Kote

The Labyrinth - Advanced Interest Check

@Summer Still interested? I know there's been a mild delay in my responding. Thought I'd ask.

Circus of the Dawn(Advanced) (Re-Opened)

Ok. So I vanished for a bit. Things got hella crazy. I'm back, and I'd like to take another crack at this. Any takers. See OP for the low down. (don't mind the broken image, I'm looking for a replacement)

The Last Survivor (Supine / Kote)

Lannis Tyrel
^{"...and wasn't it you who said I needed peace..."}

It was her sounds, more than it was her voice, that alerted him to her presence; the heavy metallic sound of the door catching, and the rasping cough, drew him. Quickly, his eyes scanned around the room, finding pitched torches standing unused in a corner of the room, but the brazier that had been with them was out, as cold as though it had never been lit. The corridor was dark, and little to no light fell into the prison from outside sources. She was ensconced in darkness darker than night, and stepping into that gave Lannis a chill as though the touch of the dead had brushed the back of his neck.

“I hear you, I’m coming,” He spoke, without thought of who this person was, or why they had been put into this place in the first place. His excitement at finding someone alive overrode all other sense of self preservation and caution. He simply didn’t think whomever it was would actually attempt to hurt him. The trouble was, he couldn’t see. The sounds told him that the door was locked, and Lannis didn’t have a set of jailer’s keys, or know where to look for one.

“Keeper rattling the door,” He spoke, wanting to use the sound as a guide, while his eyes groped the darkness immediately around him, in search of either a source of light, or a set of keys, or anything useful. A few steps and his foot kicked up against a hard wooden surface, and his groping hands gave the impression of a flat topped desk or table of some sort. He felt parchments, the feel of melted wax long dried. His fingers stained as he knocked over an ink well, but he gave it all no mind, failing to feel anything metallic that could be used to strike to light one of the torches, or anything he could use for the door.

“Do you know where the keys are… or where the jailer lives? Perhaps he has them on him?” Lannis was thinking aloud now, unsure if the prisoner could even hear him, unsure if they could even talk, and in truth, he doubted the reality of their existence. Perhaps the whole thing was his mind’s trick on him, like the way he thought he saw old man Potter blink before he took that silver crown out from beneath the set of towels on the counter a few days ago. He didn’t know if the money would be useful anymore, but he figured he’d have more use of it than the old man.

The Last Survivor (Supine / Kote)

Lannis Tyrel
^{Eighteen /\ Miller's Son /\ Brown Hair, Green Eyes /\ Sixty Nine Inches
"...and wasn't it you who said I needed peace..."}

HISTORY
Lannis has always been a little slow of thought, or so his father told everyone. He was never thought to read, or write, but he knew his calculations well enough and could find his way around a map. He was raised to follow in his father's footstep and take over the mill when his father passed, but in his heart, Lannis had always wanted to be a scout for the king, or a hired guide for those unaccustomed to the area. He thought himself how to read a map, how to use a bow to hunt game, a few snares, and the lay of the land within a day's ride in all directions.

The Last Survivor (Supine / Kote)

Lannis Tyrel
^{"...and wasn't it you who said I needed peace..."}

The only survivor.

The city was full of dead men. The putrid corpses of friends and neighbors were everywhere. At first, they had attempted burials, but quickly the need overwhelmed the able, and soon they had to settle for mass funeral pyres outside the city. Eventually, as the plague continued, even that effort became unsustainable and the bodies of the dead simply lay where they fell. Lannis was just a young man, a man grown to be sure, but in so many ways a boy still. His father had died early with the illness, and his mother soon after. He had had brothers, but through grief or some other affliction, possibly the very same that had taken the others… they had been a part of the last pyre, one that he had lit himself. Now seemed nothing lived on the city but himself, and the flies.

At first, he was too frightened to leave his home. He took the first day as though it were any other since his folks passed. He woke with the sunrise, milled grain into flour for a few hours until he had worked up an appetite for breakfast. He’d told himself that there would be survivors coming today, and he would have an ample supply of flour to sell them for their bread. It had been folly, because nobody came. The next day, he ventured outside and was immediately driven back into his home by what he saw. The bodies were everywhere. They lay in the streets, against fence posts or on the stoops of buildings. Old man Holland looked as though he slept in his hayloft, pitchfork still clasped in his hands, while the famed, drunken Ser Jorn Highwall galloped around town on a frothing mare, his limp body held in place by a thick rope tied around his waist and legs.

The days came, and the days went, and nobody came. Silence greeted him in the morning, and silence sang him its deafening lullaby at night, with the buzzing of fly’s wings the only break between, that or the sounds he made while out and about. A few days ago, he’d even taken to talking to himself, just to remember what it sounded like to hear a voice that wasn’t inside his head. With each passing day, he grew more adventurous, less concerned with the dead. A week ago, he broke into the meat shed of the butcher, where the old man was known to hang his salted hams for storage, and seeing as how the old man was dead in his bed, he felt it was ok for him to help himself. He took a ham, a wheel of cheese he found still rolled up tightly in it’s cloth, and when he returned home, milled himself some flour for bread. He borrowed books from the Church’s library, though he couldn’t read, he did enjoy looking at the illustrations, imaging just what it had all been about. Sometimes he pretended he could read, and made the story up as he went, but eventually, he grew bored with the practice, and left the books in a pile.

It was last night, while he lie away in his bed, under his new blanket he took out of the seamstress’s shop up the road, that he thought about leaving his home. The kingdom seemed to be dead, nobody has stirred this whole while, that he could see… hell, even the castle was still and quiet.

“and if the King’s dead, and all the people are dead, then by the King’s law, all lands are passed down through blood or marriage to the last survivor. Though I don’t know the whole of it, it must mean that now, I am king.. seeing as how someway, it has to all lead back to me, right?”

Nobody answered to tell him not, so he nodded to himself, affirmed in his own logic, and went to sleep that night dreaming of his new found status as a royal. The next morning he was up and dressed in a pair of new britches and a tunic of azure and crimson, fashioned in the way of the wealthy merchants. His boots were one he had found off a man a few streets over, good, quality boots. “Good enough for a king, eh?” He chuckled to himself, and before the house was turned, Lannis found himself sitting on his throne, legs crossed and the royal crown perched upon his dirty brown hair.

Emptiness forced him to abandon the throne room after only a few mock trials in which he found the mason’s boys guilt of being prats and ordered them beheaded, and he took to exploring the castle. Sadly, though not unexpectedly, Lannis found the castle in the same condition as was the city. The dead lay as they had fallen, and inspite of his royal claims, seems that only the flies ruled here. At length, his search of the castle turned up the dungeons.

He stood at the top of a dark stairway, looking down into the deep darkness, sure to himself that nobody would be left alive down there. The darkness was deep, daunting. Something about the place seemed to make the darkness more frightening, as though by virtue of it being a dungeon, the darkness was possessed with some otherworldly abilities. The chill it gave him was nonsense, and to prove it to himself, Lannis took down the curved stairwell into the darkness.

Lannis stopped when he heard the noise, the first unnatural noise he had heard in weeks, at least, the first he hadn’t made himself. Fears forgotten, concern forgotten, Lannis raced down the remainder of stairs towards the noise. It wasn’t until he was halfway down a corridor lined with heavy wooden door set with iron bars, that he even though to call out. When he did, his voice was loud, excited.

“Is someone there!?” he called, looking around him, hearing his voice echo on the emptiness of the cells. This was a terrible place, cold and dark. How someone could be here, Lannis had no idea. Alone, with nothing but iron and wood. It would have driven Lannis mad. But it didn’t matter to him. He could only hope that he had heard what he thought he’d heard, a survivor like himself.

“Please, are you there?” He called out again.

I want..

If I lay here..
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and
just forget the world?

​
We will do it all.
Everything.
On our own.

I don't quite know how to say what it is I'm looking for. Emotion. Brilliant emotion. The kind of thing that, well, stories are written about. I want love. I want dancing in the streets, I want lying under the stars, I want depth and feeling and I want vibrancy and grace.

And I want sadness. Weeping like you'll never get put back together, a breaking that so engulfs the character that they forget the simplest of things, how to breathe, how to make a sound. I want to feel so lost in an ocean of darkness, with only the arms of another as safe harbor.

I want storybook, I want to treasure it, and then I want to destroy it.

And I want it to hurt.

I need one female partner, willing to write with me.

PM inquiries.

Star Trek Ideas

Star Trek Roleplay Ideas

Colonization: Shiran System
USS Sekigahara – Galaxy Class Starship, has been outfitted for the task of establishing a colony in the Shiran system, a star system beyond Deep Space 3, and the black cluster, into the unexplored regions of space. The colony is supposed to serve as a remote outpost for staging given Starfleet’s return to a more exploratory mission, with the turmoil of the most recent years falling behind them now. Exploration of the system’s second planet, Shiran II, reveals remains of an ancient and advanced people, but the findings are archeological, with no modern or recent manifestations of this civilizations. This provides a puzzle the ship’s captain just cannot seem to let go of, and it starts the crew of the Sekigahara down a dark and dangerous path.

To Boldly Go:
USS Ishtar – Galaxy Class MK III (yes, I know.. I’ve seen ALL Good Things too. )
A particularly interesting reading captain’s logs tend to make from time to time… A Dreadnaught class Galaxy, phaser canon, and a warp drive that far exceeds conventional methods of travel. Transwarp prototypes deserve something of a fitting platform to be introduced onto, something well designed, well used, yet different. The Galaxy Class MK III was designed to be just such a platform. The ship was built, the crew assigned, and the maiden voyage is scheduled to commence. Starfleet Admirals small and large are all a buzz with the news, and when Admrial’s talk, Q listens. Voyager meets universe building in a structured Star Trek realm: as the maiden voyage of the USS Ishtar will be tragically eventful. Q has taken the drive, replaced it with a standard Federation warp drive, and stranded the Ishtar a long way from home. Unlike Voyager, there is no option of simply setting a course back home… nobody would survive the trip.

I was thinking of doing either of these with a small group or via 1x1.

Advanced Level.
Small Group.

Star Trek Ideas

A couple of Star Trek Ideas.

1x1
Advanced Level
CS Required.

Star Trek Roleplay Ideas

Colonization: Shiran System
USS Sekigahara – Galaxy Class Starship, has been outfitted for the task of establishing a colony in the Shiran system, a star system beyond Deep Space 3, and the black cluster, into the unexplored regions of space. The colony is supposed to serve as a remote outpost for staging given Starfleet’s return to a more exploratory mission, with the turmoil of the most recent years falling behind them now. Exploration of the system’s second planet, Shiran II, reveals remains of an ancient and advanced people, but the findings are archeological, with no modern or recent manifestations of this civilizations. This provides a puzzle the ship’s captain just cannot seem to let go of, and it starts the crew of the Sekigahara down a dark and dangerous path.

To Boldly Go:
USS Ishtar – Galaxy Class MK III (yes, I know.. I’ve seen ALL Good Things too. )
A particularly interesting reading captain’s logs tend to make from time to time… A Dreadnaught class Galaxy, phaser canon, and a warp drive that far exceeds conventional methods of travel. Transwarp prototypes deserve something of a fitting platform to be introduced onto, something well designed, well used, yet different. The Galaxy Class MK III was designed to be just such a platform. The ship was built, the crew assigned, and the maiden voyage is scheduled to commence. Starfleet Admirals small and large are all a buzz with the news, and when Admrial’s talk, Q listens. Voyager meets universe building in a structured Star Trek realm: as the maiden voyage of the USS Ishtar will be tragically eventful. Q has taken the drive, replaced it with a standard Federation warp drive, and stranded the Ishtar a long way from home. Unlike Voyager, there is no option of simply setting a course back home… nobody would survive the trip.

PM responses please.

The Shadow's Rising

--bump--

Bot Reporting 2.0

I realized late. Thus I edited the post.