((Hello everyone! I've been thinking for a while about new ways to roleplay through the forum medium, and after discussing it with one of the forum admins (Kim), she encouraged me to see who would be interested in this type of RP.
To put it simply, I'd like to form a cooperatively written novel with the other players and members of RPR. So for this RP, you're going to need to take a third person omniscient perspective. Feel free to introduce characters and plot points, but try to keep a narrative flow. Don't derail the story just for giggles! I'll be compiling the entries from the forum every week and posting them to a Google Docs document to which I'll post the link every week. I'll make an entry every week (or at least I'll try to, not too sure how ambitious that will be) to keep the story moving. If you like where the story's going, make a new entry! Start some dialogue, write a cool battle scene, mix it up with some romance, whatever! Just make sure we maintain a narrative flow that will make sense.
Since this is in novel form, I'd like there to be an easily discernible beginning, middle, and end. I realize that may be very difficult to do with the forum medium, but I know the calibre of talent here and I have every confidence in this group.))";
To put it simply, I'd like to form a cooperatively written novel with the other players and members of RPR. So for this RP, you're going to need to take a third person omniscient perspective. Feel free to introduce characters and plot points, but try to keep a narrative flow. Don't derail the story just for giggles! I'll be compiling the entries from the forum every week and posting them to a Google Docs document to which I'll post the link every week. I'll make an entry every week (or at least I'll try to, not too sure how ambitious that will be) to keep the story moving. If you like where the story's going, make a new entry! Start some dialogue, write a cool battle scene, mix it up with some romance, whatever! Just make sure we maintain a narrative flow that will make sense.
Since this is in novel form, I'd like there to be an easily discernible beginning, middle, and end. I realize that may be very difficult to do with the forum medium, but I know the calibre of talent here and I have every confidence in this group.))";
Luke woke up to pain. His first memories were obliterated by it and he was consumed by waves of pain shuddering through him. He clenched his teeth and tried not to throw up. He tried to ride the pain like a wave, but it just kept slamming into him, twisting him, causing him to curl up into himself and forget how to breathe. Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, the pain was gone. It left him so completely that, in his surprise, he forgot that it had left him and he braced for more pain. When it didn't come, he gasped a huge breath of relief. His muscles unclenched and he lay on the ground, breathing like he had sprinted ten miles, tears of relief leaking from his closed eyes.
He clenched his hands and found the grip of a sword in his right hand, the weight of a shield on his left arm. Memory flowed into his mind like a spring-flooded river. The fire, the smoke, the... his father. His father! Suddenly stricken by worry and fear, he scrambled up to his feet and looked wildly around. His father! He was screaming! But no... that was memory. His wild eyes saw only trees around him; he was in a small clearing in the woods somewhere.
He sank down to his knees as memory brought more pain, but pain of a different kind. Pain that did not just go away. The party, the argument, the horrifying monsters... Sobs wracked him again and he could not stop them. The grief and loss crashed into him. He remembered...
He clenched his hands and found the grip of a sword in his right hand, the weight of a shield on his left arm. Memory flowed into his mind like a spring-flooded river. The fire, the smoke, the... his father. His father! Suddenly stricken by worry and fear, he scrambled up to his feet and looked wildly around. His father! He was screaming! But no... that was memory. His wild eyes saw only trees around him; he was in a small clearing in the woods somewhere.
He sank down to his knees as memory brought more pain, but pain of a different kind. Pain that did not just go away. The party, the argument, the horrifying monsters... Sobs wracked him again and he could not stop them. The grief and loss crashed into him. He remembered...
It had been a beautiful day. The first day of harvest and the crop was good this year-- a record year. Luke stood in the fields, smelling the sweet aroma of tobacco ready for harvest. The crop was waist high and the green of early growth had yellowed and matured. Hero's Home tobacco was renowned for its quality and none more so than that of his father's farm. Luke took his sickle in his hand and began the long work of chopping and stacking.
It was monotonous work, work that let his mind wander far past the fields and deep into the soil he loved so much. Many of the youths of Hero's Home only wanted to become adventurers. To be famous like so many of the heroes in the realms, making fortunes by hunting monsters, looting tombs, or facing the evils of the world. It was practically expected of them. Not Luke. He loved the land and lived for the harvest. He loved the dependability of the soil and the seed and the satisfaction of a long days' hard work done. He frowned. Luke's father, Marcus, wanted more than anything for him to become an adventurer. The old man kept trying to push it on him, dropping subtle and not-so-subtle hints about the glories of the road and the fortunes waiting for a big strong lad from Hero's Home.
Luke grunted in disgust at the thought of his father's arguments, chopping with a little more force than necessary at the thick pulpy stems of the crop. It was all his mother's fault. Liah of the flaming hair and fiery temper. She of the long and illustrious career delving deep into secrets that should never have been revealed. One of those secrets had ended her, leaving behind only a worn old sword and shield and a lonely boy with his heartbroken father. She had left them both for the greatest adventure, his father often said, tears of mingled grief and pride in his rough voice.
Abandoned, more like, thought Luke as he finished the row and started another. Gods, why am I thinking about this now? It's my birthday today and all I can think of is my mother! He tried to lose himself in the work, but his mind kept coming back to that fateful day, catching odd details and concentrating on them. That was a red day, as he remembered it. His mother's red hair, her crimson cloak, a red-tailed hawk, even, flying high overhead, casting a bad omen over the day. The defenses she had organized were pitiful, laughable even, but the townspeople had had faith in the great hero of the West, the one they still called Death's Daughter. She needn't have died that day, Luke knew. Her old adventuring group, now called the Hand of the Light, was on its way, would have been on time and with their support, it would not even have been a contest. But Death's Daughter had insisted it was her burden to lift, her duty to stop the creatures. His mother's red blood, spurting from the wound in her neck, freed from her body by a death blow from the last of the vile creatures, sealing their vengeance for some wrong her mother had committed against them, but had forgotten in the intervening years.
Their priest hadn't even been able to raise her. She had died a heroic death and her spirit could not return from the halls of the gods. She had taken her place at their side. Luke realized he had finished another row and that the cart was stacked high with leaves ready to be pared and dried. Mute Abel, one of his father's two farmhands, had laid out string on a long table and began binding the stalks even as Luke stacked them on one side of the table. Shaking his head free of the dark memories, he lifted the cart with a grunt and wheeled it to the drying room. For the rest of the day, he harvested the tobacco, brought it to be dried and wandered through his memories and thoughts in a kind of melancholy haze.
It was monotonous work, work that let his mind wander far past the fields and deep into the soil he loved so much. Many of the youths of Hero's Home only wanted to become adventurers. To be famous like so many of the heroes in the realms, making fortunes by hunting monsters, looting tombs, or facing the evils of the world. It was practically expected of them. Not Luke. He loved the land and lived for the harvest. He loved the dependability of the soil and the seed and the satisfaction of a long days' hard work done. He frowned. Luke's father, Marcus, wanted more than anything for him to become an adventurer. The old man kept trying to push it on him, dropping subtle and not-so-subtle hints about the glories of the road and the fortunes waiting for a big strong lad from Hero's Home.
Luke grunted in disgust at the thought of his father's arguments, chopping with a little more force than necessary at the thick pulpy stems of the crop. It was all his mother's fault. Liah of the flaming hair and fiery temper. She of the long and illustrious career delving deep into secrets that should never have been revealed. One of those secrets had ended her, leaving behind only a worn old sword and shield and a lonely boy with his heartbroken father. She had left them both for the greatest adventure, his father often said, tears of mingled grief and pride in his rough voice.
Abandoned, more like, thought Luke as he finished the row and started another. Gods, why am I thinking about this now? It's my birthday today and all I can think of is my mother! He tried to lose himself in the work, but his mind kept coming back to that fateful day, catching odd details and concentrating on them. That was a red day, as he remembered it. His mother's red hair, her crimson cloak, a red-tailed hawk, even, flying high overhead, casting a bad omen over the day. The defenses she had organized were pitiful, laughable even, but the townspeople had had faith in the great hero of the West, the one they still called Death's Daughter. She needn't have died that day, Luke knew. Her old adventuring group, now called the Hand of the Light, was on its way, would have been on time and with their support, it would not even have been a contest. But Death's Daughter had insisted it was her burden to lift, her duty to stop the creatures. His mother's red blood, spurting from the wound in her neck, freed from her body by a death blow from the last of the vile creatures, sealing their vengeance for some wrong her mother had committed against them, but had forgotten in the intervening years.
Their priest hadn't even been able to raise her. She had died a heroic death and her spirit could not return from the halls of the gods. She had taken her place at their side. Luke realized he had finished another row and that the cart was stacked high with leaves ready to be pared and dried. Mute Abel, one of his father's two farmhands, had laid out string on a long table and began binding the stalks even as Luke stacked them on one side of the table. Shaking his head free of the dark memories, he lifted the cart with a grunt and wheeled it to the drying room. For the rest of the day, he harvested the tobacco, brought it to be dried and wandered through his memories and thoughts in a kind of melancholy haze.
((I'm sorry if this isn't something you where looking for but this sounds like a good forum idea. Novel from sounds very intresting. 
))
Little did anyone know that the half human half animal girl named Kuro Sakuranbo was not far from the Hero's Home farm, she was just at the edge of the woods and didnt even know. She was badly hurt from again another fight with her master's failed experiments and this one was the hardest to kill. She had long black hair with four red streaks that had some blood in it that was not just her's. She also had two toned eyes that were red and blue. She wore a simple black slightly teared shirt with toren at the ends fadded blue jeans.
Just a few days ago she had ran into another one of her masters monsters and it was the strongest. It had almost teared her left arm off and left deep clawings on her left arm and leg. It had also knock her into a nearby tree which she believe it might have cracked her skull but not wide enough to make her black out it seemed.
She sat down at a nearby tree only a foot or so away from the farm and tried to calm herself down. Her breathing was heavy and her eyes looked up at the sky. This is it, my last day of pain. She thought as she closed her eyes and let the sun warmth hit her skin. She was still in unbearable pain going through her body but she turly thought that this would be her last day, and it would be if she kept bleeding as badly as she was now.
))Little did anyone know that the half human half animal girl named Kuro Sakuranbo was not far from the Hero's Home farm, she was just at the edge of the woods and didnt even know. She was badly hurt from again another fight with her master's failed experiments and this one was the hardest to kill. She had long black hair with four red streaks that had some blood in it that was not just her's. She also had two toned eyes that were red and blue. She wore a simple black slightly teared shirt with toren at the ends fadded blue jeans.
Just a few days ago she had ran into another one of her masters monsters and it was the strongest. It had almost teared her left arm off and left deep clawings on her left arm and leg. It had also knock her into a nearby tree which she believe it might have cracked her skull but not wide enough to make her black out it seemed.
She sat down at a nearby tree only a foot or so away from the farm and tried to calm herself down. Her breathing was heavy and her eyes looked up at the sky. This is it, my last day of pain. She thought as she closed her eyes and let the sun warmth hit her skin. She was still in unbearable pain going through her body but she turly thought that this would be her last day, and it would be if she kept bleeding as badly as she was now.
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