As mentioned before... The quill has no ink.The only writing material available... is your own blood. Writing on your back is a gruesome process, not only because of the "ink" used, but also because every single letter you write burns on your immaterial body, your soul, your astral projection, however you name it. You can feel the bindings of fate, the threads of destiny shifting, changing according to you instructions and know instinctively: you have changed the fate of your host forever.<br/><br/>A single small textfield appears in front of you, asking you to select your soul name, as the last step before confirming your Character, you host, and your fate. a button beside it creates random soul names, such as Hina, Lyste,Daltha, Acca, Daereen, Myste or Vevel. Basically its names with a feminine sound and 2 syllables.<br/><br/>At last, you get an overview over your stats, asking you to confirm everything or change whatever you want to change.<br/>A Window asks: Confirm Character and start the game? Yes/No<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Please post your whole character sheet, a link to it or some other mean where i have a complete version at one point</div></div><br/><br/>a round spinning table bare any decoration but numbers inscribed ranging from 1 to 100 appears in front of you. a pop up table to your left informs you of your possible fates again.<br/><br/>1-30 Start in a training camp for pleasure slaves<br/>31- 60 start titular enslaved to a sympathizer for the elven course<br/>61-80 start with an bandit encounter<br/>81-99 start hidden in a ruined village near a big town<br/>100 Choose your fate<br/><br/>You spin the table, and the numbers all around vanish in a flurry, leaving you powerless to stop anything now. you chose, and now you have to bear the consequences. Steadily the spinning slows down, until first the numbers are readable again, but where its too early to tell the outcome. It slows down more, to the point where a few more rounds will decide about "your" fate. Mercilessly it spins its last counting up...  93... 96... 99...02...05...06..08...10..12..13..14...15<br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">2018-11-10 19:37:00   At 2018-11-10 19:37:00, Petrus02 (uid: 60391) rolls: 1d100 Result: 15 (https://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=126386)</div></div><br/>Another pop up appears right in front of you. bright red, with burning edges it says:<br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote from: Pop up</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">and fate decrees: You will begin your journey in a training camp for pleasure slaves, just behind the border to the splintered reaches. The journey there was long, but the first part you could travel with your tribe, with a friendly tribe of wild elves next, and a merchant caravan thereafter. Within the Protectorate, you had no trouble finding Traveling Company, and even though you drew a lot of inquiring stares at you, you were mostly left for yourself which suited you just fine. But at the border, you were asked for a royal permit, something you didn't posses, nor did you even know you'd be in need for such a thing. Lacking that, you were deemed a spy, and swiftly imprisoned. You spent a couple of dreadful days far away from the sun, always fearing what fate had in store for you next, and this was the time, where you decided to offer you body and soul as a host for an avatar. </blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/><br/>You begin play in a cell. Its dirty, smelly, but thankfully you are alone. You cell is small, barely big enough to lie down comfortably, but you know this is more than most others got. You've seen cells half the size of yours filled with two, sometimes three people. You do not know what exactly got you this luxury. Your cloth, which were little more than rags made of fur to begin with now serve not even the purpose of decently covering you, as they were ripped during your imprisonment. You inexplicably know that you've been told to steel yourself for your judgment and make yourself as beautiful as possible, for it might affect the outcome. You could maybe salvage your cloth, make an ultra short skirt out of them which would at least offer you some decency, but would force you to go topless. or you could hide your breasts under all of your rags in a makeshift poncho, and choose to go commando. In addition, you have a little bit bloodroot collected during your journey, a root know for its red sap used most commonly for warpaint by your people. You only have enough bloodroot for one of the following, should you decide to use it at all:<br/><br/><ul class="bbc_list"><li>Wear traditional warpaint, covering your face and arms and especially towards your eyes, hoping to distract from the pitiful condition of your clothing</li><li>Wear warpaint of your bare chest, opting to enhance the look of what you cannot hide anyway</li><li>Wear painting on your stomach, hips, ass and vulva indicating innocence and fertility - the traditional painting of women falsely accursed or who cannot or chose not to defend themselves.</li></ul><br/><br/>