Menu

The whole point of this game is to make a story! We start with one word, and each person adds one word to the story.

For example the game has been going for a while and we already have: "The man looked" the next person puts "The man looked at" and then another person adds the new word!

I'll start us!

Rising

Hi, I am CommanderHorvat, I am in the EMT and would prefer to go by male pronouns. I do believe that is it...
Oh, also please let me know if there is anything I could do to improve my roleplaying, that would be appreciated. Thanks!

Um... Hey all! I go by Thoth (For... some reason). You can call me other things, too, if you can think of something appropriate. I am on EST, and I am, in fact, male.

Anything else you guys want to know? I think I'm good...

Name: Roshaun Serelt Kellesheet

Nicknames (If Any): None. Call him Rosh, Shaun, Osha, or any variant thereof, and he will smack you over the head with a rock. Repeatedly.

Age: 107

Gender: Male

Species: Visek Elf

Abilities: First and foremost, Roshaun considers himself a mage. He is proficient in Arcane and Earth magic, and makes his living by his sorcery. While more complicated spells require incantations or complete rituals, he’s made many of his various abilities reflexive, particularly the defensive ones.

Roshaun is also a fairly accomplished potter, mostly because his first summon was, and continues to be, incredibly fussy (something that irritates him to no end). If he couldn’t make a living selling enchanted materials, he’d certainly be able to do it selling his ceramics.

Appearance: Roshaun stands at 6’3”, and typically looks like he’s just been dunked in a bucket of white paint, both in color and in expression. He’s pale, with silvery hair and ice-blue eyes, and he surveys everything with a look of faint disapproval. Like most elves, he’s graceful, although his physical strength is… lacking, to say the least.

Personality: Roshaun is proud, stubborn, and just a little lazy. When given the opportunity, he’ll usually foist most ordinary tasks off on any appropriate elementals he’s summoned. Of course, if somebody suggests this is because he couldn’t do the job in question, he’ll throw himself at it and refuse any and all help until it’s done or he’s exhausted himself so much he can’t put up any sort of fight if someone else steps in. Really, that’s his approach to anything he feels is important, although he might be convinced to sleep and eat if it’s something that should take more than a day or two. Maybe. He’s also a natural magician not just in aptitude, but in temperament, and he’ll typically take the chance to learn about another kind of magic, or to add another trick to his arsenal in the schools he’s practiced in, if given the chance.

Roleplay Sample: 

The Phaeron nodded. "Thank you, Author." He took another breath, then, hesitantly, put the cards together.

For a moment, there was nothing. The Phaeron wasn't sure whether to expect physical or mental torment. He quickly discovered that the Strife didn't bother making choices like that.

It was as if he was exploding. Everything within him fighting everything else, pushing everything away, trying to be alone, to be victorious, to be the best. It felt like it was taking every ounce of will, every tiny shred of control to keep himself from bursting into fragments of blood and flesh and bone, splattering the walls and his friends with tiny pieces of his organs. He fought to keep it under control, to keep it from consuming him- And that was when the other splitting started.

He began to hear shouting, and first, the voice was the Wanderer's. He heard him screaming at him, insults, abuses, and reminders of his own guilt. He started shouting back, or, well, he thought he did. The Wanderer's voice grew louder, and he started yelling threats among his reminders of the hideous crimes the Phaeron had committed. The Phaeron raised his in response, and so it continued, on and on and on, as the Phaeron felt his body continue to try and shred itself. Then, finally, he screamed at the Wanderer to leave, to never return, to die some kind of horrible death. The Wanderer's voice went silent, and it felt like something, some connection, had shattered. The Phaeron realized what was going on, and shouted, begged him to come back, but it was too late. The Wanderer was gone.

Then the Dragon began to speak. This time, the Phaeron tried not to reply. He tried to drown him out with the pain, but the Dragon's voice seemed to drill into his skull, refusing to be silenced, each word painfully calling back some failure, some inadequacy on his part. Finally, he couldn't take it any more, and he started shouting at him too, and again, their voices grew louder and louder, until the Dragon, too, was rejected.

This time, there was no time to think on what had happened. This time, it was the Author. He started quietly, disappointedly. It was not deeds that were the weapons this time, but rather, fragments of being. Slowly, the Author's voice began to deconstruct every last flaw, every fault in the Phaeron's being. The Phaeron begged him to stop, thought he felt himself fall to his knees, hoping the Author would say something, anything other than this steady condemnation. He did not.

The Phaeron continued to plead, but the Author just spoke and spoke and spoke. When at last he stopped, the words were simple. “Goodbye, Phaeron. We won’t meet again.” His voice faded as well, and the Phaeron felt utterly alone.

For a moment, everything remained as it was. Then, the pain seemed to double- no, triple- no quadruple- no- the Phaeron stopped being able to think of words. The pain was too intense. However, he was still able to hear, and what he heard, quiet at first, but growing slowly louder and louder and louder, were the voices of those he cared about, those he had rejected or been rejected by, begging him, asking that he save them, that he help them, that he raise them from their despair. He tried. Despite the agony, he tried to call out to them, to get them to talk to him, but their voices drowned one another out, and then the screams began. It sounded like a slaughter, like somebody was killing them all, and he tried to stop it, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, because of the pain, the pain, the pain!

For the last time, a voice cut through the pain. “You can save them. But you have to die.” It might have been because he was willing to do anything to get them back. It might have been because he just wanted the pain to end. Whatever the reason, the Phaeron accepted the offer in a heartbeat. A spear plunged through his chest, and he heard what seemed to be a wail of relief coming from the throats of a thousand, a million, an entire planet of people. And then, slowly, the pain began to fade, and tears began to fall down his cheeks.

<b>Thread Status:</b>(open/closed)<b>Andromeda and KokoPuffs:</b>
<b>Characters involved:</b> Rasmus-KokoPuffs/Lythium-Andromeda
<b>Setting:</b> Enkratis Hunting Grounds
<b>Time:</b> Current, Mid-Morning
<b>Weather:</b> Clear skys, with soft clouding near he horizon

That morning was bright, clear in the skies above, save for the clouds that lingered around the horizon though. They posed no threat in bringing foul weather, they were white in color and a little misty in consistency as well; so they did not worry the young wolf in any way possible. Instead, he enjoyed the sight of them, like the clouds where almost flowing like water in the sky above. Yet they were silent, unlike the rushing water that filled rivers and streams; even small creaks had the soft sound of the water flowing along it. Rasmus, kind of enjoyed this way of things anyway, he was a gentle boy in all aspects. He liked to play and have fun, not hunt and such that the others told him he needed to learn better. There wasn't much fun in all that, plus it was hard work anyway.

The young male sighed softly, feet delicately padding along the ground and rustling the grass ever-so-slightly beneath him. His tail swayed about, eyes looking for whatever he may try and kill; even if he really did not want to. He had to learn to do this, and learn it well. Not all would provide for him considering he was a young adult at this point, and the pack would need him to hunt when them if it was ever needed. The wolf male shook his head, read accessories shaking about as he did so. Good thing he didn't have anything that made noise attached to those large horns of his; would have scared anything or everything off.

<b>Thread Status:</b>(closed)
<b>Players involved:</b> Cal, King
<b>Characters involved:</b> Azel (Cal), Shade (King)
<b>Setting:</b> Saithithe Marsh
<b>Time:</b> 45th Ganthor, Early Morning
<b>Weather:</b> Clear

It seemed really peaceful in the Marsh. Too peaceful, in Shade's opinion. The Wolf had slipped out to the quiet of the trees as soon as the meeting had ended, and now he was crouched under a tree, watching the sunrise. Things seemed strange with the queen gone. She'd been the first to accept him, and he was worried about what would happen now that she was dead. He looked back at the remains of the rabbit den he'd caught during the night, suddenly fearful of what would happen if someone came for the pack while they were weakened. Would they be torn apart like the rabbits had been?

He shook his head to chase the thought away, then closed his eyes. His body faded into the shadows under the tree, the faint glow of his markings the only light in this dark place. Until the sun rose, at least, he could be safe in the forest.

Name: Azel

Age: 17

Gender: Female

Species: Wolf, Enkrati

Abilities: Capable with water magic, but tries to make a point of doing things without it. Much better with healing, which she doesn’t shy from using when she sees good reason to.

Appearance: Small and relatively slight at 4’5”, Azel has a thick coat of light grey fur with silvery paws. Her eyes are a clear, bright blue, though they do have the occasional darker fleck. She moves with grace, padding along quietly, but her speed is admirable when she chooses to use it in full.

Personality: Azel is quiet, but hardly shy. She does what she feels needs doing without fuss, be it hunting, teaching a pup, or standing guard. However, if she considers something to be wrong, Azel will not hesitate to speak up about it, even if she seems to be the only one to notice. She is nigh-endlessly patient at the best of times, but once that patience runs out, expect a bite to the snout - or something equally painful.
Azel also has the interests of the pack at heart, and she believes that the best way to keep the pack strong is to keep the pack together. If she sees a struggling packmate, she will offer assistance, regardless of the issue.

Roleplay Sample:

Azel sighed mentally as she stared down a particularly uncooperative pup. Really, there was no need to snarl at her for trying to teach him the basics of hunting quietly, was there? It was a necessary skill.
“I’m not scared of you!” he growled, bristling with anger.
“Of course you aren’t. If you were, you wouldn’t be arguing with me in that tone of voice. However, you might keep in mind that the purpose of this lesson is quiet. Growling at me will scare off any nearby prey, and who will be without food tonight if that happens?”
The pup quieted some as he thought of going to sleep with an empty belly. He then turned around and trotted into a clump of bushes, seeming to snap every twig along the way deliberately.
Azel shook her head. He would come around eventually.

I've noticed a few mistakes as I've been here - nothing big, just things that (to me) are niggling bothers. Things like a missed letter or punctuation mark, or the wrong homophone.

Still, I feel like they bear mention so they can maybe be corrected.

The Chimera Curse Wrote:Enraged, Plythio cursed the woman to bare the children of the pairing and all others who slept together the previous night no matter their species as punishment for her disgrace of him.

Demons Blurb Wrote:...after turning to the dark side, their genetic make up made them different from those they once called brother and sister.

Elves - Physical Abilities Wrote:ll elven species are agile and graceful in comparison to humans...

Elves - History Wrote:The second tear landed on the tree itself, boring the first Pren elf.

So, ah. Hello. I go by PeridotPhaeron, although honestly, if you want to shorten that to Phaeron, or Peridot, or something, I won't mind.
As for my tome zone, that would be in... the 790s, I think. Er, wait, I think I - Ah. Time zone. Well, that's simple. I live on Io, so my time zone doesn't quite match up to those of you Earthlings.
Let's see... um... I'm male, and... ah... I really don't know if there's anything aside from that that bears mentioning. So... Hi.