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STATUS: I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth. Then I ask myself the same question. - Harun Yahya 11 yrs ago
jdh97
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11 yrs ago
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I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth. Then I ask myself the same question. - Harun Yahya
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Bio
Hello everyone!
I love roleplaying. That is why I am here. And you are too I suppose! So we already have that much in common! Sweet!
I will play anything with a thick enough plot. My favorites include fantasy and magic themes.
I'm not sure what else to say here.
See you in game!
I love roleplaying. That is why I am here. And you are too I suppose! So we already have that much in common! Sweet!
I will play anything with a thick enough plot. My favorites include fantasy and magic themes.
I'm not sure what else to say here.
See you in game!
Most Recent Posts
I"m also working on my post ^_^ I can't wait till we all meet up
River had tried to sleep. She certainly felt exhausted. After the run, and the fight, and everything else that had happened this night. Her muscles ached and joints cried, yet, she kept waking right up. Whatever White had given her must have also been a stimulant. She would begin to doze off, then suddenly jolt up in bed, eyes wide open, heart beating fast.
She gave up and moved to the common room. She was the only one there, the other students were still out and about for their Samhain Shenanigans. She settled on a large armchair by the hearth, Pablo curled up on her lap and she opened a book of poetry. Something different than her usual literary fare, something Danish:
A bit beyond perception's reach
I sometimes believe I see
that Life is two locked boxes, each
containing the other's key.
She imagined that her friends were still out and about, having a grand old time. She didn’t clearly remember the moment she left their company. Had she excused herself first? Or had they gotten separated in the wild throng of people? She was unsure.
Problems worthy
of attack
prove their worth
by hitting back.
Then there was Jack to think about. She still could not believe what had happened. She could still feel the shock of waking up with him sitting next to her. She remembered countless little instances where her companions and Jack had... their conflicts. She herself had cursed him in her native tongue. She remembered that part through a haze, screaming at him. Or was that a dream? Did her makeup run down her face? In her minds eye it did, she invented the memory for herself with her cheeks dripping black and white paint, she looked monstrous and huge. Yet, he had saved her life. He had exposed his magic to muggles and gotten punished for it. He had even walked her back to Terra house. (The Ignus had been turned away at the door.) She found herself thinking of much differently now. 'He isn't so bad after all… in fact… he had been quite brave and selfless…' She found herself thinking things she never imagined she’d think about Jack Hale; 'Brave... selfless… admirable… maybe... possibly... a little... bit... handsome…
Maybe she was still chemically imbalanced.
The universe may be as great as they say.
But it wouldn't be missed if it didn't exist.
She had showered and scrubbed off all her makeup, discarded her gown, lace, and hairpins all. Earlier tonight she had felt like a queen, then she became a monster… then died… almost… and now… Ocllo was nearly back to ‘normal.’ She was barefoot, and wore a green sleeved shirt, soft plaid pajama pants, and a new charm tied round her neck. She felt it’s weight reassuringly where it settled against her breastbone. Her hair was un-braided, it lay loose and around her shoulders, nearly long enough to touch her elbows.
She fell asleep then, her head rolled to one side of the armchair. Her face would look a bit thinner than usual, with dark circles under her eyes and a sligtly pallid hue, but that effect might be erased by the firelight warming her ocher skin, while her freshly washed hair shined in that same light. Pablo curled up on one of her legs, he lifted his head to peer at Addie as he entered the common room. Her book lay open on the armchair, revealing the poetry of Piet Hien:
Losing one glove
is certainly painful,
but nothing
compared to the pain,
of losing one,
throwing away the other,
and finding
the first one again.
She gave up and moved to the common room. She was the only one there, the other students were still out and about for their Samhain Shenanigans. She settled on a large armchair by the hearth, Pablo curled up on her lap and she opened a book of poetry. Something different than her usual literary fare, something Danish:
A bit beyond perception's reach
I sometimes believe I see
that Life is two locked boxes, each
containing the other's key.
She imagined that her friends were still out and about, having a grand old time. She didn’t clearly remember the moment she left their company. Had she excused herself first? Or had they gotten separated in the wild throng of people? She was unsure.
Problems worthy
of attack
prove their worth
by hitting back.
Then there was Jack to think about. She still could not believe what had happened. She could still feel the shock of waking up with him sitting next to her. She remembered countless little instances where her companions and Jack had... their conflicts. She herself had cursed him in her native tongue. She remembered that part through a haze, screaming at him. Or was that a dream? Did her makeup run down her face? In her minds eye it did, she invented the memory for herself with her cheeks dripping black and white paint, she looked monstrous and huge. Yet, he had saved her life. He had exposed his magic to muggles and gotten punished for it. He had even walked her back to Terra house. (The Ignus had been turned away at the door.) She found herself thinking of much differently now. 'He isn't so bad after all… in fact… he had been quite brave and selfless…' She found herself thinking things she never imagined she’d think about Jack Hale; 'Brave... selfless… admirable… maybe... possibly... a little... bit... handsome…
Maybe she was still chemically imbalanced.
The universe may be as great as they say.
But it wouldn't be missed if it didn't exist.
She had showered and scrubbed off all her makeup, discarded her gown, lace, and hairpins all. Earlier tonight she had felt like a queen, then she became a monster… then died… almost… and now… Ocllo was nearly back to ‘normal.’ She was barefoot, and wore a green sleeved shirt, soft plaid pajama pants, and a new charm tied round her neck. She felt it’s weight reassuringly where it settled against her breastbone. Her hair was un-braided, it lay loose and around her shoulders, nearly long enough to touch her elbows.
She fell asleep then, her head rolled to one side of the armchair. Her face would look a bit thinner than usual, with dark circles under her eyes and a sligtly pallid hue, but that effect might be erased by the firelight warming her ocher skin, while her freshly washed hair shined in that same light. Pablo curled up on one of her legs, he lifted his head to peer at Addie as he entered the common room. Her book lay open on the armchair, revealing the poetry of Piet Hien:
Losing one glove
is certainly painful,
but nothing
compared to the pain,
of losing one,
throwing away the other,
and finding
the first one again.
feeel better sooon!!
Is RP guild still down every so often? I know that was holding me up for awhile, it seemed like it went down every time I wanted to post...
Or maybe just a slow week? I'm still here ^_^ <3
Or maybe just a slow week? I'm still here ^_^ <3
Nice post ^_^ I Can't wait till we all get together and the real adventure begins!
I have posted! And I still have a fever, so sorry if it is weird.
Haven's sweat was cold. "The first one that I saw was here in the woods...” The creatures had focused their attack on the village, yet, her earlier experience proved that the woods had not been excluded. She kept close to the orc, her eyes set upon the greenery about them. The wood was oddly quiet, as if any animal had already flown away or burrowed underground to be away from these abominations.
The trees however, were less fortunate than the critters. They were rooted into the ground they could only wait to be burned, or cut, or not. They quietly witnessed, their roots soaked up the blood that poured out of the villages. They provided shade for the dark bloodthirsty creatures lurking about, as well as for their prey.
Through the trees she saw a clearing, and a familiar figure standing as if waiting for someone or something.
“Oh Mal. She is from the village!” She grabbed Mal’s elbow to get his attention. “Ah… she is a dwarf. She is new a-What is her name?”
Haven made it her duty know everyone in the village and their business. Who was having babies, who harbored secret affection for who, who was sick, who was starting a new venture, who was ending one... Somehow the little stinky girl was good at acquiring such knowledge, and was always at the ready. The villagers would find a gift of cabbages for every newborn and honeymoon and other such occasions, a cabbage root for every cold and broken limb, and a smile for anyone who needed it from the little girl and her pet rat.
Most people would call her nosy she considered herself a caring and concerned citizen. Her affection for her home automatically extended itself to everyone within it.
Including the dwarf woman, the name came to her.
“Ada! Ada-ada-adadada.” She broke away from the Orc excitedly. Careless. She entered the clearing. “It’s me Haven… from the village.” She smelled of skunk cabbage, smoke, blood, and pine sap. Nor was she a pleasant sight with her skirt torn and her hair affray, dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. Yet, they would all be in dire straights after a day such as this. “Do you remember me? Well we are getting out of here, we have a way to get away quickly, come with us.” She’d reach out for shorter woman, and urge her back toward where Mal was. They’d get the dwarf woman then continue toward the canoe… then…
Haven didn't know.
The trees however, were less fortunate than the critters. They were rooted into the ground they could only wait to be burned, or cut, or not. They quietly witnessed, their roots soaked up the blood that poured out of the villages. They provided shade for the dark bloodthirsty creatures lurking about, as well as for their prey.
Through the trees she saw a clearing, and a familiar figure standing as if waiting for someone or something.
“Oh Mal. She is from the village!” She grabbed Mal’s elbow to get his attention. “Ah… she is a dwarf. She is new a-What is her name?”
Haven made it her duty know everyone in the village and their business. Who was having babies, who harbored secret affection for who, who was sick, who was starting a new venture, who was ending one... Somehow the little stinky girl was good at acquiring such knowledge, and was always at the ready. The villagers would find a gift of cabbages for every newborn and honeymoon and other such occasions, a cabbage root for every cold and broken limb, and a smile for anyone who needed it from the little girl and her pet rat.
Most people would call her nosy she considered herself a caring and concerned citizen. Her affection for her home automatically extended itself to everyone within it.
Including the dwarf woman, the name came to her.
“Ada! Ada-ada-adadada.” She broke away from the Orc excitedly. Careless. She entered the clearing. “It’s me Haven… from the village.” She smelled of skunk cabbage, smoke, blood, and pine sap. Nor was she a pleasant sight with her skirt torn and her hair affray, dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. Yet, they would all be in dire straights after a day such as this. “Do you remember me? Well we are getting out of here, we have a way to get away quickly, come with us.” She’d reach out for shorter woman, and urge her back toward where Mal was. They’d get the dwarf woman then continue toward the canoe… then…
Haven didn't know.
OK there is the post. I still have a fever, so pardon any weirdness. I'm terrible at editing typing and composition when my head is swimming.
As she walked and traded among the others she garnered a small measure of attention. A few young men were asking after her, they gathered in clumps of two or three, and whispered to one another. These young men would hear the story of her visit last year, around the time of the solstice. She had fended off three suitors, one for each day she had been present therein. Their gaze slid over her fair braids, her handsome curves and muscles, and the goat slung over her shoulder. They turned away wistfully before she caught them staring with her own glacier blue eyes framed by long blonde lashes.
It appeared that the year away had only made the girl stronger and taller than she had been. Some wondered how living alone with no one to spar against she had become good enough to fell three warriors in three days.
If they had asked her, she might say that her constant partner was the mountain, always the greater friend and foe.
She noticed the lowlander. A woman who was thin, small, dark of skin and hair. The opposite of the Dan in every way. Yet she spoke their language fluently, and spoke of the goddess proudly. This was enough to catch Nairas curiosity and attention.
First she spoke of the Dan and the Goddess, of victory and praise. Then when her words turned to the Witch, she began to loose her audience. It is not that the Dan were fearful, but rather they were wise. The Witch had proven her strength and protected the mountain. She had earned the respect of the Dan and their leader. Yet, many had their reservations about her magic. When the Witch had first appeared many protested against her magic. It was whispered that she easily defeated her opponents, and brought them back from the dead to be her slaves. This unsettled the Dan sensibility, yet, might was right. So the Dan at first tolerated the witch, and then began to ally themselves with her.
Naira herself had some reservations about the supposed magic of the Witch. She believed that some things should remain dead. She had midwifed for goats who had produced kids with backwards hooves and two heads. Naira did not allow these more than a few trembling breaths on this earth. It was a mercy to cull the weak, it was the way of nature and the Dan Hurmdig. Their short lives would only be suffering, it was a mercy.
A Dan was no goat, however, yet to be defeated and then brought back a slave would be the ultimate humiliation. She imagined that she would rather be dead. Naira though that this was only a rumor, and therefore did not worry over it very much.
The goat made a small noise as Naira moved to the forefront of the thinning crowd. She would not disturb the woman’s prayers, but would wait patiently with the others for a time to converse and ask questions.
Naira wondered if this was only preaching. The Dan were not inclined to preaching with their words, if they wanted to prove their point they did so with their swords and fists. The woman might be looking for an army to rise against the witch, preaching to see what kind of support she might get. Naira did not like the idea of an outsider seeking to use the Dan in their own battles in such a way.
Or this was prophecy. The Goddess was known to speak. Naira herself had spent much time alone on the mountain, but had not heard the Goddess herself.
“You are not from the mountain, yet you speak it’s language. Who do you speak for lowlander? The Goddess? Or the army you seek to build against the witch?”
It appeared that the year away had only made the girl stronger and taller than she had been. Some wondered how living alone with no one to spar against she had become good enough to fell three warriors in three days.
If they had asked her, she might say that her constant partner was the mountain, always the greater friend and foe.
She noticed the lowlander. A woman who was thin, small, dark of skin and hair. The opposite of the Dan in every way. Yet she spoke their language fluently, and spoke of the goddess proudly. This was enough to catch Nairas curiosity and attention.
First she spoke of the Dan and the Goddess, of victory and praise. Then when her words turned to the Witch, she began to loose her audience. It is not that the Dan were fearful, but rather they were wise. The Witch had proven her strength and protected the mountain. She had earned the respect of the Dan and their leader. Yet, many had their reservations about her magic. When the Witch had first appeared many protested against her magic. It was whispered that she easily defeated her opponents, and brought them back from the dead to be her slaves. This unsettled the Dan sensibility, yet, might was right. So the Dan at first tolerated the witch, and then began to ally themselves with her.
Naira herself had some reservations about the supposed magic of the Witch. She believed that some things should remain dead. She had midwifed for goats who had produced kids with backwards hooves and two heads. Naira did not allow these more than a few trembling breaths on this earth. It was a mercy to cull the weak, it was the way of nature and the Dan Hurmdig. Their short lives would only be suffering, it was a mercy.
A Dan was no goat, however, yet to be defeated and then brought back a slave would be the ultimate humiliation. She imagined that she would rather be dead. Naira though that this was only a rumor, and therefore did not worry over it very much.
The goat made a small noise as Naira moved to the forefront of the thinning crowd. She would not disturb the woman’s prayers, but would wait patiently with the others for a time to converse and ask questions.
Naira wondered if this was only preaching. The Dan were not inclined to preaching with their words, if they wanted to prove their point they did so with their swords and fists. The woman might be looking for an army to rise against the witch, preaching to see what kind of support she might get. Naira did not like the idea of an outsider seeking to use the Dan in their own battles in such a way.
Or this was prophecy. The Goddess was known to speak. Naira herself had spent much time alone on the mountain, but had not heard the Goddess herself.
“You are not from the mountain, yet you speak it’s language. Who do you speak for lowlander? The Goddess? Or the army you seek to build against the witch?”
I shall finally work on posting today!
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