((New Rp for the summertime, yay.

I am lazy so there's not much of a procedure for this one. No character sheet, just start playing. There is a story line that I will be pushing, but this is extremely free form so I just want you guys to bring some fresh and dynamic characters to the table and we'll see what happens. It's set in a fantasy universe, but you know what? If you can give a good reason for guns and androids, then bring them. Or you want some aliens? Go ahead. Time-travelers? Please provide. I don't feel like making this that structured or streamlined, just hopefully interesting.

Just jump in when you want. Use common sense and have fun.))

Char stood in the haunted graveyard and kicked at the skeleton hand that groped her ankle. No matter how many times she dealt a hard kick with her boot, the hand would come back with its cold bony touch, kind of like a gnat or mosquito. It was annoying; Char didn't want to be distracted, not now, not when she was in the middle of a work of art.

Char hunkered over her journal and kept writing, her cramped hand moving almost inhumanly fast. She wrote: A spell had been cast on the graveyard to revive the dead. Up ahead stood the haunted castle, black as night, with it jagged spirals and towers denoting the crookedness of the inhabitants within. She paused on this last sentence. It felt awkward. She looked up at the castle itself and wondered how she could ever aptly communicate its ugliness to her readers. The witch and the poor pitiful kidnapped prince were doubtlessly within, but then there were the witch's traps: more undead, spells, maybe stone warriors. Then there was the witch herself - rumored to be ageless, ruthless and with the strength of a thousand men. No, the castle was too much - even for the likes of Char the great sorceress.

At the bottom of the page, in a coded handwriting, she wrote: Before I continue I must look for companions that will be of use both as bodyguards and as experimental material.

Char capped the pen and tucked it into her robe. With her head still stuck in the journal, she walked back to Spiral's Edge. There was little to say about Spiral's Edge except that it was the epitome of bleakness. The skeleton hand broke off from its undead arm and clung desperately to her ankle. Char no longer noticed or cared.

She had a goal that had consumed her: to write an adventure bestseller that would sweep the magic world. Actually she wanted to write about botany, but had been told by reputable sources that nobody would buy a book nowadays without some amount of adventure. ("To get the blood boiling, you know.") Hopefully rescuing a prince from an evil witch and restoring him to to his kingdom would suffice. And then maybe the kingdom could help publish the book.

It was a short fifteen minute walk to the tavern. Such was the nature of Spiral's Edge that nobody lived there if they could help it, what with the evil witch and the zombies and the bandits that frequently roamed the area. This meant that there were two kinds of people at Spiral's Edge - The accomplished and the desperate, wrote Char. To herself she thought, I need to find some of the former, but as she plopped herself into a seat at the bar (skeleton hand now crawling unnoticed up her robe), she began to worry that only the latter was currently around.

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Love the hue.