So I come from another community full of grumpy old men who have no energy to teach and prepubescent nobodies who seem to lack the ability to observe how RP should be done and instead embarrass themselves with vague and unplanned chaos which is healthy for nobody. *Shakes cane*. Sure, it was a nice experience to have climbed (clawed?) my way to the top, and it's nicer still to be one of the remaining veterans who sit high atop the hierarchical pyramid, but the entire situation is wanting for effort and time most of us all used up during the 2002-04 Golden Era. I feel like the proverbial martyr--all the etiquette and conformities which have worked in the past have been taken to the graves of the oldies and now the new meat is running around aimlessly while occasionally bumping into the walls. Like lemmings. Heh heh...
:<
Anyway, I'm exploring new horizons. Actually, no, that's not true. I'm just looking for bodies to add to the pile. An example of my best RP is probably this:
Its eyes were cerulean; its wings snow white and pure. Mysteriously yet undeniably trailed by an aura of tranquillity, the doveāthe beautiful emblem of peaceāflew forth beneath that rotten pool of greys and obsidian strokes, the proverbial shining pearl that can only be found in places that have grown hearts in wombs of darkness, the places that reject grace and mull existence with grudging obligation, sometimes becoming so jaded in chaos that they conceive the very thing of which they have rejected, their polar opposite.
Perhaps it is unintended. Perhaps it is planned; we will never define such business. Of course, the educated and realistic mind would call on nonsensicality to explain it away, but always remember that our senses are subjective because they lack the sagely nod of an ultimate observer. So how may something so fair come from something so wretched? It is simple enough. We fool ourselves tagging names to philosophical concepts, we fool ourselves pinning order onto something that is too chaotic to be pinned with the absolution we desire. Order may be the enemy of chaos, fighting a losing battle against it in the corners of the world, but if chaos is supremeāomnipresentāthen there is order in chaos, and if order is fleeting, there is chaos in order. Don't march through life set in the belief that black and white are so and henceforth, because although it may be a bitter pill to swallow, reality is an undulating nexus of mocking uncertainty.
And so the new child of the shadowed sky flew on, unawareāor at least undauntedāby the shifting tides above. The images of the world below acknowledged the passing of the bird and reached up, but the dove saw that they were terrible.
Peace would never see this land.
He offered the world a sigh, but She rejected it. The bread in his hand succumbed and infurled as he held it, drawling over itself until he held nothing. He palmed his templeābut only for a momentāand lifted his head.
Unexpectedly, the tattered cores of his lungs swelled, and once again it felt as though something sinister had snaked wire in his chest while he had slept, a coiled whip of metal that lashed at his insides and promised pulsating passes of jagged rust against the soft exterior of his heart. It was the three-second sign thā
His stomach muscles wrenched his form to a close, his breath came barbed and forceful and something familiar ran down his chin as he barked his putrid exhalations, each one expelling an identical thrashing eddy of something that could only be the miasma of his own rancid engine.
Swollen cavities heaved, struggled, pressed against ribs; although he reserved some hope that they would finally concede, that they would finally lay their guilty resolve aside and bear no more burning airā¦ relief found him. And slowly it began eke the elixir of life, every passing second washing his body of a personal poison. Time and toil had clearly added him to their equations, but still his rejected gods currented the fate of their favourite warrior. The promise of mortality seemed like a far away dream.
And then, as his senses slowly awoke and began again to feed him, his heart stirred, groaned, began to beat against his breastplate with a vigour that tore muscle and whipped up a flailing dance of meat. The sensation shocked him, shocked him enough that an uncharacteristic panic bubbled in his stomach and rose to meet the dust in his throat. Something was wrong. His hair whipped up around him, and as the mist disappeared from his optics, he saw that a barren stone landscape was yawning up to meet him.
ā¦Or would it?
"What designs, dearest fate, do you have in store for me, this timeā¦?"
Yeap. I assume it won't take much more learning to get into the swing of this site, but take it easy if I start sinning or something. Anyone up for an apprenticeship?