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Skypool

1x1: Narvix & Sky

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Hiya. c:

 

Anyone up for a casual 1x1? School has been particularly draining this year, and I would love an outlet that involves writing. My skills could use some good, ole' fashioned sharpening, too. Roleplaying fulfills that perfectly.

 

Possible Topics:

 

• Pokémon - I'm always a pushover for Pokémon.

• Greek Mythology - The Iliad is probably my favorite poem ever. Something along that vein would be fun to try out.

Harry Potter - Always.

Star Wars - I've never RP'd Star Wars before, but I'd be willing to bet that it's very entertaining. We could do something post-TFA or perhaps during the time before Kylo Ren commits mass murder, hehe.

 

Possible Genres:

 

• Dystopia

• Fantasy

• Sci-Fi

Edited by Skypool

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I'm interested. I'm going to have a heavy work load this semester so you'd need to be okay with a somewhat slower pace in replies from me. But I've been in need of something fresh to write for.

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Sounds perfect to me! I won't be the most prolific of posters either until my next break. (Sigh.) What sort of roleplay are you leaning towards? I'm honestly game for just about anything.

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I'm liking the idea of a dystopia. Any type of world works for me - I'm pretty lax/flexible.

 

Just to toss in a couple other ideas:

 

Characters trapped within a "game". Could be controlled/manipulated by god-like entities.

Urban (or modern) fantasy settings.

 

(Really the only that came to my mind readily.)

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• I wrote a short story for my school's literary magazine recently, and it was about a dystopian society in which people are only allotted a certain amount of words per day. If they go over that limit, the collar that is surgically engrafted around their neck immediately kills them. That might be a cool dystopia for us to try out. We'd have to get creative in terms of dialogue though (which might not be entirely ideal).

 

• I really like the trapped within a game one. Reminds me of Sword Art Online. Off the top of my head, our characters could have been chosen to be part of virtual reality program because their mental/physical faculties have attracted the attention of some prestigious corporation or another. Once in the game, they're stripped of their memories of ever consenting to the experiment because the moderators of it want to test how well the characters adapt to whatever setting they're thrown in.

 

• Nothing's coming to mind for the modern fantasy one, but I'm definitely not against it.

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I'm liking both of those, oh boy.

 

Limiting the dialogue would really allow for focus on internal things, surroundings, and actions (some of which I could stand to improve on). Definitely puts emphasis on "think before you speak".

 

The "game" I had thought of was more task oriented (complete the level to progress using whatever means are provided and don't die but the gods can alter each level for tricky challenges). It could be combined with the government idea you proposed though, easily.

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My sentiments exactly.

 

Let's see though. The dystopia one would really allow us to get in touch with our characters. It would be sensitive and moving; our abilities as writers would be put to the test. The game one, however, would give us more freedom as far as the plot goes. Worldbuilding would be flexible here, too.

 

I can easily see myself doing either, but if I had to choose on the fly, I would probably go with the game, if only for its accessibility. How about you?

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Like you, I could do either.

 

Because of the flexibility the game plot gives, it can allow for decent posts to be written, even on a tight schedule. The dystopia would require more thought and thus be more time consuming for one good post.

 

I really wish we could do both aha. Though, I'll vote for the game idea.

 

Were you looking for long posts each time or just a minimum of a paragraph or so? (I'm good with either and I'm always trying to make longer posts.)

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If we ever get bored with the game plot, at least we have an awesome backup plan to look forward to. c:

 

A paragraph at a minimum would be fine with me. I'll try to vomit out long posts when I can, but simplicity will probably triumph detail more often than not. I definitely won't go under a para though.

 

How about worldbuilding? Where do you envision our characters to be once we begin?

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I was thinking of just the default/starting location of the game with their memories wiped; as good a beginning point as any aha.

 

Virtual reality kind of implies a bit of a future time, even if it isn't so distant from present day. Were you thinking of just having their minds in the game or their physical selves? If it's just their minds, then it'll give the testers easy access to their bodies for monitoring without much risk of losing the subjects. But if they're completely inside the game, then it allows for easy means to dispose of any bodies as required.

 

Should the game be more fantasy influence or just have it as a blank space that can be manipulated as desired?

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Tru, but I suppose that means we need to come up with a default point, hehe, which is why I'll jump down to your last question now. I think it would be awesome to have fantasy elements; we'll be having our cake and eating it, too, that way. Perhaps our characters could start off in a generic starting town—a bustling place with a tavern and a lot of peasant-based NPCs, maybe?

 

I was leaning more towards the first option (with the bodies being located in the real world). It would allow some internal strife amongst our characters. "Holy crap. What are they doing to our bodies?"

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Yes, internal strife is good~

 

Alright, cool. A generic starter town would be perfect. And, given the fantasy-esque setting, the characters would be less likely to think of anything suspicious until they get some clues that things aren't as expected. They'd be more likely to relax after the initial confusion.

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Yup, yup, yup.

 

I think I'm being drawn to creating a male this time around—short, still retaining a few of his boyish curves, but gods, is he kindhearted and all that warm, gooey stuff. I'll probably place him around his adolescent years—thirteen, maybe fourteen, if you would like to play off that. He'll probably be a very sensitive witch who has grown up in a quite matriarchal tribe. <3

 

Name:

Aric Silas Lockwood

Age:

Thirteen

Gender:

Male

Species:

Witch

Appearance:

i. height - He's fairly short compared to other boys his own age. They were made to lug heavy flour bags around, and he has been coddled in the laps of witches his entire life, listening to their stories, learning tradition.

ii. body type - Aric is neither over nor underfed. He is lean, but not thin. Filled in, though not chubby. He has the physique of a boy who has been cared for, maybe even spoiled.

iii. eye color - Silver, brilliant and warm. They almost appear to be melting. They rival a full moon.

iv. skin tone - Fair.

v. hair - He has brown, curly hair that crowns his head in unruly tendrils. It's untidy, feathery, and rarely, if ever, combed.

vi. face shape - When Aric was younger, his face was round and rather chubby. He looked cherubic then; it endeared him to others. Now, its structure is definitely more angular. It juts more than it curves (and yet, he'll always retain a bit of that softness there).

vii. any prominent features? - A supernova of dark freckles bridges cheek to cheek. They give him a boyish appearance. In addition, he has a gimp leg, a defect since birth; on bad days, especially during the winter when the cold seeps into his bones, he has to walk with a stick.

Personality:

- Quiet. He's not much of a talker, preferring to keep his thoughts to himself and his spoken words select. Most people misunderstand this trait of his though. They think he's simply "slow on the uptake."

- Kind. Need a shirt? Take the one off Aric's back. He'd gladly give it to you.

- Polite. The witches of his clan have taught him to always be respectful, especially to adults.

- Moody. He's prone to falling into deep existential depressions, this thirteen-year old. Bless him.

- Dependent. He's a bit spoiled, has never wanted for anything much. This attributes to the needy part of his personality. If you're his caretaker, you're pretty much stuck with him.

- Secretive. Moody he may be, but you may never know it. He bottles his emotions a lot. It's rather unhealthy.

- Altruistic. He has a propensity for wanting to help people. It's in his blood.

- Sensitive. He's the one who would cry over a dog dying in a movie.

History:

• He was raised in a matriarchal witch clan where there aren't many boys or men to begin with. It's made him more effeminate than perhaps a normal boy would be, and that's perfectly okay. Aric is loved, and that is all that matters to him.

• Blood ties aren't too important in the clan. Villages raise children, not parents, so he isn't all too close to his biological family. He has lived a life of being passed from hut to hut while his mother and sister have done their own things for the most part.

Powers/Abilities/Skills:

• Offensive magic, though he can utilize it, isn't really his thing. He's extremely accomplished at healing and defensive spells, however.

• The same principle applies to his potion proficiency. He hasn't really had a need to use harmful potions, so he doesn't have the toolbox to pull them off properly.

Weaknesses:

• Is not physically adept at all, and this is partially due to his leg, but it also has to do with the fact that no witch really has use for exploiting the strength of his/her body because they have magic to compensate.

• Overuse of magic drains him. It could even be fatal to him.

• Chocolate. He has a weakness for chocolate.

 

Edited by Skypool

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Ooohh are we doing fantasy elements in the real world too?

 

I'm not sure what my character will be just yet. But I'll think of something real soon. (I'm currently working on some pre-semester assignments but I'm nearly done.)

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Oh, gosh, that's what I presumed we were doing, but honestly, it'd be really cool if we did. Perhaps the "virtual reality" is just powerful magic set forth by gods or powerful wizards. I dunno—whatever you prefer is fine with me!

 

Take your time. c: No rush.

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Ahh no! I like the mix of magic/fantasy with technology. As far as I'm concerned, I don't mind if virtual reality is technology-based or magic-based. :3

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Alrighty, perfect then! I'll get my character finished sometime before the evening ends, and then we can start whenever. I'm in no hurry. smile.gif

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I think I have an idea. If it's alright with you, I'm likely to run with a tech-savvy bird person (don't know just yet if they're just a regular shape shifter or a kind of harpy) who's a couple years to a decade (or two) older than your character and has a nervous (flighty? tongue.gif) personality.

 

Are we going to use sheets or did you just want to go with paragraph intros? I can do either or.

Edited by Narvix

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Oh, man, that sounds awesome. I'm definitely on board.

 

(Flighty. I see what you did there. laugh.gif)

 

I'm going to go ahead and make a sheet just for my reference, but you can do whatever suits you. It doesn't particularly matter to me!

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M'kay. Finished up Aric's sheet. Would you like to start, or shall I?

Edited by Skypool

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Ah, please start! I'm going to be tutoring someone here in a few minutes so I don't have the time to write up a proper intro. However, I shall be able to during this week! Likely even tomorrow night if I don't get to it after tutoring.

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((Gotcha. c:))

 

He dreamed that night. Vividly. Every image was cut in razor sharp precision, every shade of every color accounted for. There were a lot of blacks and tinges of somber blues. He heard red once. Red sounded like a slung scream, loud and piercing, hacking its way through the night fog to reach him. (Who was that? he wondered because there was a note in there that was all too familiar, low and gravelly. Distinct. Loved. It had sounded like Valentine, but couldn't have been her—not even in a dream, now could it? When had she ever been so uncomposed?) There were greens, too. The green of the trees, dark and silhouetted in the silver sprawls of the twin moons. The green he felt in his stomach, rising up the column of his throat ever so swiftly. With each movement his captor made—because in this dream, he was definitely being stolen away by some forsaken creature or another—bile, all too present and all too acidic, churned within him. He dreamed last night. Vividly.

 

There was a cure for that though. The morning sun, bright and spearing his shut eyes through the slats in the windows, had a way with dispelling dreams, good and bad, and only leaving snatches of sensations. Aric Silas Lockwood, when he finally came to in the world, recalled nothing of the illusion but a singular, vestige of a feeling. Uneasiness, and then that faded, too, replaced more convincingly by shock, sudden and biting. This wasn't where he had fallen asleep last night.

 

Merlin's beard, and then some.

 

This wasn't his little room in Valentine's hut on the edge of the woods. That place (his home, he might have called it one day) was neat, of course, but had traces of his existence there. A vial of frog spawn teetered on his nightstand. His potion books were strewn by a color code on the cherrywood bookcase that usually greeted him in the morning with its permanence. This room was far too immaculate, far too devoid of any touches that suggested personality. The scent of fresh pine suffused through the air; someone had cleaned with it. A symbol was carved into the wall directly opposite of him. It was a brand.

 

Aric propelled himself out of bed, sending blankets shuddering to the floor, nearly tripping on his own momentum. He caught himself on the dresser before he could fall. His bad leg curled beneath him.

 

Merlin's beard, and then some. The urge to sit on the floor and cry was there, but he didn't succumb to it. He swallowed that particular impulse and looked for any indication of his whereabouts. A piece of parchment was situated on the mantle of the same dresser he had fallen against. He picked it up, held it against the golden light flooding in from the window.

 

"Welcome to Dragonscale Inn. Complimentary breakfast is served from sunrise to when the sun ain't got no rising to do anymore."

Edited by Skypool

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[[i ended up waking an hour before my alarm x3 So here's an intro.]]

 

There was something wrong but the feeling kept slipping away every time she grasped it. Why? Something disturbed her sleep but it wasn't a dream. Was it? She... couldn't tell, couldn't place her finger on what wasn't right.

 

Sunlight struck her face, filtering through her eyelids as a wash of red. Bothered, her features crinkled with displeasure, green eyes squinting as they fluttered open. An arm lifted up to block the unwelcome light, large rust-colored feathers filling her vision. For a moment, a frown curved her thin lips downward, confusion crossing her features. But it wasn't at seeing the flight feathers of a wing instead of the skin of an arm.

 

It was at seeing the boards of wood, all stacked neatly to create a wall, instead of the green blanket of a canopy. She wasn't in her forest. She wrinkled her hooked nose again, out of distress, a grimace twisting her expression.

 

She sat abruptly, feathers ruffling with shock and making her form look bigger than it really was. Scrambling out of the cot, for she realized she was truly in a bed and not in a tree, the blankets trapped her. Her legs and wings did not work like a human's limbs. Her talons caught in the fabric of the sheets and the cot while her wings fumbled to push her away.

 

The sound of fabric tearing reached her concealed ears. A squawk of distress left her lips as she tumbled to the ground in a heap of feathers and blanket. Squawking (and now grunting) still, the harpy struggled to get free. The crest of feathers that sprouted from her crown were spread in her aggravation, her long tail feathers pinned beneath her rump. After several minutes, she finally managed to roll free of the blanket, talons leaving nothing but uneven strips of cloth and gouged floorboards in her wake.

 

Okay, Agatha... Calm down...

 

Her heart was racing and her hourglass-shaped body trembled from the exertion. Gradually, her tension eased and she began preening to lay her feathers back into place. Rust-colored feathers covered most of her body, flecks of white and black dotting throughout. They covered everything except her collarbone, shoulders, neck, stomach, and lower back. Agatha's tail feathers sprouted from the base of her spine. A little below her knees, her calves were covered in dark, hard scales and a set of four, deadly talons gave her bird-like feet. Wherever feathers or scales did not cover, she possessed dark skin. A crest of feathers grew from her crown and covered her head in place of hair.

 

Where was she?

 

She wasn't at home, in her lovely forest with it's beautiful trees. No, she was inside some kind of building, in some kind of guest room. What did the humans call such a place? An 'out'? Or was it an 'inn'? Well, it didn't matter.

 

Agatha shook her head quickly, hugging her wings close to her body as she started towards the window. At almost six feet tall, she could easily stretch out a large wing and touch the ceiling. But she wouldn't be able to open the window without breaking it; having no hands had so many challenges crop up regularly. Maybe the door then?

 

Glancing back, she chewed on her lower lip. Should she even leave the room? She didn't know what waited for her on the other side. All the noise she had made was bound to attract someone's attention. She began to shift her weight nervously, crest and tail feathers spreading and closing in her agitation.

 

You have to do something, Agatha. You can't just stay in here!

 

Sure she could! Couldn't she? That'd be the safest thing to do, right? Until she got hungry or thirsty.

 

Swallowing, she shook her head again and inhaled slowly, trying to sooth her nerves. Shuffling towards the door, she hesitated before trying to reach a taloned foot up to the doorknob. She held her wings out a bit for balance and, after some frustration, managed to grasp the metal object and twist. She hopped backwards, pulling the door with her.

 

It was open. She could escape! With a squawk of delight, she rushed out.

Edited by Narvix

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((Beautiful.))

 

Aric exited the room still in his bedclothes (a tattered, tan tunic with loosely fitting pants to match) and was not judged by the passerby for it. Compared to some of the other patrons lurking around the inn, sprouting gruesome appendages here or wearing odd assortments of garb there, the little witch looked positively normal, thank you very much. He kept to the paneled wall next to him as he walked, using it to keep steady, pushing against the treated wood to retain a shaky balance of sorts. He pushed, and the wall pushed back. It was a mutual agreement set forth by the laws of physics while the troubles in his mobility were simply dumb luck. His left leg came at a slower pace than the right, twisting and convulsing to eventually make a step. Sweat beaded down his forehead.

 

If finding his way back home was going to be difficult (because that was what he had to do, right?), he would need a walking stick, and he would need one soon. Ache, long familiar and always there, had settled into his hip. He rubbed it as he went, and he went at length—the hallway stretched in a line for what seemed like forever—until finally, a landing appeared to his left, dipping down into a spiral of creaking stairs. Noise reached his ears from below, a tumult of voices interspersed with an upbeat tune that rose and fell in a playful crescendo.

 

He looked at his leg, and then the stairs, and then his leg again.

 

He we go again.

 

He plodded down one step, wincing, and then another. Plod. His heart yearned to be wherever Valentine was right now, Valentine who had only offered her home to him a week ago today. Valentine, whose external composure masked the warmest person he had ever had the privilege to know. Plod. Common sense told him that he was in a bad situation, and yet, he couldn't stir himself to make a scene. The world continued to turn around him. Whatever happened next, if something happened next, would be up to him. Plod. Of course, that might not count for much. He was only thirteen and at this very moment, his heart was trying to thrum itself past his ribcage. It might just succeed. Plod. Plod. Plod. First though, he needed to get his bearings. He needed to figure out where exactly the Dragonscale Inn was on the map. Plod. He hoped it was close. Plod. He hoped beyond hope it was close. Plod.

 

Aric had reached the bottom, where he almost bumped into a tall orc.

 

"Wotch it," the orc growled, and he stumbled back.

 

"Sorry." The orc didn't hear him though. He was already ambling towards the tavern part of the inn where all of the commotion was coming from. It was lit dimly, only supported by tall torches lining the widths of the four walls. Only a singular window, wide and rectangular, allowed any natural light in.

 

Aric bounced on the balls of a feet for a moment, bit his lip, and then—against all better judgment—decided to follow. He found an opening in the crowd. He slinked into it.

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