Cat's Paw
- Thread starter unanun
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- Posting Speed
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- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Fantasy, Scifi, Modern, Horror, etc.
The usual cliche stuff. I really do love cyberpunk though.
No problem, my computer will be decommissioned overnight anyway, so the wait won't feel that long.
- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Fantasy, Scifi, Modern, Horror, etc.
The usual cliche stuff. I really do love cyberpunk though.
- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Fantasy, Scifi, Modern, Horror, etc.
The usual cliche stuff. I really do love cyberpunk though.
I think it's more that he keeps forgetting but I will tell you that all open-world RPs on my forum have failed. Generally we follow more of a player-driven linear if we want an open environment.
- Writing Levels
- Adaptable
- Genres
- I'm wary of magic with lots of rules.
Try mixing elements of story telling into your writing. We should surprise each other, invent technology and tool to further our own ends, add your vision of the world to the story. You guys started off great but went back to the RP habit.
- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Fantasy, Scifi, Modern, Horror, etc.
The usual cliche stuff. I really do love cyberpunk though.
Well I'm used to doing stuff of this caliber:
I searched the disused stable in a panic, searching for the girl. Where had she gone? Perchoir was in an uproar, the great bells tolling, the practitioners searching the abbey with torches and prodding staves. The girl needed to be hidden. I could hear them getting closer, closer, the light of torches reflecting off of stagnant puddles on the floor.
The villagers appear in the library, pausing and looking about in brief wonder. The group, save for I, back into the darkness where they can stand hidden. Villagers fan out and begin inspecting books, many merely collapsing in their grasp as they fail to treat the artefacts with the caution we had given them. One shouts, spotting Horo as she darts away. They begin to angrily speak among themselves.
"Perdant! Where have you hidden her!"
It was not a question. It was a command.
"You will answer me, Perdant! Non te extollas in tentationibus!"
I stare at my elder brother in silence, for I did not know where the girl had gone. Helplessly, I look to my younger brother. He shifts his gaze away, ashamed to think that I would betray that family, the abbey, by letting in an outsider.
"Illa peccavimus, frater. She is not one of us."
I cower and cry out as they surrounded me, the torches going out, their gloved hands reaching forth, grasping, pulling me to the cathedral.
The villagers begin to part as a brighter torch approaches, their voices falling into a hushed murmur.
"Here it is!" cries a wavering, baritone voice. "The source of the darkness! The lies of the corrupt past!"
"The girl dares to defile the mask of the Abbess, our wise mentor and holy priestess. That mask is a symbol of our purity, our place as a beacon in the dark to the vanquished world, passed down for generations."
The Abbess sat on a marble throne behind the court- a wall of black robes and menacing white beaks- her head hidden behind a thick veil of white muslin, her ornate mask missing and replaced by a flat faceless white. The room is bathed in cool light, moonlight shining through paned glass dyed varying shades of white, decorating the great hall with branching patterns of shadow split by soft and bright pools of divinity.
"You bring her into our abbey, our refuge, our home, and when she commits the most insulting of crimes you hide and defend her."
"Father, I know not where she is!" I cry, desperate. "Miserere! If we are the last refuge of the old world, why do we not teach the outsiders our wisdom? Why must we hide on our mountain and shun them?"
"Sacrilege!" declares my father. "Have you not seen the girl? She is tainted, tainted by the destroyer who molested our world, the world that God made for us to inhabit! She has been brought to the floor as an animal by her curse, marred by the features of a wild dog! She is a servant of the False Light, of the false Virtue that seeks to enslave the Faithful."
"But father-!" I try to rebut.
"Enough! If you are so fond of the dark things beyond our walls, you may go join them! DO you hear me? You are exiled! Excommunicated! You and the heathen girl."
I snap back to reality, stumbling backward into a frightening Nam'i'er, as Judas, the priest of Eschenholtz, comes into view. He is a stout, fat man, dressed in regal clothing and clearly held in high regards by the townsfolk.
"This place is a foul contamination, a source of corruption for our town!"
Several of the townsfolk spot Nam'i'er and I and begin whispering urgently among themselves. Judas, not in the best health, has yet to notice.
"It must be destroyed, as our Weissager, an Adept of die Heilige Tugend, has commanded!"
Upon hearing the name of Virtus held in such height, I burst forward; leaning upon the old wooden railing, finger pointed in accusation, I shout to Judas.
"Heresy! You are a servant of the False Light! The knowledge of the old is the key to restoring this world; the Cataclysm is a curse, not some blessing!"
"Heresy? Why, Perdant, you cur, who are you to speak of heresy, when you refuse to enter our chapel? When you live on the edge of the forest, partaking in strange practices? When you speak your odd and foreign language, refuse to socialise with the townspeople, and care for the bastard Mischling who crawl to your sty like maggots to a corpse! One can only guess what foul atrocities you indulge in with their presence..."
"If you are so fond of Virtus' work, why do you cast out the Mischling it created?" I retort, not bothering to give an explanation of my foreign habits to the townsfolk yet again. "They may be strange, but they are still above the animals they resemble, equals to us in thought and capability. They should be treated like any other."
"The Mischling were created by the Keepers to lay blame on Virtus, as revenge for his cleansing!" declares Judas, raising his fist in the air. "They are a blight upon the Earth! As are these books, these foul tumours of the past! Burn them, my loyal congregation, condemn them to the hell from which they came forth!"
I give a cry of anguish as many of the torches carried by the villagers are flung about, towards books and bookshelves. Within seconds, the Library is well-lit by the growing blaze of burning secrets; this red light reveals the presence of the group to the villagers.
"And look! It's no wonder that you're here; leading your cult to dwell in the falsehoods and conspiracies of the old world. Look, congregation, look how he stands to defend dwarf, elf, and bravine as if they were his brother? Look how they carry arms even though they live within our peaceful town, as if they have something to hide or fear! Look how the Medizinmann Perdant raises his bow in threat to me, to my words of truth and enlightenment! Look, people, look how he-!"
But as Judas had spoke, I had cried "Enough! You are a pox upon these people!". As he had spoke, I had drawn back my bowstring and raised it towards him, as his bold voice grew even more fanatic. As he spoke, I loosed the arrow, and it sailed true, and it planted itself in the quivering coils of his fat neck.
Judas choked, clawed at the arrow's shaft, coughed up blood, then collapsed forward over the railing, falling several stories before landing heavily at the bottom.
There is a moment of silence, and then screaming. The villagers begin charging forward in rage, towards the now visible group, as the inferno of the burning library grows larger by the second; the air becoming choked with foul smoke.
I stare silently, unresponsive and unmoving, at the flickering glow of torches where the sound of voices originated from. Caught in catatonia, memories flood through my head, brought on by the circumstances currently occurring.
I searched the disused stable in a panic, searching for the girl. Where had she gone? Perchoir was in an uproar, the great bells tolling, the practitioners searching the abbey with torches and prodding staves. The girl needed to be hidden. I could hear them getting closer, closer, the light of torches reflecting off of stagnant puddles on the floor.
The villagers appear in the library, pausing and looking about in brief wonder. The group, save for I, back into the darkness where they can stand hidden. Villagers fan out and begin inspecting books, many merely collapsing in their grasp as they fail to treat the artefacts with the caution we had given them. One shouts, spotting Horo as she darts away. They begin to angrily speak among themselves.
"Perdant! Where have you hidden her!"
It was not a question. It was a command.
"You will answer me, Perdant! Non te extollas in tentationibus!"
I stare at my elder brother in silence, for I did not know where the girl had gone. Helplessly, I look to my younger brother. He shifts his gaze away, ashamed to think that I would betray that family, the abbey, by letting in an outsider.
"Illa peccavimus, frater. She is not one of us."
I cower and cry out as they surrounded me, the torches going out, their gloved hands reaching forth, grasping, pulling me to the cathedral.
The villagers begin to part as a brighter torch approaches, their voices falling into a hushed murmur.
"Here it is!" cries a wavering, baritone voice. "The source of the darkness! The lies of the corrupt past!"
"The girl dares to defile the mask of the Abbess, our wise mentor and holy priestess. That mask is a symbol of our purity, our place as a beacon in the dark to the vanquished world, passed down for generations."
The Abbess sat on a marble throne behind the court- a wall of black robes and menacing white beaks- her head hidden behind a thick veil of white muslin, her ornate mask missing and replaced by a flat faceless white. The room is bathed in cool light, moonlight shining through paned glass dyed varying shades of white, decorating the great hall with branching patterns of shadow split by soft and bright pools of divinity.
"You bring her into our abbey, our refuge, our home, and when she commits the most insulting of crimes you hide and defend her."
"Father, I know not where she is!" I cry, desperate. "Miserere! If we are the last refuge of the old world, why do we not teach the outsiders our wisdom? Why must we hide on our mountain and shun them?"
"Sacrilege!" declares my father. "Have you not seen the girl? She is tainted, tainted by the destroyer who molested our world, the world that God made for us to inhabit! She has been brought to the floor as an animal by her curse, marred by the features of a wild dog! She is a servant of the False Light, of the false Virtue that seeks to enslave the Faithful."
"But father-!" I try to rebut.
"Enough! If you are so fond of the dark things beyond our walls, you may go join them! DO you hear me? You are exiled! Excommunicated! You and the heathen girl."
I snap back to reality, stumbling backward into a frightening Nam'i'er, as Judas, the priest of Eschenholtz, comes into view. He is a stout, fat man, dressed in regal clothing and clearly held in high regards by the townsfolk.
"This place is a foul contamination, a source of corruption for our town!"
Several of the townsfolk spot Nam'i'er and I and begin whispering urgently among themselves. Judas, not in the best health, has yet to notice.
"It must be destroyed, as our Weissager, an Adept of die Heilige Tugend, has commanded!"
Upon hearing the name of Virtus held in such height, I burst forward; leaning upon the old wooden railing, finger pointed in accusation, I shout to Judas.
"Heresy! You are a servant of the False Light! The knowledge of the old is the key to restoring this world; the Cataclysm is a curse, not some blessing!"
"Heresy? Why, Perdant, you cur, who are you to speak of heresy, when you refuse to enter our chapel? When you live on the edge of the forest, partaking in strange practices? When you speak your odd and foreign language, refuse to socialise with the townspeople, and care for the bastard Mischling who crawl to your sty like maggots to a corpse! One can only guess what foul atrocities you indulge in with their presence..."
"If you are so fond of Virtus' work, why do you cast out the Mischling it created?" I retort, not bothering to give an explanation of my foreign habits to the townsfolk yet again. "They may be strange, but they are still above the animals they resemble, equals to us in thought and capability. They should be treated like any other."
"The Mischling were created by the Keepers to lay blame on Virtus, as revenge for his cleansing!" declares Judas, raising his fist in the air. "They are a blight upon the Earth! As are these books, these foul tumours of the past! Burn them, my loyal congregation, condemn them to the hell from which they came forth!"
I give a cry of anguish as many of the torches carried by the villagers are flung about, towards books and bookshelves. Within seconds, the Library is well-lit by the growing blaze of burning secrets; this red light reveals the presence of the group to the villagers.
"And look! It's no wonder that you're here; leading your cult to dwell in the falsehoods and conspiracies of the old world. Look, congregation, look how he stands to defend dwarf, elf, and bravine as if they were his brother? Look how they carry arms even though they live within our peaceful town, as if they have something to hide or fear! Look how the Medizinmann Perdant raises his bow in threat to me, to my words of truth and enlightenment! Look, people, look how he-!"
But as Judas had spoke, I had cried "Enough! You are a pox upon these people!". As he had spoke, I had drawn back my bowstring and raised it towards him, as his bold voice grew even more fanatic. As he spoke, I loosed the arrow, and it sailed true, and it planted itself in the quivering coils of his fat neck.
Judas choked, clawed at the arrow's shaft, coughed up blood, then collapsed forward over the railing, falling several stories before landing heavily at the bottom.
There is a moment of silence, and then screaming. The villagers begin charging forward in rage, towards the now visible group, as the inferno of the burning library grows larger by the second; the air becoming choked with foul smoke.
But since joining Iwaku I have been faced with the daunting prospect of not being the head administrator, subject to strange foreign laws and so I have been doing my best to not offend the GM of whatever I am doing by simply acting as a player instead of content creator. However now that I am aware of your opinion on the matter I will certainly up my game from here on out.
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- Writing Levels
- Adaptable
- Genres
- I'm wary of magic with lots of rules.
Oh yeah, that's good stuff o_o. I could tell you had potential. See, the thing about gathering good writers (not including me) is that the more we invent, the more we give each other to work off of. I had to take a bit of a break because I was feeling more and more the onus of writing the entire thing left to me.
Iwaku is a very meta-aggregation site. The admins make sure members play nice but all the RPs are kinda left to their own devices.
For example, I mostly GM ilium (see sig), and that style I'm trying to encourage here. It's more story writing and less 'no god mode' like RPs of the old.
Iwaku is a very meta-aggregation site. The admins make sure members play nice but all the RPs are kinda left to their own devices.
For example, I mostly GM ilium (see sig), and that style I'm trying to encourage here. It's more story writing and less 'no god mode' like RPs of the old.
- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Fantasy, Scifi, Modern, Horror, etc.
The usual cliche stuff. I really do love cyberpunk though.
- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Fantasy, Scifi, Modern, Horror, etc.
The usual cliche stuff. I really do love cyberpunk though.
Added on a bit to progress and partially explain UnityCorp's side-project, the cyberbrain. I'm not quite to the point of such interesting things as sabotage and legal action, but that could very quickly change depending on Orange's response.
- Invitation Status
- Look for groups
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- Multiple posts per week
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- 8 AM - 6 PM and 10 PM - 2 AM
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Douche
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Futanari
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Fantasy (High and Low), Sci-Fi, Modern Fantasy, Modern Realistic, Apocalypse, Drama, Romance... I have lots of interests!
- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Fantasy, Scifi, Modern, Horror, etc.
The usual cliche stuff. I really do love cyberpunk though.
- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Fantasy, Scifi, Modern, Horror, etc.
The usual cliche stuff. I really do love cyberpunk though.
We're waiting on me, I know, sorry for the delay but I've been busy. I'll try and have a post up tomorrow.
- Status