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3 yrs ago
Current Every time I see a trash can I get excited. It's nice to see one of my own out in the world.


everyone is trash

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//Scene opens on SER POUNCE. He's stalking his way through the snowy woods of Northern Westeros. His eyes gleam. There is a fresh notch in his ear. His paws are streaked with mud and blood and bits of ice. He crests a hill, then stops, sniffing at the air. Pan to a shot of the army of the dead, fog rising as they trudge their way south of the wall. Far above, the ICE DRAGON screeches mournfully, carrying THE NIGHT KING on his back. The dragon makes a slow circle in the air, spotting something far below. It is SER POUNCE at the hilltop. The dragon begins to descend. The camera returns to SER POUNCE. His feline hackles are raised, and his notched ear twitches. He stands his ground. The ICE DRAGON lands not fifty paces from where SER POUNCE stands. THE NIGHT KING dismounts. There is the barest spark of curiosity in his eyes. He tilts his head fractionally before taking a few steps forward.

SER POUNCE's fur stands on end, his tail straight in the air. He lets out a warning hiss. THE NIGHT KING pauses briefly, then takes another step forward, ignoring the cat's warning. Suddenly SER POUNCE's back arches. His tiny cat mouth opens, and --


//THE NIGHT KING bursts into flame! He has just enough time to open his mouth in utter surprise before he shatters into a million smoldering pieces! The army of the dead also begin to shatter, row by row, until nothing remains of their ranks but bits of gross bone dust! The army is vanquished! The ICE DRAGON blinks, and the blue of his eye fades away. VISERION is restored to his former self! VISERION and SER POUNCE high five. SER POUNCE leaps upon VISERION's back, and the dragon launches himself into the air, flying in the direction of King's Landing. All the citizens cheer when they see the great lizard and the great cat approach the city. They recognize Ser Pounce for who he really is: Azor Ahai! The Prince Who Was Promised! SER POUNCE takes his rightful place upon the Iron Throne, his trusty dragon friend VISERION flying joyful circles above. All the other secondary characters (Cersei, Jon, Daenerys, Sansa, etc.) applaud, then throw a great feast in the cat's honor, for they are all friends now that the throne has been restored to the rightful ruler of Westeros. The lights fade as everyone lifts mugs of ale and goblets of wine in celebration. Credits roll.

The End

The Setting: Historical, low fantasy.

The Plot: A thief (my character) has secured a spell that will bind a vampire's (your character) will to her own. She has a task that needs doing, and needs a vampire to assist. The trouble so far has been finding one willing to do so. This binding spell just might do the trick, if she can manage to find a vampire unable to resist it.

The Bond: A spell designed to force a vampire to comply with any command a human gives. The bond must be consensual to work properly — the vampire cannot be forced into making the bond. The bond, if forced, will be less effective and will wear off quickly. To complete the bond, the human and vampire must exchange the proper words, and a tribute of their own blood.

The Task: The thief has... lost something of great value. The details of what was lost and what must be done to get it back are hidden. For now.

The Vampire: I'm looking for a good match. I'd like someone who knows how to write well (we all make minor errors, I'll overlook yours if you overlook mine), and can move along a story in a compelling way. The vampire can be M or F, but for the love of god, they cannot sparkle. Make your character dangerous, reluctant, and interesting.

The story so far...

Thanks for reading. If you're interested in this plot and applying, please send me an IC reply post over PM. You can also hit me with any questions/clarifications if you need to. I find the setting-up stage of an RP very boring, so in the interest of interest, I'm trying to bypass it by making the first post already available. What can I say, I'm lazy.

Could y'all fuckin' not?
I predict that Bethesda has perfected 100% guaranteed birth control.

Nine months of guaranteed uninterrupted gameplay!
My prediction is that it'll be set two or three eras after ESV: Skyrim.

All the holds surrounding Whiterun have been decimated. All that remains of Whiterun itself is the skeleton of the former glorious city. Small villages are scattered among the ruins of the old structures. The only recognizable landmark is the statue of Talos, now rusted and carved by time so dramatically he looks like a Falmer. The villagers gather around it every third night to sing songs and share stories of the ancient times, and to praise the man-god of old, the hero of legend that conquered the skies in his chicken chariot, weilding a mighty enchanted fork.

The gathered villagers return to their huts after swapping these well-known tales around campfires. Once safe inside their huts, they ward off the chill by consuming the only thing that gives them true comfort, the only small hope they have of escaping this barren landscape full of eight-legged deer and levitating giant mud crabs: Skooma. Skooma for days. Skooma is all they know. They are Skooma. Skooma.

After partaking, they crawl inside their bedrolls and squeeze their eyes shut, and utter the only prayer left to them. Khajiit... Khajiit has wares if you have coin, they stammer into the dark. But the prayer offers little comfort.

Outside, the winds howl. The only other sound is heard at a distance, and all the villagers are grateful for that distance, for it means they have at least a few more guaranteed hours to live. It's the far-off clicking of a giant mud crab, soaring through the skies above, hearkening back to the days of old, when heroes like Talos were vanquishing airborne foes in their chicken chariots, sending mud crabs plummeting back to the earth, speared through with fork punctures. Now the villagers can only dream of a hero to save them. For all the heroes of old are dead. Talos is dead. Now there is only Skooma. Skooma. Skooma.
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I appreciate your caustic pity.
But none of the people that were in it are here anymore.
I'm feeling personally injured by that Comic Sans font.
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