For those of you who hoarded old plots and RP sessions. Here's the place to share all of our old writing!
From the old Zombie plot...late Mystic/early Morthika era!
*Ase again slung her canvas pack (which, to all other eyes, looked at this point like it had been chewed on by a pack of dogs) over her shoulder and followed with a new lightness the bright-eyed girl who’d just made one hell of an impression. It took some time to adjust her pace, as the shooting pain in her legs had since doubled, but despite this (and the throbbing, sunburned skin lining her neck, cheeks, and nose), Ase followed dutifully, straining to catch Sully’s words as she chatted away. After a few moments, she got the distinct impression that something…or someone…had roused a little irritation in the wiry creature–after all, the subtle tinge of resentment hadn’t gone unnoticed by Asenath; then again, little did these days. Deciding not to press her companion (as she hardly knew the girl at all yet), Ase simply followed like a loyal canine and had to stifle with great effort her enthusiasm upon entering a real, true-to-life dwelling.
A low groan of relief spilled from her lips as the shadows in the house replaced the sun’s intense rays. Her reddened skin ceased burning, though an unpleasant ache supplanted the sensation, and she kicked off her boots in a moment’s notice. Wriggling her toes as Sully bent to attend to the various things that had spilled from her pack, Ase noted the instructions to the bathroom and (after unceremoniously dropping her own bundle to the floor) nearly ran the length of the hallway–shedding clothes all the way. Soon, the sound of running water and various curses drifted out into the rest of the establishment. The hot water upon her sunburn had done little in the way of relief, but the dust and dirt that colored the bottom of the tub near her feet attested to the fact that Ase was in dire need of a shower. Sighing happily, she continued to clean herself as best she could. Other things could wait…her notebook, a change of clothes, the town itself and the people in it…all could wait.
Calling out to Sully as the unfamiliarity of her position again reared in her mind, she shrugged and grinned. A little conversation at this point might be a welcome change from Sebastian’s stiff speeches…*
“’Ey, Sully? If yer not busy in the next coupla’ minutes, could you come on over and gimme the lowdown on this place? I hafta admit … I’m a little lost as to what all’s happenin’ – and what happened ‘fore I got here.”
*Ase again slung her canvas pack (which, to all other eyes, looked at this point like it had been chewed on by a pack of dogs) over her shoulder and followed with a new lightness the bright-eyed girl who’d just made one hell of an impression. It took some time to adjust her pace, as the shooting pain in her legs had since doubled, but despite this (and the throbbing, sunburned skin lining her neck, cheeks, and nose), Ase followed dutifully, straining to catch Sully’s words as she chatted away. After a few moments, she got the distinct impression that something…or someone…had roused a little irritation in the wiry creature–after all, the subtle tinge of resentment hadn’t gone unnoticed by Asenath; then again, little did these days. Deciding not to press her companion (as she hardly knew the girl at all yet), Ase simply followed like a loyal canine and had to stifle with great effort her enthusiasm upon entering a real, true-to-life dwelling.
A low groan of relief spilled from her lips as the shadows in the house replaced the sun’s intense rays. Her reddened skin ceased burning, though an unpleasant ache supplanted the sensation, and she kicked off her boots in a moment’s notice. Wriggling her toes as Sully bent to attend to the various things that had spilled from her pack, Ase noted the instructions to the bathroom and (after unceremoniously dropping her own bundle to the floor) nearly ran the length of the hallway–shedding clothes all the way. Soon, the sound of running water and various curses drifted out into the rest of the establishment. The hot water upon her sunburn had done little in the way of relief, but the dust and dirt that colored the bottom of the tub near her feet attested to the fact that Ase was in dire need of a shower. Sighing happily, she continued to clean herself as best she could. Other things could wait…her notebook, a change of clothes, the town itself and the people in it…all could wait.
Calling out to Sully as the unfamiliarity of her position again reared in her mind, she shrugged and grinned. A little conversation at this point might be a welcome change from Sebastian’s stiff speeches…*
“’Ey, Sully? If yer not busy in the next coupla’ minutes, could you come on over and gimme the lowdown on this place? I hafta admit … I’m a little lost as to what all’s happenin’ – and what happened ‘fore I got here.”
From the old werepanthers plot -- definitely a Morthika relic!
*Violent slashes of eventide color marred the celestial canvas tacked with cold and brilliant stars; wild brushstrokes fanned out into the abysmal stretch of night sky and garnered all opulence from the stygian milieu upon reaching the craggy horizon, as if some madman had sought to recreate eccentric images with fierce washes and tinted, wriggling scribbles. The stark lunar light of the moon took form in a thousand silver threads that crisscrossed the earth below and caught shadows in an icy net of supernal chill…limning a rising figure and dappling the mise en scene in grey, beatific radiance. After moments, lissome limbs of black lengthened and paled; an ebon face flaunting both an august muzzle and pointed ears dissolved into the pooling darkness, and all remnants of a glossy hide soon disappeared like so much tainted fog.
In perfect pallor shone glistening eyes of a jarring green. In rivulets of coal, locks like satin waves slithered down a narrow back and slipped across round, white breasts. Lips as colorless as the waxen buds of a wildflower parted presently, and in a voice like glass she hummed her solemn hymns to the great goddess, Umbria. The whole of her nubile body was unadorned, unattired, and unclothed - she was not ashamed of her mortal form, and no eyes save for those of lesser creatures were open and about at the particular hour. Peering beyond the gathering puddle of brilliant light into the pitch recesses before her, a genial sort of smile broke finally the snowy features of her visage. She was a beautiful, bantam figure. She was possessed of an ethereal wisdom and knowledge. She sang in notes like cold fire. She was Gyalisma, and she was High Priestess.
Her open will and frank spirituality were elements imbued by her mother in a time and place long past. The elysian figures of her parents blazed like a faceted gem in her mind’s eye, and that illusion was the sole treasure left in a bare armory of thought. Though both had met their fate, meted out by the cruel claws of vile and odious Lycans on that horrible occasion now known as the Last Stand, she was not inconsolably sad. Their spirits had fled the realm of being for a plane altogether unknown to Gyalisma and her packmates; they now served glorious Umbria, offering guidance and hope to their progeny in times of need.
Sweeping aside the heavy mantle of inky, shining tresses, slim and taloned fingers crept up to filter through those soft tendrils that rested alongside a regal neck. Stretching luxuriously, Gyalisma opened as an evening flower and turned both her sweet face and petite form skyward...slipping from the worn, weathered trunk to lay cradled in the fragrant grass. Like a nymph of night, she watched with vivid, prismatic eyes the vast expanse of stars. Daybreak would be upon her soon like a lover's body, the sunburst of fiery color setting her soul ablaze with a renewed sense of purpose and vigor. At that hour she would return to Syrinx and the pack—knowing all too well how they would miss her. Sighing softly and contently, she breathed in the warm, clean air stirred by her motion as sable lashes descended to veil emerald orbs. Just a while longer, and she would return...*
*Violent slashes of eventide color marred the celestial canvas tacked with cold and brilliant stars; wild brushstrokes fanned out into the abysmal stretch of night sky and garnered all opulence from the stygian milieu upon reaching the craggy horizon, as if some madman had sought to recreate eccentric images with fierce washes and tinted, wriggling scribbles. The stark lunar light of the moon took form in a thousand silver threads that crisscrossed the earth below and caught shadows in an icy net of supernal chill…limning a rising figure and dappling the mise en scene in grey, beatific radiance. After moments, lissome limbs of black lengthened and paled; an ebon face flaunting both an august muzzle and pointed ears dissolved into the pooling darkness, and all remnants of a glossy hide soon disappeared like so much tainted fog.
In perfect pallor shone glistening eyes of a jarring green. In rivulets of coal, locks like satin waves slithered down a narrow back and slipped across round, white breasts. Lips as colorless as the waxen buds of a wildflower parted presently, and in a voice like glass she hummed her solemn hymns to the great goddess, Umbria. The whole of her nubile body was unadorned, unattired, and unclothed - she was not ashamed of her mortal form, and no eyes save for those of lesser creatures were open and about at the particular hour. Peering beyond the gathering puddle of brilliant light into the pitch recesses before her, a genial sort of smile broke finally the snowy features of her visage. She was a beautiful, bantam figure. She was possessed of an ethereal wisdom and knowledge. She sang in notes like cold fire. She was Gyalisma, and she was High Priestess.
Her open will and frank spirituality were elements imbued by her mother in a time and place long past. The elysian figures of her parents blazed like a faceted gem in her mind’s eye, and that illusion was the sole treasure left in a bare armory of thought. Though both had met their fate, meted out by the cruel claws of vile and odious Lycans on that horrible occasion now known as the Last Stand, she was not inconsolably sad. Their spirits had fled the realm of being for a plane altogether unknown to Gyalisma and her packmates; they now served glorious Umbria, offering guidance and hope to their progeny in times of need.
Sweeping aside the heavy mantle of inky, shining tresses, slim and taloned fingers crept up to filter through those soft tendrils that rested alongside a regal neck. Stretching luxuriously, Gyalisma opened as an evening flower and turned both her sweet face and petite form skyward...slipping from the worn, weathered trunk to lay cradled in the fragrant grass. Like a nymph of night, she watched with vivid, prismatic eyes the vast expanse of stars. Daybreak would be upon her soon like a lover's body, the sunburst of fiery color setting her soul ablaze with a renewed sense of purpose and vigor. At that hour she would return to Syrinx and the pack—knowing all too well how they would miss her. Sighing softly and contently, she breathed in the warm, clean air stirred by her motion as sable lashes descended to veil emerald orbs. Just a while longer, and she would return...*
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