask for consent first)
Paragraph (in normal conditions; standard; minimum): between 3 or 4 paragraphs
Experience in...:
fantasy rps
sci-fi rps
high-school
ancient time rps
real-life rps
detective rps (?)
short-rps
long-lasting too
Any special/noteworthy?:
-a lot of characters are complicated and require a bit more patience, I have easy ones as well
-swearing is basically the only language some of my babes speak
-open for... basically everything
Preferences:
-At least 2 paragraphs (again, depending on the role play and situation)
-don't just leave the rp, tell me when you lost interest or I am too much
-don't hold back, gimme the critique I am still learning- so~
Example (of how I write) :
Example (of my characters):
(i do not claim this picture)
Name: Nelyvia Pellere
Age: 1900
normal appearance age: 19
Gender: Female
Race: Demon (Tiefling)
Clan: Ravinca
Rank: Member
Role: Explorer
Weapons: "PhantomBlow"
Passive Abilities:
°Resistant against Fire: Due to her skin, she developed a mere resistance
to fire. It "tingles" her, if she is attacked by a fire
ability, which increases her weakness to water and earth attacks.
°Demonic Speed: Due to her body, she is swift and fast. Which explains her good reaction time.
Active Abilities:
°Shadow Fire: Nel is able to manipulate her aura and body heat in order to perform and erupt a blackish fire from the shadows.
It takes about 2 degrees and cools her down. If she does not eat enough it may damage her in the process.
°Earth Whistle: She can use her aura, on a high set focus, to perform a tiny earthquake in a radius of ten to twenty meters. Mostly it is only to rattle the earth and make her opponents fall, no further damage is made
°DarkArrow: Due to the fact her bow was specially made (see the bio), her arrows remake themselves and "listen" to her commands. Such as, if she says "strike beside" it misses the target even though she aimed perfectly.
It doesn't always work and for the regeneration of her arrows, she takes half of her energy, mostly.
Likes:
-Midnight walks
-Elder tea
-Animals
-Writing poems
-Listening to Storytellers
-To Party
Dislikes:
-Loud noises
-Messy rooms
-too large clusters of people
-loosing
Personality:
She loves to manipulate others- at least those she dislikes. Nel is an honest, sincere, and patient Female. Yet her Rudeness pesters a load of people, as much as she set her name in red on many lists. She is daring, too, brave, and even at desperate times heroic. Don’t underestimate her, though. Nelyvia is mostly known for her Unmercifulness. She truly enjoys dominating others and teases them from time to time.
But if you look closely under her coat, there is far more than you can expect. For example, her Ambitiousness. If Nel wants something, beware, because she won’t back down.
And don't ever expect from her to take your orders well, if she even accepts them. She loves her freedom and expects overs to keep the leash long.
Bio:
Nelyvia was born in a poor family, farmers to be specific. But not only the money was missed, the love and caretaking of her oh so perfect parents and siblings, too. Her ken against her, a single friend- that was simply her childhood.
And soon enough she turned to be 10- if she thought it never could get any worse, then this was a sheer fool's hope.
Her Mother- Mithwure- faded into an abusive shape. Those endless scars on her back are painful memories- no, reminders of who had made her to a monster.
Her father- Casakas- occurred her to hunt, to do the grocery shopping, and earn any money she could get. They had never bothered to ask about her injuries from the streetfights or cared if she returned in the long nights.
With twelve, though, she discovered an old man. His name had been long ago forgotten, so did his facials. But his voice never vamoosed from her mind. He had sawn, noted, and cared about her miseries, about her cold Kens and he told her so many stories, so many wise things. Eventually, he thought her to fight. Eventually, she had been the best protégé he had ever crossed paths with.
With 14 Nelyvia left the house she had been born and beaten up in, had left the dog, the horse, and little flower-garden in their yard.
Just to move in with her old Master. Just to move into a rotten wrought aside of the slums from the city. Even though society had improved such technology, her master taught her the good, old ways. Nelyvia never had touched those strange things, never dared to even think about it.
One day, as she returned from her midnight walk, the wrought had been oddly still, but the lights- they had flickered to welcome her. How often had she called the forgotten name? How often?
Until she turned to the oven, to the burnt head of her old master.
Then! Just as she plopped to her back quarters, black flames erupted from all of the shadows. Erupted and demolished her home to faint ashes, even the body of her master.
Nothing remained, except for this Bow- this wooden damned bow. Her tears salted her cheeks as she wobbled over to it. there it laid, covered in a dim gleaming and soot. Aside of it... one, two, three... eight! Eight and a half-finished arrow. Nothing she had ever seen or experienced. He had... had made it for her and lost his life.
He paid her the Weapon with his life.
He had made PhantomBlow
Extra:
She usually wears a coat and hood in patterns of black-brown.
She has a mental disorder. (Delusional disorder)
My name, apparently, is TamTam! However, Tammy is the nickname or Tam as a short-form example.
Sooo, yes. Roleplaying! I am completely in love with it. Of course, I am not a newbie in this game. Naha, I am neither a pro either. But damn, I love it. If anything, I'd consider roleplaying as my tiny "hideout" or "safe place". It's just... creating characters, playing them, letting personalities out and developing them- or the plays themselves, the community! I am absolutely speechless and at a loss when it comes to explaining why I love it so much. I've discovered it as I was what age? 10? Possible. Which means I play for 6 years now~
Of course, I was on another side before storyteller... but I was ignored there, and every roleplay partner has left me. I lost interest in roleplaying or at least trying it.
However, my friend told me to try this site out. After debating I gave this a shot! (And clearly, I hope this will not flop...)
Now for the exciting part! You may ask, "Yeah cool story bro, but gimme the juice. What genre? What style do you play? How? Preferences? Are you picky or not?"
Do not worry mighty lady/lord, my answer shall be to your services. I will list everything I believe might be necessary/relevant...
Genre: everything except slice-of-life
Style: Usually third person, my characters are mostly with a second one (means I play more than one character at the same time, of course, I consider the judgment of the roleplay partner/ host and ask for consent first)
Paragraph (in normal conditions; standard; minimum): between 3 or 4 paragraphs
Experience in...:
fantasy rps
sci-fi rps
high-school
ancient time rps
real-life rps
detective rps (?)
short-rps
long-lasting too
Any special/noteworthy?:
-a lot of characters are complicated and require a bit more patience, I have easy ones as well
-swearing is basically the only language some of my babes speak
-open for... basically everything
Preferences:
-At least 2 paragraphs (again, depending on the role play and situation)
-don't just leave the rp, tell me when you lost interest or I am too much
-don't hold back, gimme the critique I am still learning- so~
Example (of how I write) :
POV.: Macaria Davies
The muscular sire penetrated into her four walls- her home, her everything. Even if it was geriatric and about to fall apart. Maco’d still loved her apartment.
With a roll of her amber luminaries, she’d gazed at the massive build bachelor.
The chief commissioner Sorin Brown. Not a surprise though.
“Davies!” His husky tune chimed quite unambiguously unamused. The smart ass she was, she could already tell the intentions of returning to her household.
“Sorin Brown”, her delicate voice humbled, rather uninterested than cold as she had planned to.
“Help me out! Instantly!”
His rough, huge hand slammed a white paper on her desk. Directly next to her limbs, which were dozing peacefully on it.
Furrowed her brows, the bachelorette peeked at the piece of paper.
The dark letters formed words, words formed verbally to sentences. Too descriptive, she thought as she’d lay it down again.
“The details”, Maco held her phrases short. Just say what you need to say, she thought. Since the dame could memorize her past- it always ended with her social awkwardness. The last time she had her last colloquy was ages ago. Maybe the last one who had ever heard more than ten words from her could’ve been her mother. Terrible 18 years without the authority in her life...
As the dead mother crossed her mind, an involuntary quivering movement her crown.
“It is about Jude Miller”, he sighed. His fingers longed through his obsidian tinted hair. It really was standing out, the charcoal hair, a massive scar upon his right eye… He definitely had a rough past but it wasn’t Macaria’s intention to satisfy her own inquisitiveness.
Neither she had a good taste in what-to-choose-from-your-vocabulary.
She furrowed her brows. Did they know this girl? And how?
Sorin had cognizant of her confusion. She wasn’t really enjoying it at all. From Time to time she despited that anyone knew any flaws of her.
Masking her own imperfections with the cold and distant behavior- that was exactly what she was doing.
“The niece of Violet Gemmer?”, he spoke in a rather amused tone. Clearing his throat he continued.
“I will pay you 200 Bucks to rescue Jude and 20 Bucks extra if you could get rid of Jonathan Becker.”
Am I a killing service or what?
She exhaled. Yes, that was exactly the business she ran. A killing-service.
But it wasn’t the fact that someone once again reminded her of the cruel Job she had that bothered her. But the name.
Jon, she drew her conclusion, must have gotten back out of prison then.
He was an odd criminal in the streets of New York. His ways to finish people off could’ve been described as psychiatric and illogical.
But he was young though. Yet he already has seen a prison from inside.
“Details”, she once again said. Effulgently brown irises never vamoosed from the sire.
A sigh escaped him, pointing his finger at the file before of her.
“Can’t you read? It is urgent!”, his voice trembled. It trembled!
A massive amount of muscles, brain, and collection of scars but still- he was a little goofball.
“Tell me instead”, Maco insisted, painting a blank expression on the other one’s face.
“Jon keeps Jude as his hostage!”, he sighed, “And plans on going into the bakery down the street to release her. He wants 50’000$ from Violet.”
He shoved his hair back, exhaling the expression of his stress.
“And it is my job to clear that without troublesome attention from the Journalists.”
She squeezed her gaze. Why the bakery? Why not somewhere else…
Many unclearable questions filled her mind with ease. But it wasn’t her job to detect the intention of a small 19-year-old boy.
“Violet owns the bakery?”, Soren muttered. Like it was new to him, that Macaria lived under a rock, had no knowledge about the society or anything else that was going on in her surroundings.
“Ah”, she hustled quietly. That was the part she hated the most about conversations. Sentences stated in a way without any reply- options.
Maybe a normal person had known a good response to that, but clearly, the 24-year-old woman was not that average normal person.
“Anyways, you in?”
Sure love. It is not like I have that big of choice.
She tried to ease her mind, not looking forward to the upcoming taxes next week.
“Yes”, she cleared her throat. “When does my appearance might be required?”
It felt like a handicap to her. This weird barrier keeping her away from leading normal conversations. She didn’t even get an idea of how she ended up like this!
“4... The bakery down this road”
(This is an excerpt of one of my short stories!)
The muscular sire penetrated into her four walls- her home, her everything. Even if it was geriatric and about to fall apart. Maco’d still loved her apartment.
With a roll of her amber luminaries, she’d gazed at the massive build bachelor.
The chief commissioner Sorin Brown. Not a surprise though.
“Davies!” His husky tune chimed quite unambiguously unamused. The smart ass she was, she could already tell the intentions of returning to her household.
“Sorin Brown”, her delicate voice humbled, rather uninterested than cold as she had planned to.
“Help me out! Instantly!”
His rough, huge hand slammed a white paper on her desk. Directly next to her limbs, which were dozing peacefully on it.
Furrowed her brows, the bachelorette peeked at the piece of paper.
The dark letters formed words, words formed verbally to sentences. Too descriptive, she thought as she’d lay it down again.
“The details”, Maco held her phrases short. Just say what you need to say, she thought. Since the dame could memorize her past- it always ended with her social awkwardness. The last time she had her last colloquy was ages ago. Maybe the last one who had ever heard more than ten words from her could’ve been her mother. Terrible 18 years without the authority in her life...
As the dead mother crossed her mind, an involuntary quivering movement her crown.
“It is about Jude Miller”, he sighed. His fingers longed through his obsidian tinted hair. It really was standing out, the charcoal hair, a massive scar upon his right eye… He definitely had a rough past but it wasn’t Macaria’s intention to satisfy her own inquisitiveness.
Neither she had a good taste in what-to-choose-from-your-vocabulary.
She furrowed her brows. Did they know this girl? And how?
Sorin had cognizant of her confusion. She wasn’t really enjoying it at all. From Time to time she despited that anyone knew any flaws of her.
Masking her own imperfections with the cold and distant behavior- that was exactly what she was doing.
“The niece of Violet Gemmer?”, he spoke in a rather amused tone. Clearing his throat he continued.
“I will pay you 200 Bucks to rescue Jude and 20 Bucks extra if you could get rid of Jonathan Becker.”
Am I a killing service or what?
She exhaled. Yes, that was exactly the business she ran. A killing-service.
But it wasn’t the fact that someone once again reminded her of the cruel Job she had that bothered her. But the name.
Jon, she drew her conclusion, must have gotten back out of prison then.
He was an odd criminal in the streets of New York. His ways to finish people off could’ve been described as psychiatric and illogical.
But he was young though. Yet he already has seen a prison from inside.
“Details”, she once again said. Effulgently brown irises never vamoosed from the sire.
A sigh escaped him, pointing his finger at the file before of her.
“Can’t you read? It is urgent!”, his voice trembled. It trembled!
A massive amount of muscles, brain, and collection of scars but still- he was a little goofball.
“Tell me instead”, Maco insisted, painting a blank expression on the other one’s face.
“Jon keeps Jude as his hostage!”, he sighed, “And plans on going into the bakery down the street to release her. He wants 50’000$ from Violet.”
He shoved his hair back, exhaling the expression of his stress.
“And it is my job to clear that without troublesome attention from the Journalists.”
She squeezed her gaze. Why the bakery? Why not somewhere else…
Many unclearable questions filled her mind with ease. But it wasn’t her job to detect the intention of a small 19-year-old boy.
“Violet owns the bakery?”, Soren muttered. Like it was new to him, that Macaria lived under a rock, had no knowledge about the society or anything else that was going on in her surroundings.
“Ah”, she hustled quietly. That was the part she hated the most about conversations. Sentences stated in a way without any reply- options.
Maybe a normal person had known a good response to that, but clearly, the 24-year-old woman was not that average normal person.
“Anyways, you in?”
Sure love. It is not like I have that big of choice.
She tried to ease her mind, not looking forward to the upcoming taxes next week.
“Yes”, she cleared her throat. “When does my appearance might be required?”
It felt like a handicap to her. This weird barrier keeping her away from leading normal conversations. She didn’t even get an idea of how she ended up like this!
“4... The bakery down this road”
(This is an excerpt of one of my short stories!)
Example (of my characters):
Name: Nelyvia Pellere
Age: 1900
normal appearance age: 19
Gender: Female
Race: Demon (Tiefling)
Clan: Ravinca
Rank: Member
Role: Explorer
Weapons: "PhantomBlow"
Passive Abilities:
°Resistant against Fire: Due to her skin, she developed a mere resistance
to fire. It "tingles" her, if she is attacked by a fire
ability, which increases her weakness to water and earth attacks.
°Demonic Speed: Due to her body, she is swift and fast. Which explains her good reaction time.
Active Abilities:
°Shadow Fire: Nel is able to manipulate her aura and body heat in order to perform and erupt a blackish fire from the shadows.
It takes about 2 degrees and cools her down. If she does not eat enough it may damage her in the process.
°Earth Whistle: She can use her aura, on a high set focus, to perform a tiny earthquake in a radius of ten to twenty meters. Mostly it is only to rattle the earth and make her opponents fall, no further damage is made
°DarkArrow: Due to the fact her bow was specially made (see the bio), her arrows remake themselves and "listen" to her commands. Such as, if she says "strike beside" it misses the target even though she aimed perfectly.
It doesn't always work and for the regeneration of her arrows, she takes half of her energy, mostly.
Likes:
-Midnight walks
-Elder tea
-Animals
-Writing poems
-Listening to Storytellers
-To Party
Dislikes:
-Loud noises
-Messy rooms
-too large clusters of people
-loosing
Personality:
She loves to manipulate others- at least those she dislikes. Nel is an honest, sincere, and patient Female. Yet her Rudeness pesters a load of people, as much as she set her name in red on many lists. She is daring, too, brave, and even at desperate times heroic. Don’t underestimate her, though. Nelyvia is mostly known for her Unmercifulness. She truly enjoys dominating others and teases them from time to time.
But if you look closely under her coat, there is far more than you can expect. For example, her Ambitiousness. If Nel wants something, beware, because she won’t back down.
And don't ever expect from her to take your orders well, if she even accepts them. She loves her freedom and expects overs to keep the leash long.
Bio:
Nelyvia was born in a poor family, farmers to be specific. But not only the money was missed, the love and caretaking of her oh so perfect parents and siblings, too. Her ken against her, a single friend- that was simply her childhood.
And soon enough she turned to be 10- if she thought it never could get any worse, then this was a sheer fool's hope.
Her Mother- Mithwure- faded into an abusive shape. Those endless scars on her back are painful memories- no, reminders of who had made her to a monster.
Her father- Casakas- occurred her to hunt, to do the grocery shopping, and earn any money she could get. They had never bothered to ask about her injuries from the streetfights or cared if she returned in the long nights.
With twelve, though, she discovered an old man. His name had been long ago forgotten, so did his facials. But his voice never vamoosed from her mind. He had sawn, noted, and cared about her miseries, about her cold Kens and he told her so many stories, so many wise things. Eventually, he thought her to fight. Eventually, she had been the best protégé he had ever crossed paths with.
With 14 Nelyvia left the house she had been born and beaten up in, had left the dog, the horse, and little flower-garden in their yard.
Just to move in with her old Master. Just to move into a rotten wrought aside of the slums from the city. Even though society had improved such technology, her master taught her the good, old ways. Nelyvia never had touched those strange things, never dared to even think about it.
One day, as she returned from her midnight walk, the wrought had been oddly still, but the lights- they had flickered to welcome her. How often had she called the forgotten name? How often?
Until she turned to the oven, to the burnt head of her old master.
Then! Just as she plopped to her back quarters, black flames erupted from all of the shadows. Erupted and demolished her home to faint ashes, even the body of her master.
Nothing remained, except for this Bow- this wooden damned bow. Her tears salted her cheeks as she wobbled over to it. there it laid, covered in a dim gleaming and soot. Aside of it... one, two, three... eight! Eight and a half-finished arrow. Nothing she had ever seen or experienced. He had... had made it for her and lost his life.
He paid her the Weapon with his life.
He had made PhantomBlow
Extra:
She usually wears a coat and hood in patterns of black-brown.
She has a mental disorder. (Delusional disorder)
!!!!!