Nemaisare

The Summoner's Labyrinth - Recycle your old characters in my new idea.

This looks pretty interesting, still open for players?

Accents In Roleplays.

I always think a great way to learn about writing different accents and dialects is to read different authors who use those techniques. Like Roddy Doyle or Shani Mootoo. Of course, for me, half of that is research and half of it is just enjoying a good read. :P Wikipedia is also a surprisingly good resource. I see it's already been noted. :)

I started thinking on this subject when I was using Middle English spellings for a character's dialogue, to give the character what I thought would be a safe accent, because no one uses Middle English anymore, and the admin asked me to refrain, because she was worried it would insult someone. So now I'm always worried about doing that, but I also can't help giving in to the temptation to try writing things that way. I know the easy way out, and a fairly good way of avoiding this whole problem, is to just say the character has an accent from one language or another, but I like the challenge. Has anyone else encountered this problem? That writing out the accent or dialect is seen as (potentially) insulting?

On the Prowl Again {Casual}

PM'd you.

Building a RP program

That delay feature is a good one, or I dunno how it's done, but if there's some way to notify others that someone else is typing, that way you know there might be a reply coming that you'd be breaking into... It'd work on a polite chat. :P Or if there's four or less people rping together.

I guess just like skype or AIM has when the other person is typing, it lets you know.

Accents In Roleplays.

I think the Aye spelling was more for the english version of agreement or affirmation, so that others would understand why the point was being made. ;) I'm also almost certain that ail in french has the same(or almost) pronunciation and means garlic. Sounds are fun.

But I've noticed a tendency in this thread for people talking about the words used as well as the sounds used to create the words to call both things accents. I might be wrong, but I think those are two separate things. One is dialect, with word choice and phrasing, and the other is accent, which is much harder to create using text, because spelling an accent phonetically requires that anyone who then reads your created accent would need to have the same accent as you to understand how you're shaping the sounds you're writing.

I've found that, when writing English speaking characters, at least, the easiest way to avoid insulting anyone when trying to write the dialogue of a character with a different accent than those around them is to use dialect. A lot of stereotypical phrases that many people will recognise, if used sparingly or thoughtfully(and properly, do research these things), can have the same effect of creating an accent in the reader's minds simply by association, whereas writing out the accent can just make it hard to read.

On the other hand, when writing an ESL character's dialogue, it can be more iffy to write using phrasing stereotypes simply because some of those stereotypes are meant to be insulting, in which case, looking up the syllabic sounds that might cause difficulties for different language speakers, as well as the different word orders and combining the two so that the dialogue is still understandable but also not over the top, can be a good idea.

Light in the Dark

Omnomnom. And then Hap was eaten. The end.

Ooh, sister moving nearby! That's fun! And exciting and means happydance time, right?

Light in the Dark

I'm sorry that took me so long! I was waffling between different responses from Wilhelm and just grrrrr, my brain did not want to work on it. But there y'are. Hopefully it works for ya. If you need more, just let me know, I can probably provide it.

Light in the Dark

"No, they would travel more than you. Easier to find, if you stand still." Wilhelm grumbled the words, not quite sure if he was agreeing with Hap, or disagreeing. He'd forgotten the point when he started speaking, but it mattered, nonetheless, that the words were said. Because whether or not they were affirmation or negation, they would be something more for the little creature to learn, and knowledge was important. The troll, however, hadn't the capacity to think the same for himself just now, so he did not mind that the conversation was flowing past him and not sticking well.

After another moment, the large creature shook his head slowly and let out a chuckle that grated as though a rockslide had begun around them. "Be careful who you offer home to, little one. The word is more than walls and roof. Home is shelter. Within and without, in a den, in a mind, in a heart." He was quiet for another moment, and his next words had no secondary growl beneath them, they were empty of any meaning beyond what Wilhelm understood as obvious and painful. "My home... She moved on. The tree was empty without her."

And had been for too many seasons before he was ready to start his last walk that never ended.

Wilhelm's eyes closed, and he lay thus for a while until Hap invited him back into conversation. He thought he'd made peace with that old pain until a light on a sledge made him alive again. And hurting. He snorted at the scent that drifted under his nose and opened an eye a crack to stare at the offered bottle. The question confused him. He did drink, yes, but Hap had seen that already and should not need to question the fact. But the bottle smelled like the rotting fruits they gathered when a moment needed to be lessened,or celebrated. So, he reached for it, letting the question lie, and accepted the offering. He took a small swallow, which, compared with Hap might well have been a large gulp, and let the slow flavour slide its way down his throat before dragging his arm and the bottle back towards Hap. The effort of lifting it seemed unnecessary. "You are kind, but what tree bore that fruit?" He did not recognise the flavour.

Codex Alera anyone?

Oh my, that does sound interesting! I love those books! Shoot me a PM?

blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]

Grateful as he was for the help when it arrived, Jules couldn’t help wishing it might have been more useful. Not that it was the fault of either woman; they were strong enough, and capable enough, that a bound man should have presented little trouble between them. And with him atop the captive, well, most men would have stopped struggling by now. This, however, wasn’t a man.

It looked like one. Felt like one too, all muscle and skin and hard bone. But those eyes wouldn’t leave him alone, even as he cursed and felt his bloody hand slipping as Samaire joined them. It slid under the woman’s boot and he swallowed a crude comment with difficulty, before renewing his own efforts. But it wasn’t working, so he just rolled onto his back and, with a gut feeling guided more by the desperation of not wanting to be in the wagon if the youth got loose, began to tear at his already ripped sleeve, and never mind the blood.

“Hold him down there… Watch his hands.” They were tied, but somehow, the nails seemed sharp, and there was nothing covering them. Jules gasped out the words, neither point easy to hear, and neither really adding much by way of use. His hand was squished, his arm throbbed and he was feeling a little dizzy. Whether that was blood loss, shock or fatigue he couldn’t have said. Didn’t really care. He just needed an extra… hand to. get. this. darn. cloth… Finally, it gave way and he used his teeth to tear it loose. The fabric was half-soaked in blood, but so long as it served its purpose he didn’t care. “Here, where’s his head?”

He scrambled back onto his knees, puffing out air he’d have preferred to keep in his lungs and stretched the strip of fabric between both hands, ignoring, as well as he was able, the readily understandable complaints of the bitten muscle. And when he saw an opening, he went for it, quickly wrapping the cloth over the lad’s eyes and tying it tight at the back. If he got hair stuck in the knot, he wasn’t overly concerned. It worked, after a moment, and Jules slumped back, just about ready to call it a day, as the thrashing settled into quivering stillness and the strange noises turned into choked off growls.

---

He stopped, shaking and tense, every muscle straining, as everything went dark again. But the removal of light did not make his head stop hurting. It did not return the command of his limbs to him. And the cloth in his mouth made him gag as he tried to growl a warning at those still touching him. He continued twisting for a few moments more before his efforts gave out. He lay there, panting for breath against the cloth forced down his throat, terrified, now he couldn’t see, because his heartbeat and breathing combined too loudly to hear, and all he could feel was rough wood and hurt.

He could smell blood though. Close and wet and out of reach.

Blood on each breath, and fear that wasn’t his. Weight on his shoulders and back, pinning him down. Fingers, hands, humans. The pain at the back of his head swelled to run through the muscles of his neck until he lowered his cheek to the wooden floor beneath him. Then it simply curled up at the base of his skull and slept there, tightening with every beat of his heart. And slowly, gradually, he picked up other noises he hadn’t paid attention to before. Shouts and horses, feet, talking. Creaking wood and whispers. Heavy breaths, like his. They were weighing him down. He didn’t like it. But unable to see an escape, he kept still, and the longer he stayed quiet, the more he felt their weight, until moving was too much effort.

---

“Ruddy spirits preserve us, but She’s laughing herself hoarse. I ain’t never-…All my days…” Jules collapsed back as the young man quieted and seemed likely to stay that way. His own breath was unsteady, and he knew he’d never hide the shaking in his hands. So he just lay back and waited to see if the world felt like ending, and when that didn’t happen, he shook his head and let out his shock.

“Ain’t never seen the like. Ho, Brenna? Samarie?” He turned his attention from one woman to the other when the first shook her head. She’d not seen what he was talking about. Or she had, and just as he was, couldn’t place anything above it for the title of strangest thing I seen yet. Then he blinked as he finally realised who it was that had climbed onto the wagon to help, and frowned slowly. “What’re you doing about, woman? They not even give you a day’s liberty? Hoo boy, my head’s spinning.”

Afternoon, not morning, she’d have had the time to sleep in by now. Sleep in and wake up and start getting restless. Wasn’t thinking right anymore. Jules struggled back to sitting and leaned on the wagon’s side, shaking his head slowly. “Think you might not be wanting t’let up there just yet. Don’t know how much smarts’re in our chicken thief’s head.”