What remains after the Rapture? Only Monsters.

You awoke upon the ninth bell. Three hours after moonrise. Almost as if it was here to see you and you alone, it shone through your bedroom window, the only remaining light in the empty night sky. While it was dangerous to stare at the moon for too long, lest the beholder become moondrunk, few could hold themselves back from staring at the celestial objects' pale beauty.

The magical lights in your room had been extinguished to allow you to sleep, yet the moonlight allowed you just enough to rise up from the bed you laid in, enough to behold the long mirror that covered one side of your room. What stared back at you? (What are you?)

Undead

A mirror shows the truth of the soul, yet what does it show when you have none? Nothing. The absence of anything in the mirror forces you to confront what is either your blessing, or your curse. You died once, and your soul left your body. Yet your body still moves, and as far as you can tell, you are still you…just with something missing.

Yet you don’t need to look into the mirror to remember what you look like. Pale skin, red eyes, sharp teeth, sharper nails. You’re built like a hunting animal and your kind need to be. Despite the eternal sunset robbing you of your greatest enemy, not all mortals lay down and bare their throats for the undying. Yet they still die, and you and your kin still feed. Some take the blood, some eat the flesh, others devour the soul. It matters little, as all like you must feast, lest you perish once more….and something tells you that this time there’ll be no coming back.

Damned

The mirror shows your damnation, as if you didn’t know it already. If you reached up to your head, you’d feel your horns, and if you reached back you’d feel a tail. Further proof of your damnation. Perhaps you were born in the pits of the Abyss, and managed to get summoned. Perhaps you were the product of a demon having their way with a mortal. It matters little. You are what you are, and what you are is sin incarnate.

While the Abyss is no more accessible than the higher planes since the Last Sunset (read: Completely inaccessible), you have no need of that place anymore. The lands breed the sweetest suffering possible, and there’s so many toys here for you to play with. Some are added to your harem if they survive a night between your legs, others enjoy one night of pure pleasure and pain. And of course, there’s always plenty of people willing to pact away their souls for a scrap of power and ability to defend themselves….

Human

The mirror shows nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to differentiate you from the untold masses. You are a “mere” human. A prey creature for most of the creatures that came out after Last Sunset. Yet Humanity survives and thrives in the face of adversity. The dwarves die out in their mountain keeps. The Elves die out in their floating islands and enchanted woods. Humanity? It thrives despite the dying of the sun. With the same stubborn tenacity and self destructive nature that drove them to colonize the most uninhabitable regions of the world, Humanity has torn itself a place in the new world.

Dark Elf

The mirror shows beautiful dusky skin and eyes as black as your soul. Years of breeding have left those of your race especially attractive, and especially cruel. The latter was once a necessity to both survive in the harsh lands beneath the earth and the former to satisfy the cruel lusts of your patron deity. Now, they are merely enjoyable byproducts of a society that embodies survival of the fittest. Thousands would kill for the touch of a dark elf, and thousands had.

While your light skinned kin languish away from the sun, you have thrived away from it. The fools had to adapt to the dark, while your kin were born from it. Your power and beauty only increase as you age under the moon, and while the house system more or less fell apart once you embraced the surface, you know you’d be the equal of any Matron back in the old days. The future of the Drow is above ground, and you aim to enjoy every part of it.

It was the same sight that greeted you every “morning”. Nothing was out of place upon your form as you beheld your form. By any standards, you were a true epitome of your race. Well fed, well fleshed, and clearly not struggling too hard to survive. Of course, blood alone would not allow a person the pleasures and power you enjoyed.

One of said pleasures was the admittedly smaller one of warm water. The servants had already filled the tub with herb infused water, to cleanse the body of the night's grime. While said things could easily be removed with a simple spell, it was far more pleasurable to sink into the warm water and allow the Sandman to relinquish his hold upon your brain.

Hung up on a rack were the clothes your Master of Cloth had picked out the night before, based on the itinerary of the day. Your current one has lasted almost a year now, proof of his skill in the picking, making and enchanting of your clothes. After you finish bathing, you rise up and take your attire for the day. What has he set out for you?

Sorceress

The cold of the morning doesn’t leave as you slip on your dress of red and gold. The slits your master of cloth cut into the cloth allow the air to caress your body as so many people wish they could. Most assume that magic wielders dress like this to show off their assets, to seduce and beguile their poor victims. Perhaps its part of it, but anyone enlightened in the aetherial sciences knows the real reason. The more skin that is exposed, the easier it is for mana to seep into your body.

Of course, there’s other more efficient ways to stockpile mana. Ever since the Last Sunset stole the gods, devotion no longer provided an infinite source. Instead, the old ways became common once more. Sex gave plenty of mana, so at your command, your master of cloth had made sure that access to your lower half is easy to give, with the simple movement of a bit of cloth allowing you to have your fun. Death and sacrifice are also good sources of mana, which is why there are plenty of pockets for knives and poisons for anyone you need to murder. Sex and Murder are the hallmarks of any sorceress in these dark nights, a reputation that you’ve earned in turn.

Warlord

Dark black armor covers your form. Your master of cloth worked hard with your master of arms to develop a suit you could easily step into. Your armor is a work of art in its own right, a bastion that protects against poisons through the blessings laid upon it, spells through the runes driven into it, and normal weaponry through plenty of good old fashioned metal. It's beautiful too. It's meant to highlight your own beauty as well.

Your curves are molded in the armor. Nothing so gaudy as to make it look like you’ve got your tits out like a witch or a whore (as if there’s much of a difference) but enough to make sure that anyone who faces you on the field of battle knows that they have been bested by a woman. Its still amusing to see how many still believe such a thing impossible.

Queen

You dress in the dark black clothes of your station, with a crown that befits it as well. While there’s not much there defensively, there’s plenty of spells to keep you alive woven into the cloth, to the point that if you are decapitated or something along those lines, they’ll teleport you away and bring you back to life. Such is a necessity as a queen. You are not the strongest, or the most magically talented in your lands, but you are the ruler and those who are more powerful than you personally, still pay fealty to you for what you represent.

Carving out an empire in the lands was the easy part. It's up to you to keep what you have.

Dark Prophetess

Loose robes hide little and accentuate your form. Most importantly, they draw attention to the brand upon your body, a mark of who you belong to and who those under you belong to…nominally atleast. While the gods might be gone, there are still beings of power for you to pact yourself to. Gone are the days of beings happy to just receive worship, your new patrons have true demands that need to be satisfied. What it is, truly doesn’t matter. Perhaps sacrifical victims for their appetite. Perhaps breeding partners to attempt to make more of themselves. Perhaps merely a tribute of gold. What does matter is that its a price you don’t have to pay yourself, and the being you’ve pacted mostly lets you do what you wish.

Of course, it could retract its power whenever it wishes. That’s not something you look forward to, so you work hard to make sure only you have access to your patron, at least in any shape to hold a conversation. Eventually something will give and then perhaps you’ll need to draw on your own magics. Until then, you get to live in luxury.

You get dressed and make sure that everything is in order. Luckily it is, as a single drop of blood from a loose needle or having it be a bit too tight was grounds for execution for your responsible servant, be they the Master of Cloth himself or merely the servant who delivered the clothes. You step outside, and are guided by servants to breakfast, a simple thing by your standards.

As you eat your breakfast, be it person or actual food, a man approaches. A tall human in clothes that resemble your own, but more fitting for a male. He offers you the simplest of bows, his eyes never leaving your own. Something that you could have them removed for, yet you don’t. Why? Who is he to you?

Apprentice/Squire

You don’t take his eyes as you’ve spent far too much time in training him to take your place when you relinquish it. For better or worse, you took this man under your protection to teach him what you know. He’s been a good student in all things, be it the skills of governing, the carnal arts (something he particularly enjoyed learning with you) or battle. He’s possessed of just enough ambition to not be worthless, and little enough ambition that you don’t suspect him of trying to take your place before its time. Of course, you don’t trust your boytoy as far as you could throw him, but for now, he remains under your protection, and he will remain so until you have a true reason to revoke it.

Lover

You don’t take his eyes as it would feel as if you tore out your own. Love is not an impossible thing to find in the eternal darkness. Physical love atleast. Yet what you and him share goes much further than mere carnality. You’re of one soul split in two. Yet having a lover is both a weakness and a strength in this cruel world. You have a person you can trust, yet one day, one of the two of you will be stripped of the other. You don’t know if you’ll be able to take it if he’s the one who is lost first.

Consort

You don’t take his eyes as he’s looked in your own many times before. There is no love lost between the two of you. You took him as your consort for no reason other than politics. The only reason you took and still take him into your bed is the look on his face as he’s forced to pleasure you. His face as he loses himself between your legs, pleasuring himself with the body of the one he hates…it’s a beautiful and pleasurable cruelty.

Bedwarmer

You don’t take his eyes, as he’s using them for their only worthy purpose, admiring your form.The male is someone you took for the sole purpose of giving you pleasure. Given time and training, he’s become rather good at it, He shares your bed almost nightly, and wanders off after you’re done with him with shaky hips, if he’s even able to leave after satisfying, and only if you let him. He’s addicted to you, and that’s exactly the way you want him.

After he finished his bow, he would walk up to you and deliver a letter. You unfurled it, and read through the message that it held before smiling. Today would prove to be very interesting indeed.

Heya! Thank you for reading through all of that. CYOAs are just a little writing device I like to use in order to get the writing juices flowing, rather than fumbling around for a while with a prospective partner as we try to figure out what we want to do. I've got a craving for a dark fantasy roleplay in a setting I've made myself, and all I need is someone to play in it!

Now then, if you’re interested I only have a few real requirements. Firstly, good dialogue and description. This is a fantasy medieval setting. That means that people don't talk like we do, and certainly don't dress like we do. I like to write out those differences!

Secondly, I require literacy from my partner. 2 paragraphs minimum. I usually write more than that, and people who do the same are eagerly invited. But detail is more important than length to me, and I'm happier with a wonderfully descriptive duo of paragraphs than I am with a whole page of single sentences that don't flow together well or expand the scene.

I don't ask a lot for nothing though! Anything I ask of you, I'm going to do myself, and more. It'd be rude otherwise! I'm a literate writer who prides themselves on their detail and dialogue. I'm happy to play characters of any gender and multiple at once be it in sexual or nonsexual scenes. I'm also planning on taking a DM role for this rp if you're willing to let me!

As for smut! I crave it! I’d love to write plenty of it. My norm is 50/50, but I’m fine with increasing or decreasing that on request? You want to play a hedonistic queen who spends most of her time enjoying the men and women of her harem? Sure that’s golden! You want to play a dark prophetess who spends more time plotting conquests against the soft rulers near her, and saves the enjoyment of her flock for rare occasions? Sounds good! I'm pretty kink friendly as well, and I'm down to write most kinks that don't break reddit rules or involve toilet play or surrealism.

I think that's everything though, so if you're interested in writing up some tasty smut in a dark sunless world, drop me a DM please with your choices from my CYOA (or even a few you made yourself)! The RP's not going to take place in that format, but it'll help us organise thoughts. Feel free to toss anything else in there you'd like, Kinks List, Discord ID, etc. but as long as the CYOA is in there, I promise you a response. Cheers and thank you for your time!