Post by Zetsumeisan on Oct 30, 2005 0:04:50 GMT -5
Soft, white flakes floated gently down from a pale grey sky, and the old, broken courtyard echoed with the ringing of steel. Two dark figures spun and clashed, longswords a blur as they struck and parried, attacked and blocked, their scuffling feet sending up sprays of dusty snow.
Sweat or blood trickled into Elarion's eyes, and he shook his head to rid him of it. He and his opponent circled each other cautiously, breathing heavily. How long they had been fighting, he did not know. All he knew was the burning anger that filled him now.
damn you, Terisk. We were to die together, but not on each other's swords.
At first glance, the two were strikingly similar. They were both tall with dark brown hair, and they both wore the telltale black chainmail and leather. But closer inspection revealed otherwise; Terisk's armour was marked with red sigils, and he wore a dark green cloak where Elarion's was black sable.
Terisk grinned savagely and raised his sword in mock salute, then charged. Elarion brought his own blade up to block the oncoming strike, and turned it to the right to parry the attack he knew would come. Terisk responded with a downward thrust, but Elarion was faster; he cought his enemy's sword and slid up the length of the blade, spinning it to the side. He moved for the opening, but Terisk was there first, preempting Elarion's moves just as he had done before. They knew each other well, that could not be denied.
Post by decembermemories on Nov 28, 2005 10:17:58 GMT -5
ooc: Oops gues I posted my intro in the wrong place.
/Don’t sigh at the moon if you want the answers Don’t sigh at the moon or the stars above If you want to know where the answers reside Look inside, Look inside yourself/
A sigh fell from slightly plump lips, looking up at the ceiling; the male ran a slightly muscular hand through his short blonde hair. Leaning back in his seat, the male fixed his suit realizing it was a bit messy from working so hard. Standing he stretched, the blue suit falling into place. He dusted off his blue dress pants and fixed his tied and shirt. His black formal shoes clicked against the tiled floor of the 27th precinct. Randy MacLean, otherwise known as Ryo, massaged his hands from writing the report for so long. He didn’t know where his partner, Dee, was. Dee had said something about going home to get something and had been gone for two hours, leaving Ryo to do the whole report by himself.
Ryo looked around he jumped in surprise when a bellowing voice yelled “Dee! Ryo! Get your asses in here! Pronto!” Ryo winced and walked into the head of the 27th precincts office. Snapping at attention, he saluted and brought his arm down saying “Sir. What is it?” The chief looked around and said “Where’s your lazy partner?” Ryo blinked and said “Dee?” The chief snapped and said “No. The Easter bunny! Of course Dee!” Ryo winced at the anger and he said “Well, Dee said he had to get something at home and he hasn’t come back yet.” The chief’s face got redder. Shouting he said “Well? What’re you standing around here for? Go get him!” Ryo fumbled and said “Yes sir.”
Ryo walked as fast as he could out of the office and into his car. Driving by Dee’s apartment complex, he saw no sign of Dee’s car there. Driving back to the 27th precinct he saluted the chief and said “I can’t find Dee.” The chief by then was calm. He said “Never mind. We’ll start without him. You can brief him later.” Ryo nodded and said “Yessir.” Ryo sat down just as the chief began. Ryo took the file handed to him by the chief while he listened at the same time.
The chief said “In the folder there’s a picture of a ten year old girl.” Opening the folder, Ryo nodded. The chief continued and said “You’re to go to the bar listed on the document and hang out there until you find her. It’s vital that you bring her back alive, the councilman that asked me to do this wishes to remain anonymous until he has his daughter back in his arms safely.” Ryo looked over the document, memorizing everything as best as he could. The chief said “All you need too know is that her first name is Katja. That’s all you need to call her. She will come willingly, if not, convince her to come.” Ryo nodded and the chief said “Good. Find Dee, and get ready, you’ll need club clothing for the place you’re going to, because it’s also a club.” Ryo nodded and left the office.
Walking to the shooting range he walked past JJ ignoring JJ as he tried to scope out Dee. Deciding Dee wasn’t there; he left the police shooting range and went off looking for Dee. Mingling about the Hallway, he waited on a bench for Dee to more than likely come walking by. Of course Dee could sneak up behind Ryo because there was enough room for Dee to do so and, Ryo wouldn’t notice because he was too preoccupied looking right and left for Dee boredly.
Hey there pheonix, you mailed the link to me, but you hadn't seen my audition or anything, so here goes. Oh, and because I'm in a creative mood, I'm going to post two different things. Maybe you can tell the kind of Role-plays I like, or maybe you could be nice and tell me how they are. Anyway I'm shadowlover33 at neopets, (I'm not ashamed to let others know I go there, even if it isn't my favorite place) and here are my auditions. One was pretyped, and the other brand new. Enjoy.
I shouldn't have done it..... I could've stopped myself... But... it was so easy. So, unbelievably easy.... There were difficult parts too, but I overcame them... My desire ... and determination ... it was like a competition to me... To see if I could ... and it worked... It worked perfectly, and terribly.... I shouldn't have done it, yet I did... Do I regret it? I ask myself this every day. Part of me cries "Yes! I can't believe I did such terrible deeds! I'm sorry! Please forgive me!", and breaks down crying... But the larger, stronger voice. ... it wanted ... it demanded... Those scared and hopeless faces... it inspired that stronger and wilder part. And, even now, it wants to again... It was ...... fun. Let me explain myself. Here it what happened, and how I turned this way. This story is full of heroes, courage, and wonderful deeds. Yet also poisoned by evil, sadness, and despair. Perhaps at the end you will hate me, and for good reason. If you do not, then I might despise you. For you see, I hate myself for what I have done....I mean I do regret it, right?
The figures sat with hunched backs around the burning fire. The fire snapped merrily as the red and orange flames danced in the air, as if trying to soar to the sky before dying. It leaped repeatedly from the dry logs that served as fuel as if to try and touch the mysterious twinkling stars perched precariously in the sky. It was an awe-inspiring sight, the flames casting light upon the sandy shore as the waves nearby rocked back and forth and the sliver of a moon swimming slowly through the sky. But the beauty of it all was lost upon the four companions.
They sat, not side by side as if cold or friendly, but apart as if forming their own uncomfortable and silent formation. They weren't really companions, as none of them especially like each other. They were just too different and self-absorbed for that.
One large one stared into the flames, his dark blue eyes flickering in the orange light. He was not staring at the fire, but instead reliving his past...
The screams and cries were ringing throughout the night sky as the setting sun gave a bloodstained look to the dying village. The nearby kingdom was invading once again upon the small village of Kilept. A young boy in dusty brown clothes crouched hesitantly behind a bush near the largest road in the village. The thatched huts nearby were burning loudly, and the crackling sounded to him like many bugs clicking their pincers menacingly as they devoured the homes. Dust from the path swirled up and swarmed around the boy. The figures were rushing by, and he involuntarily sneezed very loudly. The young teenager paused, desperately hoping that the others hadn't heard him. And, of course, they did.
"Well, what have we here?" One sneered, and as the oppressive dust settled the boy saw that the speaker was a large, fat, and hairy man dressed in old rusty armor. Even without the long shining sword, the boy would have been no match for this fellow.
Behind the fat man was a mean-looking short fellow, standing next to a scrawny older man who looked like his face was constantly occupied with a frown. All three were staring at the boy, drawing their weapons. The short one just had a rough piece of knotted rope, and the old one was only armed with a small club, but even so the teenager was trembling in panic.
"Well?!" The fat bully demanded, his pasty tongue flickering out briefly to launch a volley of saliva at the poor kid.The boy drew himself up as if to stutter something, but was interrupted by a loud yell.
This yell was different from the many others, because it had the note of a challenge in it. The boy immediately gasped at the wonderful sight of a group of knights rushing forward to meet the troublemakers.
Their shining armor, the rushing steeds, the crests on the wide shields, these bold images impressed themselves upon the young mind with the force of a charging rhinoceros. The hooligans received a rough thrashing and the knights departed happily to rescue the rest of the village. That was a turning point in the young kid's life.
"John, you'd better not be slacking on your sentry duty!"A thin voice screeched, cutting through the guy's thoughts like a frog's tongue through a swarm of flies. John snapped to attention, his eyes momentarily searching around the camp to find the source of the voice. Ah yes, Princess Oprina, the spoiled brat of the castle and his current charge to protect. I preferred the memory... He sighed.
See, that was the pretyped, which is why it's so long. Technically it's the beginning of a story, but oh well. Let's see, here's the one I'll type right now, with a few ideas 'borrowed' from a book I red, m'kay?
"Hey, back off, jerk. And you too, punk. Hey, stop shoving! Stupid freakin' morons!"
The writing crowd of flashy clothed people slowly gave way off to the side, the path accompanied by swears and disgruntled voices. A last "Move it!" cut through the deep, booming sound of the music and a small figure popped through, the tiny path behind her instantly swallowed with 'dancing' couples.
"Gosh, I freakin' hate this place on Saturday nights. It's too freakin' crowded and you can't even hold a simple meeting." The girl complained, setting her empty glass down on the worn brown counter and jumping up on the stool. Yes, I said she jumped. After all, when you're not even 5 feet tall stools can be quite annoying. Her emerald and pink eyes flashed angrily in the dull light as she stared down at her empty cup. Yes, I said pink. The white part of her eyes were dyed lightly due to her contact lenses. Her rose-colored contact lenses enabled her to sort out supernaturals and humans. Not that she always needed it. Speaking of which, here came the harried bar tender, looking for all the world like a young, tired and angry teenage girl sporting a cute red tank top and tiny black shorts. The definite lack of an aura, the fuzzy pink thing humans had surrounding them, was not lost upon the short red head.
She grinned, her pink lips twisting to reveal a not so innocent smile upon her pale, freckled face. Her long deep red braid was resting on her shoulder, creating a nice contrast to her deep green shirt and black jeans.
"Hello Slant, it's nice to see you. I hope you're doing well in your business?" The bar tended asked, deftly pouring a drink into Slant's cup.
"Yes, the usual. It's getting rather annoying you know, as all of the bad guys are currently away, hiding and plotting. The worst I find lately are some hungry vampires, but nothing too much."
The bar tender nodded in agreement, and ducked under the counter. Slant whipped around, her braid following her to land smartly on her cheek as Slant gasped in surprise. No, it wasn't her attacking hair that bothered her, it was the mammoth guy towering above her, dressed in a smart black suit that appeared the size of a circus tent and wide, black shades adorned her plain, white face. Slant could even see the faint glimmer of his glowing eyes beneath the glasses, and, in case she was a complete moron and ignored all of the other signs, he lacked an aura.
The entire bar was deathly quiet, and his rumbling words cut through the silence like a burning sword. "Well, you little shortcake, you're coming with me. No weapons, and no words. Don't worry little girl, everything will be ok. Now." His huge arm slowly reached out to grab her shoulder after these mocking words, and he had even allowed himself a tiny smile to stretch across his broad and boring face.
Slant shrank away slightly, fear in her eyes as she suddenly felt smaller than ever. Then she realized that others were watching, and besides, she was trained for this. Whipping out a long knife from her jeans Slant jumped up onto the counter behind her, now standing up to the man's chest. Her wide grin covered any doubts that she had and she replied evenly, her high-pitched voice just as intimidating. "If there are two things in this world I hate besides ignorant supernaturals, it's people talking down to me by giving me foolish nicknames, and people calling me short. Guess what I do to things I hate?"
The knife in her hand gleamed dully, it's silver blade almost crying out for blood as she twitched her pale hand slightly, clearly showing what she meant. It had begun.
Ok then, all done for now. I can write most if you want,(I doubt it'll be needed) but there you go. I'll be back later, hope I'm accepted. Bye! *Waves*
There was hardly any light. The sliver, fingernail moon could hardly penetrate the thick canopy of the gnarled trees, that seemed to be leaning in, leering at him. He no longer had any idea where he was going, just that he needed to get away. The howls of dogs, the call of their master, rang out, seeming to get closer. It seemed not matter how fast he went, they still closed in, faster, faster. He could almost feel their pointed, straight rows of teeth digging into his leg. And then suddenly, the pain was real. Not caused by the teeth of an animal, but by sharp points of metal, digging into his calf. Letting out a cry of pain, he fell abruptly, tearing the skin from his palms. The more he struggled, trying to pull free from the sharps wire tearing through his flesh, the more it tightened. Even as he began pulling at it, with a desperation, with his fingers--tearing them open as well--he knew it was over. Even if he managed to escape the trap, the dogs could follow the blood easily. Hell, he was certain he could be followed by a human, with the blood he would be leaving behind. But the will to survive overcame this, and even as the hunter came up behind him, and pressed the blade to his throat, he didn’t cease trying to free himself, until the blade was drawn swiftly across his throat, tearing through the soft flesh easily, sending a fine line of blood splatter across the foliage before him. With his larynx severed, he wasn’t even able to scream. “Burn baby burn, disco inferno!” He sang aloud, receiving a few chuckled from the other occupants of the boat, as the guard smoldered out the remaining flames that had been caused due to a poorly-placed lit cigarette. It hadn’t been anything major, a small cloth catching fire, nothing more. “We’ll see how much you’ll be singing when you lot reach the island.” The guard hissed, glaring daggers at each of the eleven convicts in turn. This only produced more chuckled from them, and he gave up; let them laugh, they wouldn’t be laughing soon. Leaning back leisurely, still pleased with himself for the clever lyrics, Gil glanced over at the man sitting next to him. “So where you think they’re takin’ us, Remmy?” The man sitting next to Gil--Rembrandt, was his real name, the other simply called him differently to irritate him--only shrugged. He was an aging black man, who didn’t look like he was capable of much of anything. But he’d caught his wife with another man, so the story goes, and had been found guilty of murder... for both of them. He really couldn’t remember much of it, and although he did regret it, that wasn’t going to stop him from doing time. “I don’t know. Seems kind of strange, though.” He spoke slowly, with some sort of southern drawl, that was hardly detectable sometimes. This wasn’t one of those times, “I mean, we’ve got a mix here of... many different kinds of criminals. Not all of us could be going to the same security-level prison.” And that was true. They had everything, from thieves to murderers, from rapists to pyromaniac. “Maybe there’s no more room in the prisons, so they’re just going to dump us in the sea... leave us to drown, or get slowly eaten alive by creatures that lie beneath, who will slowly gnaw at are limbs, and allow the salty water to rush into the wounds to increase the pain, before they tear open our stomachs and let our innards float around us...” The man across from them suggested, all the while wearing a very thoughtful expression. He then laughed, looking over at Rembrandt and Gil. “Do you ever wonder what makes your skin stay on?” He asked abruptly, changing the subject. For this he received a very unsure glance from the two.
“We’re here.” The guard who had taken care of the ‘disco inferno’ stated, as the boat’s motor was slowed, then finally cut. They had been below deck, no windows available. They had no idea what direction they had gone in, or where they were. They’d made several stops, and it had taken a couple days. As the eleven were ushered rather roughly up to the top deck, they were greeted by the sight of a single island; not that big, dense with forestry, and long, stretching, almost undisturbed beaches. “Wow, what a punishment. A private island.” Gil exclaimed, receiving a rough jab from one of the guards. The boat was in the process of pulling up to a dock, but by the looks of things, they had no intentions of sticking around. There was a small parcel sitting on the dock, looking very out of place. The convicts remained up on the deck, as one of the guards leapt from the side of the boat on to the dock (which, was quite a feat considering he wasn’t very thin, or athletic). He crouched down beside the parcel, withdrawing a box-cutter to slice away at the neatly-taped top. After looking inside, and rummaging around a bit, he looked up to the others, nodding slightly; confirming something. Another guard then came down to the side of the boat, to be handed the box. The one who had examined the package then climbed back aboard--with help from the other, of course--and then all the guards, began marshaling the prisoners off, and onto the deck. This was rather difficult, considering each were paired off, and cuffed to one another--with one group of three, due to the odd number. They were all rather confused, as the guards began getting back onto the ship, and began pushing off, the motor growling louder. A ring of keys were tossed to them, like a piece of meat thrown to a group of ravenous dogs. “What the hell? You can’t just leave us here!” Gil called out, struggling forward a bit, dragging Rembrandt along for the ride. “Sure we can.” another guard called back with a laugh, raising his gun and shooting at the dock in front of Gil’s feet. This caused a hasty retreat, and laughter from several other guards. As the boat began pulling further away from the dock, it turned, and picked up speed once more, taking off rather quickly. None of them wanted to be around come nightfall, when the owner of the island, would come prowling about.
Lowering his binoculars, Dimitri Flagg smirked to himself. This looked like a lively bunch... and it was the largest group he’d ever had. The closest he had come to, was five. This was more than twice the size. but he was ready for it. He’d finished off the last group less than a month ago, and he was eager for another hunt, a more challenging one. His previous group, had been ‘tourists’; he’d paid well over a hundred-fifty thousand to have them transported to his privately owned island by some man who took groups out parasailing. They never got to parasail; but he’d gotten to hunt them. Chuckling at the thought, he set his binoculars aside, and paced to the other side of the room. He had a large house built up high into a cliff-side, very well-hidden from a distance. Opening the window on the other side, he glanced down, lovingly, at his hunting companions; his dogs. There were six of them, all bred for hunting. “And how are my boys today, hm? You ready for another hunt?” He was greeted with a series of howls, and barks, happy tails wagging. Chuckling, he reached over to the counter, and snatched a large jar. Unscrewing the lid, he reached in, withdrawing some sort of meat... which really, there was no mystery what it was. “Here you are, canned tourist.” He told the animals, tossing down a few scraps of bloodied meat. They got the muscle, the likes... he took the organs. Grinded them, drank them. There was a purpose behind it, however... porphyria. And sure, it could have been kept under control with animal organs, and blood... but that was just degrading. He had the money, he would pay for the best! And besides... hunting down what he needed, was the best part. Smiling slightly at the thought, he strolled over to the other side of the room again, though instead of to the window, he went to the refrigerator. Opening the door, he withdrew the well-wrapped organ--a liver, this one was--and took it over to the counter. Now, he didn’t just eat the organs... that wouldn’t be right... eating a raw organ. And he couldn’t very well cook it... it would lose a lot of what he needed. And so, the simple way to solve this, was; to drink it. This was accomplished easy, with a blender. Unwrapping the organ, he promptly dropped it into the blender, placed the lid on, and turned it on. After a few moments, as the machine struggled with the object, it was then soon churned, into a thick, brown substance. He allowed the blender to continue on, to smooth it out further, before shutting it off. The result wasn’t very different; it was still a thick substance, that looked like something you would have to eat on Fear Factor. But unlike the contestants on that ridiculous television show, he was looking forward to the ‘meal’. Pouring half the contents into a glass, he stalked back over to the window, facing the dock, and brought the binoculars to his eyes, eyeing the group once more. Only a few more hours, and it would begin. Chuckling once more, he set the binoculars aside again, and took a long drink.
(Umm I hope this is alright, is it too long or short?)