Feudal Era roleplay

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by DisasterousConcubine., Mar 12, 2015.

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  1. Looking for someone who would want to do a roleplay based on a romance between a Samurai and Geisha.

    Plot based off Ong Bak 2. Credit is not all of mine. But of the creator of the movie. Quotation shown. Unquotation shown.
    "1431 feudal Siam. It is a time of political upheaval, treachery and danger. The opening scene explains how during the reign of Boromarajatiraj II of the Ayutthaya Kingdom, the Ayutthaya royal court became more powerful than theSukhothai kingdom and expanded to the east. The Ayutthaya army besieged the Kingdom of Gods for several months. The king sent his son, Prince Indraracha to rule the kingdom.

    At the new kingdom, Lord Sihadecho is a provincial ruler, and a gallant and noble warrior of a formally great dynasty. His son, Tien, a spirited and unyielding youth, aspires to be just like his father, but is forced to undergo dance lessons instead much to his disdain. Meanwhile, the treacherous and power-craving Lord Rajasena, a former city administrator of the capital city, plots to seize total control of all Asia and has amassed the greatest army in Asia. Rajasena sends out vicious assassins to murder Lord Sihadecho's family and his loyal soldiers. The only survivor from this massacre is Tien, who manages to escape with deep vengeance in his heart.

    Tien is captured by a group of savage slave traders, who throw him into a pit with a giant crocodile when he proves uncontrollable. Tien is saved by Chernang, leader of the renowned "Pha Beek Khrut" (Garuda Wing Cliff) guerilla group, who attack the slave traders. Chernang throws a knife to Tien, proclaiming "your life depends on you, young boy," with which Tien kills the crocodile. Intrigued by his physical prowess and attitude, Chernang takes Tien to a soothsayer, who says the boy has a great destiny, that "spirits will fear him" and that he will become the greatest warrior who will ever live, and as such Chernang takes in Tien as his adoptive son and raises him like himself as a guerilla and a bandit. Tien gets his wish to train as a warrior and more besides, growing up to excel in the arts of war, including man-to-man fighting, incantation, and subterfuge. Tien is instructed in a variety of traditional Asian fighting styles, including muay boran and krabi krabong, Japanese kenjutsu and ninjutsu, Malay silat, and various Chinese martial arts. He also learns the use of weapons such as the ninjatō, katana, jian, dao, talwar, nunchaku, rope dart, and three-section staff.

    Now a young man and with all these martial arts heavily instilled, becoming the greatest warrior to ever live, Tien who iss eager to quench the vengeance in his heart by killing the slave traders, which he does. He then goes on to kill Lord Rajasena by posing as a dancer during a celebration, through the fight and turmoil Tien tries to assasinate the ruler."

    Petals slew across the ground, dancing inside the wind with it's rhythmic definition of tune. The string instruments could almost be heard inside one's head. Each pink ensemble kissed the blades of grass which were caressed among the sky and it's touch. Dew drifted from along side the river's peak as the mountain's wept for their former glory. In allowing to breathe from the soul. Stacks of wood were constructed, to make uniform housing and dynasties. The people which wept inside them, all in one. The beams of sun which shown through the opening of the sliding door, uplifted and lit the arrangement inside of the small dorm. Wooden floors echoed rafters and paper privacy which casted shadows of stories along the walls. The scent of jasmine, and amber ruffling the séances. Water trickled into a nearby stream which overlooked the older forest and mountain side cliffs. A woman, lay inside the desolate area. Black locks cascaded along her jawline and cheek bone, pale skin engulfed in sorrow. Tears, marked her cheeks, staining her face as shut eyes opened once more; the way her pain casted upon the sea inside her hues. Like cold water, darkness fell. Her body would be knelt along the wooden floor, chin peeked upward to see a small shrine, a puff of smoke escaping it's inhabitance of a ensconce stick. Silk fabric, mended along the thin frame of the powerful woman, flowers of silver, gold and red burrowed into the woven tapestry which she adorned along her body, framing her subtle frame. Slender hands gripped a sheath, and sword. Nails would dig into the sheath as a mournful scowl persisted upon the floor, and then a lightning strike would determine. The sword became unsheathed, and furrow around the room. In the hands of a pained woman, it's power would be among no other. Screams of sorrow and torture echoing her painted lips.

    War, had ripped apart everything she knew so fondly. The dream in which she once believed she was living. The man she had loved. The family, she once had....

    "How could you!!!"

    Was uttered, as black locks softly drifted across the brow bone of her face; newly sharpened etches in the walls, ripped tapestry, and bloodied knuckles torn from the throwing and jerking of her body against the hard wood which she etched with the tip of the blade. Looking down at the sheathe beside her feet, the worn, red string which was woven and etched into it so beautifully crafted had been torn away, stained by the blood of war. Fruit strewn with the burning sense, and a picture lay on the ground. A picture of the man.... who had caused everything, unmeaningfully so. The female would fall to her knee's once more, in the primitive nature which she knew so well. It is not for them to feel.... nor taste the pleasures of life.... only to strum the music of sadness.... and learn what to do. We paint our face... to hide our face, away from the world which would cruelly act upon nature. It is not for one... to know happiness... but only suffering..... And for this, is what makes us who we are.

    Upon the woman sitting, a shadow would cast upon the entry way of her home, as she looked upward, she didn't see a face but the echo of a outlining. A black figure.... of what had been, until stepping into the light.
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