Post by Deo Kyros on Jul 18, 2005 2:51:07 GMT -5
This while thing is kind of corny... What can you expect from someone writing at 2:something in the morning, partially with the purpose of getting his friends to start RPing again? Well, I hope they do anyway! *coughyouallhaddamnwellbetterstartroleplayingagaincough*
The pale, frail figure walks, with his belongings, slowly through the calm, rotting grove, but he himself is anything but calm. He would normally avoid a seemingly unhallowed place like this, but he knows that at least nobody will come looking for him in such a place. He has just arrived to this area from Northern Iiljo*, where his business was failing and he had a false reputation for cheating people, a rumor started by a local with an insignificant grudge against him; he assumed this place suitable for a retreat from his life in that town of gullible, insensitive saps.
Unfortunately, this place, a typically kindly place as far as he had been told, had recently been conquered by an over-political, very racist lord -- who has been persecuting his kind for several years now in his other territories, and i just starting here. The pale, frail figure is to be the first "example of the Iiljan failures," to be "tried" and executed in due time.
What a streak of luck! My life still belongs to me, and my clothing, and my trusty, rusty little pygmy of a dagger... What an optimistic little fellow, a young man of 27, not born with the greatest frame of body, and not prone to the greatest frame of mind given his recent past and a mild case of schizophrenia, a small man of 5'6", weighing a paltry 105 pounds, not normal for a human as much as an elf (though this he would not know, having never yet seen or even heard of elves, or anything but humans and Denyedergø**); in short, he is not the kind of man given to withstanding pressure.
He takes a seat in a rare patch of still-living grass on the barely-there path he has been wandering for hours, trying (unsuccessfully) to figure out an out from his situation. He's lucky to have not succeeded though -- it means he didn't think he successfully came up with a completely illogical plan from the schizophrenia. In the silence of the forest, he hears the clanking of the armor of the new paranoid lord's guards, and the click-clack of their horses' hooves on the cobblestone roads. He sees a small enclosure, a spot hidden under a dead, fallen tree. He'll sit in there, watch outside, slowly pondering in his small small mind in his small body... Pondering his wandering, or at least where it will end.
*Iiljo is pronounced [ee-EEL-yo]. More on the phonology at a later date.
**Denyedergø, pronounced (almost) [then-zhye-der-GEU], are a tall race in general, and visually stickly thin but nonetheless actually fairly muscular, the dense muscle making them heavy despite their outward appearances. Some of their moral traditions are deemed dsgusting by more conservative members of other races, but even they consider it forgivable, because the Denyedergø are very generous and kind on the whole.The pale, frail figure walks, with his belongings, slowly through the calm, rotting grove, but he himself is anything but calm. He would normally detest a place like this, but he knows that at least nobody will come looking for him in such a place. He has just arrived to this area from Northern Iiljo*, where his business was failing and he had a false reputation for cheating people, a rumor started by a local with an insignificant grudge against him; he assumed this place suitable for a retreat from his life in that town of gullible, insensitive saps.
Unfortunately, this place, a typically kindly place as far as he had been told, had recently been conquered by an over-political, very racist lord -- who has been persecuting his kind for several years now in his other territories, and i just starting here. The pale, frail figure is to be the first "example of the Iiljan failures," to be "tried" and executed in due time.
What a streak of luck! My life still belongs to me, and my clothing, and my trusty, rusty little pygmy of a dagger... What an optimistic little fellow, a young man of 27, not born with the greatest frame of body, and not prone to the greatest frame of mind given his recent past and a mild case of schizophrenia, a small man of 5'6", weighing a paltry 105 pounds, not normal for a human as much as an elf (though this he would not know, having never yet seen or even heard of elves, or anything but humans and Denyedergø**); in short, he is not the kind of man given to withstanding pressure.
He takes a seat in a rare patch of still-living grass on the barely-there path he has been wandering for hours, trying (unsuccessfully) to figure out an out from his situation. He's lucky to have not succeeded though -- it means he didn't think he successfully came up with a completely illogical plan from the schizophrenia. In the silence of the forest, he hears the clanking of the armor of the new paranoid lord's guards, and the click-clack of their horses' hooves on the cobblestone roads. He sees a small enclosure, a spot hidden under a dead, fallen tree. He'll sit in there, watch outside, slowly pondering in his small small mind in his small body... Pondering his wandering, or at least where it will end.
*Iiljo is pronounced [ee-EEL-yo]. More on the phonology at a later date.
**Denyedergø, pronounced (almost) [then-zhye-der-GEU], are a tall race in general, and visually stickly thin but nonetheless actually fairly muscular, the dense muscle making them heavy despite their outward appearances. Some of their moral traditions are deemed dsgusting by more conservative members of other races, but even they consider it forgivable, because the Denyedergø are very generous and kind on the whole.
Reason For Edit: To add an introduction
The pale, frail figure walks, with his belongings, slowly through the calm, rotting grove, but he himself is anything but calm. He would normally avoid a seemingly unhallowed place like this, but he knows that at least nobody will come looking for him in such a place. He has just arrived to this area from Northern Iiljo*, where his business was failing and he had a false reputation for cheating people, a rumor started by a local with an insignificant grudge against him; he assumed this place suitable for a retreat from his life in that town of gullible, insensitive saps.
Unfortunately, this place, a typically kindly place as far as he had been told, had recently been conquered by an over-political, very racist lord -- who has been persecuting his kind for several years now in his other territories, and i just starting here. The pale, frail figure is to be the first "example of the Iiljan failures," to be "tried" and executed in due time.
What a streak of luck! My life still belongs to me, and my clothing, and my trusty, rusty little pygmy of a dagger... What an optimistic little fellow, a young man of 27, not born with the greatest frame of body, and not prone to the greatest frame of mind given his recent past and a mild case of schizophrenia, a small man of 5'6", weighing a paltry 105 pounds, not normal for a human as much as an elf (though this he would not know, having never yet seen or even heard of elves, or anything but humans and Denyedergø**); in short, he is not the kind of man given to withstanding pressure.
He takes a seat in a rare patch of still-living grass on the barely-there path he has been wandering for hours, trying (unsuccessfully) to figure out an out from his situation. He's lucky to have not succeeded though -- it means he didn't think he successfully came up with a completely illogical plan from the schizophrenia. In the silence of the forest, he hears the clanking of the armor of the new paranoid lord's guards, and the click-clack of their horses' hooves on the cobblestone roads. He sees a small enclosure, a spot hidden under a dead, fallen tree. He'll sit in there, watch outside, slowly pondering in his small small mind in his small body... Pondering his wandering, or at least where it will end.
*Iiljo is pronounced [ee-EEL-yo]. More on the phonology at a later date.
**Denyedergø, pronounced (almost) [then-zhye-der-GEU], are a tall race in general, and visually stickly thin but nonetheless actually fairly muscular, the dense muscle making them heavy despite their outward appearances. Some of their moral traditions are deemed dsgusting by more conservative members of other races, but even they consider it forgivable, because the Denyedergø are very generous and kind on the whole.The pale, frail figure walks, with his belongings, slowly through the calm, rotting grove, but he himself is anything but calm. He would normally detest a place like this, but he knows that at least nobody will come looking for him in such a place. He has just arrived to this area from Northern Iiljo*, where his business was failing and he had a false reputation for cheating people, a rumor started by a local with an insignificant grudge against him; he assumed this place suitable for a retreat from his life in that town of gullible, insensitive saps.
Unfortunately, this place, a typically kindly place as far as he had been told, had recently been conquered by an over-political, very racist lord -- who has been persecuting his kind for several years now in his other territories, and i just starting here. The pale, frail figure is to be the first "example of the Iiljan failures," to be "tried" and executed in due time.
What a streak of luck! My life still belongs to me, and my clothing, and my trusty, rusty little pygmy of a dagger... What an optimistic little fellow, a young man of 27, not born with the greatest frame of body, and not prone to the greatest frame of mind given his recent past and a mild case of schizophrenia, a small man of 5'6", weighing a paltry 105 pounds, not normal for a human as much as an elf (though this he would not know, having never yet seen or even heard of elves, or anything but humans and Denyedergø**); in short, he is not the kind of man given to withstanding pressure.
He takes a seat in a rare patch of still-living grass on the barely-there path he has been wandering for hours, trying (unsuccessfully) to figure out an out from his situation. He's lucky to have not succeeded though -- it means he didn't think he successfully came up with a completely illogical plan from the schizophrenia. In the silence of the forest, he hears the clanking of the armor of the new paranoid lord's guards, and the click-clack of their horses' hooves on the cobblestone roads. He sees a small enclosure, a spot hidden under a dead, fallen tree. He'll sit in there, watch outside, slowly pondering in his small small mind in his small body... Pondering his wandering, or at least where it will end.
*Iiljo is pronounced [ee-EEL-yo]. More on the phonology at a later date.
**Denyedergø, pronounced (almost) [then-zhye-der-GEU], are a tall race in general, and visually stickly thin but nonetheless actually fairly muscular, the dense muscle making them heavy despite their outward appearances. Some of their moral traditions are deemed dsgusting by more conservative members of other races, but even they consider it forgivable, because the Denyedergø are very generous and kind on the whole.
Reason For Edit: To add an introduction