Fantasy Seiunita OOC

[Historical Storyteller]

Zen words.

There are really moments when every truth in the universe is laid bare before my eyes. I do not know what this phenomenon is, but I swear that sometimes I can attain this state of clarity when I write something beautiful.

It is a true shame that this only lasts a few seconds to a few minutes to a few hours. And as time passes by, I become a complete idiot instead of a man blessed with divine intellect.

 

[Elephantom]

Yes, what do you make of this post of mine, Eleph?

I plan to make a riveting post rich with human emotions, but even I, its creator, cannot fully comprehend the art I have made with my own hand. It is up to another expert to pick up where I have left and discover what surprises lay in store for him.

Here is my current post:

Spoiler

Lord Walter the Bastard

The Fire Kingdom​

Walter never liked the Prancing Squid, he often fancied it as the devil's playground where all the evils of the world ran wild. Both man and ork shit and pissed and bled on the floor as they threw bottles of beer to the wall. Elves and vampires and humans who were once conceived to be mortal enemies were quickly reduced to hopeless romantics trying to get themselves laid. Brawls between strangers were common, the cause of which was too much alcohol and too little common sense. All this was happening as a blind musician was singing and playing medieval rock music with his magical instruments.

That wasn't all. Occasionally, some rude customer would fart at Walter's general direction, and he had to restrain himself from rising up and knocking the daylights out of those rascals. Then people would talk and laugh too loud and they would slam their naked fists on the tables as they made bawdy jokes about their sex lives. More ill-mannered peasants were discovered to pick their nose, pick their ears, and then proceed to pick their nails much to Walter's apparent disgust. And when those smug bastards were not content with that, they scratched their balls and their ass too.

"My Lord, it seems like we have entered into the mouth of hell itself. Every man here does not hesitate to break his own integrity, and they do so without a second thought. I swear that some day their own iniquity will be their undoing. I prophesy that an angry righteous god will come here and destroy all that is evil." All this was said by none other than Sir Silvester, a poor young knight who swore to fight under Walter's command. He was the sort of fellow that was dogmatic to the extreme, but he did every thing under the best of intentions. One can only hope that such a man who wanted so much good for the world would never have to end up destroying the world he loved.

"Ehhh, calm down ya lil' shithead. Not everyone's a goodie-lil'-two-shoes. And listen to yerself, mate, its like ye can't wait for the end of the world. Yer just a man that needs some beer so ye can open up a lil'. Maybe a lass or two oughta loosen ya up." And this was said by Tekoa the Swifthanded, a middle-aged soldier who had a great love for worldly pleasures. The man liked to live in the moment without regard for the future, and this has caused him to make several grievous mistakes that he had come to regret for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, Tekoa was giving out advice that was worth listening to, and he sincerely hoped that Silvester would be a good sport and accept his counsel.

"Beer is for sinners." And with that, Sir Silvester got up and left in a huff.

Tekoa was stunned to silence. He wondered what he had done to deserve this cold rejection of his wisdom. Perhaps, he thought, he had not considered the fact that Silvester was a self-righteous hardass. Educating these fellows to the ways to the world was as hard as trying to teach fish poetry. Their minds and hearts seemed to be made of stone that could only be broken by supernatural effort. And Tekoa did not possess any divine attributes that could aid him in persuading Silvester to calm the fuck down. He was merely a man who loved war, women and wine.

"And sex is overrated!" said Sir Silvester. And just as he was about to depart the Prancing Squid for good, a mysterious giant stepped in and Silvester's face smacked the giant's chest. It took a few moments for the young knight to recover, but once he got his bearings he politely apologized to this stranger who he had handled with such discourtesy. But upon looking up and seeing the giant's face with his own eyes, Silvester's face turned pale and he used all the remaining willpower he still had with him to keep from shitting himself in sheer terror.

"Holy shit! Its an elf... no wait... you've got no knife ears. I got it... you're a vampire! No, you're not that pale... Aha! I know what you are. You're a demon!" Silvester pointed at the demon with his outstretched index finger for all the world to see, as if he had just

"Took you long enough to figure that out, human." said the demon, he was wearing finely dressed clothes, the likes of which had too many fancy decorations and shiny objects.

"Don't eat me!" said Silvester while he was silently praying to god to save him by striking this demon down with lightning from heaven.

"Don't worry, I don't eat pieces of shit." replied the demon, who then proceeded to casually stride towards the other end of the bar to order a drink.

"Ohhh, Silvester, you just got burned." said Coburn the Fireswisher, the vain and cunning battlecaster who fought with a flaming sword. As was typical with hotshots like him, he drank the most scorching beverage this bar had to offer just to satisfy his own ego.

More people came to insult Silvester, but Walter was awfully silent.

This show of cowardice made Walter disappointed, who expected Silvester to be more of a man than that.

"Silvester, come here, now.

Walter was so angry and sad at the same time, but he could not show these feelings to everyone else. He

"You have shamed me because of your cowardice. You have shamed all the North of your cowardice.
I do not need a coward to fight by my side. I need a knight.
I shall strip you of your title which you have worked for 14 years and I shall strip you of your pay.

"My Lord, please..." Every word was like a knife stabbing Silvester in the heart and it was tearing his soul to pieces.

"YOU WILL NOT BEG, you will accept your fate and live with it or I will kill you with the sword that your father made.

"Is this all necessary?"

By now, everybody in the bar was paying attention to Walter and Silvester. And even the demon who called Silvester a piece of shit was feeling sorry for Silvester.

"All of this is necessary if you are a man of the North. We are not supposed to be afraid of death, for death is merely a gate into the afterlife.
The North demands that all men be strong, not having just a strong body but a strong character as well. We do not settle for less. The North is not a place for a man of weak character.

You think I enjoy doing this? Taking the things that meant everything to you? I remember saving your life I just want to know why you broke all our hearts today. Just what... what did I do wrong?


Hartmann couldn't understand what was going on, he was from the South and he didn't understand why Northerners had to be so damned dramatic. They liked to think they were tough and all, but they didn't want to admit that they were just sensitive, it was just that they were so strong about it. A few hurt feelings and broken hearts was enough to destroy the entire world with these mongrels,

Silvester tries to kill himself, but Silvester manages to stab himself to death.
Walter

"It hurts so much... Walter... Why did you hurt me so much?"
"I'm... so sorry, Silvester. I never meant for this to happen."

"God, what have I done? Please, don't let it end this way.

A drama rich with human emotions
Walter's true strength as an individual was how he could break people and rebuild them. But in this case, he fucking BROKE Silvester forever.
He could be so overwhelmingly cruel in one moment and overwhelmingly compassionate in another.

"You... are... Grim... gutz... right?" said Gholam, a man who could only talk in one syllable at a time.

There is no god, we killed him a long time ago. There is no devil in this world but us.

"Why do the Northerners need to be strong?"

"It's because we have to avenge the gods we loved thousands of years ago. But in the end, I just realized, that we're just killing ourselves. Why do we kill ourselves for love?"

Very solid post, though the pace should be a slightly slower, the undertakings containing more tension. But, nevertheless, all it needs is a tad bit of refinement, correct a few parts, space the walls of texts better, and boom, you've got yourselves a purty post.

Also, I've got a rough draft of my post. Can you check it out, and tell me if it's got any shortcomings?

Spoiler: POST

“Oh, the world is full of excuses, your grace.” Jean turned back towards the entrance of the throne room, rotating back just slightly enough to give a polite wave, before continuing onwards. Kzath, who had been formerly ambling near the great door, soon strode after the fleeting Jean. Sven lingered around for a while, his gaze wavering from the throne room to the throne room and nowhere in particular, before he too left the room.

“How do you-” Jean paused halfway, collecting his thoughts. The former king's expansive stride gradually became thinner and shorter, forcing his companions to lessen their speed too. “How do you think it went?”

“It was remarkably suicidal.” Sven muttered, casting a heavy glance — though it was largely undetectable, as Sven usually always appeared to be just Sven — towards both Sven and Kzath, one at a time, slow turn. His words were ignored by the two seniors.

“It went finely, sir.” Kzath said. His gloved hands retreated to his hind, his left clasped around his right one. His walk was unbroken and smooth, his posture terribly cold. His red robe, crimson against gold and vice versa, fluttered and swayed behind him with repetitive continuity.

“Good,” Jean wrapped his fidgety hands together. “Just good.”

The rest of their walk was mostly uninhibited except for the fleets of gallant orcs candidly displaying their brazen valor every now and then, right in front of the trio. They were waved away with a simple show of authority — the deep-shaded weight of their clothes were highly efficient, and the hyperborean nature of the blackhands aided much — and a slight pinch of otherworldly magic.

All was silent — the dry wind pouring into and out the many nook and cranny of this tremendous castles, hollow whispers that grated against the iron frame of the build and the cacophony of the orcs — in the great sandy cities that made a made a good part. But, by all means, their trip wasn't. Again, they made way utilizing the metallic halls, which were wide enough for all sound to echo throughout the extent of the span, and the odd array of doors, each leading to their own hall or room, before landing before the sleeping guardsmen. The graffiti that had been scribbled on the wall that stood by the left orc's side had increased tenfold, displaying even more vulgar messages in the orcish tongue.

Strangely, aside from the two guardsmen, none were sleeping. Clearly, something important was underway, enough to incite focus in the common orc.

“You feel that, sir?” Sven's voice was but a raspy whisper, his old accent less visible amongst the commotion. Indeed, the air was flush with signs of magical disruption, of great nature, and one that could be felt by those sensitive to its lure.

Jean, for one, was unnerved by its presence. It felt like the after-effects of magic, the rotten irradiation that magic often casted on a land after being called — it felt dark, a bit profound, and ultimately, an aura that seemed to cause alarm within the minds. No doubt, its origins came from the tenebrous sides of magic. Jean was soon shaken off from his trance by a slight, dodgy glance from Kzath, who knew quite a lot about Jean and his many deficiencies.

Jean cleared his parched throat, the saliva painfully chafing its way downwards. “I do. Magnificent, isn't it?”

“Sir, we should, perhaps, concentrate more on our mission here.” Sven suggested, with a minuscule gesture of the hand.

“Oh, yes,” Jean collected his pieces, before hovering his smooth hands up towards his chin. He dawdled in that position for a rather prolonged duration, even as the trio trudged up a difficult slope. “What was it that we were doing?”

“Aside from minor surveillance, a pair of chores here and there, we have absolutely nothing to do.” Kzath pointed out.

“What about Sir Markas?” Sven interjected.

“Oh, he probably hasn't arrived yet-” Kzath paused, casting a sideway glance towards Sven, then concentrating towards Jean, who was half-mindedly walking. “And if he does arrive, then I believe we shall meet him near the Prancing Squig.”

“First thing he always does is drink, sir.” Sven added.

Jean stared, his eyes partially-lidded, at Sven and Kzath for a moment, before giving an unenthusiastic nod. The short journey seemed infinitely more important than any conversation, and Jean was happy to keep it that way.

Kzath continued unbroken, while Sven simply shrugged.

The vibrant floors of the city, stone and gravel tiles upon more harder foundations, stood out amongst the steel rows of building that were mounted just beside the wide pavements. The wind was more strongly identifiable now that they were in the ground, moans and iron shrieks clinging dryly to the air. The houses in the inner circle were draped in placid iron, corroded around the edges and speckled with rust spots, that made them scarcely unique. Unlit oil lanterns hung on dearly to a couple of meekly placed lampposts, and the plenty of stands that decorated the external front walls of the houses.

The Prancing Squig was markedly different in comparison to the other buildings, evidently more newer and shinier in appearance — though, in Jean's eyes, it was still extremely dirty. The door was rotting, as was the case with most doors in the fire kingdom, and the plain metal reinforcing happened to be rusty. It was not a surprise to the likes of Jean, for he was used to the gross climate of the fire kingdom.

The former king beckoned for Sven to open the door, and which the ex-journeyman did, and as soon as he did, the trio were struck by a wave of stench — stale piss, Jean could see a fresh trail of them coming from the side of the expansive room, dried sweat, and rotten alcohol. Wood alcohol, the tough kind that one certainly shouldn't drink. Orcs being orcs, they had to do just that.

Sven stepped inside, followed by Kzath, and lastly, Jean. The pub was relatively tame and quiet in comparison with the rash nature of orcs — likely because it was daytime.

 

[Elephantom]

There are really moments when every truth in the universe is laid bare before my eyes. I do not know what this phenomenon is, but I swear that sometimes I can attain this state of clarity when I write something beautiful.

It is a true shame that this only lasts a few seconds to a few minutes to a few hours. And as time passes by, I become a complete idiot instead of a man blessed with divine intellect.

Yeah, sometimes I read a book, trying to plagiarize the writer's style, and I think: damn, I'm going to write good today.

But I don't. I slip off, my sandals bend, and I'm down on the sandy dirt, shoving dirt into my mouth like a crazy maniac.

 

[Historical Storyteller]

Yeah, sometimes I read a book, trying to plagiarize the writer's style, and I think: damn, I'm going to write good today.

But I don't. I slip off, my sandals bend, and I'm down on the sandy dirt, shoving dirt into my mouth like a crazy maniac.

Why is our intelligence so powerful yet so temporary?

 

[Elephantom]

Why is our intelligence so powerful yet so temporary?

Because, power destroys everyone — turns them into rambles, lead possums.

 

[Historical Storyteller]

Very solid post, though the pace should be a slightly slower, the undertakings containing more tension. But, nevertheless, all it needs is a tad bit of refinement, correct a few parts, space the walls of texts better, and boom, you've got yourselves a purty post.

Also, I've got a rough draft of my post. Can you check it out, and tell me if it's got any shortcomings?

Spoiler: POST

“Oh, the world is full of excuses, your grace.” Jean turned back towards the entrance of the throne room, rotating back just slightly enough to give a polite wave, before continuing onwards. Kzath, who had been formerly ambling near the great door, soon strode after the fleeting Jean. Sven lingered around for a while, his gaze wavering from the throne room to the throne room and nowhere in particular, before he too left the room.

“How do you-” Jean paused halfway, collecting his thoughts. The former king's expansive stride gradually became thinner and shorter, forcing his companions to lessen their speed too. “How do you think it went?”

“It was remarkably suicidal.” Sven muttered, casting a heavy glance — though it was largely undetectable, as Sven usually always appeared to be just Sven — towards both Sven and Kzath, one at a time, slow turn. His words were ignored by the two seniors.

“It went finely, sir.” Kzath said. His gloved hands retreated to his hind, his left clasped around his right one. His walk was unbroken and smooth, his posture terribly cold. His red robe, crimson against gold and vice versa, fluttered and swayed behind him with repetitive continuity.

“Good,” Jean wrapped his fidgety hands together. “Just good.”

The rest of their walk was mostly uninhibited except for the fleets of gallant orcs candidly displaying their brazen valor every now and then, right in front of the trio. They were waved away with a simple show of authority — the deep-shaded weight of their clothes were highly efficient, and the hyperborean nature of the blackhands aided much — and a slight pinch of otherworldly magic.

All was silent — the dry wind pouring into and out the many nook and cranny of this tremendous castles, hollow whispers that grated against the iron frame of the build and the cacophony of the orcs — in the great sandy cities that made a made a good part. But, by all means, their trip wasn't. Again, they made way utilizing the metallic halls, which were wide enough for all sound to echo throughout the extent of the span, and the odd array of doors, each leading to their own hall or room, before landing before the sleeping guardsmen. The graffiti that had been scribbled on the wall that stood by the left orc's side had increased tenfold, displaying even more vulgar messages in the orcish tongue.

Strangely, aside from the two guardsmen, none were sleeping. Clearly, something important was underway, enough to incite focus in the common orc.

“You feel that, sir?” Sven's voice was but a raspy whisper, his old accent less visible amongst the commotion. Indeed, the air was flush with signs of magical disruption, of great nature, and one that could be felt by those sensitive to its lure.

Jean, for one, was unnerved by its presence. It felt like the after-effects of magic, the rotten irradiation that magic often casted on a land after being called — it felt dark, a bit profound, and ultimately, an aura that seemed to cause alarm within the minds. No doubt, its origins came from the tenebrous sides of magic. Jean was soon shaken off from his trance by a slight, dodgy glance from Kzath, who knew quite a lot about Jean and his many deficiencies.

Jean cleared his parched throat, the saliva painfully chafing its way downwards. “I do. Magnificent, isn't it?”

“Sir, we should, perhaps, concentrate more on our mission here.” Sven suggested, with a minuscule gesture of the hand.

“Oh, yes,” Jean collected his pieces, before hovering his smooth hands up towards his chin. He dawdled in that position for a rather prolonged duration, even as the trio trudged up a difficult slope. “What was it that we were doing?”

“Aside from minor surveillance, a pair of chores here and there, we have absolutely nothing to do.” Kzath pointed out.

“What about Sir Markas?” Sven interjected.

“Oh, he probably hasn't arrived yet-” Kzath paused, casting a sideway glance towards Sven, then concentrating towards Jean, who was half-mindedly walking. “And if he does arrive, then I believe we shall meet him near the Prancing Squig.”

“First thing he always does is drink, sir.” Sven added.

Jean stared, his eyes partially-lidded, at Sven and Kzath for a moment, before giving an unenthusiastic nod. The short journey seemed infinitely more important than any conversation, and Jean was happy to keep it that way.

Kzath continued unbroken, while Sven simply shrugged.

The vibrant floors of the city, stone and gravel tiles upon more harder foundations, stood out amongst the steel rows of building that were mounted just beside the wide pavements. The wind was more strongly identifiable now that they were in the ground, moans and iron shrieks clinging dryly to the air. The houses in the inner circle were draped in placid iron, corroded around the edges and speckled with rust spots, that made them scarcely unique. Unlit oil lanterns hung on dearly to a couple of meekly placed lampposts, and the plenty of stands that decorated the external front walls of the houses.

The Prancing Squig was markedly different in comparison to the other buildings, evidently more newer and shinier in appearance — though, in Jean's eyes, it was still extremely dirty. The door was rotting, as was the case with most doors in the fire kingdom, and the plain metal reinforcing happened to be rusty. It was not a surprise to the likes of Jean, for he was used to the gross climate of the fire kingdom.

The former king beckoned for Sven to open the door, and which the ex-journeyman did, and as soon as he did, the trio were struck by a wave of stench — stale piss, Jean could see a fresh trail of them coming from the side of the expansive room, dried sweat, and rotten alcohol. Wood alcohol, the tough kind that one certainly shouldn't drink. Orcs being orcs, they had to do just that.

Sven stepped inside, followed by Kzath, and lastly, Jean. The pub was relatively tame and quiet in comparison with the rash nature of orcs — likely because it was daytime.

It is magnificent. The action is fairly-paced and you can sense the energy of the characters' personalities. You expose the quirks of your characters without devoting too many words to them. The writing is on point. The vocabulary is set on Eleph mode. The dialogue is meaningful to readers.

I have seen a flaw.

"All was silent — the dry wind pouring into and out the many nook and cranny of this tremendous castles, hollow whispers that grated against the iron frame of the build and the cacophony of the orcs — in the great sandy cities that made a made a good part. But, by all means, their trip wasn't. Again, they made way utilizing the metallic halls, which were wide enough for all sound to echo throughout the extent of the span, and the odd array of doors, each leading to their own hall or room, before landing before the sleeping guardsmen."

The writing here feels a bit vague, focus on improving this passage and making it solid enough for us to understand.

I see a second flaw.

"The vibrant floors of the city, stone and gravel tiles upon more harder foundations..."

More harder foundations? Edit this passage.

Conclusion. An excellent well-rounded post with many strengths and few weaknesses. The few flaws here and there may undermine the true greatness of this post, but you are still not so far from attaining perfection. That is my belief, Eleph.

(EDIT: Describing environments can be a pain in the ass. Hand me drafts of your posts so I can check them. And so I can learn how to describe environments myself.)

. . . . And my concentration is faltering because my family is playing a movie... again.

Because, power destroys everyone — turns them into rambles, lead possums.

There is a better answer than that.

But I am curious, how do you define power?

 

[Historical Storyteller]

Very solid post, though the pace should be a slightly slower, the undertakings containing more tension. But, nevertheless, all it needs is a tad bit of refinement, correct a few parts, space the walls of texts better, and boom, you've got yourselves a purty post.

Also, I want to ask you a specific question.

The undertakings should contain more tension and the pace should be slower?

Ah yes, after reading your post and getting the gist of your writing style, I understand exactly what you mean. I should expose the quirks of my characters just a little bit to see who they are in the inside but not too much. Its like lifting the curtains just a little bit to see what's outside, but never truly seeing what the outside world is like as a whole.

I should describe how my character interacts with the environment, the finer details of living a life as a human being surrounded by non-living things. Yet these... "things" give life to a story. The mere presence of a sword or a burning fire affect the way a person sees his environment. That is exactly what you mean when you told me I should build tension.

As a writer, I have always had problems with these. Describing environments and understanding the psychology of human emotions. Nevertheless, I shall try to defeat these shortcomings of mine to the best of my ability.

Did I get this right, Eleph?

 

[Elephantom]

It is magnificent. The action is fairly-paced and you can sense the energy of the characters' personalities. You expose the quirks of your characters without devoting too many words to them. The writing is on point. The vocabulary is set on Eleph mode. The dialogue is meaningful to readers.

I have seen a flaw.

"All was silent — the dry wind pouring into and out the many nook and cranny of this tremendous castles, hollow whispers that grated against the iron frame of the build and the cacophony of the orcs — in the great sandy cities that made a made a good part. But, by all means, their trip wasn't. Again, they made way utilizing the metallic halls, which were wide enough for all sound to echo throughout the extent of the span, and the odd array of doors, each leading to their own hall or room, before landing before the sleeping guardsmen."

The writing here feels a bit vague, focus on improving this passage and making it solid enough for us to understand.

I see a second flaw.

"The vibrant floors of the city, stone and gravel tiles upon more harder foundations..."

More harder foundations? Edit this passage.

Conclusion. An excellent well-rounded post with many strengths and few weaknesses. The few flaws here and there may undermine the true greatness of this post, but you are still not so far from attaining perfection. That is my belief, Eleph.

(EDIT: Describing environments can be a pain in the ass. Hand me drafts of your posts so I can check them. And so I can learn how to describe environments myself.)

. . . . And my concentration is faltering because my family is playing a movie... again.



There is a better answer than that.

But I am curious, how do you define power?

Thanks. Hella damn, you're better at critiques than my sorry arse. I'll see to the flaw bits of the post's foundation (okay, okay, that's the last).

Solidify that description, and better describe the foundations.

And, with descriptions, I'll help ya anytime, pal. You can look over my drafts, I can look overs, and we can come up with a collaborative vision of whatever setting we're trying to describe.

 

[Elephantom]

Also, I want to ask you a specific question.

The undertakings should contain more tension and the pace should be slower?

Ah yes, after reading your post and getting the gist of your writing style, I understand exactly what you mean. I should expose the quirks of my characters just a little bit to see who they are in the inside but not too much. Its like lifting the curtains just a little bit to see what's outside, but never truly seeing what the outside world is like as a whole.

I should describe how my character interacts with the environment, the finer details of living a life as a human being surrounded by non-living things. Yet these... "things" give life to a story. The mere presence of a sword or a burning fire affect the way a person sees his environment. That is exactly what you mean when you told me I should build tension.

As a writer, I have always had problems with these. Describing environments and understanding the psychology of human emotions. Nevertheless, I shall try to defeat these shortcomings of mine to the best of my ability.

Did I get this right, Eleph?

Yes, exactly. Never downright reveal most elements — use your character, their movements, their environment, the slight quirks, and you can convey your emotion with elegance. Though, even I have to admit that it is mighty hard to do so.

 

[Historical Storyteller]

Thanks. Hella damn, you're better at critiques than my sorry arse. I'll see to the flaw bits of the post's foundation (okay, okay, that's the last).

Solidify that description, and better describe the foundations.

And, with descriptions, I'll help ya anytime, pal. You can look over my drafts, I can look overs, and we can come up with a collaborative vision of whatever setting we're trying to describe.

It is 1 AM here. Family's finally telling me to sleep. Time to hit the sack and get some shut eye.

 

[shadowz1995]

It is 1 AM here. Family's finally telling me to sleep. Time to hit the sack and get some shut eye.

Ha. I wish thats whrn sleep took me

 

[Historical Storyteller]

Yes, exactly. Never downright reveal most elements — use your character, their movements, their environment, the slight quirks, and you can convey your emotion with elegance. Though, even I have to admit that it is mighty hard to do so.

"Convey your emotion with elegance". That's a good thing to remember when writing. I shall save these notes in the future.

 

[Historical Storyteller]

Thanks. Hella damn, you're better at critiques than my sorry arse. I'll see to the flaw bits of the post's foundation (okay, okay, that's the last).

Solidify that description, and better describe the foundations.

And, with descriptions, I'll help ya anytime, pal. You can look over my drafts, I can look overs, and we can come up with a collaborative vision of whatever setting we're trying to describe.

Yes, yes, we shall do that... in time. But right now it is time for me to sleep! SLEEP. SLEEP FOR ME.

Kkkkk. Sleep is the best beer the soul can have.

Rightttttttttt?

OK, Gotta sleep.

 

[Elephantom]

Yes, yes, we shall do that... in time. But right now it is time for me to sleep! SLEEP. SLEEP FOR ME.

Kkkkk. Sleep is the best beer the soul can have.

Rightttttttttt?

OK, Gotta sleep.

YES! WRITER BROS!!!

Early to sleep, late to rise, wake up sickly, gangly and filled with lice.

 

[The Faceless King]

I get the feeling that Pia would really like him. xD I don't know why... and she wouldn't care if he burned dogs alive. lmao

I agree, I think the two would probably get along fairly well.

 

[The Faceless King]

Yo archur what be the conditions of the Fire Kingdom's streets? Cobbled, dirt path, gravel, etc. Does it differ depending on the area?

 

[shadowz1995]

Nogoodname

Shall I imvite you ti collab den?

 

[Elephantom]

Yo archur what be the conditions of the Fire Kingdom's streets? Cobbled, dirt path, gravel, etc. Does it differ depending on the area?

Gravel and natural sediment with stone/sandstone tiles placed firmly on the top.

I'll be describing it in my post.

Also, Nogoodname , better be careful with sword drawing, or it's bound to turn into a Mexican standoff...

 

[Nogoodname]

Nogoodname

Shall I imvite you ti collab den?

I'm actually going to a class RN but ill be back on in an hour and a half.

Gravel and natural sediment with stone/sandstone tiles placed firmly on the top.

I'll be describing it in my post.

Also, Nogoodname , better be careful with sword drawing, or it's bound to turn into a Mexican standoff...

She hasn't drawn anything... yet.

 

[Elephantom]

I'm actually going to a class RN but ill be back on in an hour and a half.


She hasn't drawn anything... yet.

That's why I'm saying it. Better safe than sorry...

 

[Roleplay Skittle]

... hahahaah when you misspell war as wore.

 

[Nogoodname]

That's why I'm saying it. Better safe than sorry...

It's k, Emi knows what she's doing, it's just ya know, she kills demons, there's a demon right in front of her, instincts take over sometimes.

 

[Elephantom]

It's k, Emi knows what she's doing, it's just ya know, she kills demons, there's a demon right in front of her, instincts take over sometimes.

Juzt sayin'. If Desh/Gutz doesn't kill ye', the mercenaries, or Walt, or Jean, will kill ye'. Eber'budies so aggreshive a'ound dese parhts.

 

[Elephantom]

... hahahaah when you misspell war as wore.

Ye' finished with yer post?

 

[Nogoodname]

Juzt sayin'. If Desh/Gutz doesn't kill ye', the mercenaries, or Walt, or Jean, will kill ye'. Eber'budies so aggreshive a'ound dese parhts.

Haha, don't you worry neither I nor Emi plan to start shit that quickly.