selectingyourperception: Icon of Barbara Meier (Default)
2019-03-15 12:48 pm

World and Bio

Background: Fiona comes from an adult text game I'm creating. Since the game mostly takes place in her dungeon, you can consider the surrounding world to be a more basic "medieval fantasy" setting. The most important thing to know about the world itself is that magic users are often treated with suspicion - even those who have done nothing wrong (a category Fiona does NOT fit into.) Generally speaking, green eyes and red hair are also a symbol of magic use in her world. Anyone with that combination is highly suspicious.

Fiona's dungeon itself is... something else. A multi-world sprawling project.

Powers: Fiona specializes in transformations, on a human-to-human level, but her true passion is altering reality. With a fellow player's permission, she can alter memories and cause massive transformations that in personality and form that everyone will treat as normal. Great for sluttification and the like, as well as the occasional catgirl transformation.


Bio: I usually play Fiona at 200+ years old, when the game takes place. At the same time, however, I'm writing stories of her younger days to fill out my understanding of her world and character.

The only important thing to know about Fiona is her wife, Andella. Fiona misses her dearly, and people who ENJOY their transformation tend to bring up memories of Andella. 

selectingyourperception: Icon of Barbara Meier (Default)
2018-02-25 06:00 pm

(no subject)

Your head hurts. Your eyes feel like a five year old's art project - as if someone dumped glue over your eyelids, and then added a handful of glitter dust.

You try and rub the sludge out of your eyes, and maybe massage your aching head. Only, you can't move your arms. You try again, this time feeling the sharp bite of metal around your wrist, cutting through the dull throb in your head.

You start to open your eyes, slowly. A bright light feels like it's trying to penetrate your skull, and there's dancing spots of color everywhere. Blinking feels like you're rubbing sandpaper across your corneas, but slowly your vision starts to clear.

Your body has been laid out flat, on some form of table. Your arms have been bound tightly by chains, your legs spread and bolted down. You can see your masculine pride, if you strain, though it's shriveled a little from the cold.

Looking around, you can see that you're in a stone room. There are shelves with colored glass bottles, and an oak door that hangs tantalizingly in front of you. If you could get up you might be able to reach it.

You have no idea where this place is. You can't remember how you got here - actually, The last you remember, you were... you were...

Your head hurts. Trying to remember any details seems painful, somehow.

You can try to remember who you are, anyway?

Or you could give up before you even begin....