@Pascal I'm hoping Freya has made enough noise to draw Adrian(na)'s attention. Do you think this is a good point for her to step in (er, step out? Hmm...), or should Ethan respond first?
TaroAndSelia
Member
Returned from a Distant Land
STATUS: As Spring grows, so too does the itch to dream, to imagine, and to create. 7 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 5 yrs ago
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 486 (0.12 / day)
- VMs: 1
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Username history
- TaroAndSelia 11 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
7 yrs ago
Current
As Spring grows, so too does the itch to dream, to imagine, and to create.
7 yrs ago
It's Christmas time! Put up the lights, and hold up your light! #LightTheWorld
7 yrs ago
And it's impossible to edit a status. Wonderful. I meant to say my hard drive is down; I'm working out of a flash drive now.
7 yrs ago
Whoops. That's one flash drive destroyed. Kids, take good care of your toys! For those concerned, thank you! I don't have any storage, but I do have access to a browser; roleplaying continues!
7 yrs ago
Driving on my lunch break when a random kid on the sidewalk yells, "It's the internet man! Hi internet man!" Spend the rest of Monday feeling like a champ.
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Bio
*Picks up the profile*
*Looks at it oddly, as though it vaguely reminds him of something he read once*
*Blows off a mountain of dust*
Ah! That's what this is! It's my old role-player guild account!
Hello, folks, from a friend new and old. Old in that I spent many happy hours fictating way back in Old-Guild before Lost Christmas, and then I spent some time in New-Guild during its beginning development; new in that I've been gone for two years, so a lot of the "faces" I was familiar with back then don't seem to be haunting the place these days. Whether you've known me before or not, I extend to you a hearty greeting and a virtual feast. If you'd like a name shorter than the full one, please call me Taro. I'm rather comfortable with that one.
Well, you didn't come here just to hear about my history. You're probably looking to see what kind of a role-player I am. Truthfully, I'm not totally certain right now; two years without practice does bring on a multitude of changes. Then again, even in those two years I've kept the creative spark fed and fanned, in isolation though it may have been, and I can tell you this much with great certainty:
I like light-hearted laughter, soul-searching questions, and that precipice of commitment.
My favorite settings would be:
High Fantasy
Modern Fantasy
Science Fiction (new worlds, a newer Earth, even just in the immensity of space)
I consider it a given that, where boys and girls coexist in a story, Romance will blossom.
Horror I have a very weak stomach for. (I read the basic instructions for Betrayal at House on the Hill and had to consciously tell myself that night that everything was fine and I would sleep safely. I didn't even play a game; I only read the instructions!)
I stay away from graphic violence, sexual depictions of any nature, and profanities. I'm very much a PG-rated writer; I plan on sharing everything I write as bedtime stories with my kids someday.
I play a convincing dude (I'm sure you never would have guessed that), but a vast majority of my favorite characters are female. So if you have romance in mind, I'm happy to play either party. If you don't want a romance, you will probably have to tell me that plainly. Then I'll just go with what feels right for the story, subject to a few personal whims which I hope will only bolster the plot and development.
I'm very picky as far as my own ideas go. I'll try just about everything I can think of to break the idea in order to insure there are no gaping plot holes. I invite everyone else to examine my ideas in a similar light--different people, different thought processes, different problems discovered--and to offer any compliments or constructive criticisms you have. As part of that, I absolutely love pushing the boundary of an idea as far as it will stretch, or looking for that odd, "I never thought of using it like that" approach to a character's abilities.
What else would I say with this space? I really like old poetry; reading Isaiah gives me the happy trembles. I hope I've presented a fair assessment of my writing style and capabilities through this brief introduction. I love creating--creating characters and bringing them to life from the page; creating worlds filled with fascinating lore and beautiful locales; creating stories, be they narrations of ordinary men and women facing their trials or epics of fated heroes overcoming every obstacle to save Dwarf-kind.
And, in closing, I'm excited for the chance to work with you. I should be able to post daily. PM me anytime, especially if you have a question about anything I've said here or elsewhere, but even if you only want to chat. You could even ask me about my mysterious two-year absence. I'll tell you now that I was in California, but that doesn't really answer the question. I'm happy to talk anytime.
Sweet water and light laughter until next we meet!
-Taro
*Looks at it oddly, as though it vaguely reminds him of something he read once*
*Blows off a mountain of dust*
Ah! That's what this is! It's my old role-player guild account!
Hello, folks, from a friend new and old. Old in that I spent many happy hours fictating way back in Old-Guild before Lost Christmas, and then I spent some time in New-Guild during its beginning development; new in that I've been gone for two years, so a lot of the "faces" I was familiar with back then don't seem to be haunting the place these days. Whether you've known me before or not, I extend to you a hearty greeting and a virtual feast. If you'd like a name shorter than the full one, please call me Taro. I'm rather comfortable with that one.
Well, you didn't come here just to hear about my history. You're probably looking to see what kind of a role-player I am. Truthfully, I'm not totally certain right now; two years without practice does bring on a multitude of changes. Then again, even in those two years I've kept the creative spark fed and fanned, in isolation though it may have been, and I can tell you this much with great certainty:
I like light-hearted laughter, soul-searching questions, and that precipice of commitment.
My favorite settings would be:
High Fantasy
Modern Fantasy
Science Fiction (new worlds, a newer Earth, even just in the immensity of space)
I consider it a given that, where boys and girls coexist in a story, Romance will blossom.
Horror I have a very weak stomach for. (I read the basic instructions for Betrayal at House on the Hill and had to consciously tell myself that night that everything was fine and I would sleep safely. I didn't even play a game; I only read the instructions!)
I stay away from graphic violence, sexual depictions of any nature, and profanities. I'm very much a PG-rated writer; I plan on sharing everything I write as bedtime stories with my kids someday.
I play a convincing dude (I'm sure you never would have guessed that), but a vast majority of my favorite characters are female. So if you have romance in mind, I'm happy to play either party. If you don't want a romance, you will probably have to tell me that plainly. Then I'll just go with what feels right for the story, subject to a few personal whims which I hope will only bolster the plot and development.
I'm very picky as far as my own ideas go. I'll try just about everything I can think of to break the idea in order to insure there are no gaping plot holes. I invite everyone else to examine my ideas in a similar light--different people, different thought processes, different problems discovered--and to offer any compliments or constructive criticisms you have. As part of that, I absolutely love pushing the boundary of an idea as far as it will stretch, or looking for that odd, "I never thought of using it like that" approach to a character's abilities.
What else would I say with this space? I really like old poetry; reading Isaiah gives me the happy trembles. I hope I've presented a fair assessment of my writing style and capabilities through this brief introduction. I love creating--creating characters and bringing them to life from the page; creating worlds filled with fascinating lore and beautiful locales; creating stories, be they narrations of ordinary men and women facing their trials or epics of fated heroes overcoming every obstacle to save Dwarf-kind.
And, in closing, I'm excited for the chance to work with you. I should be able to post daily. PM me anytime, especially if you have a question about anything I've said here or elsewhere, but even if you only want to chat. You could even ask me about my mysterious two-year absence. I'll tell you now that I was in California, but that doesn't really answer the question. I'm happy to talk anytime.
Sweet water and light laughter until next we meet!
-Taro
Most Recent Posts
A hundred questions emerged from Ethan's unguarded posture and comments. The foreman's intervention only multiplied those, but at the least their brief conversation did answer two of the important ones: what the group was doing here, and what Freya would do about it.
"Nothing, sir. I've been further inland the last weeks. However," she added, turning to face Ethan squarely, "if your need is herbs for fever or pain, I can help. It may just have been the Flow's guidance that brought us here at the same time."
For the time being, at least, Freya relaxed her stance. She stepped forward, still a little wary of the Muran, and crouched a few steps away from Amuné. Using what knowledge of it she had, the woman spoke quietly in broken Ydran. "{Amuné, Ma'am Amira's daughter. You, unhurt remain? Need saving do.}"
The girl shrank away, grabbing even tighter to her feline protector. Freya was a little surprised, a small frown crossing her face before it was washed away by a flash of insight. She carefully set her staff on the ground, then presented both her empty hands in a gesture of peace. Switching back to the common tongue, but still keeping her voice low and soft, the woman offered a gentle smile. "Sorry, Amuné. My name is Freya. Your mother is Ma'am Amira, the healer of Pinesgrove, right? Maybe you were too young to remember, but I was raised by my Aunt Helen there. The woman who raised medicinal herbs, do you remember her?"
Amuné gave her a wary nod. Freya's smile brightened. "That's my aunt. I still visit her often, so I've seen you with your mother. And Wyth, too, of course," she added, giving a courteous nod to the moorcat. "Can you tell me about these people you're with?" The girl replied with a shrug and a shake of her head. "Do you know about the shipwreck?" Another shrug.
Freya let out a small sigh, but she still smiled at the small girl. Learning how she came to be alone in the forest would have to wait for another time. For now, she would have to trust in Wyth's judgment that these weren't dangerous people. "Amuné, I'm going to help these people. After that I can take you back to your mother and father, okay?" The small girl tightened her grip on Wyth, but said nothing more.
Freya picked up her staff and rose to face Ethan once again. "Tell me more about this wreck. Was your ship driven against the cliffs outside Nettle's Cove? Was the tide high enough to avoid the reefs, or were those responsible for some of the injuries? How many people are able to move, and how many aren't?" One after another Freya fired off questions without waiting for Ethan to answer. She glared up at him with impatience.
"Nothing, sir. I've been further inland the last weeks. However," she added, turning to face Ethan squarely, "if your need is herbs for fever or pain, I can help. It may just have been the Flow's guidance that brought us here at the same time."
For the time being, at least, Freya relaxed her stance. She stepped forward, still a little wary of the Muran, and crouched a few steps away from Amuné. Using what knowledge of it she had, the woman spoke quietly in broken Ydran. "{Amuné, Ma'am Amira's daughter. You, unhurt remain? Need saving do.}"
The girl shrank away, grabbing even tighter to her feline protector. Freya was a little surprised, a small frown crossing her face before it was washed away by a flash of insight. She carefully set her staff on the ground, then presented both her empty hands in a gesture of peace. Switching back to the common tongue, but still keeping her voice low and soft, the woman offered a gentle smile. "Sorry, Amuné. My name is Freya. Your mother is Ma'am Amira, the healer of Pinesgrove, right? Maybe you were too young to remember, but I was raised by my Aunt Helen there. The woman who raised medicinal herbs, do you remember her?"
Amuné gave her a wary nod. Freya's smile brightened. "That's my aunt. I still visit her often, so I've seen you with your mother. And Wyth, too, of course," she added, giving a courteous nod to the moorcat. "Can you tell me about these people you're with?" The girl replied with a shrug and a shake of her head. "Do you know about the shipwreck?" Another shrug.
Freya let out a small sigh, but she still smiled at the small girl. Learning how she came to be alone in the forest would have to wait for another time. For now, she would have to trust in Wyth's judgment that these weren't dangerous people. "Amuné, I'm going to help these people. After that I can take you back to your mother and father, okay?" The small girl tightened her grip on Wyth, but said nothing more.
Freya picked up her staff and rose to face Ethan once again. "Tell me more about this wreck. Was your ship driven against the cliffs outside Nettle's Cove? Was the tide high enough to avoid the reefs, or were those responsible for some of the injuries? How many people are able to move, and how many aren't?" One after another Freya fired off questions without waiting for Ethan to answer. She glared up at him with impatience.
Phew! Seems like there's always something else that needs done. I suppose that's what I get for taking a literary history class during the half-term.
Anyway, I wanted to give a heads-up that I'm traveling to see family this weekend, so I probably won't be around Friday-Sunday.
Anyway, I wanted to give a heads-up that I'm traveling to see family this weekend, so I probably won't be around Friday-Sunday.
Happy weekend! I hope your summer weather is as beautiful as mine is right now!
Grace slid out the cutting board and readied the first pepper beneath her knife. "Right? I do like my job at this station, but some of my coworkers' tastes in music are so weird! If I could make my own radio station, it would have a lot of orchestras and symphonies along with the newer techno pieces. Maybe I could even sneak some of my own violin pieces onto the air!" Grace turned to her friend and grinned. "Just kidding! Nothing I've made is anywhere close to being ready to share on the radio."
She turned back to her knife, dicing a stalk of celery with short, rapid strokes. Then she reached for the onion, though she hesitated a moment when it came under her blade. After a breath to resolve herself, she started cutting it into strips.
She turned back to her knife, dicing a stalk of celery with short, rapid strokes. Then she reached for the onion, though she hesitated a moment when it came under her blade. After a breath to resolve herself, she started cutting it into strips.
Ah. Oh dear. Should I wish you pleasant dreams, or no dreams so you can sleep like the dead? Well, whatever is best for your health and sanity, I wish it upon you. =)
@SammyPanda Did I not leave enough for you to work off of? Or did you do what I did and forget to subscribe to the thread?
"Both?" she echoed, her brow scrunching in contemplation. Moments passed listening to the rain as gears visibly turned in Grace's head. "Alright," she finally answered, her face breaking into a smile. "I have a way to do both! If you'll start the ricemaker, I can begin frying some veggies."
Grace pulled open the closet just outside the kitchen and retrieved her favorite apron from its hook on the back of the door. It was a soft blue, and a peace sign with every color in the rainbow covered the chest. She pulled it on over her hoodie and capris, tying it quickly behind her back before diving into the fridge once more.
"So you should have seen Miri at work today," Grace commented, starting up the conversation. "I'm sorting through our dubstep tracks when she walks over, waving her phone. 'You have to play this one,' she tells me. I put an earbud in and almost screamed; there wasn't anything but over-electrified guitar chords and feedback loops. 'I can't play that on air!' I told her, but she kept trying all day. Something about 'the next era for music,' she insisted." Grace laughed happily. "I mean, the station is hardly radio classical, but that was just too much for anyone who's not Miri."
Grace pulled open the closet just outside the kitchen and retrieved her favorite apron from its hook on the back of the door. It was a soft blue, and a peace sign with every color in the rainbow covered the chest. She pulled it on over her hoodie and capris, tying it quickly behind her back before diving into the fridge once more.
"So you should have seen Miri at work today," Grace commented, starting up the conversation. "I'm sorting through our dubstep tracks when she walks over, waving her phone. 'You have to play this one,' she tells me. I put an earbud in and almost screamed; there wasn't anything but over-electrified guitar chords and feedback loops. 'I can't play that on air!' I told her, but she kept trying all day. Something about 'the next era for music,' she insisted." Grace laughed happily. "I mean, the station is hardly radio classical, but that was just too much for anyone who's not Miri."
And... @SammyPanda!
The beginnings of a rainstorm pattered quietly against the window. Clouds covered the last of the waning sun’s light, leaving little natural lighting in the apartment. A damp gray painted the kitchen in melancholy, appliances left as nothing more than silhouettes in the gloom.
With a tiny ‘click,’ the lights came on. Shadows appeared beneath chairs, behind doors, within drawers. Grace stepped into the artificially-lit room, her arms stuffed in the pocket of a dark-green hoodie. One hand reached out and pulled the refrigerator open with a soft crackle. The faint, electric buzz of a machine at work grew louder and a new light painted a new set of shadows across the floor.
Crouching down, Grace slid the crisper open. The rustling of produce bags covered over the pitter-patter of raindrops for a time. “Hmmmm. Peppers, celery, carrots, onion, tomato.... Lily?” she called, raising her voice to carry to the bedrooms. “What sounds better tonight: rice? or potatoes?”
With a tiny ‘click,’ the lights came on. Shadows appeared beneath chairs, behind doors, within drawers. Grace stepped into the artificially-lit room, her arms stuffed in the pocket of a dark-green hoodie. One hand reached out and pulled the refrigerator open with a soft crackle. The faint, electric buzz of a machine at work grew louder and a new light painted a new set of shadows across the floor.
Crouching down, Grace slid the crisper open. The rustling of produce bags covered over the pitter-patter of raindrops for a time. “Hmmmm. Peppers, celery, carrots, onion, tomato.... Lily?” she called, raising her voice to carry to the bedrooms. “What sounds better tonight: rice? or potatoes?”
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