by Friar » Tue Aug 03, 2010 2:28 pm
Username:
Friar
Favorite type of RP:
Legendsong (very difficult to track down; a book)
Obernewtyn (very difficult to track down; a book)
Warriors
Torchwood / Doctor Who
Junkyard Dogs (or feral animals in general)
Hogwarts (without cannon)
Sample of writing:
Legendsong
Legendsong is based in a parallel world to earth. Acantha is an island where the people can fly using specialised suits and where the majority of income is made from either mining stones, or moulding the stones into something pretty.
The miners are often on the run, or have some other reason to pick a career where it’s dark and busy. As such, they usually have a lot of trouble trusting each other. They tend to fight a lot.
“It’s stupid, that’s all I’m saying, Col.” Vera stated in a sharp tone as she climbed out of the filthy mine shaft, indicating that she wanted this particular conversation to end - politics were never interesting to her, anyway, and they always sparked fights.
She hoisted herself from the mine and walked out to the windwalker’s platform, blinking in the hard red light of the Acanthan sunset. All day, today. She thought to herself; mine shifts were often long, but she hadn’t expected to be in the mines from sunrise to sunset.
Hearing Col’s grunt of frustration, she turned and went back to him, lamenting the idea of facing the mouth of the gritty, freezing mine again rather than soaking in the minimal amount of sunlight she’d receive today. She kneeled in the mouth of shaft, extended a hand to Col.
“Give me the stones, man. You won’t make any wage if you lose them all and then break your back when you fall because you couldn’t balance.” She said, wiggling her fingers in a ‘put them here’ motion. Col never thought things through, she reckoned, and he was always getting himself hurt from it.
Junkyard Dogs
The dogs in this junkyard formed a loose pack and there ended up being three dogs with an authoritative position over the others - Toby, who was my Alsatian; Buttercup, who was my friend’s Bull mastiff and Kujo, another friend’s Staffordshire terrier.
Toby wiggled out of the boot of the wrecked car, curious about the commotion at the base of the rubble. He was shocked when he saw what could only be the form of that filthy Dalmatian, Cougar. He began to slide and scramble his way down the rubble heap, ignoring the scratches on his thick pads, knowing in that was typical of dogs that expression of pain was an invitation for dominance.
“Cougar!” He barked gruffly, stumbling as he reached the ground, but righting himself quickly and walking out toward the small crowd of feral dogs as though nothing had happened. As he walked, he felt the hackles along his back rise in defensive anger, an attempt to make himself appear larger and scare the fat and cared-for Dalmatian away from the junkyard.
“You know the rules, Cougar. We don’t allow pets in here without their owners. This is our sanctuary from the oppression of having an owner. We’re free dogs here - and we don’t tolerate pets.” He’d raised his jowl by this stage, ears flattened and tail rigid.
He wasn’t the sort of dog to needlessly caught an argument with another dog, so he stopped at this stage, but kept his defensive stance. Cougar knew that his sort was unwelcome in the junkyard, but Toby wanted to hear what he had to say before he was driven away - and he could tell that Kujo wanted the same.
for a minute there, i lost myself.
i lost myself.