Seeking Literate Roleplayers [MxM]

The suns heat was unfathomable for his back, the small hairs laying softly in the summer breezes of the late day, the sky sprouting vibrant oranges, blinding yellows, small pockets of deep blue through the white reflecting clouds that puffed out like a pillow, gliding across the sky with ease, covering the suns beams of light to make streams of dark shadows that mimicked his legs, along with his legion that followed behind, devouring bugs, small creatures, and making nests in trees, ground holes, and branches that fell during storms. The day was ending, the sun was just at the horizon, saying its last goodbye before having the transition to night, where the moon would come up and create a dim light that was perfect for what he wanted to do to a few people who would surely help him by the peak of midnight. A pale hand, lit by the dying suns light at the edge of a river in the middle of a dense green forest, filled with pines and some dark oak trees that towered over the pines, the arm lifted up, pointing north, up stream and to a cliff side, where the small minions were told to set up a large web, one just above the campfire, that nearly twenty men sat near, telling stories and talking of how their taste of women was better than the other mans as they drank their poison from bottles of wine that they filled up with their own drink, like moonshine. Their swords lay behind them on the logs in which they sat on, the shields on their leather tunics that were off near their tents, a good few feet behind them, not enough to where they could reach back and grab them, and some of them even had horses, those were the men off to the far left, they had pole arms, like lances and spears, and their horses were off tied up somewhere. The pale hand rose again, glistening in the moons light that barely peaked up the stream, pointing to where the horses should be, the small legion of black legs scurrying over to them, climbing up the large behemoths legs, which were soft browns and hard blacks, their veins pulsing as the small legs made it to their muzzles, in which they climbed inside every hole they could find, burying themselves in the bodies of the horses that kicked and neighed to their hearts desires, hoping for their masters to help, but alas, they were silenced, fell to the ground, one of the horses heads being held up by the leash, hanging in a noose on the tree. Up the blue lively stream he went, following the rest of them, and testing the waters for where he would take a quick bath later, cold, shivering, filled with defilement, ‘Just to my liking,’ he told himself with a small snicker following the thought. He scaled the cliff side, too lazy to go all the way around, the rocks acting as nothing but a place to stick his pegs of legs into, the heat from the sun still sticking with him as he practiced, running over his master plan of fear and deception. His first step was to entrap the men, which he already did, setting up large kamikaze groups all around, all for each man who would attempt to escape. Second step, make the web, which by the time he made it all the way to the top, was complete, split between three trees, and the cliff side, sturdy, strong, and reliable, smoke already tinting the color of the web to the pigment of the night sky, all too perfect. Anger ran through his blood, making it boil, which is driving him to do this, tired of waiting for a lost something, a wrong doer of evil, it was time he took matters into his own hands. He mounted the web, finding his way to the bottom of it, his long abyssal black hair flopping down, hanging like vines from his head as his butt attached web to the base. His hands moved his hair into a ponytail, albeit a long one, but less distracting than a large clump of it. His body began to lower down, and down, and down, his anger making him more confident, self righteous, and making him think his magic would be much stronger than some beginners shenanigans book, his hand glowing ever slightly with a dark purple aura, a ball with a black ball in the center that contorted the aura into weird shapes. “Huh?” Was the first noise he heard as the drunken fools first noticed the large black and pale mass above the fire, his face revealing a large grin, his hand crushing the aura, which soon expanded outwards in all directions around him, his legion of spiders would not be effected, nor would he, but the men were, their pupils huge in their eyes, others small, looking like pure white eyes. Some began to scream in horror, visions of their truly worst nightmares flashed before their eyes, minutes of gazing into their personal hells, filled with terrible things, demons, devils, witches, words, and sights that can’t be explained, not even by those who have witnessed it. Minutes on end of blood curdling cries of help, tears coming from their eyes as they now lay there, behind the logs, some hugging, others curled up, and one of them, a pole arm man, swinging his pole arm into thin air. ‘That’s enough for now,’ He thought as the screams became boring to him, and with the snap of a finger, the purple aura ended, vanishing into invisible air. “Men! I am you’re new leader, and you follow my orders, all those who appose me will be tortured with visions that you have just seen, those visions were your future if you disobey my every waking command!” His voice was feminine, but still boomed like a mother yelling at a her child, the words sinking into those who have just had their worse nightmares stained into their minds. They looked at each other, then to the spider above the fire, who wasn’t being burnt, and with a scrambling noise of grass, they got to their knees, their confidence gone, and Mathe’s actions were driven not by his true self, but by hatred and pent up anger with no where to go, his perception blinded by it. “Now march, we’re hunting a witch by the name of Beitriss! If they don’t know of the witch, slaughter them, burn their belongings, and we’ll march again till we find it!” And thus the march began, step by step, synchronized, the spiders, including Mathe, up ahead of the soldiers who left their tents and booze behind, only carrying silver swords forged for months, steel shields with wooden padding, iron armor that made them look like they were nothing but the metal, their eye sockets only visible, and even Mathe, who stole on of the shields and swords from the mercenary, who was also pushed off a cliff for then being useless in battle, and he was the youngest looking too, but Mathe didn’t care, he was on his way to having the witches head if the rumors were true. The rumors were that the witch Beitriss was in a small village, visiting the sick, and ‘helping’ those who want to try the witches new cures, which is what Mathe went through as a child, only without consent of the parents or himself, cursed as a child to a body of a spider, by the torso of a woman, he had the parts of a man, a flat chest, but with features resembling a female. It hurt him, embarrassed him, tossed him into hiding for his whole life, his only friend, an old blind man, short, frail, and now dead by the pegged leg of Mathe. The village was just down a hill they climbed for a good few minutes, it was the peak of midnight, the moons light was shining down on the village, wooden houses that could be pushed over with a bucket of water, roofs that weren’t sturdy, and some long houses that held many families, no privacy in them. “March now, kill those who do not know of the witch!” His arm extended as he walked forward, slowly, watching the spiders enclose the surrounding fields with their black blanket, the crops falling and being crushed under iron boots of the mercenaries who busted down doors, stole torches from the insides of houses, and began to burn them, the spiders catching those who flee, their entrances being covered by quick webs, kamikaze spiders, and falling to the ground for the spiders to escape before decomposition. Mathe wanted to see up close only after a few minutes of the burning beginning, as he grew closer, with his long ponytail hanging in front of his right shoulder, he could hear the men shouting, “Beitriss the witch! Tell me about the witch!” They shouted in the faces of little kids before their swords pierced their hearts, “Where is the witch?” A few spat on the ears of older women, their heads being lobbed off like corks on bottles of wine. The western half of the village was engulfed in flame, the heat radiating off the frail buildings that were falling apart at the seams, and with no one resisting, it fueled Mathe’s anger, knowing no one in the village was even strong enough to remember a witch in such times, if Beitriss did come, they wouldn’t tell amidst their constant stuttering. But ‘Oh well’ he told himself as he rallied another man to help explore the eastern half, his legs pounding into the ground with small thuds. Rules: Must play a male I was hoping this would play out like Jorah Mormont and Daenerys Targaryen from Game of Thrones This will be long term, no questions, buts, ifs, zip This is a action/adventure first, romance/drama second My character is very feminine, so your character should probably be more masculine.. Or like Jorah Mormont, don’t care all too much This is high fantasy, so warlocks, clerics, fighters, elves, dwarves, and other humanoid creatures are allowed, but no distorted creatures like mine, because then the whole story I got planned kinda goes capoot, unless you can convince me that it’s for the greater good If your character does have magic, Mathe will probably not like you straight off the bat, so if you’re looking for that drama/romance in between the great burnings of villages on Mathe’s conquest of rage, it’ll take a while Don’t under any circumstance, make your character OP or a Mary Sue or super edgy, your character should have flaws, weaknesses, soft spots, your character should not just be a thin piece of paper, your character should be human, have personality, have a soul You must be literate (6+ sentence minimum)