The Roleplay School |new and open| NOTICE FOR PROCTORS

[Wolf'sflame]

I understand that you're view is a little different. We just focus more on detail rather than action due to the sole fact that novices lack in that part much more. You are free to try to become a Proctor, but it is all your decision.

[volleyball;;]

Username: Dauntless. I haven't really got a nickname, but I'm open to suggestions.
Time you have been RPing: I've been role-playing for about three years now. Now to actually try and push myself to type more, I'd say about year and a half ago?
Favourite type of RP: I really like supernatural role-plays. Werewolves, vampires, witches, etc. I love the Twilight wolves more, but not the Twilight vampires.
Least Favourite Type of RP: Purely romance, a boring/regularly seen plot.
Timezone(In GMT): I live in Pacific Standard Time (PST).
Do you agree to follow all rules and accept critique from your proctor?: Yes.

[koolkatkoolkat123]

Username: Koolkatkoolkat123
Time you have been RPing: Just under 5 years now
Favourite type of RP: Mostly animals
Least Favourite Type of RP: I'm not great at humans though i'd like to learn how
Timezone(In GMT): Central European Time, West African time (UTC+1)
Do you agree to follow all rules and accept critique from your proctor?: Of course

[Rolly-chan]

(Accepted. And just out random curiousity, what would you call standard vampires from "extremely non-standard" in your opinion?)

(Thanks ^^ standard vampires are like Dracula. They fear daylight, garlic and crosses, they can turn into bats, they drink human blood, and they sleep in coffins. I don't mind some alterations, like, for example that they can survive in daylight - if that's the only alteration - or if they don't fear garlic, or if they don't sleep in coffins. Extremely non-standard would be like those from Twilight. Sparkling, no fear of daylight, garlic, or crosses (or anything else for that matter), don't turn into bats, don't really have anything in common with standard vampires but the human blood-drinking (though Meyer's main vampires don't even do that). My favourite vampires are from Underworld, btw (as are my favourite werewolves). As an example of what I like. If you know the manga Karin / Cheeky Vampire / Chibi Vampire, that's another example of vampires I'd accept and like that aren't exactly standard. I also like those from Supernatural.

@Lady Sabine (and everyone, really)
I also don't like decorated posts. All those decorations just distract from what's important - the text. I have played in forums where you couldn't really decorate your posts anyway, so I felt very comfortable there. I'd also never advise to write in italic text. Italic is a pain to read, especially if it's a long text. I'd rather advise never to write in italics other than for emphasis. But I also hate too small text. Think about all the people with bad sight. So totally not cool to make it harder for them.
You don't have to agree with everything you're taught here after you graduate, so it should be fine. As long as everyone makes clear that it's one way to do it, not The Way. At least trying out what they teach here once isn't such a bad idea.)

[Lady Sabine]

@Lady Sabine (and everyone, really)
I also don't like decorated posts. All those decorations just distract from what's important - the text. I have played in forums where you couldn't really decorate your posts anyway, so I felt very comfortable there. I'd also never advise to write in italic text. Italic is a pain to read, especially if it's a long text. I'd rather advise never to write in italics other than for emphasis. But I also hate too small text. Think about all the people with bad sight. So totally not cool to make it harder for them.
You don't have to agree with everything you're taught here after you graduate, so it should be fine. As long as everyone makes clear that it's one way to do it, not The Way. At least trying out what they teach here once isn't such a bad idea.)

I've had the same experience with forums. As far as I'm concerned, serious writing is beyond style. If it can be read, it is the words' meanings that are beautiful, not their appearance to the eye.
Italics and too-small text are a pain in the butt. I have chrome so zooming is easy, but it's annoying. I think about books with my posts- if a publisher wouldn't approve it, there's a reason. Ever seen a book written in papyrus font or comic sans? Ever seen a book where all the text is three inches wide in the very center of a large blank sheet of paper? Ever seen a book that feels the need to include a picture of every character as they're introduced?
I want to be published one day, so I tend to consider my roleplaying as partner writing practice. While I agree with those who consider it an art form all its own, to me, it's simply making story writing a social activity and not exempt from the standard courtesies and practices of the literary tradition.

[Wolf'sflame]

Dauntless and koolkatkoolkat123, you two are accepted! Congrats on enrolling!

Spot on, Rolly-Chan (and Lady Sabine), I totally agree as well. Even though I have adverage vision, I have trouble reading that REALLy small text people decide to use. As long as it is meaningful, I'm okay with it. I'm okay with a little decoration, but not bright colours and flashy stuff like that. Just a simple thing like the characters name in a different coloured and centered. The simple stuff. (Sometimes I don't even do that much.) The roleplay school isn't for decorative posts, it's on improving our skills so we
can get better.

@Lady Sabine- You want to be published too! Awesome, so do I! That's really cool that you do though.

@Rolly-Chan- I like the twilight werewolves too, the twilight vampires weren't my favourite. I like your prospective on vampires though. My friends are getting me to watch Supernatural too, so I understand what you're talking about.

[Lady Sabine]

Your name: Sabine
How long have you been rping: Four-six years? I don't remember, exactly.
What sites have you rped on: Started on neopets. Tried awesomesauce for a while. Barbermonger, roleplaypartners, the list goes don. Most of my current RPs are 1x1s via email.
What type of rp do you consider to be your specialty: Non-contemporary fantasy
How many words do you usually post: I find this difficult to answer. I am a roleplay addict, and the majority of roleplayers are below my level, so as they form the majority of my partners I tend to post at around their length, so a hundred to three hundred words. My handful of more advanced partners I am perfectly comfortable sending 600-1000 words in your average post. However, the length of time between responses, the level of action, the amount of new concepts being introduced, and a dozen other factors may alter it. I am as comfortable with five paragraphs as I am with two lines; quality over quantity.
How often are you on CS: Daily.
How long are you online: I check in; if something is going on I can stay on for two-five hours every day. This number will, for the next three weeks, be somewhat lower as my boyfriend is coming to town (he's in the military and hasn't been home since Christmas) and I'll be hanging out with him. After that I have summer, and plenty of free time.
Time zone you are in (BST): Central Daylight Time. (The one that covers all but the far corner of Texas)
Sample rp:

An old turtle lay along the banks of the river, huddled in some weeds, miserable even within his shell for the day was rainy and cold. It was not a good day or turtles, or for men, or for any other poor beast that crawled or flew. It was a day to find a place to sleep, to hide, to wait for the day to end.
For the turtle, though, waiting was not a good thing. Waiting was a bad thing, for waiting allowed him to think. He was thinking thoughts that turtles ought not think, and he thought that perhaps these thoughts he was thinking were memories and not thoughts at all, which frightened him something terrible. He was having memories of sleeping in beds and wearing clothes and drinking ale and walking on two legs and riding a horse and all other sorts of things that a turtle could not do, and it confused him greatly, for he was a humble turtle and had never dreamed above his station before.

...

Not far from the river, perched indelicately on the side of a cathedral, icy rain poured through the gaping mouths of ornately carved gargoyles. Inside, the building dedicated to purity and light lay shrouded in corruption and shadow, reeking of cheap drink and cheaper flesh. A man of the cloth stumbled outside and fell drunken face-first into the mud. No one so much as batted an eyelash at his presence, and walked on past, called by the lure of sin.
High overhead, one of the gargoyles rolled her sad stone eyes, and sighed softly through a mouthful of rain, which seemed far more pure and holy than the wine or water within the church itself. She was perhaps the most pious thing on or in the building, soaked through with the magic of the sky as she was. It was a sad fact, even the gargoyle herself realized that, but she reveled in the newfound insights as to the nature of her duty as a proper cathedral gargoyle, and those duties did not include diverting the cleansing rain from sin.
Slowly, her sigh changed into a soft song, and she began to twitch and wriggle and worry herself free of the filthy structure. A few minutes later she sprang to the ground beside the passed-out priest, snorted disdainfully in his general direction, and galloped, ungainly as ever, into the rain. There was something, someone, out there who needed her more than the cathedral, and she would just have to see what it was, what he was. The call was unmistakable.

...

Back at the river, more memories were rushing into the poor turtle, who no longer wanted a one of them. There were painful memories now, memories of the kind of man he had been. Memories of battles and wars fought, all for the sake of his Mother, who he was finding he did not much like anymore. Memories of the pain suffered for his beliefs, memories of sacrifice and horror and punishment. Burning, flaying, hanging, beheading. Bleeding, screaming, dying.
Again, and again, and again, and again.
And, worst of all, watching the woman he loved suffer the same fate as him many of those times for her loyalty. She was always there for him, in a different body, a little changed by the past for she was mortal. And there he was, unchanged as ever, immortal only in that he could change seamlessly from one form to the next. The old turtle closed his eyes and shed a tear.
A woman stepped out of the river bank, made of weeds and mud and stones, a presence to raise the hairs on the back of one's neck. She gathered her power around her and pointed a finger at the old turtle.
> He exploded in a flash of gore.

...

In his bed, in a house not far from the cathedral, Patriarch Markus Lathan woke from his sleep in a cold sweat. He did not remember the nightmare that had woken him, but he sensed that a terrible danger was approaching. Ignoring the sleeping form of his wife, he stumbled out of bed and grabbed the duodecimial, the string of twelve prayer beads that represented the twelve stars of the constellation of the Father. He ran them through his fingers, recounting the name of each star and the twelve immortal truths that went with. He was a devout man, a pious man, who found strength in his religion and armored himself with faith against the evils of the world.
As he started the second count with the duodecimial, he opened his eyes for just a second and saw the gargoyle run past his window. A shriek tore from his lips and he fell backwards in shock, his pale eyes wide in horror, before he closed his eyes again and sent a fervent prayer that he could survive the night to come.
"Wife! Wake up, woman!" He snapped, gently shaking her shoulder. "We must get to the cathedral. Evil walks these streets tonight!" In a great hurry he threw on his robes, white trimmed with silver, and put the duodecimial around his neck as he grabbed the symbolic star-tipped staff of the Father, his symbol of office as Patriarch. He was a young man to be patriarch, still six years shy of forty, with a full head of sandy hair barely touched by white or grey. He was also thin, often fasting to prove his faith, though on his tall frame it only served to make him look more severe.
"Come," he ordered, his fingers playing with the beads still as he hurried her out the front door and down the narrow cobblestone streets of the city. "I hope you remember your prayers..."

...

Where the turtle had stood, a man now squatted in the weeds and mud. He was of indeterminate age, perhaps only twenty-four or so, perhaps nearly forty. It was hard to say by looking at him, for he was clearly a man grown, yet he did not yet look aged. He was tanned, and strong without being overtly muscular, and beautiful in the honest manner of a freshly plowed field or a stately oak tree.
He stood with dignity tempered by reluctance, facing the goddess of stone and soil with a steely gaze and closed hands. "Mother," he acknowledged her as though reluctant to do so. "How nice of you to pay me a visit."
THAT IS ENOUGH OF YOUR FOOLERY her voice rumbled, a sound like the breaking of a mountain. She was a goddess through and through, and ever unamused with her half-human son. THERE IS MORE FOR YOU TO DO
"And here I thought you might have remembered my birthday..." He muttered under his breath, insolent as a child in the face of her concern.
DO NOT MOCK ME
"Or what? You'll kill me? That's a good one."
THE WORLD NEEDS YOU, MY SON. YOU MUST GO
"Must is a rather strong word..."
IT IS WHAT YOU ARE
"What I am is a man who cannot die and is never allowed to live."
TELL ME YOUR NAME
"Matthias," He challenged her, defiant.
YOUR REAL NAME
"Mathias."
NOT THE NAME YOUR FATHER GAVE YOU, NOT THAT MORTAL MONIKER, YOU INSOLENT CUR. YOUR NAME
"I Am That Is," He sighed, shaking his head. "I still know not what it means."
BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT YET ALL THAT IS. NOW GO FORTH. THE CHURCH OF THE FATHER, AGAIN, FINDS ITSELF A HAVEN OF MALICIOUS THOUGHTS AND ACTIONS
"They never learn their lesson, do they?"
THEY WORSHIP THE FATHER
"That isn't a real answer."
YOU DO NOT YET COMPREHEND THE TRUTH OF MY ANSWER
"I don't know what dad ever saw in you," Matthias muttered, and glanced around. "It's been a while. Where am I going?"
SHE WILL LEAD YOU the Earth Mother rumbled, motioning behind him. There stood the gargoyle, looking unperturbed by the sight of the naked man or the goddess, but when Matthias turned around there was just a pile of mud and flora where his mother had stood. With a sigh he waved his hand, creating a length of white cloth, which he wrapped around his hips to cover himself. With hair like brass and copper hanging down to his shoulders and no shoes on his feet he cut an odd figure, but with a gargoyle at his side, he doubted he would ever blend in.
"After you, my dear," he told the stone beast, who nodded in a dignified manner and started her ungainly walk back to her home, back to the cathedral.

Curiosity made Kharramaj's eyes follow him behind the bush, even, but he drew the line and laughed to see the birdman squat down to clean his wings with his mouth. It was such a ridiculous sight, so petty and trivial and ineffective, that he let out a great laugh and shook his head in something that was not quite wonder and not quite sympathy.

"Arrogance, methinks, has a finer scent than vanity, you putrid little man," he chuckled, and scooped up the Icarii again. He nipped at the other prince's shoulder but did not extend his fangs, wanting only to frighten him into being still, at least for the moment, as he slithered off into the jungle. The vegetation was three-tiered in the Naga lands. The lowest level was perhaps three to five feet high, the scrub and brush that made up the lowest of the plants. It was a level of mostly mulch and moss, where few creatures lived in the dark and gloom, ancestral to the Naga. Above them were the mid range trees, perhaps forty to sixty feet up in the air, that provided home to monkeys and insects and some birds. The place Kharramaj went, though, was the upper canopy.

Grandfather trees were the heart of the jungle. They towered hundreds of feet tall and could be as wide as a castle at their base, with limbs like rivers that could flow for acres. Perched in the branches of a younger one, about a hundred and sixty feet off the ground, were the Naga prince's apartments, reachable by a series of wide stakes driven into the trunk which a Naga could drape themselves across and wrap around, or by an elevator system of weights and pulleys. It was the latter method he used that day, riding the both of them up in a glorified bucket to a haven above the ground.

It was not a nest. It was a central platform and three smaller treehouses, so to speak, but it was a far cry from the broken tower and the ruins that most of his kind lived among. The central platform was mostly bare, holding only cages and pots of the most interesting species he could find. Birds and butterflies were mournful spots of color, flowers bloomed in vain, and snakes as beautiful as they were deadly lurked sullenly behind bars of baskets and wood. He loved all his pets dearly, but things made for the ground were unhappy in the canopy and did not share his love for the fresh air and sky.

"Perhaps I'll build a cage for you," he considered as he deposited Cael in the highest of the three separate houses, each connected to the central platform by a rope bridge. "Until then you will share my quarters. If you disrespect me or my property, though, you will lose the right to sleep under a roof with a blanket, and the nights up here get cold," the prince threatened, padlocking his captive's chains to the floor one one side of the room. The space was dominated by a bed, a fantastic circular affair strewn with small blankets and pillows to support the prince's great snakelike bulk. The other two areas were for storage, mostly, but his private bedroom was the most pleasant of the three, built mostly of bamboo and living vines, it had several shuttered windows which could be opened for the breeze or closed against storms and a door that could be locked.

"Now tell me, little bird, how grateful you are for my generosity."

[flight;;]

Username:

Riffu

Time you have been RPing:

Since June 2011, when I first joined.
So, about two years.

Favourite type of RP:

I have many different favorites: horse & rider, humans with powers, shapeshifters, warriors, horses, romance,
couples roleplays, guardian angel, among others.

Least Favourite Type of RP:

I do not favor anime or teen pregnancies.
Anime I do not care for, as I don't particularly understand it.
Teen pregnancies I find no enjoyment in, as it is not a friendly topic and it is roleplayed differently than it really is.

Timezone:

Pacific Standard Time [PST]- I live on the west coast of the United States.
Do you agree to follow all rules and accept critique from your proctor?:
Of course!

[Wolf'sflame]

Lady Sabine, I am quite impressed! Welcome to the staff!

Riffu, welcome to the school! You are accepted!

[Lady Sabine]

Thank you. I'm honored.