Sigurd

The Lord of the Rings

We'll wait for Poo then.

The Lord of the Rings

"We are at the source of my melody - Can you not hear it?"

”Yes, indeed... We can hear that, whatever it is.” Ofnir stood besides Aelin, looking around himself, then down at the ground, then up at the sky. He did not know what he was looking for, but he kept searching nonetheless with his squinting old eyes. A flock of birds flew above them. Very strange... The first animals we see here. He figured the air above the oasis shared its eternal springtime. Can it rain here? he asked himself, imagining a warm spring shower coming down from those high clouds.

”Curiously shaped trees, don't you all think?” he asked, pointing at them with his staff. The brown barks of the trees in front of them was on an almost imperceptibly higher ground, clear of all other tree growth. The thick trees went up and then curved towards each other to meet and intertwine in the air, forming a portal-like shape through which the wood on the other side was clearly seen. The sparse leaves that grew on the branches were silver on the underside and yellowish on the top side and they each shone in its peculiar way. There were only stones on the ground, but grass had grown over and through them many years ago. Still, to a keen eye, their flattened shapes gave a sketch of an old path leading to the center of the small clear area. The tune still went on from its unknown source. As if the air played a song on itself, Ofnir thought.

”Hmmm.” He looked around once more and then went on towards the weird tree. A dozen or so steps he passed through the tree arch. Turning back, he saw his companions. ”Come here!” he said, observing the portal. ”This place is too...strange to be a accidental.” He looked up. ”Look. See how the leaves move as I speak. Each word makes them move in a certain pattern. When I stop, they swing slowly to this strange tune we're hearing. What make you of that?”

The Lord of the Rings

@POOHEAD189@TombprinceI'll get a post up tomorrow!

Old One Rising (A Lovecraftian adventure-horror RP) (Reboot)

@ONLYeah, it should be fun. I edited the last part of my post, by the way. And my profile status still stands, I am afraid... For another ten days, at least. I hope you can all bear with me.

Old One Rising (A Lovecraftian adventure-horror RP) (Reboot)

Emil

Emil looked through Steiner at the students waiting in line, thinking. How ironic this is. Or is it destiny? That his name, the one he's carried from birth, implies sinking, sinking, sinking... Fell into the world in a splash of red cries and immediately started sinking and does so to this day, professor Steiner. We all do, of course. Death being the bottom. But now we'll sink with him literally, too; towards that blurry place beneath the waves. The receptionist counted, slid some coins across the counter onto his damp palm one by one and dropped them into the drawer with a ring of dirty copper hitting copper. Money, too. They used shells as money before. Wonder what we could buy down there with a handful of shells. Oh, yes, hello mister octopus; is the sea weed homegrown? What about this bizarre disformed fish that does not belong to our world? What did you say? Oh, miss octopus tended to it. I see. Give me half a kilo! And don't mind the price! It's not every day that we are expecting the end of humanity, is it? Thank you!

Steiner let go off his arm as he went on talking to Dupree. Emil could feel the ghost grip fade from his skin. Stone grip, professor. Perfect. We'll need to counter strangle the monstrous tentacles of the deep sea. He saw the three of them on a ship and the rootless limbs of the Kraken -- or something worse -- flying all over them, dripping with ooze and salt water, cracking masts and the deck to splinters. Screaming seamen chopping and slashing at the slimy surface of the beast with their knives, sinking them deep into the poisonous blood that fuels the creature. The elderly man who had paid the receptionist held his key and suitcase. He remained still, so persistently still that he managed to peak the interest of the bored receptionist, and that was an achievement in itself. The stranger's pale face had a drop of familiarity in it, but Emil could not pinpoint its source. He kept standing, his presence not allowing the receptionist to return to his yesterdays' newspapers.

”Professor Dupree,” he said, turning his back to the strange old man; ”with all due respect, I think we can bypass the old fashioned access, if you understand what I mean.” His hands gripped an imaginary crowbar and jerked it as if to open some air door. It wouldn't be the first time I meddled with Atkins's office anyway. No need to be shy now. And we've already got an escape route covered. He remembered the steps he and Steiner had heard, those they chalked up to the police. Perhaps the same we heard in Faye's cell? Persistent bastards. ”This excursion ends soon, I hope,” he added, meaning the school trip to the madhouse. ”Most of them will retire to the dorms, it should give us more freedom to... roam.”

Old One Rising (A Lovecraftian adventure-horror RP) (Reboot)

I am gonna make a post today. I have some time to spare, finally.

The Lord of the Rings

@AzazaaAs soon as I post. Should do in a day or two. As you can see from my status, I'm a bit hindered by life.

When revolvers ruled the West - A casual/low-advanced Western RP based on various Spaghetti Westerns etc.

”I expect everyone to be alive and breathing...”

Glass mixed with liquor and splinters exploded all over them.

He was down on the floor before he could blink, surprised by the sudden power of adrenaline as much as by the shots fired. ”We've only just met you and you already demand too damn much, Erik!” said Albert desperately trying to cover his head with his hands.

Cocksuckers! shouted the barman before asking the other one where the shotgun was. They got my bloody arm!

From outside came violent war cries and threatening whistles so loud they could be heard coming through all the gunfire. Albert poked at the door underneath his elbow, but only to see bad omens: the farmer who'd come to warn them about the bandits lay over the threshold, shaking and bleeding, barely alive, stretching his hand out towards the people inside the saloon and gurgling something with a horrible expression.

Stupidly, Albert thought about crawling to him and perhaps dragging him in. He'd almost made a move for it when a bottle flew in through the window. ”Shit!” The bottle broke and the burning fuse set the liquid on fire. In a split second the edges of the joint were ablaze. ”Bastards want to burn as alive!” Albert crawled to the side and grabbed the legs of a game table. With a strong jerk he flipped it over, making an improvised shield he knew was useless. ”You won't be enforcing any law from this hellhole, sheriff.” A bullet whizzed through the table board, just next to Albert's ear. He finally took out his pistol: 6 bullets in the chamber.

The Lord of the Rings

@Vas KhaleenOkie-dokie.

When revolvers ruled the West - A casual/low-advanced Western RP based on various Spaghetti Westerns etc.

Albert welcomed the sheriff with a gesture at the stool next to his, and waved to the smirking bartender -- who seemed to be amused by the fight, probably having seen thousands of them -- to give them both a drink. Both the bartender and the shirtless henchman kept close eye on the fighters, waiting to see whose brains they'd have to scrape off the floor that day.

”The bourbon is on me! Thank you, sir,” he said, slowly turning in his stool to watch the poor bastards go at each other, but deciding not to interfere as long as they didn't turn upon him. He found his holster undone, wondering whether he'd lost trust in the spear or whether he'd grown more cautious on his travels west. Better safe than sorry. Wet glasses were placed on the polished wooden bar and he could hear the man behind him move a metal bucket with his foot. Water and rugs, for the brain scraping. Will be over soon.

”The owner of this joint must be asleep or away, I reckon, sheriff. Or he is too used to this type of good morning to do anything about it.”

The gory scenes were playing before him, bottles and limbs now breaking on each other. A woman putting her back into a bar fight never failed to bewilder him. ”I did warn her. Maybe I should have worn him. God damned idiots...” Running his fingers through his hair, he turned away to face the bar and took his shot of the bourbon looking at the reflection of the great white deer skull hanging on the wall above the stairs behind him, the pale thing observing the fight before it like some macabre forest god of the heathens.

He put the glass down and wiped his mouth clean. ”Norwegian, I take it? Or Danish? I couldn't quite make it out through all the ruckus. I'd bet on the former: you've that air to you. Marvelous whalers, Norwegians! Some of the best I've seen. Albert, Albert B. White.” He put his hand forward for a handshake.

@ONL