UnfunnyPete

Brooke [Dark, Investigative Group-Based Roleplay]

Great! I'm glad this picked up some interest. I'll be working on an OOC and a character sheet later today, so we can start working out some characters and I'll flesh out the plot some more.

The Blood Eagle, a brutal Viking Age inspired, alternate history roleplay.

Is this still open? Because I'm more then ready to get my Viking on.

Brooke [Dark, Investigative Group-Based Roleplay]

The downpour hadn’t ceased all night, the dirt-trodden road almost liquid as the night sky released a torrent of rain upon the woodland. James leaned his back against mud drenched rented pick-up truck, bringing a cigarette to his pale lips. Thunder boomed overhead, and after trying and failing to light the cigarette, he flicked it to the ground and took his cell phone from his pocket. She answered almost immediately.
“Becky, call the cops. Tell them I’ve found the girl.”
Becky sensed the grim tone coming down the line, knowing the answer to her question before she even spoke. “James, should I call her parents. Is she alive?”
He shot a grizzled look over the battered bush that sat at the edge of the lonesome road, his stomach churning at the sight of her mangled, mutilated body.
“Just get the cops out here. Mr and Mrs Wilson aren’t going to want to see this. Oh, and gather the team together,” He continued, moving to the seat of his car and letting the headlights brighten the morbid scene. “We’re not finished here.”

Welcome to my role-play interest thread. This role-play will follow a small team of private investigators, following the lead of a string of missing people, all of which have been found dead within a few miles of the small, mid-western US town of Brooke. Set on discovering the cause of the disappearances, the case will take the team down a dark path, filled with murder, horror, and a mystery routed deep into the foundations of a seemingly ordinary town.

This is going to be a very dark, grizzly experience, and I’m looking to gather a group of people whom can not only add to the story, but bring in their own ideas, so that we can all craft this role-play as we progress.

If you’re interested, let me know. I’ll answer any questions/queries you have, and hopefully, this gathers a bit of interest.

Thanks for reading.

Of Elves and Men

Of Elves and Men

Welcome to my roleplay idea, 'Of Elves and Men'. Drawing on similar themes from the series, 'A Song of Ice and Fire', this tale will follow our two characters as they embark on a journey. I'm looking for a story rich in character development, various characters and lore, with gritty and mature themes. Read the introduction below, and feel free to hit me up if you're interested. Questions, or anything you'd wish to bring to the tale and setting, are more than welcome. The story will primarily follow our two characters; Raylan Roose, a dishonored Knight, and you, the first of the Elven race to be seen my mankind in centuries. It'll follow the relationship that develops between the two, and as I've said, will be very character development heavy.

-

The flames flickered and danced against the still air. Smoke plumed into the sky, corrupting the canvas of white and blue into a sickening display of grey and black. Not a word was spoken amongst them, the people of Carthage, as they stared at the women whose throat let loose a primal howl as her body turned to ash within the fire. The pyre burned into the night, long after her screams ceased and her burnt form faded to nothingness. The last Witch was dead, the flames cleansing her soul of the corruption that had tainted her. No longer would men and women fear what lay in the darkness, and children would finally rest as the sun set. Aeris and all her Holds were finally free of the affliction that can caused so much bloodshed and pain for decades; the Witch-Hunt was over, and peace would finally fall upon the Kingdom.

It’s the seventy-second year of the tenth reign of the Valentia dynasty. After decades of war and rebellion, brought on by the notorious Witch-Hunt which saw men and women pulled from their families and put to the torch, was finally at an end. King Waylon Valentia, the first of his name, cursed decades ago to not father any children by an old hag whom was denied the Kings hospitality, saw that all Witches in the lands were to be burned, leading to an outcry from his people as innocents were accused, and in turn, burnt alive. From the cold, northern Hold of Carthage, to the meadow of the southern Hold of Glenn, all Lords bent to the Kings will in the end, and permitted their suspected citizens to burn. Any and all uprisings were quickly cut at the root, and it seemed that the Kings subjects had no choice but to follow the Kings will.
The last Witch was burnt three years ago. The ‘noble’ Witch Hunters became nothing but glorified soldiers, and the Kingdom fell to peace once more. The King, still maddened by the loss of any child any of his wives bare, has long since lost any love his people had for him, with only fear brought on by his insanity keeping him on the Throne of Man. The people are oppressed and tormented, and the seeds of a revolution are ready to be sowed.
But times of peace are fickle and short; light that mankind tries to keep the darkness back with flickers and fades. An older, long since forgotten danger is soon to return, a sign that the age of man is soon to be gone.

Raylan, once a Knighted Witch-Hunter under the King, travels the Long Road through the Beastmarch, a northern woodland so dense that there are parts mankind has never stepped foot upon. Under the pretense that a lone Witch may still wander those woods, what he finds is far more harrowing and forgotten; the first of the Elves to be seen by man in a millennia. Convinced on bringing her to the insane King to restore his honor, they embark on a journey together that will not only decide that fate of the Kingdom, but of mankind’s rule as a whole. The return of the Elves marks only the beginning, and there is a greater threat lying dormant, a threat of Wings and flames.

A short opening:

Nature had long since reclaimed the ruin, its grasp rooted into the crackled stone of the relic to times gone by. The narrow, dirt-trodden passage that snaked towards the entrance, surrounded on either side by the same dense nature, disappeared into darkness through the caved doorway, the fingers of vines and bed of moss ran tracing inside with it, fading into black. The stars above provided little light through the thick foliage, and only the torch guided their path from the whispers and eyes that watched from the wilderness, surely ready to engulf them were it to fade. Raylan placed one hand upon the aged stone of the ruin, the walls cold to the touch. It had been far too long since another living soul had entered this place, where the wardens of the dead stayed vigilant. All except one living soul who, Gods be good, still lurked the halls of the catacombs that riddled this place. Thrusting his hand into the cracked entrance and into the darkness, the warm glow lit the steep steps that lay before them, the end invisible, only leading to more darkness. If the tales held true, she would be awaiting them within this place, but whether they were prepared for her greeting was another question.
“Thom, leave the horses,” Raylan spoke, his eyes not leaving the abyss that awaited at the bottom of those shadowed stairs. “Let us meet this Witch.”

Sentinel's Watch [Interest Check]

An Original Role-Play

The hills rolled off into lapping arrays of the most decadent greens, glistening with the crisp morning dew. The cherry blossoms and apple orchards were in full bloom, and seemed to whisper between one another as the valley breeze nestled its way through the sparing woodland. This scene was a welcomed sight to the people of the village, whose children were taking great delight in running free through the soft grass with their feet bare, laughing and frolicking between one another as though nothing in the world mattered but that morning. The parents, smiling one and all, took the distraction of the children as a moment to ready themselves for the festivities that lay ahead that day; it was the final night of spring, and summer was soon to be upon them. Old Mr Radsharll gave a warm smile and a hearty handshake as he shared the freshest of apples from his orchards, and none could protest his insistence on them being the best in town; a gentle crunch, followed by the most pleasing trickle of exquisite juices. Perfection. His wife, of course, just rolled her eyes and laughed, readying her mare for rides that children would undoubtedly be demanding once the feast was done, and the young and charmingly handsome Jeremy Gloom was even going to be lighting his spectacular fireworks when night fell, of which all were excited to gaze upon. It would be a day and night to remember, that was certain.

The figures appeared two by two, atop horses that trod harsh metal hooves into the grassland. Stoic to the last man, and lugging and creaking cart behind that groined under the weight of the several boys and girls riding upon it, they seemed to steal the sun as they descended from the hilltop, casting stretched and lasting shadows upon the village. Smiles soon faded, as parents gathered their children one by one and began to scuttle towards their homes, all the laughter sucked from the air like a vacuum. All knew what the man, shrouded in their robes of black, had come for, but none wanted to give it willingly; the Sentinels had arrived, three days earlier than expected. They were not men and women of menace, but rather, a hollow reminder to the people of that gleeful little village of the cost all had to pay, but only a few suffered. They did not smile or laugh or exchange small-talk, simply because they knew the pain they would be inflicting upon this small town, a pain they too had been inflicted with themselves once upon a time.

They left with two boys, a girl barely of age, and Jeremy Gloom, whose handsome face was lost to the pale visage of dread that replaced it.

They would become Sentinels, desire had nothing to do with it. All families had to pay this shared price to protect this, and none took pleasure in the act. One conscription per family, with volunteers always welcome, as unlikely a prospect as that was. With their carts a little heavier, the Sentinels would return to the Wall that rested so far away, but never would a soul return. This is the price of the Sentinels, the unwilling protectors of our land, from the horrors that lay beyond the Wall.

This is a pain we all suffer. This is a price we all share.

This is Sentinels Watch.

You are a Sentinel. Conscripted, or volunteered, it is your sworn duty to guard the Wall, and hold back the evil that permeates the land beyond it. You will die a Sentinel. There is nothing else for you now. We all came from families from the endless stretch of lush valleys, littered with villages and towns a plenty, but those families are mere memories that drive us on-wards. You were beaten like a dog. You were trained like a soldier. You are a Sentinel of the Wall. You will stare fear and death in the face and you will not blink, because we're all that stands between the savagery of beyond those grand, stone bricks.

This role-play takes place in a post-apocalyptic version of our world, set hundreds of years in the future. Like a plague, an evil engulfed our world that turned men feral, causing them to feast upon their families as though they were naught but a meal. With a morbid brutality, they butchered all they came across, forcing the last refuge of mankind to construct the Wall; stretching from one horizon to the next, the Wall is the only protection we have from the apocalypse that awaits outside, in a world of ruin and decay. Cities crumbled, skyscrapers stand as unrecognized monuments to a time gone by, and any hope of advancement seems idiotic. All we can do is hold the Wall, and live what lives we can. This is our duty, as Sentinels of the Wall.

Every year, the Sentinels travel outwards to the villages and towns of our safe haven to conscript a small portion of its population; that is the cost of our safety. One from every family. Taken from their homes, they are moved to the Wall, where they are trained mercilessly to be the best they can possibly be. Once trained, a Sentinels duty is to hold the wall night and day, as well as scavenging outwards into the world in search of anything to help our haven. Those whom travel outwards rarely survive, and those that do often wish they hadn't. The beasts beyond the wall, many centuries old with necrotic flesh and maddened minds seek nothing but to mutilate, murder and feast. They are intelligent, and they are many. Malicious, nauseously sinister, the Sentinels battle them night and day to save what little humanity we have left.

You are a Sentinel. However long you have been a Sentinel, your history and your story to come, these are all your decisions. Only one thing is certain; you live as a Sentinel, and you will die as a Sentinel. This is the price we pay. This is the burden we carry.

A Field Report

The transcript report of a Sentinel, sent forth from the Wall to gather medical supplies in the remnants of the city. Our reports suggest that the group was ambushed, a brought to a leader of sorts. We can only speculate as to the authenticity of this statement; the subject in question was discovered five days after being dispatched by another scouting group. He was gravely injured and alone, and was brought back to the Wall for medical attention.

"We arrived four days after deployment. We were taken to a large, destitute hall, with industrial walls adorned with most macabre decorations; the remnants of bodies hung like chandeliers, and blood coated surfaces with a thick sludge. Despite our protests, her faithful followers forced us inwards with spears crafted from pipe and scraped steel. We were outnumbered vastly, and exhausted from the days of travel; it was all we could do but to follow them. When they presented us to her, whom sat atop her morbid tapestry of a throne with steam bellowing from the broken pipes and vents that surrounded this rusted place, I knew that our prayers for sanctuary would not be answered. Whatever beauty she might have held once was hidden behind self-mutilation and scorn, and she looked down upon us as though our mere existence was a grand displeasure. I tried to reason with her, which is why I think she made me watch as she committed an untold amount of unthinkable atrocities to the men under my command, men whom I had led to that forsaken place. Bones were pulverized and bent, fingers torn from hands and tongues cut wiggling from bloodied mouths. This was only the beginning; I will never put to word the horrors that below my men in front of my eyes at the hands of this ashen Queen. Those she didn’t kill, or those whom simply survived the hellish afflictions placed upon them, were dragged away in chains cutting through flesh, screaming and begging for death as they vanished. I still prey that they found death, for the thought of them still being alive in this place is too much for my guilt-ridden soul to bear. The last atrocity she committed befell myself; with a boiled, rusted spoon, she plucked my eyes from my head, and cut the nerves holding them with her teeth. The last thing I saw, and still see to this day, is her pitiless, merciless gaze upon me. Beyond the wall is a lost cause, and is no place for a sane man. The Sentinels will fall."

Conscription

A transcript of an unknown Sentinel commander, commenting on the forces 'conscription' method.

"Regarding our implemented ‘conscription’ system in place for all the colonies, it can be explained thusly; the Wall must hold. Without manpower, the wall would crumble within days, and the terrors that exist beyond it would be unleashed upon us. Is it not right to have a few face the pain so that more may live freely? This is the burden the Sentinels carry. My conscripting one from each family every decade, as well as accepting any and all volunteers (as rare as they are), we establish a shared effort amongst our people in the defense of our land; those taken have families to defend, and will fight all the harder knowing so. Were things beyond the Wall to grow worse, we’d have to consider… a wider resource pool."

If you have any questions, feel free to ask below. There is still more to come, this is just me testing the waters. I'm looking to make this role play character driven, based around the relationships that develop and grow between our characters, and the emotions that come with that, so I'm looking for people who can develop their characters. There is no character sheet, so feel free to get creative; including things like name, age, appearance, history, personality... you guys know all of this by now. I hope this develops some interest!

Quick, look here! It's a search thread!

Hello there, chaps. I haven't created an entirely thought-out plot for this role-play yet, so I'm just going to cast out the idea and see if anyone wants to bite. Lets go!

So, here's the story. The year is 2210, one hundred years after the majority of mankind was forced from the surface and took refugee aboard community vessels in low orbit around the planet, to escape an infected that plagued the Earth. Transforming mankind and animal alike into mutated beings of primal instinct, the surface became mostly unlivable, other than a few outposts and militarized zones. For the most part, life takes place within the vessels, where mankind has retained some form of normalcy; life occurs largely as it would on the surface, with jobs and families and homes and bars and restaurants and the likes. I'd go into more detail later on, but for now, I'm just keeping this brief.

Your character is the daughter of a military leader, whom has recently become the target of attack by a small militia group aboard the vessels. Hired to transport her safely from the Awakening (The name of the educational vessel the story begins on), to Rebirth (The most militarized vessel, and home of her father), my character is nothing but a pay-to-hire freelancer looking to make a living. However, things soon go south when, after avoiding an attack from the militia group shortly after meeting, our two characters are sent plummeting towards the surface aboard a sabotage escape ship. Once of the surface, they'll have to find a way to the girls father, whilst avoiding the militia group, and creatures that exist on the surface, and any other threats along the way.

However, I want this role-play to center on the relationship and development of our two characters, to create a truly gripping and emotional journey. With that in mind, I'm looking for an individual who can create complex characters and who can bring as much to the story as I can.

I can provide a writing sample if required, and I hope this interests someone.

Thanks for reading, chaps.

(A remake, not a sequel)

Here's a little writing sample I pulled together last night. Feel free to tell me what you think, or let me know if you'd be interested in possibly making a role-play along the same lines.

-

The boy and the dog hadn’t eaten a decent meal in what felt like a year, so when the dog came bellowing around the bend of the dusted hallway with a rusted tin of dried fruit in his maw, the boy was more than elated.

“Good job, girl.” Ruffling his hands through the scraggy white hair of the dog, whom looked back at him with a blissful happiness that the boy wished he could share; he often wondered if the dog understood the world, now. He’d hoped not.

That night, under the flickering light of a hushed fire, the boy and the dog feasted upon the wondrous sensations of apricots, peaches and a yellowish, sour fruit he couldn’t quite name. The dog spent its night with its nose and tongue cleaning the can of any scraps and scrapes that remained, occasionally nudging it towards the boy, who would simply smile and decline. His stomach didn’t growl that night, and neither did the dog.

When morning broke through the cracks and crevices in the concrete structure, the boy packed away his few possessions; a tatted, worn sleeping bag, and an empty rucksack.

The streets were surprisingly empty that day, so the boy let the dog wander off from his side. It ran through gardens and yards, danced around swing sets and buried its head into every garbage can it could find. The sky was brighter than it had been in a while, and the dismal clouds that usually fogged it departed in lieu of a lightly blue canvas. It was cold, still; the wind brought a coastal breeze with it, and the cries of seagulls scavenging a baron sand echoed over the suburbs. The streets was askew with rusted cars taken by natures grasp, vines and weeds reclaiming the once pristine yards and turning them wild. The dog was in her element, naturally, but the boy looked around with eyes filled with memories and loss. He remembered one house to have been home to his childhood sweetheart, Susan… her last name escaped him. He walked up her porch, recognising her father’s once sparkling prize of a Chevrolet, now tarnished with dirt, creeping rust, and blood, left idly in the driveway. When he reached the jarred rotten door, the dog whimpered at his feet and pulled at the back of his trouser leg. She was right, entering wouldn’t be wise. They returned to the street and carried on.

Streets and suburbs soon turned into country roads, and sound of the sea at their backs soon turning silent. That night they slept under the counter of a desolate gas station, neither of them daring to make a sound as slumped footsteps scraped the pavement outside. Neither of them got much sleep.

By the time morning arrived, the sounds had departed. The boy checked the road whilst the dog waited under the counter, and when he was sure that it was safe, a soft whistle brought the dog to him. They’d found nothing of value within the gas station, other than ripped and bruised teddy bear that the dog insisted on bringing with them. The boy had agreed, and placed it in his bag. Every now and then, the dog would disappeared into the underbrush that marked the farmland roadside, not reappearing for hours at a time. The boy knew that she would not be far, so he did not mind; the dog’s curiosity had brought the spoils of salvation more than once, after all. He’d hoped to find a farmhouse, or the remnants of a barn at the least, but for the miles that the road stretched onwards they were met with nothing but a repetitive cycle of un-kept wheat and corn that would soon be ready for harvest, had there been anyone to man the fields.

The boy and dog soon came to a halt along the road, when a rustling of the brush caught their attention. The dog began to whisper and growl, arching its back and revealing its teeth. The boy lowered his hands, hushing her and nudging her behind him. He fiddled through the pockets of his parka coat until his palm greeted the cold steel of his gun. He wasn’t sure how many bullets he had left. Less than three, definitely. It was a comfort to him, just as the torn teddy bear was to the dog he was sure.

The girl that emerged from the brush couldn’t have been any older than six. Her hair was twisted and torn at the scalp, the pale of her skin peeling and flaking at the bone. Her mouth opened to broken teeth and a blackened tongue, and her eyes were as lifeless as the dead.

The shot echoed for miles, and the boy still heard it when he slept.

In Space, No-One Can Hear You Scream...

Do you like space? Of course you do! Everyone likes space. You know what kind of people don't like space? Mole-Men. That's who. So, what, you're saying you're a Mole-man? I didn't think so, because they don't have access to the internet, so don't be ridiculous.

This is going to be brief. I'm looking for someone with whom i can create a space-exploration themed role-play, in which our characters are apart of a refugee vessel escaping a dying Earth. I'm looking for a truly gritty, emotionally fueled story that centers around our two characters, whomever they may be. I'm open to anything you'd like to add, and any elements you might want to bring into it. Right now, I'm really into the whole 'coming of age' story style, something that sees our characters grow and mature in this dark, desolate situation they've been forced into, with interluding moments of light and happiness, that kind of thing. If this interests you, drop me a PM and we can chat.

Oh, and here is some motivational music that I think captures the mood I'm shooting for here. Enjoy.

(A remake, not a sequel)

(So this is my second thread here. Seeing as it doesn’t seem possible to delete posts at the moment, or at least as far as I’m aware, I decided, ‘Hey, just make another!’ And here it is; it’s funny how things work out, right?)

Hello there, everyone! Welcome to my role-play partner thread. Cut the ribbon, release the doves and set off the sparklers 'cause it's time to celebrate! Are you excited? You probably shouldn't be, but I'll roll with it; Wooo!

Well, wasn't that anti-climactic? Anyway, lets carry on. Here, I'll basically just be throwing out ideas, writing segments and what not, so if anything catches your eye or you feel as though I'm the right guy for a role-play you're planning (Aww, shucks!), hit me up with a PM. But don't physically hit me, because I'm about as brittle as a three day old bread-stick.

Firstly, I'll just throw out what I'm looking for, and a little about myself, because I'm a friendly ol' chap, for the most part. I'm a college student, studying journalism at the moment, so if you ever see me rooting through your trash or dirty underwear, it's purely in the name of good journalism, you have my word. I also work part-time, and try to fit in just enough hours on Steam each day to still qualify as a potential house-hermit. Oh, I also apparently have to socialize with friends, so that takes up a bit of my day. The point at hand, is that I'm not going to be available twenty-four hours a day, and as such, I'm not looking for a role-play in which I feel forced to post multiple times per day, because I just can't do it. I also don't like to feel pressured to post, because this is supposed to be fun, right? If I'm interested, I'll always come back, which is unfortunately more than I can say for my father; twelve years to buy a pack of cigarettes? He'll be back any moment, I'm sure.
A list of things I like to see in my partners:

- The ability to turn Coke into Pepsi. It may seem trivial, but this is a skill all great role-players should possess.
- An unbending will to inflict harm upon those who use ‘ditto’ in a sentence, excluding this sentence, of course. (Warning: This refers to the noun, not the Pokémon.)
- I don’t have high standards, but I would at least like to see five, maybe six full chapters of writing per post. Maybe even a books worth? Who knows.
- The ability to turn the aforementioned Pepsi back into Coke. I don’t like Pepsi.
- I do like Pepsi. That was a lie.

By this point, you’re probably thinking to yourself, ‘this guy couldn’t write his way out of a paper bag, why should I role-play with him?’ Well, to that I say, how am I supposed to write my way out of a paper bag? That just doesn’t sound practical, or safe. Ridiculous, actually. Anyway, here are some writing samples/vague role-play ideas below. Feel free to check them out and see if there’s anything you like, which there better be, because I don’t handle criticisms very well. Seriously, I will go all Dexter Morgan (Minus the lumberjack beard) on you if you even try to criticise me. But let’s keep it fun, yeah?

Two Unconnected, Short Writing Sample

The lone knight marched amidst the flicker of flames and clash of steel. The day had peaked, but only a sickly grey haunted the battlefield; the skies threatened to let loose a miasma of destruction as light exploding and roared from the monstrous clouds of black, and no sight of the sun could break through. His armour that clung as naturally to him as his own skin left treads in the ashen ground, as one by one his brethren began to fall, and die.
He held neither a blade nor a shield, but his hands were drenched in blood that did not belong to him. His armour was scorched and smouldering, and he had long since abandoned his helmet; he wore his face with no emotion, and a sickly scarlet fluid trickled down his brow and met with the sweat and dust that coated him.
She hung in his arms, draped in a blood-stained cloth that covered her body. She was cold, soft, and still. The long wisps of white hair curled towards the ground and blew in the wind with a grace that was unwelcome to that place, the pale of her skin only visibly through the arm that hung free from the cloth, yet more blood running along her frozen fingertips and falling to the ground.
Each step upwards towards the tainted temple tested his will and strength that was fleeting with each moment; his body shook and quivered as his vision blurred and spiralled. With each step, the battle behind grew fainter, and before long, he stood atop the hundred steps, before the once grand pillars that laid before the place of sacred worship, turned into a place of cursed torment from the Gods. Its doors lay broken and its path littered with the bodies of the fallen priests and priestesses that had inhabited this place.
He finally laid her body upon the alter, removing the thin cloth that covered her. She was beyond pale, and her eyes were still. He fell to his knees, as his eyes once more fell to the wound that had been inflicted upon her. Her veins pulsed a sickening black that had spread through most of her form. Her heart could still be seen beating ever so slowly, and the blood that dripped from her eyes and nose had darkened.
His steel cloaked hands clutched the bed of the alter, and his clenched jaw tilted upwards towards the sky. The roof lay open and cracked, the greying sky lurking overhead. He hoped some eyes looked back upon him, but he had never been a man of faith and it seemed that only in his time of desperation did he deem it time to start.
“We cannot heal her, Alcaeus. Our gifts are not reserved for ones of such taint.”
He didn’t know whether the voice resided merely within his own mind, or whether it whispered through his ear from above.
“Heal her, or I swear that I will not rest until-“
“Your threats are like flickering flames in the wind, Alcaeus. We do not fear the damned. Leave this cursed place and seek repentance whilst you can. Perhaps your soul can be saved. The Witch will die, this you must accept.”

---

He’d kneeled besides her for what felt like an age, as the sun raised and set over the city of diamond and gold. Each day the sun grey paler, and with it, the nights held for longer. Soon, all would be shrouded within a thick veil of the abyss, and even her light, as blinding as it once was, would fade to nothingness.
But he wouldn’t leave her. He couldn’t. His heart bound him to her a long time ago, and the thought of leaving her side was a far worse fate than any life he could have without her. She was everything to him, and were it enough to sustain her, he would have gladly given his own light to fuel hers, if only for a moment. But he could not, for his will could not defy her own wishes. She accepted her fate and welcomed it, and all the protests and argument he could muster would not change her mind. She was as stubborn as she was fair and beautiful, as she always had been. In a way, he was glad that she did not change even in her final moments; she was a single constant of righteousness. But that didn’t mean he had to like her fate, or what it meant for him. But he had to honour it, for her.
He prayed, but to whom, he was not aware. The Gods had abandoned this place long ago, leaving only their youngest daughter behind, whom now paid the price for their audacity. Isabella, a fairer Goddess to Mankind than they ever deserved, would die here, with Isaac at her side. He was sword to protect her, and in all the millennia’s, he had no faltered in that task, nor did he plan to begin.
The chanting of the burning halls grew louder, the heretics destroying the foundations of a city older than they could comprehend. Their stinted lives left them wallowed in ignorance that had spread for generations. With each coming generation, their faith had grew thinner, their self-importance and pride mustering into fits of rage against those whom had guided them.
“My dearest Isaac, you should depart from these halls. The darkness is coming, and you must carry the light of these halls.” Her voice ran through his mind, her lips unmoving. He ran a steeled hand over her porcelain skin, letting the fading wisps of sheering white hair fall over his fingers. Her eyes kept on his, and her smile remained. She didn’t have long left now, and to beings whom had existed since the dawn of time, even another day would be too little.
“Isabella, if you are to stay in this place, then so am I. It is the way it as always been, and the way it shall be. I will not leave you, not now, and certainly not in death. I am here.” He took her hand in his. It was cold, so cold that he could feel it through the dragon-plated steel that covered his body. A tear ran down her cheek, and he knew that she wept for him. Entire ages would pass after her departure from this existence, and he would remain in place, waiting for the day that he could follow into the unknown. Where did immortal beings go when they ceased to be?
The grand doors to the hall flew open, and the mortals rushed inside. They were ever so little in such a grand place, barely large enough to reach but a fraction of the doors height. Isaac would tower over them like a column, as would all the Gods that once filled this place. But he had yet to move. He kept his unmoving gaze on hers, and felt the first tear in all of his existence to trickle down his cheek. He had never experienced loss like this before.
A look of worry shot across the Goddess face as she saw the intruders, numbered many. Brandishing swords and bows and hooks and ropes, they sought the blood of the Goddess for their own. They sought to take her from these halls, to keep her chained and bound to their whims. They demanded revenge for the horrors that descended upon them with the coming darkness, a darkness of their own creation. They brought not the desire for faith, but the desire for blood. Isaac would not allow that to happen.
The blade that he had held over her chest felt too heavy now. She took his hand, holding the blade too. The mortals could not be allowed the power of the Gods. It came with a pain unimaginable that he was to be the one to cease her light. But like always, he respected her wishes.
It slid inside with ease, with no resistance. The blade pierced her heart swiftly, and he prayed that she felt no pain in her final moments. She smiled, as her body crumbled to the dust from which it had come, and blew with the wind, leaving him alone. He wasn’t sure how long he remained there, unmoving, before the mortals reached his towering body.
He had been just, in life. Fearless, righteous, and unbending. He harboured no ill-will to any, but as he closed the grilled visor of his helmet, stood from his kneel and drew the blade that was longer than any man, he felt a hatred he had never felt before.
With the zeal of a man whom had naught but to lose, Isaac readied himself for his final battle, before the darkness claimed him too. An eternity of none-existence was more favourable than but a minute without his fair Isabella.
He soon fell to the hordes of mortals, and watched with his last ancient breath as the darkness reined from the skies and claimed them all to this place, to be tormented and pained forever. Death came not for Isaac, however, as the darkness claimed him, too. His last thought was that if Isabella would see the corruption that darkness would make of him, if she’d ever look upon him again.

Jus

Here, I'll just be writing general thoughts and such that I'd be interested in, to see if anyone wants to pick them up.

-I've just recently watched 'Let The Right One In', which if you haven't seen it, is the story of a young kid who meets a vampire, and the two develop a bond. Sounds Twilight-y, I know. But unlike that piece of filth, the film rattles around some truly dark issues and themes, as well as acting as a great coming of age story. If there's one thing you know I love (Okay, you don't know I love it, why would you?), it's a good ol' dark coming of age tale. If this kind of thing interests anyone, drop me a PM, children.

If you want to get in touch with me quicker, or easier (Because lets face it, this site isn't exactly reliable at the moment, it seems), you can find my Skype and Email below. I hope to hear back from some of you guys and gals soon... or, you know, I'll sneak into your homes.

Skype: peter.adams.94

Email: [e-mail]

UnfunnyPete's Den of Narcissism

I'm kind of running dry on ideas at the moment, guys and gals. If anyone has any plots or ideas, or would just like to see what we can make up together, please feel free to hit me up with a PM and I'll get back to you. You'll be saving me from boredom, so your cause will not be in vain. I swear, I'm so desperate to get a role-play going that I've even considered venturing in the 'free' section... the horrors.