RolePlayGateway™

Ok, apologies for not writing on here in a while, I have been kinda distracted from the forums for the past few weeks.

I see that I have missed three prompts, so I think I am going to merge all three together, as long as that is cool.

If not, then feel free to PM me, or post in here, and I will happily post individually.

Peace.

A chill, brisk gust of wind flew through the ancient building. Many had seen their through in this place, the Guild of Warriors had built this a long time ago, the years now innumerable in their distance. The building was of stone and the architecture was masterful, as was all the craftsmanship in this world.

Through the corridors on the outer edge of the institute did the wind travel, rushing past many people, sending shivers along the skin and causing goose-bumps to raise, individual hairs standing fully erect for an instant.

Indeed, this building served as an institute, the Academy of the Warrior's Guild. It had raised many mighty Warriors, brought many leaders to the world. Vast was the structure, housing no less than twenty thousand at once, at times this number even doubled.

Yet, within the walls of this Academy were dorms for accommodation of those still learning, barracks for active Warriors, training grounds, lecture halls for the finer points of combat - tactics and stratagem. All these created almost a world all of its own, separate to the rest of the vast and great land upon which the Academy was engulfed.

The chill wind came to hit a relatively young man, causing a shiver to travel down his spine in a sudden pulse. Luckily for him the wind had passed him, for the shiver was also caused by anticipation of what was to come. The many years he had spent in this place had all been to reach this one point, to regain honour for his family's name.

Akara, the legendary Warriors of lore had lost their honour and a curse had they been given for their failings. This young man intended to remove the shame, if not the curse as well. Yes, he was shivering in anticipation.

It was today, and as he walked the corridors, surrounded by a square of guards, two at his rear, the same number directly in front of him and to either side, they boxed him in as protection. Many would not hesitate killing an Akara, but an Akara taking a position of power would bring even less guilt. Or at least that was the thoughts of many.

As he walked, two feet of space given to him, he smiled, even as that chill wind blew his silver hair behind him into an intricate dance, flowing and serene in its movements. Sinuous lips of palest crimson curled upwards as the smile adorned his smooth features.

Indeed, the hair of the man danced behind him. His smooth, straight hair, falling to his thighs, had been the object of much ridicule. It was natural for Warrior's to have curly, rough blonde hair. The beauty with which the silver locks of this young man sat and even danced in the wind, the pale lights of lanterns catching in the dark against those strands, making them seem to be alight of their own accord. As is always the case, the ridicule existed only to hide deep envy.

Although his pace was somewhat forced by those guarding him, he was at ease, his manner regal, his poise befitting one of even higher power than he was about to receive. This six foot seven inches tall man walked with a grace that seemed unnatural for one of such a muscular build. The man was beyond lithe, his muscles, solid and well trained seemed to bulge through his attire, making his natural grace, comparable to that of a cat, seemingly unnatural.

The walk through the establishment was a long one, and even now, after half an hour or so of walking, they had a long way to go in order to reach their destination. Strolling with his poise, back straight, held high and perfectly still, as he had always been taught to walk, his mind drifted.

Turning one corner brought the man and his guards to pass the main training yard. Open planned and vast, it was possible to have two thousand at once going through various sword forms with sufficient space to ensure no danger to other occupants of that vast area.

He remembered the many years he had spent on that yard, in weather both pleasant and not. Whether in blistering heat, or freezing snow, he had allocated for himself several hours a day more than was required to be in the main yard. His many teachers were strict, as was expected.

Movements, tiny, seeming almost insignificant were sometimes forced to be repeated hundreds of time a day, in order to achieve the mastery which had entitled the man to the position he would today attain. At this point, those miniscule movements of fingers, legs, arms, his entire body came without thought and with the precision of a master craftsman.

Yes, that was what described him best, a craftsman. His craft was war and battle. Even in the early years of his schooling in the craft, he had showed potential and skill beyond most his age, and some older than him. And now the many works of this young craftsman would be rewarded, much like a painter having his works placed in the Museum at the Capital.

Walking past the main gates bought memories of the many times he had passed through them, even when he would normally have to keep within the grounds of the school. He had also been born with the powers of a Sorcerer, and because of this he was allowed to study that craft also. He had been given a position of power within the Guild of Sorcerers, but it was this position that meant the most to him. He had always aimed for this position, even from being a small child.

He knew that, as he passed the area in which the Generals resided, it would not be long until he would be bestowed the power and respect he had striven for since before his memory allowed him to recall.

That area was ornate, tapestries on the walls depicting scenes of battle and strangely enough, scenes of tranquillity. Niches that had been designed into the walls of perfectly worked stone, held various artefacts, vases, ancient helmets of some now unknown metal, sculptures, and busts. All seemed to give the feeling that the Generals were almost considered royalty, which would be truthful to say, in fact.

Walking past the darkly varnished doors of heavy, solid oak, those feelings of anticipation returned as he began to ensure he was prepared aesthetically, he began by feeling his face, ensuring all of the hair had been removed, which indeed it had, his face smooth, although he was beginning to see when looking in a mirror his features beginning to gain the almost carved look his father's face had.

Ensuring his face was smooth; he turned his attention to his attire. The official ceremonial garb of the Guild wrapped around his frame in all its glory. It seemed that around this young man's figure, the very epitome of the Guild was personified. Although slightly loose, it still appeared that his muscles bulged through the silken material. Not only the muscles on his arms, but those also surrounding his legs and back, shoulders, and chest, all seemed to be of magnificent size.

Pure white was that attire, and the best way to describe it is as though it was a Mandarin Suit, the toggles and hem line all were of golden thread. The trousers too were white, the insignia of the Akara family sewn into the thigh of the sinsistral leg. Flowing to his ankles also, was a cape of the same, smooth material, held across his shoulders by a beautifully woven cord made of the same golden thread, only weaved over and over into intricate twists. Upon his feet were soft, thin soled shoes, the material cloth, not leather, the soles giving just the required amount of support needed in a duel, they were plain, the soles a very light grey, and uppers a plain white, no gold was to be seen on the footwear.

Indeed, the man was beautiful in his attire, his silver hair flowing to his thighs, cape to his ankles dressed in perfect white with accents of golden thread. Some would say that the only non-ornamental piece he wore destroyed that look of beauty; most would say it enhanced it. Or at least those who could appreciate beauty in all its forms.

At his left hip was carried a sword. Many believed that instruments of death could not be considered beautiful, and it is true that the sword has no other purpose than to kill, or seriously damage, another human being. However, the weapon at the young man's waist was, in truth, a beautiful piece of art.

Long and slightly curved was the sword, nearing six feet in total length, the perfectly crafted, yet plainly designed blade of polished and folded steel was hidden in it's scabbard. The scabbard was the only black piece upon him, and coated in leather, it had been moulded to fit the shape of the blade perfectly, ensuring perfect grip whilst in the scabbard and swiftest drawing when the sword was required.

The leather scabbard was designed intricately with what appeared to be tribal markings, all smooth lines, curves and swirls, not a single straight line was to be seen in the design of the scabbard.

Despite the intricacy of the scabbard, much the envy of many Warriors, to those who appreciated true craftsmanship, it was the hilt that attracted attention.

Golden, it was stylised as a dragon, scales of the dragon running along the two and half handed length of the hilt, providing perfect grip in battle, those scales were often seen reflecting the light of the sun or moon. As was the dragon's head that served as the pommel of the sword, mouth slightly open, its head was crafted to perfect skill, the eyes, teeth, and every detail intricate and precise, giving the true feeling the hilt was indeed a dragon frozen in gold at the will of this man. The tsuba, although only a plainly designed elliptical piece of golden metal, was a thing of perfect craftsmanship, that was evident to anyone.

That was the Warrior's Guild, or at least those at the higher ranks, beautiful and at the same time, lethal and efficient. And this young man portrayed it well.

Now it was time, he was ready, his attire and blade placed precisely, he was ready, all he needed to do was push down the anticipation that was filling his soul and mind. Using ancient techniques taught to him by his mother, he continued to walk as he pushed that feeling down, deep into his being until he was unaware of its very existence. Now he was truly ready.

The men around him stopped, the two in front stepping to the side to reveal a heavy oaken door upon which was etched the symbol for the Guild of Warriors. Stepping forward, the young man pushed on the heavy door, following the movement as he entered the room, his manner still speaking of regality.

What he saw was amazing, much more than he had expected. The room was dark, no; it was black, all except for the very centre of the large room. Having never been here, he could not tell how large the room was, but the single spot of light seemed to suit being in the middle. In that spot, a single shaft of light shone down upon a chair, high-backed, it looked comfortable. But it was not the apparent comfort of the chair that made the silver haired man gaze in awe.

Indeed not, his eyes of luminous sapphire glowed brightly, a characteristic of his dealings with magic, showed awe in sight of the chair that would be his seat with those ranked highest in the guild. And the seat very much looked the part. It was of a red crystal, and as the light shone upon it, the rays seemed to penetrate only to be kept their, as though mirrors kept the beams of light bouncing around within the chair.

It was the effect of this seeming hunger for light from the chair that made his eyes grow wide in pure admiration, for as the light continued to shine down on the chair from beyond the ceiling, perhaps it was the sun? He didn't know. All he knew was that with the light endlessly bouncing off the internal mirrors of that red chair of crystal, it looked like a seat of fire.

"Take your seat Saladin Akara; you are welcomed into the Guild Council of Warriors as the Twelfth Seat in our Council."

The words seemed to boom from everywhere at once as Saladin entered the dark room. He knew what he must do, and being guided by the light, he walked slowly towards the chair of fire, keeping his manner regal and with an air of superiority that he forced to stay in place, the anticipation filling him once more.

As he reached the seat, he observed it for a matter of seconds before tuning around, his back now to the chair. Taking a final step backwards, he then lowered himself onto the seat, as he did, it seemed almost as though the chair changed its composition in order to make itself fit perfectly around the form of Saladin.

Indeed the chair was comfortable, more than comfortable in fact. As the shifting beneath Saladin ceased, leaving him comfortable, it was as though the room took it as a signal, and the light slowly returned, from everywhere the light came, to leave the room in a state of brightness similar to daylight.

Revealed were the other twelve members of the Council, along with the Spokesman for the Council. All men looked at Saladin, their eyes actually showing admiration, almost as though they were shocked that one so young found had found his way into the most elite and powerful of the Guild.

In comparison, Saladin looked at the thirteen men with eyes showing he considered each of them equals now. It had been his forefathers and their allies that had built this Academy to what it was now; he had now reclaimed what was rightfully his through birthright.

Although, running through his soul was admiration, not for the others in the room, but for his fathers, the one who had surely designed this most beautiful room and the chair of fire.

Relaxing in his seat, he closed his eyes momentarily, sighing softly.

Umm, yeah, about the whole feedback thing...

I welcome feedback on my work, in fact, I encourage it. Let me know what you like, let me know where you think I can improve.

It is all part of what will make me a better writer, so I look forward to your comments, on all of my stuff on here, not just my latest stuff.

Peace.

From the historical logs of planet Earth Stardate 1989.

Ion the nation of Chipan, there lies a ancient creature. This creature is postulated to be around ten thousand years old, and it was captured by the Russian raiding squadron lead by now president Wesley Clarke, in a daring daylight capture. The creature was brought to the joint US Russian base around 20:11 hours. Our first analysis indicates that is may be the infamous dragon of legends. We have exposed it to ultrasound, and we have determined that it is.. pregnant.. It appears to float using a strange form of hydrogen gas, which is where it’s flight comes from. Its fire is a weird chemical reaction with platinum. We are taking DNA samples, so that we can clone the dragon for our own purposes. I can see it now,, every child getting a Dragon as a pet..

The research logs of Dr. Mark Kemos.

Ok, let's put another prompt up for everyone who takes part.

Smoke and crimson

I will probably write one for this within the next few days, but feel free to beat me to it!

Yay! Another post I didn't come up with!

You know, this brings up a bit of backstory... from when the war started. Yeah, I refer to it a lot. I wasn't happy about it at all, and it killed off two friendships I had made. That just made me even more mad about it. I'll get over it eventually.

A smudge of crimson marred the beautiful night sky as Miyumi hurried out of the burning forest, crying for the loss of her home. Hair glowing red, blue eyes pouring tears, and hands clutching the computer bag, she didn't stop until she was well away from the city and the forest. She found patch of mud with no grass, and curled up into the fetal position around her computer bag, sure that it was the only possession she had left from the smell of the smoke emanating from the trees.

"When the fire goes down, I'll try to find... everyone... someone... anyone... anyone at all from the city."

Closing her eyes, she coughed a little at the foul odors the smoke gave off as the forest burned to the ground.

"why? Why..."

Her mind turned the question over and over again until she drifted uneasily into sleep, ready to jump up at the least sign of anything moving.

She woke suddenly out of uneasy dreams about her flight from her father. She calmed her panicked heart, but when the fact she wasn't running from her father seeped in, she wondered what she had done with her furs. Her mind wouldn't stop its headlong rush into the present, and she remembered what had happened the previous night. She jumped up and turned around in one graceful move, her hand on the katana, only to be met with a sight of ash, not one living thing visible. Approaching cautiously, she tentatively started picking her way back toward the city, gaining confidence with each step.

And right about there is in the records of the rp... if I have them. =/

The night was a cold, windy affair. Many had decided to stay indoors, mainly due to the threat of rain or snow, none wanting to be caught in that when they copuld be warm inside. However, there was a single, solitary figure walking the streets.

Garbed in a sharp, perfectly tailored and ironed suit was a rather tall man, around six foot ten inches in height, he was slim and yet, it could be supposed he had a rather toned physique. Dress shoes, polished to a rather vibrant shine made rhythmic clicks upon the pavement he walked.

His destination was a bar, a business meeting, an encounter with an old aquiantance. His black, grey pin striped suit seemed to match his poise perfectly, walking with his head high, back straight, he could easily be an executive in a large sized company.

His dark hair was neatly placed into short spikes, and actually looked rather smart, finishing his perfect appearance as a business man. His eyes were clear auburn, and showed that he was one who would not hold patience with fools.

He now came across his destination, and as he pushed on the glass door, walking through slowly, the dark crimson lights of the establishment seemed rather calming, as was the music played through various speakers throughout the building, slow jazz and blues. The atmosphere was instantly interpreted as friendly.

The sparse occupants, sitting at various tables in groups of no more than two or three, paid no mind to the newcomer, minding their own business. Although it was certain they knew the man as he headed towards the bar.

His white shirt and tie contrasted greatly with the obsidian of the young, rather skinny man behind the bar, although he did look smart, despite slightly floppy hair. His service was good however, coming directly to the suited man.

"Double whiskey, no ice please."

His tenor voice was smooth, but showed the signs of a man who enjoyed his cigars. He was always a charming man, always aiming to be a gentleman, although never proclaiming such. As the younger bar tender handed the middle gaed man the beverage, he handed across a ten pound note, knowing it would be maybe four pounds too much.

Without a word he turned and walked from the bar, towards a table in the corner, quite discreet was the table, somewhat hidden through the design of the building. As he sat down, he unfastened the buttons of his suit jacket and placed his right hand in the inside pocket on the left of the jacket, pulling out a rather fat cigar.

Cutting the end of the cigar with a silver cutter that was already on the table that was his usual spot in the bar, he picked up the lighter that was always there as well. Striking the flint, a large flame appeared almost instantly. The flame was large enough for the cigar to be lit with a great level of ease. Taking several puffs on the cigar, he breathed out slowly, a streamof smoke leaving his nearly closed lips.

As the final remnants of the smoke left his mouth, he sighed loudly, showing his pleasure in the taste of the cigar. He waited now, taking a small swig of his whiskey, and then placing the glass upon the table. His right hand holding the cigar, the fingers on his left hand tapped softly to the beat of the slow music that was playing throughout the building.

He always enjoyed sitting in this bar, and he knew that any business he attended to in this establishment was rarely seen, and if it was, none would speak of it. He took another puff on his cuagerette, jsut as he saw his associate walking towards the bar, probably ordering the same drink he always had. A small chuckle escaped through the lips of the suited man as his less formal friend, dressed in jeans and t-shirt, approached the table.

ice and lion

It had been a long time since the people had seen warmth. Theorists spoke of a nameless fear, an ancient legend. Hushed voices spoke of an age old evil. But none spoke the name of that evil entity, for fear that he would be called forth into the world once more.

Although, the truth may be that he was already finding power in this realm once more. The more learned in the world knew well of the legends that spoke of his return, and with those legends, a prophecy was remembered also, a prophecy that bought hope to those who knew of the rarely spoken premonition.

It was said that when the Evil One showed once more his hand in the world, one would awaken to drive the dark power forever from existence. A source of hope for some, those who were skeptics believed that the one would never actually appear.

Many had tried over the past fifty years or so to hold off the effects of the Evil One, Sorcerers, Summoners, masters of the Elements. But none possessed the power to prevent the onslaught on the world. Some thought that the it was lucky that only the world was being affected, but it was common fact that the assaulty upon the world would eventually begin to affect the people also.

Many valiant efforts were made, scores of people losing their lives due to harnessing power beyond their own control in an attempt to stop the effects of the Evil One. Despite this, however, still the ice grew from the mountains, where it was once only at the very peaks, ice was settling lower down the mountains, and many rivers had now frozen, making farming difficult, fish were now nearly extict, rain never fell, only ice and snow.

And so it was, the once green world, was slowly turning to white, and the people waited, waited patiently. Nothing seemed to be able to hold back the dark power of the Evil One. So, hope was laid now in the anciently told prophecy of the world's saviour.

"As a lion he will roar, and it will be heard throughout the land. As an eagle he will fly, swift and strong. As a dragon he will roam, his flames banishing Shaital's hand. Then, forever more, will the world find peace, and all fear will cease."

And so it was, the people waited for the one who would bring peace and banish the Evil One forever.


Sorry for the poor quality of this post, I know it is well beyond my usual par, but it is kinda difficult to write well in a library when all you can hear outside are idiots!! Hopefully, my next post willl be better.

diary of an everyday tool

Oo, good one! Let's see what I come up with!

Sitting at a table at lunch, a girl of fourteen watches a good friend bend over to pick up someone else's fallen pencil- again. The friend then brings her lunch tray over to sit with the girl.

"Justin is so into music! Isn't that just awesome!?!"

The girl smiles and nods, happy for her friend, who can play a mean flute.

"I'm like, so gonna- huh!" A deep intake of breath, the girl whispers to her friend, "breathe Sandi!" Sandi shakes her head, then smiles sweetly at Justin who just happened to look in her direction. Unseen to the other girl, Justin smiles and nods back.

"Oh. My. GAWD!" The last was a high pitched squeel. "He smiled at me! Ican'tbelieveit thisisjustsototallyawesome and eeeee!" The girl inwardly winces, but outwardly, she pretends to be as exstatic as her friend. 'Why do I put up with her?' She asked herself, and as always, the answer came 'because she put up with you two years ago when you were all emo.'

One week later, the girl is sitting at a lunch table and watches her friend bend over to pick up someone else's fallen pencil. Sandi sits across from her, without a lunch tray, and breaks into tears.

"I played for Justin, and he said he totally needed a recording of that, and then, he went and turned the tape in for one of his projects without even asking me!" Sandi wailed.

'Why do I put up with her?' 'because she put up with you.' 'Just call me the diary of an everyday tool.'

Hmm, not bad for half asleep.

The place in which they stood was dark, luckily a light was made by the wizard who had accompanied them. As the light filled the room, it was revealed to be of stone, stone walls, stone floor, stone furnishings, although scant: what seemed to be a bed, a chair and a table.

In the room, deep underground, they could hear regular drips of water falling from somewhere, and each intake of breath revealed a rather damp feel to the atmosphere.

However, it was to the table that the three turned their attention to. Dwarf, Elf and Wizard. A strange companionship some would consder it to be, but they had been brought together by many acts of the fickle Fate, oh how that lady works in strange ways!

It was not the table itself that drew their attention, but the items upon it. A hilt of a sword, bronze and long, wrapped in a tough, brown leather. No sign of a blade could be seen, but next to the hilt was a book, it's pages open. It was surprising that, in the damp, the pages of the book seemed to be untainted.

Looking at the pages of the book, the three companions took to reading the words. Tales of many battles were written within the pages, they turned to pages previous and ahead, all filled with great, graphic detail many many battles.

"What is this starnge piece of work?"

The musical voice of the golden haired Elf filled the room in an oration of the question all were silently asking.

It was at that point that a faint rumbling could be heard in the distance. The cavern was unstable, they knew this, and it seemed that it was time to be leaving.

"NOW!" Bellowed the wizard, in a powerful commanding voice. The Elf picked up the hilt and closing the pages of the book, he also carried that as the three ran towards he entranceo f the cavern, and to safety.

The dwarf, however, being able to see in the dark as well as he could in the dark, as was pertinent in all of his race, noticed an inscription on the leather boundings of the book. The words were carved in a rather rugged hand, much more rough than the flowing script within the pages of the book itself.

"Diary Of An Everyday Tool"

The dwarf said nothing for now, but really did wonder if there was a connection between, the words inscripted, the accounts of battles and the bronze hilt. It was certainly a mystery, but the dwarf was glad that the Elf had taken the artefacts, and not the wizard. That old fool would lock himself with them and not emerge for maybe fifty years, spending the time in study.

As light finally filled their vision, coming out of the cavern, they sat down and began to try to concoct some theories.




Sorry again for the poor quality of this post. As soon as I can find a place to live and gain an internet connection of my own again, I promise much better quality posts. -=Is actually rather ashamed of these posts=-

So, with that, another prompt:

Eagle and Blind.

As always, I will write something for this in a few days, once there is a response or two, although I cannot guarantee a good post just yet.

Have fun with this one though my fellow literary companions, as I know you do with ALL prompts!

He heard a bird cry as it flew past, where it came from and where it was heading, he didn't know. Closing his dead eyes, he tried to picture what a bird would look like, but all he got was the feel of the baby chicks they had hatched in third grade. The cry sounded again.

"Eagle."

More than that, he could not say. Then he smiled, as the sound of violins playing in the courtyard of his college home drifted over to him. He played the piano, and they were rehearsing, trying to get it up to the par that he needed in an accompaniment. If one little note was wrong, it would throw his whole performance off, to him. Others said that was a bad thing, and he knew that him being blind shouldn't really be counted as an excuse, but it was. The only thing it was an excuse for was the extra work it would take to be able to play with no mistakes. Two days till the concert; they sounded good.

Life bloomed all around him, making a myriad of sounds as he walked in the sun. He wondered if those with the ability to see knew how a touch, or a sound, or a smell, could be beautiful. Well, he had heard them say "That sounds beautiful," but smells and touches were described as good, not beautiful. Some of the women he'd dated would get very awkward when he'd tell them that they felt or smelled beautiful. Sounding beautiful was okay though. It made no sense to him, but he was willing to play along. Until he found someone who agreed with him that is.

He sighed, and then bid fairwell to the beauty of the outside world before going back inside to practice some more.

((Can you explain to me what is going on here?))

Dovey, is it just random posts, to increase your literary vocabulary, and show off? Or just to do the post?

SWAT-Calibur wrote:Dovey, is it just random posts, to increase your literary vocabulary, and show off? Or just to do the post?

All of the above! Although this is firstly supposed to be a creative writing thing to help writers keep their literary cogs oiled. There is no topic; the writer can interpret the writing prompt willy nilly. YOU SHOULD POST SOMETHING. : D

Ok, just a little explanation SWAT-Calibur...

Yes, it could be considered as a chance to 'show off' writing skills.

However, it was started because Miyumi, as a passionate writer and member of a writing group, felt that it would be a good idea to run something similair on the site bearing in mind that there are several people on the forum who are also writers.

The writing group works by presenting a promt to give the writers a theme by which to write. The theme is usually a sentence that needs to be included in the piece. For this thread, however, the concept was changed slightly so that he prompt is only two words. Obviously, the two words are to be included in the piece.

The theme or style of writing is of no importance essentially, as this is just a way for writers to enjoy writing with a set similiar goal to that of other like minded people.

So, although this thread could be considered as an opening to 'show off' the reality is that it really isn't.

I hope this clears it up a little more for you.

SWAT-Calibur,

While this is a good piece of writing, it does not follow the current prompt for there is no mention of an eagle, not even the gun a Desert Eagle.

Saladin definitely said the point of this thread well in his latest post, but there's another. To see how those two words are interpreted. "Blind" could be the blinds on a window, not just a being who is blind. Eagle could be a code-name for someone, the actual animal, or an item that is named for an eagle. The point of the prompts are to stretch your mind and think of all the possibilities, then choose the best one and write on it.

Since this is not the first time I've had something posted here that doesn't follow a prompt, I'm going to make a thread for those which are posted but don't really belong.

Also, keep in mind that poetry is acceptable, as long as it follows the prompt.

Since it seems to have gotten lost in the chatter, I'll post the writing prompt again:

we're still on the one suggested by Saladin: Blind and Eagle.

Happy writing!