Vilageidiotx

Help?

<Snipped quote by ELGainsborough>

This was extremely helpful. Thank you!

And then... how do you correctly shoot an arrow in a RP? I've always gotten the feeling of doubt whenever I try cause I've never referenced to anything else.

@DesperatePerson

In an RP setting you probably shouldn't get into to much technical details. The only times it would be appropriate to bring up stuff like where you put your hand, how you sit the arrow on the string etc, would be 1: If you have a character discussing it in dialogue for some reason, such training, or 2: If you need to build tension related to the shot.

So the best way writing-wise would be basic. "Jim guessed at the wind and let loose an arrow" or something to that affect. Most people's imaginations will fill in the blanks. One way I heard it explained is that, in writing, you should only describe the stuff people couldn't work out themselves based on the information available. A person using a bow to shoot an arrow is probably going to follow the same process we expect to see in movies, so you only describe it for effect, or if they are doing something weird with the bow.

As for the process of shooting an arrow, it isn't particularly complicated. The arrow has a notch. You place the notch against the string while gently holding the notch in place, then you rest the shaft on the hand holding the bow, pull the string back with the notch-hand, get an idea of where you are aiming, and let loose.

With novel shit like this youtube can really be helpful. I'm probably not the best person for bow advice because I've only played around with them for hunting and fun stuff, and I am not at all a serious archer (The only bow I even own myself is a crossbow). You can however find serious archers, or serious anything, all over youtube. There are several weapons channels that are just dudes nerding out about stuff like this. There is also how-to videos, and videos about experts enjoying their field. Sometimes the research can be more fun then the writing.

Help?

You don't wear an archer's bow, you hold it and use it to propel arrows.

Some ideas and thoughts about RPG - as a community, as a writing forum, but mostly just in general

I haven't read the entire thread, mostly just skimmed it, so somebody might have mentioned this before...

...how much of this decay is because of changing culture? I know some younger people use Twitter to RP, for instance. Maybe decay is sort of natural for forums at this point, since those who are attached to forums grow older and get busy, and younger RPers end up embracing other methods of RPing in enough numbers to cause forums to wane.

Hunger Games: Happy Holidays Edition

I have to ask though: has the Equestrian Royal Guard done anything during the games except exist?

@Dinh AaronMk

-found rum
-was in good cheer
-spun a dreidel
-knows dr light was made of snow and isn't a fairytale
-argued politics with the emoticone (dangerous)
-becomes injured, fixes it with pie filling
-joins in a failed attempt to take the wicked witch's turkey
-distracts the elvenqueen with christmas lights and runs away
-uses gift wrap to patch a wound

Roleplayers who work

Weirdly enough, at the end of 2012 when I was working full time and going to school full time simultaneously, I got more writing than I do now, at a time where my hours oscillate between 50 hours a week to no hours a week depending on the time of year. I think one thing having a busy life does is it gets you into a tight schedule, which helps keep you writing.

Hunger Games: Happy Holidays Edition

It's right now, and you know what that means?! It's time for more games!



As the moon comes up on the fourth night, the survivors reflect on the past day. The Equestrian tends to his wounds. Bert comes upon a midnight clear, while his life partner goes a-wassailing with Cynder and Woody Guthrie.

Putin wraps himself in a snuggie and sneaks up on Earl Browder, beating his head in with a fruitcake. The murder doesn't disturb the night, and the Emoticone looks out across the snowy field, as a pre-wassailed Smurf take Bowser and Chunk-and-Sloth on a wassail.

Bing Crosby thinks about the dead. Charlie Brown murders Travolta with a ham, this after he killed Clirkus in defense of the Waifu, and poisoned an Elf, making Charlie an unexpected power player.

Clint laughs at The Elvenqueen's weight which... hey! That's mean! Stop that!

John McClane, not having the courage to go up to Burma, eats Chinese alone. Meanwhile Burma joins two witches and Dr Light for some Judaism. Ursula gets with Santa. Since she was once with Travolta, and now is with Santa, I think Ursula is the sex kitten in these games.

Frosty sacrilegiously tricks the Baby Jesus into licking a frozen poll.



Bert tends to those wounds Santa received from cuddling with Ursula. Clint, Witch Cat, Putin, and Papa Smurf take revenge out on Frosty for his treatment of the Baby Jesus the night before, stealing his chestnuts. Dr Light naps, having stayed up all night wassailing. Apparently it was Chunk and Sloth that saved Jesus, and they talk about traffic as Bing Crosby listens.

The Elvenqueen, Cynder, and Woody Guthrie wrap up in a snuggie and sneak up on John McClane, then they sing at him so badly that his love sick heart cannot take it and he dies.

Ursula chats up Ernie while the Notorious Charlie listens on. Bowser, meanwhile, fines a tree.

The Emoticone kills the wicked witch after an argument over politics. Perhaps it was her opinions about the nestle controversy in Africa, or the Flint Michigan crisis, or California's drought, but some weird opinion of hers set the Emoticone over the edge and he splashes her in the face with a cup of water. Imma guess they must have been eating the Witch's much fought over turkey, and perhaps its dryness contributed also to the Emoticone's foul mood.

The Equestrian Guard wishes Burma happy holidays, perhaps unaware that Burma's one true love is dead and her world is ended.



There goes four more. We are nearing the part in the games where everything goes quickly. Strap in to your seats and start placing bets.

Vinyl recommendations?

Hunger Games: Happy Holidays Edition

I ship Burmaclane

@Duthguy

Hunger Games: Happy Holidays Edition

Night is fallen, and with Clirkus dead, everybody finds themselves adjusting to a world where the season has no reason. What effect will this have on our games? Time to find out.



Bert kills Ash! Bert! The puppet who just sorta held snow for fun a few days back. Before sundown, Bert was seen making a pumpkin spice latte, so imma guess that's the fatal gift that destroyed Ash. Ash destroyed Furby and killed Sherlock, and looked to be a potential power player, but instead he has been strung up by a puppet.

Then Frosty kills the Waifu! Where was Charlie Brown, who once protected the Waifu from the season-reasoned attack of Clirkus? We will find out shortly I suppose.

An Elf gift wraps his wound. Chunk and Sloth, bless their hearts, receive and enjoy freshly baked gingerbread cookies. Cynder questions her holiday spirit as she slowly remembers how she cooked Turbo Man to death. Ursula wraps up in Snuggie and talks to it about Westworld. So does the Witch Cat and Charlie...

Charlie Brown! You abandoned the Waifu to her death so you could chat up Witch Cat? That is what you were doing? For shame, young man!

Baby Jesus looks at the snow, while Santa and Earl Browder talk about... jesus shit, Westworld must have just aired or something.

Woody Guthrie is excited about handouts. And Papa Smurf receives cookies. I guess something to dunk in his egg nog while he rides on his pony.



The Wicked Witch defends her turkey from a raid for the second time. It is curious her turkey is so popular since it should be, you know, dry. Her water allergy does make her food situation confusing.

Putin, having spent the games mostly just unhappy about stuff, is now unhappy with the Grinch's turkey. The more I type "The X's Turkey", the more it sounds suggestive.

Saturn, the powerful god from Roman mythology, shoots himself in the eye on accident and dies.

Emoticone receives a chocolate orange. That would be a good flavor of ice-cream, chocolate orange. Bing Crosby can't get to bed. The Elvenqueen moves in with Ernie. Travolta throws icicles at Dr. Light, who was said by some to be a fairy tale, but is really made of snow; and accidentally kills Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, who was said by some to be a fairy tale, but is really made of snow.

Holy shit, John McClane has a blue Christmas without Burma. Little does he know that across the way, Burma has had a blue Christmas without John McClane. I shit you not. Look it up, it happened a few days ago. She had a blue Christmas, And so did he. He kept it hid, And so did she. They searched for blue (christmas), Their whole life through, Then passed right by, And never knew.

Bowser detaches from the drama and just enjoys the night.



The sun comes up, and ol' Earl Browder starts a'drinkin. Charlie Brown gives An Elf some poisoned nog. I guess he must be over the Waifu entirely, because instead of getting revenge on frosty, he applies his fatal nog to the elf. John McClane goes to church, possibly to pray for some Burma. The Grinch dies sad an alone, which yeh, makes sense I suppose. Witch Cat, Clint, and Putin deck some halls. This being the second time the Witch Cat and Putin have teamed up with somebody else to deck halls, I think these two might be in a hall decking business now. Ursula makes pie. The Wicked Witch, her turkey presumably secure, decorates with a blanket and the baby Jesus. Dr Light receives some light presents.

Then Cynder kills Dexter with a Christmas miracle. And I bet it was a miracle too, considering Dexter was so obviously blessed by the angels. I think this shows that the goodwill given to Cynder by the games is still present and working its magic.

And then more hall decking. Ernie once decked the halls with the Witch Cat and Putin, so we know he is a professional and has the experience necessary to direct this particular decking.



Bert takes a nap, having spent the night murdering Ash. The Equestrian Royal Guard distracts the Elvenqueen with Christmas lights. Since the Elvenqueen has never been particularly aggressive, I don't think the distraction was really necessary. It takes Santa, Papa Smurf, Bing Crosby, and Chunk and Sloth to pry the chestnuts from Burma's hands. This is the first successful raid Chunk and Sloth have been party too, and one of the few aggression they have committed in an otherwise peaceful and fun-loving career as partners. Frosty has himself a merry little Christmas, content after killing the Waifu. Bowser receives a poor, poor pony. Woody Guthrie receives more hand-outs.



Things really picked up this time around. We're getting into the nitty gritty, when the survivors stop futzing around and make a real effort. From now on things will move quickly.

Winter Came on Forever: An 18th Century Alt-History

January 5th, 1770: Ninety-Six, South Carolina

General John Burgoyne left his rented home on the north eastern side of town and watched as a slight snow lightly salted the trod ground. The air smelled like construction, a scent made by freshly cut wood, sawdust, and the pungency of mules and horses. Even here in the west cabins came up quickly. The bulk of the newcomers were colonial families, who had sold their eastern properties to wealthy Englishmen for a hefty sum, allowing them to purchase larger lots and acres of uncut wilderness on the frontier.

The General mounted, followed by the men he kept at his side. On his right rode Major Horatio Gates. The dour man was quartermaster for the expedition. Burgoyne found him ill-humored and plain, a man who could easily be mistaken for a colonial by anybody who didn't know better. On his left rode a man more of Burgoyne's breeding; the Baron Lothar von Dahmetal, commander of the Prussian regiment sent by their government to aid in the clearing of these territories; an act, no doubt pointed out to King Frederick by diplomats from his majesty King George, that was to the benefit of both peoples. The differences between Major Gates and Baron von Dahmetal was visually immediate. Major Gates rode slumped, his uniform clean but plain, his expression like that of a puritan riding muleback into gin alley. Baron von Dahmetal was sharply dressed in Prussian blue, badges and metals tinkling on his breast, his cap that of a grenadier, and his expression like a monarch surveying his demesne.

They passed through the town, through soldiers off-duty bargaining with locals for goods, purchasing food and clothing for themselves before their plunge into the American wilderness. The locals came in two groups, often times distinguishable from each other; the new comers busied themselves, acting much like the soldiers in their bartering. The locals stayed in clumps, holding to themselves, eyeing newcomers and keeping their conversations low. They passed such a group of young ladies, and Burgoyne set an especially martial pose as he rode by, keeping his eye on the girl in the lead of the group, newly at the age of marriage with delightful olive skin, sparkling eyes, and hair black as crape. When they were well past her, Burgoyne turned to Major Gates.

"If you had to choose a companion in this wilderness, that one wouldn't be so bad" he said, nodding toward the girl.

"She is a Jewess, sir." Gates said dully.

"Well we share the same God, sir." Burgoyne said. "I believe we could become familiar on that common ground and discover new topics of conversation upon the expansion of our friendship."

"We all have our customs." Gates replied.

"Indeed." Burgoyne said. "And my custom is to enjoy those of others, if there is enjoyment to be found."

"I would think a man at your age would keep his enjoyment for his wife." Gates said.

Burgoyne did not dignify the Major's sally with a response. The Prussian smiled. He understood English though he found it hard to speak it.

At the center, the town was a few old log buildings interspersed with new construction. One the edge of town everything was new, with the smell of fresh lumber permeating, and work going on all around. This place did not have the nauseating scent of disaster and refugees now present in Charles Town, but the rapid growth warned that the fate of the later town could very well be in the future of the former. Or, heaven forbid, the entirety of the new world.

The Army camped on the south side of Ninety-Six creek. Threads of smoke rose from camp fires among the trees. The largest camp was that of the British Regulars, their neatly kept camp stretching on for miles and made apparent by the glow of red uniforms in the light mix of snow and haze. The Prussians kept to their own corner of the woods where the uniforms went from red to a dark blue and the smell of cooking rations took on an almost exotic smell. Surrounding them in a crescent, on the face of the hills as they slanted toward the creek, the irregulars mixed with the colonial troops in a disordered mess. There were less of them then the regulars, but they took up more room. This erked General Burgoyne, and he rode through their camp in search of their commander.

Here was a gathering of the worst; colonists, poor irregulars, and Scots. They put down their tents where they felt, if they had tents at all. Some slept under blankets hung from tree branches, or crude shelters made from sticks leaned onto poles. The colonial troops scarcely noticed an officer riding through their midst, though the others at least showed the proper respects.

He found the commanding officer near the creek, not a young man, but a younger man then Burgoyne, with dark hair tied behind his head and the tight-lipped expression of a church-going New Englander.

"Colonel Lincoln." Burgoyne called.

"What ho!" Lincoln said, startled from watering his horse. "Yes, sir?"

"There is a proper way to order a camp, and what I see here does not seem to be in line with that order. What if the enemy were to spring across this creek?"

"We would defend it well, sir." Lincoln said.

"I am sure you would make the effort." Burgoyne replied. "But it would take much of that effort just to make a line out of this. Bring your men together, man! Establish a quartermaster."

"I will take that wisdom to heart, sir." Lincoln said. "But I must petition to you that what you see is not everything that I have. The men mustered to my command haven't all arrived. What you see, sir, is a military half-baked."

"Well then, by God sir, bake it. I wish to clear these Cherokee before spring so that the coming campaign can be carried on in the summer. If there is a summer coming, I should say."

Lincoln looked surprised. "The Cherokee are not the supreme campaign? Pardon my speech, sir, but if our main thrust is not meant for them, what could it be meant for?"

"The King wishes these lands cleared to the great river." Burgoyne said.

"That is an impressive thrust."

"Yes." Burgoyne stood up straight. "That is how I intend to make it. In the mean time, sir, you and your second officer are invited to my quarters for supper tonight. If we are to go on so long a campaign, I wish all of my officers to know each other. To our relief, much of the fine drink of the old world was saved from the freeze, and we have some of it."

"I will be there, sir." Lincoln said. "Though I must admit that I do not drink."

"That is quite alright." Burgoyne smiled. "I am certain we can find water somewhere nearby the house."