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Scar.... A name befitting of a protagonist from one of her novels. A smile broadened as she watched him from over his glass, how nice to have someone with the same tastes in namesakes. "Scar..." Alinta repeated as she inched closer, peering into his features. "I see no physical scars..." Her eyes would search his face, but she saw nothing but a quiet calm teetering beneath ruby red eyes. A thought crossed her mind, her eyes betraying her as she glanced to his chest, then his arms. Perhaps his scars were hidden beneath his clothes? Alinta cleared her throat. Not wanting to ask such a risq

Bliss set down her empty glass. The faint warmth of the old fashioned still lingered in her chest. Then it all went black. Bliss could swear for just a split second that everything went quiet for just a moment. The laughter and chatter of the crowd seemed to be choked to a silence. The music cut out. For but a split second, there was nothing. No light, no sound, the only thing she could hear was the loud pounding of her heart. As she attempted to calm her anxieties, she felt an unnatural pull that felt all to familiar. Her stomach dropped, Aw fuck, not again. The air around her seemed to

The clock seemed to halt ticking when she moved to his vicinity with her very aura. Before everything else, the combination of vanilla, bergamot, and citrus reached him, very refined, very intentional, a fragrance that smelled comforting and, at the same time, was piercing enough to get the attention as if it were a whisper in the night. Jack saw her move with his eyes only, and she simply took one chocolate-covered strawberry from the tray extending the hand in a very natural way and without any rush. Her self-assuredness was what it was, and though words were not used, it was the power that

The man blinked, glancing down at her. Alinta had to lean in closer to catch what he was saying, as she did she caught a whiff of his cologne. Her eyes fluttered close, it was a welcomed scent, lavender, mixed with freshly pressed linen. It was...comforting. She almost forgot what it was like to be close to others, in any sense of the word. "Well..." Alinta would say with a shrug of her shoulders, lavender eyes glancing up and down his form. Well dressed, stood tall and confident. "Alinta." She wasn't sure if she was supposed to tell him her name. It ruined the magic of the evening, but - she

Jack hadn't expected anyone to approach him at all. For most of the night, he had mostly been observing the goings-on around him. He was one of the hundreds of masked people who had come to gather under the glittering chandeliers. Still, by the time the movement made an impression on him, the champagne flute he had been holding in his hand was empty, and the taste of sweetness and regret was still lingering on his tongue. Very light touching of the arm. A faint laugh. Then a woman, tall, beautiful, and absolutely comfortable with the chaos, appeared next to him. The mask she had put on hi

<<MASKED: SAINTED>> Alinta originally wasn't going to go; the last event she had gone to was filled with Player Killers and that terrified the woman but this... this was in the center of town. She doubted any would show. This was run by Oscar; and she had tried reaching out to him a few times, but the man was busy. She could see why... as she had stepped into the nightclub, music thrummed - vibrating her heart. Different scents wafted across the dance floor, there were all manner of people here - some at the bar, others practically oh... Her eyes landed on a pair of woman on

The silence in the clearing was overwhelmingly quiet, in a way that made the rustling of the grass seem like deliberate sounds. The light that came through the trees was neither bright nor whole, as it was covered by the branches that were full of leaves and the faint digital shimmer that indicated this specific part of the floor. Jack entered the space that was revealed by the disappearance of the smoke that was coming from a campfire. The air was sweetened with the smell of roasted herbs. In the middle of the camp stood a wagon, its structure half buried in moss and covered with vines.

Approved! Welcome to Aincrad.

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Roleplay Log:

Inventory: Set B | DPS Package: Rare Greatsword with: Damage Effect: Gain +(1 * Tier) base damage per slot. Applicable to: Weapons Accuracy Effect: Gain +(1 per slot) to the BD when attacking. Cannot be used to cause a critical hit. Applicable to: Weapons (3) Starter Healing Potions (Heals 50 HP) 2,500 Col and (10) Materials

Skills: 1 SP remaining ►<<Straight Sword>> Skill [Rank 1] 5 Ranks Passive Effect: At Rank 1, gain +3 DMG. At Ranks 2-5, +1 per rank (max of +7 DMG for R5 Weapon Skill). At Rank 5, unlock the ability to specialize in a Combat Shift.

Appearance: Luke has medium black hair, blue eyes, and a solid athletic build. He looks strong, because he is strong. He prefers black and red clothing, often wearing a mix of the colors. He typically wears a cloak or a cape. He comes off as confident and outgoing when in combat but in social scenarios he's a lot more timid. Profile: Luke is shaped by his desire to find true friendship and a family worth caring about. Most people that show interest in him only do so because they want to take advantage of him. This leads him to distrust most people even if their intentions are pure

(The bow tie in the hair is red!!) After no messages were sent back her eyes would start searching the lit up area. He did have a way of just showing up, that tracking skill came in handy in more way than one. It did not take long for her to see her future husband walking toward her through the crowd of people. Face lit up the moment they locked eyes, she would nod at his question and wrap her arm around his. Where they were going she has never been. There was still little that she had experience when it came to the arts. Her twin preferred concerts where she held interest in poetry and p

A message rings through signifying an arrival, and with a tap of his finger the message expands to claim a portion of his view. A quote from Romeo and Juliet, an interesting and somewhat pertinent to the evenings plans. She really had dug through the library and rows of books he held at home, in one of the only populated rooms in contrast to the numerous others that were left bare and untouched. Another stroke of his finger would allow that box to close, choosing instead to seek the girl out. Rounding the center fountain he'd catch the girl in something nice, as requested but not too formal. A

Kyoto stood at the threshold of the Vale of Ruin, the sheer unnatural atmosphere of Floor 23 pressing down on him. The environment here was a palette of despair: shades of grey and bruised purple replaced the vibrant greens of lower floors. The trees looked less like wood and more like crystallized despair, their branches brittle fingers clawing at the perpetual gloom. A faint, earthy odor mixed with something sharp and metallic, a constant reminder of the magical cataclysm that had devastated this landscape. The light, well-fitted leather of his Benedikta Projex armor felt appropriate fo

Miyukii: Word Count: 6627 Word EXP: 6627/5*1 = 1325 (Word Count) = 1325 EXP Col: 400 (Page) <<Katana>> Weapon Skill SP Invested into <<Curved Sword>> is refunded to the player for free.

The sun had begun its slow descent behind the evergreens, turning the snowy clearing into a field of soft amber light. Each flake that drifted through the air glimmered like dust in a dream fleeting, weightless, eternal. Miyuki stood at the center, her sword resting loosely in her hand. The blade no longer gleamed with the sharp defiance it once had; instead, it caught the fading light gently, humbly, as if aware of the quiet purpose it now carried. Her mentor approached without a word, his steps barely leaving prints in the snow. For a while, they simply stood together, watching the

The forest was different today. The wind had softened, carrying a gentler tone as though the very air knew that something within it had changed. The faintest hint of sunlight slipped through the clouds, painting the snow in delicate gold. Miyuki stood where she always did, blade unsheathed, posture still as the trees that surrounded her. But there was no tension now. The sword no longer looked like a weapon in her hands it looked like an extension of her breath. She began to move. Each motion flowed seamlessly into the next: strike, pivot, guard, release. Her blade traced arcs o

The next morning came quietly, dressed in silver mist and frost. The world was still asleep when Miyuki returned to the clearing. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath, as though waiting for something sacred to begin. She placed her katana gently on the snow, then knelt beside it. For a while, she didn’t move. Her eyes traced the faint line of her previous training the pattern of her footprints now buried under the night’s snowfall. It was as though the world had erased her yesterday, inviting her to start again. She closed her eyes. And breathed. The sound of the air fill

Snow still clung to the folds of Miyuki’s cloak as she stepped back into the clearing. The world was untouched only her earlier footprints marked the ground, fading slowly beneath fresh flakes. The silence left behind by her mentor lingered like incense in the air, soft and grounding. She unsheathed her sword without a sound. The curve of the blade caught a single glint of light, like the horizon itself had bent to meet her steel. There was no command, no audience, no expectation. Only the faint rhythm of her heartbeat. She inhaled. Her sword moved not fast, but fluid, trac

The world had grown quieter since her last breath. Miyuki stood in the clearing, her sword now sheathed at her side. The snowfall eased to a slow drift, flakes catching faint glimmers of morning light that broke through the overcast sky. The forest exhaled a soft, wintry sigh as if it, too, had been meditating alongside her. Footsteps approached, muffled by the snow. Her mentor’s presence did not startle her. She’d sensed him long before he arrived not through instinct or skill, but through stillness. “You’ve been silent for a long time,” the old man said. His voice carried the cal

After her mentor’s words faded, silence reclaimed the clearing. The snowfall had thickened, but each flake landed soundlessly small, fragile reminders of the world’s constant motion. Miyuki knelt where she had stood moments ago, the tip of her blade resting in the snow beside her. Her breath slowed until it matched the rhythm of the drifting flakes. In and out. Stillness. The cold bit at her fingertips, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she welcomed it. It kept her awake kept her here. The ache in her arms, the faint sting of exertion, the memory of her mentor’s strikes… they all exist

When the clash faded, only the wind spoke. The snow that had been shaken loose from the trees drifted lazily between them slow, soft, and unbothered by the violence that had briefly filled the air. Her mentor’s stance eased. He slid his blade into its sheath with a quiet finality. The sound was delicate, almost reverent. “Do you know why I strike without warning?” he asked at last. Miyuki straightened, her breath still heavy from the exchange. “Because the world doesn’t wait for us to be ready.” A small nod. “That is the surface of it.” His eyes softened, yet carried the sh

The mentor’s footsteps were nearly soundless as he stepped away, sheathing his blade with a soft click that seemed to echo longer than it should have. “The world rarely warns you before it moves,” he said, turning his gaze toward the tree line. “Your blade must not answer thought it must answer truth.” Miyuki blinked, lowering her sword slightly. “Truth?” He smiled faintly. “You’ll see.” Without another word, he vanished into the forest path not teleporting, but slipping between the branches like smoke. Silence fell heavy, save for the rustle of leaves and the distant chirp