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Писать о феврале навзрйд.; [To write of February, in ink and sobs.]
Topic Started: Dec 24 2008, 02:02 PM (195 Views)
rewrite-it
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Commander of the Faithless
Name; rewrite-it. Call me whatever you want, seriously. Keta, Red, Blue, Violet Ashen Evening #23, any color, adjective, verb, or noun directed at me will be noted. (Except adverbs. D:)

Roleplaying experience; Long enough.

Preferred RPing style; 3rd person limited? I don't really care what the topic is about, so long as I know enough about the setting. Modern is good, medieval is great, or even something original. I'll play anything, I just suck at creating. D: I have the bad habit of making characters that are out of my usual, which makes me wonder what my usual is..

Writing sample; note: This is about a year old. D:
He fingered the ladle, the hand holding the goblet twitching clumsily. What a foolishly elegant design it had, the host obviously being of the boastfully generous kind. The crystalline cup-section had that swooshing look, a few curling fixtures protruding at queer spots on the neck, and a base far too thin and wide to be used properly for dramatic affect. He almost laughed at the thought this time, a visual picture even he could see. His mind’s eye saw the King, throwing down his own, less superficial, gauntlet down in protest at his indelicate form of speech.

Sheesh! The old man never could take his words light-heartedly, always hanging on his every misspoken word. And damn it all if the other Companions missed a single opportunity of twisting a word he may have uttered and using it to forsake him later! Jesus Christ, it’s like the lot of them spent their hours training with their silly nub-tipped ink pens instead of their swords! But, oh, did it show when the group practicing sessions finally came!

His muscle tensed, he could almost feel that superficial glass cracking underneath his large hand. There was an out-of-character like fiery gleam. His dull mind was racing, trekking through his last little miniature single-manned war.

Suddenly, he was surprised and somehow curious to see the ladle in his hand instead of his trusted broadsword. Blinking slowly, he stared rather blankly at the dark, wood-like ale. It was painfully obvious it was of a low quality, to compensate for the over-elegant gauntlets. Or, perhaps, the host had just concluded none of his gentlemanly guests would bother with the ale, and just head for the red wine.

He sighed. No one cared for the classics nowadays! Drunkenly, he did his best to spill as little of the heavy stuff as possible, only splashing a small pool of the dry concoction down the cup’s side.

Finally looking up, he glanced at the head table. The center, grander, seat was occupied by the host, some lord of the nearby lands. What he had eyes for were those sitting in quite nearly every other seat at the table.

He dropped the ladle, and his jaw with it. It was customary for lords of a region to have a party and invite women such as these. The ladies from around the land, brought in to cheer the invitees and bring luck to the season’s harvest. And what a lovely crop they were! One, on his far left, seemed to give him a brief wink.

He lapped it up like a dog. Reaching for the ladle again, he finally looked down and was thoroughly taken aback to see it lying on the floor instead of near the keg. Glancing around quickly, as if to make sure there would be no one seeing a knight such as him doing the action, he bent down to pick it up.

“Aldric, me-boy!” A beefy hand found its way onto his back.

His soft blue eyes narrowed, his full brows furrowed. He tensed. Standing up to his full height, an intimidating two-hundred-some-odd centimeter, he turned on a dime, slowly letting the hand fall off.

The No Touch Rule violators always seemed to come in pairs. Though men of this sort were usually his exception.

“Aldéric du Fabrice!! Where had you run off to?” the aging man always seemed to grow louder with more alcohol intake. Of course, Aldéric never liked them any other way! Their betting always grew less and less tame, and their hands even less justified.

He hardly responded with anything more than a brief nod. The cards the man was shuffling had caught his attention, and he never could manage more than one distraction at a time.

“Oi! Al'ric, you pretty-boy, learn to pay attention!”

It was a swift move. He was holding the graying-haired man’s embroidered collar, that devilish glint returning to his eye.

His silky black hair was cut at a medium-short, nicely highlighting his brilliant blue eyes. Handsome was right, but pretty-boy?! Oh, the man would pay. …Though legally. He was a Companion now; he’d learn to control his temper sooner or later. But that’s no reason to let the fool avoid gambling the year’s earning away!

“Ah—cool it! Cool it, Al—er, Sir Aldéric! You’ve been fully knighted, I understand. We-er-I just wanted to invite you to the West Corridor, the games are beginning!” the man hardly was able to speak through his stuttering, a trait which had not shown since his days as a child.

Oh, how he wanted to play! He would sigh deeply, release the man, and follow him leisurely to the man’s own financial finale. Oh, peasantry would be a worthy punishment! It was never as satisfactory as running him through simple enough, but the gambling tables was the only spot where he could feel his wit!

A brief thought occurred to him. Dropping the man, he spoke quietly, “No. No, I’ve got a mission to do. In fact, I only meant to stop by….”

The words themselves were laden with regret. Oh, he did wish the mission was not his, it was not a task he wished to have done at all! He shoved the now emptied gauntlet into the man’s hand and trudged by. With a final thought of, ‘May this be your lucky night,’ he wished he would stay to flaunt his new ranking with the man, but it would be beneath him now.

Signaling a server, he called them to get his armor and lend him the house’s best horse. If he pressed it, there might be time for a drink of decent ale before catching up with his new King and High Lord. Ale and a pleasant conversation - hopefully that would be all that the night brought.

He never was the most intelligent kind.
  • break o u t , break out !
               - as we escape through the window. Head for the car & never
                                                                                         look back, look back, singin': !
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Silvermourn
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The Redneck, the Cynic, the Nerd, and the Hopeless Romantic

I'm approving you although I can't even come close to reading the title of this. You'll have to wait to post in the roleplays for me to edit your group.
"I mourn that which may have been but will never be."

"Stupidity is a wound that bleeds forever; Intelligence is a blade that stays forever sharp"

"An armed man will kill and unarmed man with monotonous regularity"

"Nothing adds a little class to a sniper course like a babe in a Ghillie suit."

"You have the rest of your life to solve your problems. How long you live depends on how well you do it."

"Make your attacker advance through a wall of bullets. I may get killed with my own gun, but he's gonna have to beat me to death with it, 'cause it's going to be empty."
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rewrite-it
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Commander of the Faithless
Thank you~

And that's why I subtitled it.
  • break o u t , break out !
               - as we escape through the window. Head for the car & never
                                                                                         look back, look back, singin': !
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