You've heard rumours of me. I'm a story some parents tell their children to stop them staying out past nightfall - "If you play in the forest when the moon is high, the witch will bake you into a pie!". I'm a figure of legend. Some don't even believe I'm real.

Others do. They claim to have seen me collecting herbs in the forest in the dead of night, or flying above their houses on my broomstick, or painting hexes on the doors of folk I've cursed. Depending on whom you ask, I can talk to animals, see into the future, and boil water simply by looking at it. Whether or not they believe in magic is entirely secondary to the fact that they've seen me do it. They take my agelessness as proof: I look the same now as I did a decade ago. Magic... surely?

Still others have made bargains with me. For a small but significant price, I'm capable of performing miracles. I can heal the sick, restore sight to the blind, cure the lame. Bring me someone on the brink of death and I will return them healthy. But, say the rumours, not entirely whole.

You were one such miracle. Nineteen years ago, your parents arrived at my doorstep and begged me for help. You were ill, they said, and the medic was unable to do anything for you. Not content with letting you die, they wondered whether I might be able to help.

I sent them out to collect five bundles of thatch and a sprig of hemlock. When they returned, I mixed a brew from the helmock and boiled it over a fire kindled with the thatch. Then, chanting in an ancient tongue, I dipped my finger into it and marked your forehead with a cross.

The next day, you were babbling and cooing like any other child, and your parents came to thank me. I accepted their thanks, refused any payment from them, but swore that the time would come when I would require your help. Not knowing what I meant, they forgot, and over time the memory of having ever asked for help became nothing but a story you were told around the hearth.

Now the game has changed. A cadre of strange men have appeared in town, calling themselves witchfinders and demanding to know where to find me. You were working in the tavern when they appeared, and after hearing them brag about how many witches they've killed you swore to yourself you would help me.

After making sure that the men were too drunk to walk, you set out into the stormy night. This is where we find you: your cloak flapping in the wind, the chill night air rushing over your skin like sandpaper, determined to make sure I know about the threat that faces me.

And, as I consult the book I keep at the very bottom of my bookshelf, you will soon be needing help against a threat of your own...

• • • • •

Hiya! I'm looking for a partner to help me write this story. You'll take the role of the child I helped save, who is now the same age as me (~20, I'm flexible) and who wants to help me against the witchfinders. I'll say upfront that this is a very heavily story-based roleplay, so if you're looking for immediate smut then I'm afraid you're out of luck.

If I still have your interest, I can promise you a thrilling tale of queer romance with plenty of twists and turns. I see us growing closer and closer over time, eventually falling for each other and partnering up to fight against the villainous CFAS. Who or what is CFAS? Come and find out!

You can find my kinks and limits in my other posts, but as I say this will be a tightly plotted semi-erotic thriller, so writing comes first. My biggest kink is a writer who's proactive rather than reactive - plenty of stuff will be taking place around us, and I want someone who's able to do more than simply acknowledge the story.

I'm aware this is a big ask, but I'm sure some of you will be more than capable. I expect this to be a long term roleplay, and I don't expect you to write anywhere near as much as this in every message, as I sure won't. My average response length is 1-3 paragraphs, with more in heavily detailed scenes and less in dialogue-heavy scenes.

In your response, please tell me more about the threat you're facing as we enter the story. Perhaps a pack of wolves has set upon you as you journey into the forest? Perhaps one of the men wasn't as drunk as he seemed, and is following you to me? Perhaps something else entirely? I'd love to hear your take on it.

I look forward to hearing from you!