Yep. I was tryharding.
Enjoyable yes. It forced me to think creatively on which words to pick and it hit me as a lighting bold that he should have a passive nature due to not being able to hold their own opinions.
Also frustrating before the realization because I couldn’t say what I wanted to, and before I slowly started to appreciate not being able to tell their background.
Was a learning experience even if sadistic
fun fact
the motive he got into adventuring was to gain more vocabulary and in general to learn more of the world
I would. Playing it made me discover the existence of Reincarnate and now it’s my favorite spell and I would die to see a kenku’s curse be lifted (be it either an individual or the entire race).
But I love RP vows or limitations of some kind (not being able to hurt people, not being able to lie, etc)
I can’t help but be extremely disappointed by the fact that this game got canned, despite the circumstances and the later proposition.
So many people were either getting back into rp or doing it for the first time. People were trying new things, but now it’s just kinda gone with those things cast to the wayside.
In other words, 
I never really enjoyed limitations personally. Find it more of a hindrance than an overall enhancement of the experience.
I like how they make me go creatively. I had this a lot with earlygame Mike @reaper . Mike was a pacifist and not only never hit someone, he never let someone be hurt. Although this trace went in decay later as he slowly saw himself more disattached to his ideals but ever after 5 months of roleplaying he still didn’t let anyone be killed.
Yes, even enemies.
It was a recourrent joke that he healed or revived enemies by accident.
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Summary
The imposing figure at the front stigmatized his white skin with red spots from dead bodies. He could wear pale tones on his body, but they were never clean for a long time; perhaps this was the best description he could give to the one who was constantly struggling to protect him. However, such a dirty appearance could not be made acceptable by the morals Mike carried, the boy Vafiresu who fought so hard to keep his principles in a world that persisted in spitting on his ideals, his innocence. He watched his carnage as if it were the violent part of an opera, where the instruments and voices echoed, creating a metallic melody, and his perception loosened from reality, making the show the sample of something between ingenious art and wild instinct. The scenes she had lived next to her companion were vivid now, filling her vision as recapitulations of a story she had heard as a child, or of one she had written in her teens-worse, it was part of her, for she had experienced them. He no longer fantasized about the world as he once did. Instead, she cried for her cruelty to her inhabitants, praying every night for the salvation of those who could not defend themselves. He based his faith in the miracle of change, in the blessing of redemption. Or used to.
He felt the weariness loosen his shoulders; They rode for days in the mountains. Without rest, without extended plans; Elysia did not consent to such actions. He found her immature and inconsequential, sometimes even unworthy of being the one who controlled so much the course of his destiny. In fact, when he paused to reflect, he imagined that such uncontrolled inconsequence was what saved them most of the time; or, on the other hand, what put them in an apprehensive situation in the first place. Mike never imagined he would become accustomed to the smell of blood, or witnessing corpses as part of a routine, a frequent and dull. But this became his reality, gradually, consuming what he used to believe. When not traumatized by such events, he summarized his days in discussions of his companion’s behavior, long readings of parchments found, and gratuitous offenses that he received only for Elysia’s willingness to “unwind.” It was always frightening to ponder where she was, so far from home after so long a trip; the places you visited, the people you met, the things you learned. The short crossings on horseback were more thrilling than any business trip or study undertaken before meeting the vampire, even in such simple, dirty surroundings. I admired her ability to bring fulfillment to her being, but I was beginning to wonder how far this fill would go. It was not enough for him to imagine himself empty without her, he felt that Elysia did not consider him the same way. She felt like a disposable hitch, a piece of a game she would control without remorse. Why, she was not even able to heal her from the battle wounds, since she herself had the ability to do it on her own, and her powers only hurt her. Why continue on this journey? Was this their mission, after all, or only hers? She could always do everything, so … why interrupt? When was the last time you prayed for an innocent? The last time you read, or interrupted an immoral act of the one carrying the sword? Maybe he was just a spectator by now, and only now did he realize how incoherent his presence was. His eyes emptied, losing focus from the one ahead, which ended the battle.
Elysia emerged from the battlefield, exhausted, unable to use her skills as well as weeks ago. His robes clung to his body, exposing the thick liquid his victims had bathed him when he lost his life. He knew that the boy repudiated that appearance that showed traces of death more than anything else. It was not just a nuisance, like the jokes he made or the swearing he screamed; was something that moved his psychological, which destroyed him, made him apathetic to something as delicate as the life of others … Exactly as Elysia is. He could not desire something of this magnitude to anyone, especially his sheltered one. When she felt lost by the memory of her slaughter, it was the boy who ran; even without special abilities, it was Mike who saved her from herself. His grace, his innocence and hope. Elysia envied her rare qualities, dreaming of possessing them every night that dared to rest her eyes; perhaps, deep down, that’s why I avoided sleeping. Each face that took away the vigor, each breast that left frosty, each body that left immobile on a road; everything was just another obstacle when a cheerful face, with a warm heart and inexhaustible energy in his stature praised him at the end of the conflicts he was fighting. One who was the complete opposite of his nature saw it as a protection, as an escape. But how long had she not felt the comfort of his words? Elysia noted the inertia of his companion recently, the form that barely reacted to his acts which he had previously condemned with passion and fervor, rebuking with his holy commandments and divergent opinions. At last he felt that he became more like her and less like himself. He felt his light, his goodness, his ambitions, and closed his eyes as he imagined perhaps even his faith. He did not question it, but he did not obey either. He did not speak, but he did not answer. He avoided making noises, just as he reacted negatively to any outside noise. He no longer carried what separated him from the rest, only what his coexistence had germinated.
The tips of her fingers ached, forcing her to drop her sword. She could hardly stand for a long time, but took the time to use what was left of her strength to wipe the blood from her robes. Now it was time to face his follower, as he did after all the fights. It was her most painful walk. Not only did she barely feel her muscles, but finally realizing that cold glare was destroying her inside, slowly, like the late realization of something that had been apparent for a long time. Each step made visible the lack of life in the gaze of the one who was watching. Approaching the boy for the first time, he did not feel complete. Even though the recent receptions were not as warm as the previous ones, this particular one was static. She noticed that her smile was not there, or even a feature that reminded her of the lively boy of weeks ago. He got no reaction, no compliment, or his classic look of disgust for what Elysia did. When did you get to this point? Again, the lack of compliments, of comments about his strength. There were no jumps, celebrations, or healing offerings that he knew would not work, but he used to keep trying to adjust to a way that would not hurt her. All this happened weeks ago … so how? There was only silence, a long period of complete serenity. An agonizing serenity cut across the chest of the two involved, accompanied by the still wind whistling timidly in his ears.
The boy raised his head, exchanging glances with the warrior. They talked in expressions, in heartbeats, in cold sweat that ran down the tips of their fingers. Mike found himself in Elysia, as part of it, manifesting himself in the whole of his actions, but unable to meet as an individual. Elysia found herself in Mike, as if apart of her life, unable to feel remorse in the fervor of a battle, becoming unconscious for any action that did not involve the raising of a blade to a victim’s chest. They both saw monsters, maybe monsters they created, or who allowed themselves to be created. Not the monster the other was, but the monster they became.
They perceived their anguish, but they did not speak. No words would be uttered that day; this was sealed in their looks. A tear broke from Mike, who twisted his face as he tried to force a smile. She felt she needed it, but she could not. A mixture of rebuke with pain formed in his chest as he realized that this was already a gift that had vanished from his being, a gift he carried with such love was no longer part of what had become. Elysia, at once, had what was left of her destroyed; protected the exterior of the one who followed, but completely forgot to maintain the integrity of his soul. I was responsible. He could not take the fight to the emotional field, he always lost it. Maybe, I should. He lifted his weary arm and stroked the messy hair of the one in front of him. She made sure he was looking at her, then opened a space on her lip. The cold air that emanated escaped through his mouth and slammed into Mike’s hot forehead, then pumped his chest for a few seconds as if breathing again after years without using his lungs, feeling a concrete peace. When his fingers lost their strength once more, he let go and smiled. Not his sly grin, which followed a joke, offense, or egocentric story. A legitimate smile, the way you’ve never experienced it. It was not possible to say whether Mike remembered, or whether he re-learned, but followed the gesture. For a few seconds, they finally understood each other.
