Illogical Jim
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A Bleedin Bard
STATUS: 1st person POV is difficult to write well, but it certainly can be done. DIckens proved it twice. 3 yrs ago
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- Illogical Jim 12 yrs ago
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1st person POV is difficult to write well, but it certainly can be done. DIckens proved it twice.
9 yrs ago
Do people actually read these things?
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Most Recent Posts
Oh, count me in.
"Ah! I've always wanted to see this one."
In the dim light provided by his flashlight, a middle aged man stood admiring a painting. The little plate beneath the work, which depicted a tiny little bedroom, read 'Gogh, Vincent van- Van Gogh's Room at Arles'. The man was Ezra Schultz, and he was most delighted to find that the Chicago Art Institute had been left largely alone by scavengers. In the days since the cataclysm most survivors had focused on essentials- food, water, necessary supplies. There seemed to be very few art thieves about. Certainly, the lower level- in particular the gift shop and the various staff rooms- had been turned upside down by locals searching for items of utility, but most of the cultural treasures remained in place. Ezra had noticed a Jackson Pollock was missing, but that was no major loss so far as he was concerned. Some desperate fellow had probably taken it for kindling. And that was just as well.
Deciding he had played art critic long enough for the day, he made his way down the dark and silent corridors toward the entrance. It was sad, Ezra thought, to see that the august halls which once had teemed with admiring onlookers were now so bereft of such attention. He was glad, though, that there were no monstrosities about. He had seen- and sent to Hell- more than a few since civilization had broken down, and had run at the rumor of even more. He had scant desire to run into another, when his day was going so well. The entire reason for his pilgrimage up to Chicago, to tour the museums and to peruse the libraries, had gone off almost without a hitch. True, he had lost his bicycle- but in such a large city he was certain to find another means of transport.
"Too bad the L isn't running anymore." he said, to nobody.
Speaking to himself was a habit he had picked up while wandering the ruins, and he frowned as he realized he really had no one else to talk to. He had been in the company of a cordial young man from Indianapolis, but the rogue made off with his bike while Ezra was strolling through the Field Museum. That was two days ago, and he had not met with a single soul since then. Stepping out onto the great steps before the main entrance, he took a seat with one of the only friends he had left- Gibbon's The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. It wasn't a very fair account, but it had been years since he'd last read it, and so he had made a point of 'borrowing' it from a library in Gary.
As he read the tome, he produced his pipe, his tobacco, and a book of matches. Puffing meditatively, he pondered his situation as he read. He had just a little food left, fewer than twenty bullets for his gun, and only his legs for getting around. There was no way around it- he would have to throw his lot in with some other survivors. That was, if he could find any. It seemed like most people these days were living in the countryside, shunning the cities. Perhaps a trip to the suburbs? Perhaps someone was holding out in Cicero, or somesuch. He would have to find a map- and perhaps a working car and some gasoline. Cars were easy enough to come by, but gas was a bit rarer for someone without the the know-how to get it out of a pump sans electrical power.
In the dim light provided by his flashlight, a middle aged man stood admiring a painting. The little plate beneath the work, which depicted a tiny little bedroom, read 'Gogh, Vincent van- Van Gogh's Room at Arles'. The man was Ezra Schultz, and he was most delighted to find that the Chicago Art Institute had been left largely alone by scavengers. In the days since the cataclysm most survivors had focused on essentials- food, water, necessary supplies. There seemed to be very few art thieves about. Certainly, the lower level- in particular the gift shop and the various staff rooms- had been turned upside down by locals searching for items of utility, but most of the cultural treasures remained in place. Ezra had noticed a Jackson Pollock was missing, but that was no major loss so far as he was concerned. Some desperate fellow had probably taken it for kindling. And that was just as well.
Deciding he had played art critic long enough for the day, he made his way down the dark and silent corridors toward the entrance. It was sad, Ezra thought, to see that the august halls which once had teemed with admiring onlookers were now so bereft of such attention. He was glad, though, that there were no monstrosities about. He had seen- and sent to Hell- more than a few since civilization had broken down, and had run at the rumor of even more. He had scant desire to run into another, when his day was going so well. The entire reason for his pilgrimage up to Chicago, to tour the museums and to peruse the libraries, had gone off almost without a hitch. True, he had lost his bicycle- but in such a large city he was certain to find another means of transport.
"Too bad the L isn't running anymore." he said, to nobody.
Speaking to himself was a habit he had picked up while wandering the ruins, and he frowned as he realized he really had no one else to talk to. He had been in the company of a cordial young man from Indianapolis, but the rogue made off with his bike while Ezra was strolling through the Field Museum. That was two days ago, and he had not met with a single soul since then. Stepping out onto the great steps before the main entrance, he took a seat with one of the only friends he had left- Gibbon's The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. It wasn't a very fair account, but it had been years since he'd last read it, and so he had made a point of 'borrowing' it from a library in Gary.
As he read the tome, he produced his pipe, his tobacco, and a book of matches. Puffing meditatively, he pondered his situation as he read. He had just a little food left, fewer than twenty bullets for his gun, and only his legs for getting around. There was no way around it- he would have to throw his lot in with some other survivors. That was, if he could find any. It seemed like most people these days were living in the countryside, shunning the cities. Perhaps a trip to the suburbs? Perhaps someone was holding out in Cicero, or somesuch. He would have to find a map- and perhaps a working car and some gasoline. Cars were easy enough to come by, but gas was a bit rarer for someone without the the know-how to get it out of a pump sans electrical power.
Name: Ezra "The Scribe" Schultz
Sex: Male
Age: 54
Previous Occupation: Professor of History
Appearance: Ezra is a man of middling height and a fair complexion. His longish hair, formerly a lovely golden-brown color, has become a bit gray of late. His eyes are a cool blue, badly-scratched glasses resting before them. He sports a full beard and mustache which he frequently trims. He is rather thin, owing to the recent shortage of good, properly cooked food. Taking pride in his appearance, Ezra endeavors to dress in accord with something vaguely resembling style: Generally wearing an oxford shirt, a dark vest, a pair of bluejeans, and a beaten pair of cowboy boots, rounding out the ensemble with a short top hat.
Possessions of note: A S&W Model 29 revolver with nineteen .44 rounds, a wooden pipe with a pouch of tobacco, and a small collection of books, chief of which being a well-worn copy of the New American Bible.
Sex: Male
Age: 54
Previous Occupation: Professor of History
Appearance: Ezra is a man of middling height and a fair complexion. His longish hair, formerly a lovely golden-brown color, has become a bit gray of late. His eyes are a cool blue, badly-scratched glasses resting before them. He sports a full beard and mustache which he frequently trims. He is rather thin, owing to the recent shortage of good, properly cooked food. Taking pride in his appearance, Ezra endeavors to dress in accord with something vaguely resembling style: Generally wearing an oxford shirt, a dark vest, a pair of bluejeans, and a beaten pair of cowboy boots, rounding out the ensemble with a short top hat.
Possessions of note: A S&W Model 29 revolver with nineteen .44 rounds, a wooden pipe with a pouch of tobacco, and a small collection of books, chief of which being a well-worn copy of the New American Bible.
This seems kind of interesting.
Count me in.
Count me in.
I'm still here.
Marduk said Although to be fair, Jim, all of the proposed campaigns involve heavy Byzantine influence? After all, even if we chose Jerusalem, the first crusade was really little more than Europe uniting behind Byzantium to prevent their conquest by the Seljuk Turks. Before arriving at Jerusalem, the armies that made it into the middle-east also captured Nicaea, Edessa, and Antioch - all of which were handed over to Alexius of Byzantium! I draw that point only to illustrate that you can get in on the Byzantine action whichever way we go. However, I don't know anything about Varangians! I'll do some googling when I get home. :3
Excellent.
But (And I hate to nitpick) only Nicaea was returned to Byzantine control. Both Edessa and Antioch remained in Latin hands.
I'm definitely interested, especially in a Byzantine-centric scenario- if only because I want to play a Varangian.
I've never done a Harry Potter RP before, but this one seems pretty interesting.
Count me in.
Count me in.
Rultaos said
Thank God... Finally we have some signs of life :D. I'm gonna be honest, I was real close to announcing the death of this thread if no one posted soon. Now, we just wait for Rabid and Deserted to catch up. Hopefully soon.
Hopefully.
Excellent. I think if we manage to get a couple more interested parties, we'd have enough to make a go of this.
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