Overview

I play a sub but a D/s relationship isn't required to rp with me. All characters are 18+ My hard limits are I don't like gore scat or body mutilation of any form. Probably my favorite genre of all-time is romance in one form or another whether that's time travel, Stockholm syndrome, slice of life romance, light fluff easygoing or dark traumatic and triggering. I do six/seven graphs but don't feel the need to match my speed. I usually like doing at least 2-3 replies a week. I only do original characters only my favorite thing is making my partner happy and bouncing off ideas with them. Collaborating it's truly the best. I like to think I'm a chameleon and I'm very adaptable and flexible to any situation lol Christmas/Halloween costume party Pool party Stepsister or stepmom Witch and female (this one can be a variety of ways I imagine the witch bored ventures into modern society. So a light fluff, dark traumatic horror or a bored witch looking for purely smut or it could go a comedy and shenanigans route) Alien girl & female astronaut or first contact (either character crash landing on their planet) Stripper & customer Maid and employer Hitchhiker Band mates Waitress and customer Crowded train or crowded bus Celebrity & fan (light fluff erp, childhood friends where one character is famous returning hometown to visit either as a superstar or celebrity musician, another variation is the obsessed fan dark route) Villain who kidnaps superheroine or two heroines (so many possibilities a rivals to lovers option, they both despise each other except in the bedroom, one of the characters try to change the other for the better, villain learns of superhero identity decides to kidnap and have their way with them) Queen and prisoner of war Queen and maid Slave girl and Mistress Breakin robbery or abduction Owner and android (who doesn't know she's a robot but begins to question her existence) Prisoner and cop or cop and criminal Strangers at a bar Co-workers or office party Rivals to lovers Yandere Convenience store romance between cashier & customer Married couple Pool girl/pizza girl & customer Cruise or vacation (mountain cabin, beach House or lake House) Road trip hookup or friends on a road trip Cheating Boss and secretary or personal assistant Slave Auction Soccer/volleyball/player and coach Experienced cougar & inexperienced kitten Apartment neighbors Astronauts in space (two astronauts on a long space voyage maybe possibly traveling through a black hole or to a distant planet or bored astronauts so smut)

Consider making a preference sheet so people can figure out what you like ^^ its one of the options when you make a new post

New to this site, I cant really figure how it works, up for rp with milfs

Gerold was exhausted. He'd been riding since sunrise, with no destination in mind. The war with Avelinard was over, and the King was generous to his mercenaries; a rare treat. But Gerold's horse was barely plodding along now, and he agreed with it. But he wasn't relishing another night in the field. As if the gods had heard his prayers, around the next bend in the highway through the woods an inn appeared. The sign showed a Pikeman advancing, and the runes read 'Push Spears!' Huh. The owner must be a veteran, Gerold thought. Still, it was either this or roughing it again. At the stable, Gerold flipped the stableboy a couple of Coppers, grabbed his saddlebags, and headed to the door. The common room was not what Gerold expected. Instead of a gaggle of unwashed locals, the room was filled with an eclectic blend of races. Humans, Elves, Kitsune, Dwarves ... hell, there were races he'd never even heard of before in here. As he stood blinking in the light and the spectacle, the barmaid called out to him. She was a tall, staturesque Human woman with fiery red hair and a legendary bosom. "What's your pleasure, new blood," she asked. After a quick glance at the hearth, he answered, "A room, a bath, a joint, and Flip if you can do it. I've got coin." She smiled. "I can do all of that if you've got coin, and more." Glancing at a young woman standing off to the side, she said, "Meena, show this gentleman to his room and to the baths." "Yes Mistress," Meena stammered, and beckoned Gerold to follow her through a door in the back. As he got closer, Gerold realized that he'd been mistaken: Meena was not a girl, but a woman. Half-gnomish? Maybe. Meena was petite, but unarguably a woman with hazel eyes, freckles, and light brown hair in a ponytail. As she led him to his room, she pointed to a door to the left. "You can go in there for your bath, sir. Leave your clothes and goods in your room; they won't be bothered." That was extremely odd, and normally Gerold wouldn't have even considered doing that. But something about Meena made him trust her. So after stowing his gear, he padded naked down the all to the aforementioned door. Inside was a tub filled with clear, steaming water. In the corner was the washing bucket. As was polite, he started to wash himself before getting into the tub but after a few moments a pair of hands holding a cloth and soap reached around him from behind. "Let me, sir," he heard Meena say. Gerold decided to enjoy the attention, and Meena was thorough. She washed his hair, his back, and his legs. Foregoing the cloth, her small hand washed his ass and even gave his sack a few happy strokes. Turning to let her wash his front, he saw that she was now dressed only in bloomers and a leather apron. Embarassed, she kept her gaze downcast from his eyes but that only brought his cock into view. And it didn't hesitate to show how much he was enjoying her attention. After rinsing, soaking, and dressing in surprisingly clean and fresh clothing, Gerold returned to the common room and found a seat at a table that was apparently reserved for his use only. A generous portion of roasted beef, new potatoes, and carrots awaited him there, and Gerold dug in like a starving wolf. As he ate, the bartender was mixing the ale, egg, and spices for his drink. When he was finished and his plate cleared, she handed the mug to Meena and said, simply, "Serve him." Donning a heavy mitt, she took a loggerhead from the hearth and brought it and the drink to his table. She thrust the hot iron into the drink, which quickly boiled and hissed. The symbolism was lost on neither of them: Meena was blushing furiously now. Disposing of the iron, she proffered the mug to him. "Your drink, sir." Not taking his eyes from her, Gerold took a deep draught, swallowed, and let out a sign of contentment. At that, she looked up at him and met his eyes. "Was it to your liking, sir?" He smiled at her. "It is delicious, pretty." A spontaneous urge seized him just then, and he dipped his thumb into the foam and painted her lips with it. Meena's eyes widened in surprise, but after a moment she ran her tongue prettily over them. "Oh, my!" were her only words. Gerold glanced over to the barmaid, expecting a scolding at what he'd done. But to his surprise she was leaning on her arms on the bar, and the laces on her bodice had seemingly vanished in the last few moments. He could see the valley between her full breasts and she was clearly inviting him to gaze deeply. Stunned, he tore his gaze away and back to the serving girl. But instead of taking the opportunity to retreat, she stood gazing at him with those big, liquid eyes. "Please?" The bar had gone silent now. Every set of eyes was on him and Meena now. Gerold wasn't one for public displays. Certes, he tumbled a camp follower or two in the squad tents in his time, and stroked himself watching his mates do the same, but this was different somehow. And it both sickened and excited him to know that he was performing for all now. Dipping his two main fingers into the drink, he brought them to the servant's mouth. Meena blushed, but her bosom began to rapidly rise and fall as her lips parted slightly. Gerold touched his fingers to her mouth, and then pushed them past her lips. Unblinkingly, she began to suck them. The neck strings of her apron abruptly failed and it dropped down to her waist. Through her thin linen blouse, Meena's nipples began to push against the fabric. Gerold felt himself getting hard again, straining against his trousers. Meena noticed, and inhaled sharply. She blushed furiously, eyes growing wide at her own unexpected desire, but she moved between his legs and gazed up at him pleadingly. Decorum and modesty be damned. He pushed Meena to her knees. While she pulled at his trousers, he poured some of the Flip into his palm. His cock leapt up, gently smacking into her lips. She gasped, and he took a moment to paint the head and shaft with the sweet liquid. Holding himself with one hand and grasping her ponytail with the other, he guided her mouth to his cock. After a moment, she took him. For a moment, Gerold thought that she was a virgin, or at least inexperienced. She hesitated, touching him tentatively with her tongue. But then as if possessed by Lastai herself the girl leaned into the blowjob. Her tongue traced the ridges of the head, her lips stroked his shaft as she went down on him. She even used her teeth masterfully, scraping them against the sensitive flesh of his head and drawing a gasp of pure pleasure from him. After a few minutes, he knew that he was going to go into his mouth if he didn't do something, and Gerold had better places in mind. He reached down, lifted Meena by the hips, and sat her on the table. The heat and frenzy were taking them both now. With surprising strength she tore the shirt off his back, scoring his chest with her nails. He returned the favor, flinging the rags of her blouse to the straw-covered floor as he sucked her tiny nipples to hard points. Her skirts fell to him and her apron to her, and then Meena was lying nude on the table. Her small yet full breasts were holding their own against gravity. Her tiny waist led to curvy hips, and a neat tuft of chestnut curls covered her lovely mound. Meena parted her legs to his gaze, and the swollen ruby lips of her pussy drove all of the thoughts from his mind. He dove down on her, tongue splitting her lovely valley. And her folds responded to his mouth, swelling and parting to reveal that lovely flower of the women. He paused to enjoy the sweet pungency of her, and then began to work on the bud at the top of her sex. When her clitoris began to peek out he teasingly circled his prey, feinting an attack that drove her mad with expectation. She shivered into him, and he drank eagerly from her font. But Meena wasn't going to be a passive recipient. She squirmed around, and he desperately grasped for her waist, and the suddenly he was standing upright. Her hair, now unbound, tickled his thighs as her hands found his ass and her mouth his cock. Gerold could hear the patrons beginning to move, grunt, and groan now but he cared naught but for the serving girl's sweet pussy and her warm, wet mouth sucking him now. Neither of them lasted even a minute. She thrust her pussy against his face, grinding against his mouth and flooding him with her nectar as he shot into hers again and again. After a moment of confused acrobatics she'd flung her arms around his neck and hauled herself up for kisses, pressing her lovely tits into his chest, rubbing her nipples against his. To his shock, she fed him back his own cum; but after a moment they were sharing their juices between each other in a lusty frenzy. Gerold's cock didn't even bother to demand a break; he was still rock-hard and ready to go again. Laying Meena onto the table, he took a moment to look at the bartender. Her clothing had vanished as well, and she was sitting on the bar smiling at him whilst teasing her own sex with the neck of a wine bottle. As he watched, it began to slip in and out of her. Growling in pure lust, Gerold looked down to take the girl in front of him. But she squirmed free, clambering to her hands and knees and presenting her pussy to him. He didn't hesitate, grabbing her hips and thrusting his cock into her. She felt incredible, and his body wrested its own control from his brain. He began to thrust, harder and faster each passing moment. A Dwarf climbed onto a chair in front of her and thrust his surprisingly thick cock into her mouth. Meena greedily sucked him, and when a half-Orc joined she took him too. Oddly enough, both men grinned and bumped fists as the girl pressed their dicks together and went down on them both. This turned Gerold on like nothing before, and he thrust in a frenzy into her warm, moist pussy. Push Spears, he thought idly. How appropriate. Again he came, and then unexpectedly again. It was like he was compelled to fuck the hardest he'd ever fucked in his life, and he threw his head back and howled. Meena drove her ass back against him, grasping his cock with her pussy and milking him like he'd never felt before in his life. Suddenly exhausted, Gerold fell back into his chair. Dazed, he looked around at the formerly placid room and now took in the carnage of lust that he'd inspired.

I'm in the mood to spark an orgy. Two rules: the bartender is off-limits, and any character who sits down is out of the fray until they stand up again. Otherwise, anything goes as long as it's legal and doesn't violate EcciDreams TOS and rules. The first post will be long to set the stage. Enjoy!

Actively searching for partners to collaborate with

Bumping still searching

Bumping still searching for partners

No aspirin and a splitting headache. I've got no choice but to go out my door into the wild nighttime city. I hate the night; it's fully cowboy delivery people: drugs, dinner, death doom: if you can pay for it, they will deliver it. And of course where there are deliveries, there are thieves and worse. Don't get me wrong, even though I'm 42 I can still handle myself though my reflexes are a little slower and i have to squint more to see past my hand. But you wouldn't drop me into a hot zone in a south china town and expect to come back out intact. So, i choose not to be out, I'm not afraid of it. Like everyone else, I usually stick to the bright lights of the main roads, but I'm in a hurry and I know these alleys. And that's when I came across her. I heard the scuffle and the clear thud of a person hitting ground and the accompanying ooof! There was a small figure on the ground with a bigger figure over them. Trouble. At first I thought to avoid it and let the probable courier have a lesson about career choices. But then my good angel told me I had an obligation to the underdog. I reached instinctively to the weapon I no longer carried, cursed and then used my voice to the bigger figure. As I came closer they were your standard hire muscle. Brawn and a brain used only for generating violence. "I think you want to drop that package and step away from whoever is on the ground." He told me to fuck off and stepped towards me obviously wanting to include me in his evening's programme. Beat me, then the little person, then walk off with the package. Now here's a tip. You make your hand into a point with fingers hard and strike at the windpipe before they have done their monologue and posturing. It saves time and bruises. He dropped like what i always thought a bag of potatoes looked like dropping. The little person on the ground was breathing, was looking up at me with not a little fear and waiting for whatever would happen next. I extended a hand to help them up and said, "Hi, I'm Thomas your unlikely guardian angel."

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Of course you can and should dm me

I am very flexible and want to start to. I am basically open to anything except for scat and gore, all you need to do is to be a woman at this point, tell me what you like and want to do and I’ll try to adjust myself accordingly

Cyrus closed his eyes. In his head laid the past trauma of his life. You'd be surprised what soldiers of misfortune would do for table scraps...Was all he could think about. The days going without food, being nothing but skin and bones, doing unspeakable things for blood money and a full belly. His aloof side showed vulnerability as he held his hands together. He looked at all four of them. Their eyes showing they won't take no for an answer. He lower his head for a bit before lifting it back up. His cheerful, scatterbrain smile appeared once more. "It was silly of me to say that." He chuckled. His laugh, so carefree and calm. The Cyrus they first met returned. "Very well, it's a deal. My skills are at your disposal and your homestead will become a reality." He said. He shook each of their hands. He had to admit, they were very cute elemental girls. He pulled each one into a hug, just to see how each one would react to it. Would they be stunned? Happy? Offended? Neutral? A flood of curiosity filled his mind. After hugging each one, he took a breath. "Whenever you're ready, we can start on the foundation and forge." He told them.

Eria blinked, pulled from her post-planning haze by his question. She shook her head slowly. "I’m... okay. Just thinking." Her eyes drifted back to the blueprint, but the moment of intense focus had passed. It was Aussa who spoke next, her tone gentle but firm, the caretaker stepping forward. "Cyrus," she began, setting her empty bowl aside. "The meal was a kindness, not a currency. You cannot trade a bowl of soup for weeks of skilled labor." She held his gaze, her earthy eyes serious. "You said you haven’t eaten in days. If you work for us for nothing but food, when our project is done, you’ll be right back where you are now: skilled, hungry, and unable to help the next person who needs you." Hiita nodded sharply, crossing her arms. "She’s right. It’s stupid. You’ve got the hands of a fighter and the know-how of a builder. That’s worth more than just meals. You think we’re gonna watch you work your bones to dust for stew and then walk away? We’re not that kind of people." Her voice was rough, but the underlying concern was clear. It was the same protectiveness she wielded for her friends, now extending, tentatively, to him. Wynn’s voice was soft, barely above the crackle of the fire, but earnest. "Please... you should be paid. Everyone deserves to be paid for their work. It’s... it’s how you keep going. How you take care of yourself." She fidgeted with her sleeve, her words simple but carrying the weight of hard-learned survival. Eria looked up from the parchment, her logical mind engaging. "Your labor has a market value," she stated flatly. "Our funds are limited, but non-zero. If you exchange your labor for a below-market rate, you devalue your skill and create an unsustainable imbalance. The transaction fails. You starve later. We feel guilty now. It is inefficient and emotionally costly." Aussa listened to each of them, then offered the solution that had been forming in her mind. "Here is the compromise," she said, her voice leaving no room for debate. "You work for us at half the standard rate for a carpenter. In return, we provide three meals a day while you’re on site. You are paid for your skill, and you are fed. To me that is fair, sustainable." She gave him a look that was both kind and immovable, while offering him a hand for a handshake. "Do we have a deal?"

Cyrus nod in agreement, the past is in the past unless they pull it to the present. Coming to that understanding, they begun the main objective: the homestead. Cyrus watched Eria pull out their plans and he listened with the upmost intent. For the first floor, he sees the storefront placed well. The storage must have enough space for the majority of inventory, if not all of it. "Indded, I was thinking the same thing anout the forge being first, after the foundation is set." He said to them. He was talking on par with Eria, matching step by step conversion. The second floor was simple as well. He made sure the measurements for each room were equal and balance. "May I suggest one of them be a guest bedroom? It'll be separate from the main bedrooms. I'll see to that." He responded. The third floor made him tap his chin. "Not impossible for the drains, but it will take time and patience." He answered. Upon hearing the word payment, he held up a hand. "Save your coins. After such great food, if you can provide meals like that, I'll have no problem getting the job done. I don't break my word when I say I'll give you the best results." He promised. He looked at their planned homestead, then at Eria. She really had it all planned out. Very impressive to say the least. He noticed her spent after going over everything. "You okay? You need anything?" He kindly asked her.

Eria watched him over the rim of her bowl as he cut himself off. Her eyes, usually distant, sharpened for a moment, tracing the sudden tension in his jaw before it smoothed over. She took a slow sip, then set her bowl down deliberately. "People don’t stop like that without a reason," she said, her voice quiet but clear in the firelight. Her gaze wasn’t accusatory, just observant. "But we all have pages we’d rather not read aloud." She glanced at Hiita, whose eyes had dropped to her own scarred knuckles; at Aussa, who tensed almost imperceptibly; at Wynn, who was studying a frayed edge of the blanket. "We won’t pry. Some things... just are." Hiita grunted, a sound of agreement. She met Cyrus’s eyes, her own guarded but not hostile. "S’fine. We’re not a confessional booth." It was her way of saying your past is yours. Aussa gave a slow, solemn nod, her practical nature extending to this unspoken pact. "Understood. Some weights are carried quietly." She offered a small, acknowledging smile. "It’s enough that you’re here now, willing to help build something new." Wynn simply nodded, her expression soft with understanding. She didn’t need to say anything; the shared silence was her agreement. The moment passed, comfortable in its mutual respect. Then, Eria reached into her own worn pack, not his satchel. She pulled out a tightly rolled scroll of parchment, slightly frayed at the edges, and smoothed it on the blanket between them. It was her blueprint. "Three floors," she began, her voice taking on a rare, focused cadence. Her finger tapped the bottom section. "Ground floor: shopfront here, facing the trail. Storage behind, accessible from the side. Forge here, in the rear, with a separate chimney." Her tracing moved upward. "Second floor: four rooms along this corridor. This one," she pointed, "for Aussa’s office and ledger-keeping. This one for my workshop. These two are spare for now—structural. They can be... later things. And here," her finger swept across the end of the hall, "a common room. A place to stop. To breathe." Finally, her finger moved to the top level. "Third floor: living. Bedrooms here, here, and here. Kitchen and dining area, central. Bathroom," she said, tapping a detailed corner, "with proper plumbing. Runoff drains here, fed from a rainwater cistern and a gravity-fed spring if we find one." She sat back, her brief fluency spent, and looked at Cyrus. "It’s... a lot." Aussa leaned forward, her eyes scanning the blueprint with a planner’s intensity. "It is. Which is why the budget is critical. We have the coin for materials, but we must be efficient." She pointed to the foundational lines. "I can work stone. There is Basalt nearby. If we use local stone for the base structure and foundation walls, we save considerably on lumber. I can shape it." Hiita nudged the drawing with her boot, a fierce light in her eyes. "You focus on the forge first. Get it built, get it hot, I make myself some tools, and then..." she said, nodding at Cyrus. "Aussa can pull usable ore from the local rock. I’ll smelt it. I’ll make every nail, every bracket, every hinge we need. We won’t buy them." Eria looked from the blueprint to Cyrus’s scarred hands, then to his face. "We provide the labor, the materials, the magic, and payment. You provide the skill. That's the plan so far." It wasn’t a question. It was the deal, laid bare over empty soup bowls and a shared, unspoken understanding of the ghosts everyone carried.

Cyrus was all smiles as they made a counteroffer to camp out instead of the local tavern. He happily agreed to it. That way, coins could be saved and understanding the tight budget they're in, every bit helps. With a simple nod, he follows them out of the district towards the border. The walk was brisk with the crisp air breezing by. Cyrus kept his cheerful expression, not hiding any intent, just an easygoing attitude. He then looked at his satchel, opening it briefly, just to make sure all contents were still there. He had his blueprints, both filled and blanked, writing equipment, and simple tools like his hammer. There was nothing too unique, just standard. At the camp, he sat on the grass instead of the blanket. "No worries, I've roughed it plenty of times before." he smiled and watched each girl prepared the meal. His eyes carefully watched their elemental abilities. He then focused on their personas. First was Hiita, at the ready it seems ready to take on anyone or anything. Next was Aussa, making sure everything they had was there. ON point ant making sure nothing was left behind. His eyes then turned to Wynn, very cautious and supportive at a distance. Finally there was Eria, he sees her aloof as he was, but there was more to it than meets the eyes. These four girls...Cyrus couldn't help but give a somber smile. For a brief moment he saw his old comrades, chatting, at the ready and together. He soon snapped out of it when presented a bowl. "Thank you." he grinned. As he takes it, his hands and forearms were more visible to them. Those weren't the hands of an ordinary carpenter. Far from it. It was riddled with cuts, burnt marks, scars. The pains of his past, the pains that he could never escape even if he tried. The the look at the meal, expression was one of pure joy. he took a whiff of the broth and gave a gleeful smile. "It's perfect! You were right, better than tavern slop." he said taking a sip. They might think he's overreacting, but this was the result of not eating for days. The bread was great as well. He told them how he wasn't lying about how he felt about it. "Why I haven't had camping food this good since the Treaty of..." He instantly stopped himself. The past he left behind still there in his mind. He cleared his throat and revealed a blank blueprint. "Well then, tell me more about your dream homestead." he said instantly changing the subject.

Hiita snorted again, but the edge had left her laughter. His loud explanation about the lumber was either a bold lie or a clever dig at the other carpenter’s materials—either way, it showed spine. “Hiita,” she offered, crossing her arms. The mention of a tavern, however, made her shake her head. “Save your coin and your blueprints. We’ve got supplies. If you can stand campfire fare, we can talk there.” Aussa gave a slow, considering nod. His point about real wood was well-made, even if his method was chaotic. “Aussa,” she said. Her eyes flickered to his stomach with a hint of sympathy. The hunger explained the lateness, the scatterbrained energy. Her caretaker instinct nudged forward. “A meal we can provide. It’s simpler than a tavern, and our funds,” she added with a touch of dry honesty, “are spoken for. For building.” Wynn’s gentle heart clenched at the admission of four days without food. Her own voice was barely a whisper as she looked at the ground beside his feet. “I’m… Wynn.” She mustered a little more courage. “We have… we have bread. And cheese. And Hiita can… cook.” It was her way of saying you’re welcome without directly inviting him. Eria’s gaze had not left Cyrus. The elaborate lumber story, the noisy stomach, the sudden shift to blueprints—it was a lot of data. “Eria,” she stated plainly. Her head tilted. “Campfire is quieter. Better for talking.” Her eyes briefly flickered to his satchel. What kind of tools was this carpenter using? - The walk to the town's edge was a quiet, practical affair. Hiita took the lead, her stride purposeful, scanning the path ahead out of ingrained habit. Aussa navigated, pointing them toward a copse of trees just beyond the last cobbled street, a spot far enough for privacy but still within sight of Highwind's walls. Wynn stayed close to Eria, her steps light and anxious, glancing occasionally at the carpenter following them. Eria herself walked with her usual detached focus, though her eyes kept drifting to Cyrus’s satchel, as if trying to divine its contents through the leather. The camp they set up was spartan, a testament to their life on the road. A worn blanket was spread on the dry grass. Aussa produced a dented pot and a waterskin, while Wynn carefully laid out a wrapped bundle containing a loaf of dark bread, and a few withered carrots and onions from their last market trip. Hiita crouched by the kindling Aussa assembled. She didn’t need flint. A snap of her fingers, and a tiny, controlled flame sprang to life in her palm. She gently fed it to the dry twigs, and within moments, a steady fire crackled. The elemental display was casual, unceremonious—simply how she lit a fire. Eria would then create a ball of water between her hands, hold it over the pot, and let it somewhat gently drop in there. As the water began to heat in the pot, a loose, quiet conversation unfolded. They didn’t share deep secrets, just the broad strokes of their survival. Hiita was the vanguard, the one who took the hits while she wasn't dishing out some. Eria, with her spaced-out stares and sudden, razor-sharp insights, was the occasional tactical genius. Aussa, already unpacking their meager spices with methodical care, was the planner, the keeper of lists and limits. Wynn, silently slicing the carrots with careful precision, was their support, watching their backs from a distance. They were, as Aussa put it plainly while stirring the now-simmering pot, “elementalists. It's how we’ve managed.” Soon, a simple, hearty aroma filled the clearing—the smell of onions softening, of herbs, of basic nourishment. Aussa ladled the vegetable broth into five wooden bowls, handing the first to Cyrus with a nod. “It’s not much,” she said, her voice soft but matter-of-fact. “But it’s hot.” Hiita took her bowl, blowing on the steam. “Better than tavern slop, and cheaper,” she stated, though her tone wasn’t unkind. She watched him, waiting to see if he’d turn up his nose at the humble meal. Wynn offered a small, shy smile as she passed him the bread. “For… dipping.”

Ringing, high-pitched ear-splitting ringing, which was all that could be heard, the warm feeling of life leaving his body, soaking in the cotton undershirt. Dax was unsure, disoriented, lost, his normal impeccable sense of direction had been shaken loose from his mind, his vision blurred by the blood in his eyes making it impossible to find a landmark. He was aimlessly wandering, he thought back to what had happened, he remembered the contract, the beast, the claws details, however, were fuzzy vague shapes feelings, fears. His hand landed on a tree for support, the pain in his side screaming to unimaginable heights causing his knees to buckle under him. He fell to the ground with his hand clutching his blood-soaked side, his teeth gritted with pain. His eyes slammed shut for a moment, before his mind was taken with sleep a clinking of metal broke through the ringing in his ears. His eyes opened with earnest effort, through the haze of pain he spotted a billow of smoke following the trail he saw a building of some kind. With a great push of effort, he hauled himself forward towards the building. Dax broke out of the tree line great sword trailing behind him as he clung to it for dear life. He did not make it more than ten feet before the pain overwhelmed him, his eyes slamming shut as his body forced him to stop. His limp body fell to the ground with a thud.

The air in the clearing smelled of pine resin, woodsmoke, and wet earth after the morning rain. It had taken six months, but the homestead no longer looked like a hopeful scratch in the wilderness. It looked like a home. The two-story timber-and-stone house stood firm against the treeline, a testament to elemental magic applied with weary, practical hands. Aussa’s earth-shaping had sunk the foundation deep and coaxed the stones of the chimney into place. Hiita’s controlled, forge-hot flames had cured the beams and produced every nail, hinge, and strap from raw ore she’d traded for in town. Wynn’s gentle wind had dried the lumber evenly, preventing warps, and now whispered through the wind-chimes she’d hung from the eaves—a subtle alarm for anything approaching. And Eria’s water magic ran in clever, hidden channels beneath the house, powering a perpetually cool root cellar and a simple but effective indoor cistern. Life had settled into a rhythm of creation, not combat. Hiita’s workshop, occupying the eastern side of the ground floor, rang with the satisfying ping-ping-tink of hammer on hot metal. The forge’s heat was her element, literally and figuratively. She no longer shaped swords or spearheads, except for the occasional hunting blade on commission. Now, it was nails, hinges, horseshoes, and sturdy cookware—solid, useful things. The act of forging was meditative; the fire obeyed her, a raw power she could channel into something that built rather than burned. She worked in a sleeveless tunic, her arms smudged with soot, a contented frown of concentration on her face. Outside, in the terraced gardens that stepped down the sunny southern slope, Wynn moved between the raised beds. Her connection to the wind had found a new purpose: she could feel the slightest change in air pressure, the dry thirst of the soil, the faint sigh of a pest moving through the leaves. With a soft whisper and a gesture, she’d redirect a breeze to pollinate the squash blossoms or gently dissuade a deer. Her hands, once trembling in fear, were steady as she pruned tomato suckers. This was her peace. The fruits and vegetables she grew weren’t just food; they were proof that she could nurture life. Upstairs, in the airy room she shared with Eria, Aussa sat at a solid oak desk, her crystal-topped staff leaning within reach. Ledgers and contract scrolls from Stonehaven, the nearest town, were spread before her. Her “team dad” role had evolved into “household manager.” She tracked their finances, negotiated prices for Hiita’s ironwork and Eria’s oddities, and handled the light accounting work she took on remotely. Her earth magic was still used daily—mending a stone wall, firming up a path—but its most important function was the unshakeable stability she provided. She was the bedrock of their new life. In the cluttered workshop on the western side of the house, Eria was in her element. Jars full of tools, coils of copper wire, salvaged clockwork, and strange glowing crystals littered her benches. Her latest project was a crystal lantern, powered by a cell. In the corner, her masterpiece hummed: the cold-storage cabinet, its interior magically kept at a frosty temperature by a slow-circulating ribbon of chilled water. She worked in quiet, intense bursts, her spaced-out expression giving way to moments of startling precision. Her fantasies hadn’t vanished, but they had company now—the intricate, satisfying puzzle of making things work. The afternoon was winding down. The smell of the stew Wynn had left simmering over the hearth-fire began to mix with the scent of hot metal and damp soil. It was a good, productive quiet. Then Wynn’s wind-chimes at the northern edge of the clearing rang out, not with a gentle breeze, but with a single, jarring clang. Hiita’s hammering stopped. Aussa’s quill paused. Eria looked up from her gears. Wynn stood frozen by her bean trellis, her face pale. The wind carried a new scent to her first: blood, iron, and the sour tang of exhaustion.

His attempt to get their attention work, somewhat. Yes, he lost his stall, but we'll worth it if he can nail his sales pitch. He looked girl expressions ranging from dumbfounded to curiosity. Upon Aussa's question if his assistance was manageable than his broken stall, he shrugged and pointed at another merchants stall stockpiled with lumber. "This is actually the 5th stall I've broken this month, all thanks to the lumber I borrowed from this carpenter." He said loud enough for everyone in the district to hear. "Real wood for a homestead shouldn't break down that easily. Whether it be from bandits or mother nature." He said to them. Cyrus considers the offer to talk in private. Not a bad idea if he could get a contract with this four beautiful girls. His thoughts were interrupted with a loud noise as if a lion was on the loose. In reality, it was his stomach. "Oops, pardon me. It's been 4 days since my last meal." He chuckled embarrassingly. "Think we can go to a tavern and talk more about it? I got blueprints we can look over. By the way, the name's Cyrus." He added

The sudden crash of splitting wood snapped the girls from their brooding silence. Four heads turned in unison towards the source. Hiita’s defensive posture melted into a snort of surprised laughter she didn’t bother to stifle. The man’s confident hop and the immediate, splintering collapse of his stall flipped him from potential threat to pure spectacle. Her suspicion evaporated, replaced by rough amusement. “Real smooth,” she said, a crooked grin breaking through her frustration. The other carpenters’ laughter, now directed at him, made her feel a flicker of unexpected camaraderie. He’s getting laughed at too. Aussa’s practical mind immediately segregated the failed flourish from the offer. Her eyes darted from the shattered table leg to the tools he’d been carrying. Agile, maybe. But if his equipment was as rickety as his stall... Still, his smile remained undimmed by the embarrassment, which spoke of either recklessness or resilience. She kept her voice even, but a faint, weary smile touched her lips. “That’s one way to make an entrance. You offer assistance… but can your work withstand more than your table?” Wynn’s hands flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. Her empathy, always too close to the surface, flared instantly. She saw his confident leap, the disastrous crack, the echoing laughter, and her own cheeks burned with shared humiliation. She instinctively took a half-step forward, as if to help, before freezing. He was still a stranger, but in that moment, he wasn’t a builder or a warrior—he was just someone who’d tripped in public, and her heart ached for him. Eria’s head tilted further, her blank stare replaced by a spark of intense, analytical curiosity. She watched not the broken wood, but him—the way his smile never quite faltered, the slight widening of his eyes at the sound of the break, the quick recovery in his stride. The disconnect between intent (impress) and outcome (comedy) fascinated her. “I think...,” she started, her tone soft, almost wondering. “We're no longer out of carpenters?” - Aussa watched the exchange, her initial wariness softening into pragmatic curiosity. She glanced around at the still-smirking carpenters, then back to the man with the broken stall and the undeterred smile. Stepping forward slightly, offered him a hand, and gestured away from the public lane with a tilt of her head. “Perhaps we should talk. Somewhere less… public?”

Running down the road towards the carpentry district was a guy in his late 20's. In his hands were building equipment needed to start any projects. His satchel, sling over his shoulder was filled with maps and locations throughout Highwind. Cyrus was his name and he was late to work his stall...three hours late. When he finally arrived the other builds mocked him for arriving this late. They thought of him of being more of the hard labor kind of guy, instead of building and planning type. In fact this was the third time this week he setup his shop by noon time. He didn't mind the jeering though, he had his reasons. His stall wasn't prestigious, it was a simple table, chairs and a sign reading "Cyrus Best Builds! Good pricing, better materials, best results." Once the setup was done, he stretched, looking up at the sun, promising a good day than yesterday. If lucky, he can get some food. "Come by Cyrus Best Builds! Need a home to feel safe and secure? Best materials to protect you from beast, bandits and mother nature?" He called out. He soon noticed the four girls looking down. He felt a twinge of despair and had to do something. With a hard resolve, he hopped over his stall, only for it to crack and break. The merchants and builders laughed at his folly, but paid no mind. Meeting them, Cyrus decided to finish the statement. "Which means, you are in need of my assistance." He smiled.

The afternoon sun beat down on the dusty carpentry district of Highwind, painting the stacked timber and sawdust in shades of tired gold. The air smelled of pine resin and defeat. Hiita leaned against a sun‑warmed fence post, arms crossed, watching Aussa tuck their coin purse back into her belt with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the last three days. They’d left the adventurer’s life behind, pooled every last silver of their savings, and come to this bustling port town with a simple dream: a remote homestead, a place of their own, away from guild contracts and monster‑infested roads. The city had been impossible—prices exorbitant, every plot either a glorified closet or perched on a cliffside. Highwind, a trade hub straddling two kingdoms, had offered hope. Land was cheaper here, the hinterlands still wild enough for solitude but close enough to a port for supplies. It was the compromise between safety and isolation they’d desperately sought. Now, that hope was crumbling like dry clay. "He said the same as the others,” Aussa said, her voice low and steady, though the tightness around her eyes betrayed her. She shrugged, the motion heavy. "His price was double our funds.” Wynn stood slightly behind her, fingers twisting the hem of her tunic. Her eyes, wide and anxious, darted from Aussa’s face to the retreating back of the master carpenter who had just dismissed them. The man hadn’t been unkind, just brutally practical. To him, they were four women with a fool’s errand and not enough coin. Eria, seated on an upturned crate, simply stared at the ground between her boots. "We’re out of carpenters,” she stated, the flat tone somehow more devastating than any outburst. Hiita pushed off the post, a surge of frustrated energy making her clench her fists. "So what, we just give up? Go back to taking ‘safe’ jobs guarding merchant carts?” The words tasted bitter. The last ‘safe’ job had ended with Wynn frozen in terror as bandits descended, and Hiita taking a crossbow bolt to the shoulder. "We need a plan,” Aussa said firmly, but the usual bedrock in her voice had a fissure. "But we cannot build a house with our bare hands, Hiita. I could make a shelter, but not one that will last through a winter. It's less ideal, but our next option is a smaller place. Maybe a village? But... We'll need to hire a transport to get there. Which means...” A heavy silence fell, broken only by the distant calls of dockworkers and the creak of wagon wheels. The reality was a physical weight on them. They had escaped one war‑torn world only to be cornered by economics in another.

Eliza ran down the alleyways of Weigo City, hoping to make her delivery on time. She should have taken the rooftops, but she didn’t have time to think. Two, no, three guys, gangsters, were after the package she carried. There! A side passage. Her small frame would fit through it with no problem. She slid inside and started forcing her way through the tight space. Thanks to her AA chest, she had just enough room to squeeze the box through as well, no more space than that. It was a good thing she had picked the clothes she did for this job: a soft yellow hoodie with a marigold illustration on the front, high-waisted black hot shorts, and a pair of black running shoes. There it was, the light at the end. Once she reached the street, surely she would be… A large man appeared and dragged her out, throwing her to the ground like garbage. She used her elbow to break the fall, leaving a nasty scrape as blood began to pour. Dammit! If only she had backup. An older, strong man who could help her in her hour of need. The thug, massive in size, grabbed the package, then turned his attention to Eliza.