Nathan Davis
Knight
- Local time
- Today 1:50 AM
- Messages
- 31
- Age
- 34
Hello everyone, I'll get straight to the point; I'm looking for a skilled, literate partner to join me in exploring the world of Hayao Miyazaki's Princess Mononoke (we'd both play OCs). I take RPing seriously, and am looking for a partner who will do the same: that means paying attention to spelling/grammar, left justifying their paragraphs (two to three paragraph minimum), writing exclusively in the past tense, and putting thought and effort into their posts.
The RP will begin 10 years after the destruction of Irontown and the death of the Shinigami (Forest Spirit). Lady Eboshi and the people of Irontown have formed a pact with the remaining forest gods, vowing to mine no further than the Raven Shrine: a monument erected in their honor. But while tensions between the forest gods and Irontown have eased, the conflict between the various daimyo vying for control of the region has only escalated. While Lady Eboshi has striven to retain a position of neutrality, Lord Takama and Lord Sato have become increasingly adamant that she choose a side.
Meanwhile the forests to the east have become infected with a terrible blight of a seemingly inexplicable origin. San has enlisted the aid of Ashitaka, and together they have set out east in search of a cure.
Meanwhile the forests to the east have become infected with a terrible blight of a seemingly inexplicable origin. San has enlisted the aid of Ashitaka, and together they have set out east in search of a cure.
Below is a sample of my writing. If you're interested please PM a sample of your writing. I hope to hear from some of you; I think this could be a lot of fun.
Morcant knelt beside the corpse and pulled a small piece of talc from his rucksack. Ancient spells ushered from his lips as he drew a circle around the body. Festering beneath the bog, its features had become horribly disfigured. It was strange to him that this rotting slab before him was once a member of the most feared thieves guild in Vogos. Decades of scheming, murdering, and hiding from the civilized world, and this is what the rogue had to show for it. He recalled Judoc's words. Death, time; these were the only true gods of heaven and earth, and it was through their power that the vanity of man's petty pursuits was laid bare for all to see.
"Anala...Sabtain...Mithrakas…"
Each syllable echoed on the cold wind, bringing with them a redolent, earthy aroma, like that of a forest just before a storm. It was the Anem Cira, or "soul spark" as it was known in the common tongue; the veil between the Ghost Land and the corporeal world was growing thinner with each word the Skin Walker uttered. He pulled a sharpened ceremonial blade, thin and needle-like from a leather sheath upon his ankle and raised it high above the sternum of the rotting corpse. With all the force he could muster he drove the blade into the center of its chest, twisting it back and forth until an audible crack relieved the pressure beneath him. A puff of noxious odor spewed from the freshly formed cavity. His eyes welled up with tears. He'd only invoked Albiach Cineadhia on three prior occasions, and never on a corpse so late into decomposition. Under the tutelage of Judoc he had performed many spells and rituals which required dabbling in the macabre. He'd grown accustomed to writing in the blood of goats, horses, and men, and creating salves and elixirs from the organs of all manner of vermin. But no invocation had thus far required him to work with a specimen so repugnant.
"Vamarus...Danir…" The surrounding greenery was sapped of its vitality and form, leaving behind a ring of withered husks. From the Ghost Land energy continued to flood into the corporeal world unabated, creating a subtle humming on the air. Morcant's heart raced, the hair on his arm and legs standing on edge. A melange of ecstasy and dread enveloped him, brought on by his ever deeper immersion into that timeless realm. He reached his hands deep into the corpse's hollow chest, and tore what little remained of the heart from the side of its ribcage. The maggots which had burrowed beneath the rotting flesh wriggled to the surface. He felt a lukewarm mixture of stale water and bodily fluids trickle down his arm and soak his plain linen shirt. Fighting back the impulse to vomit, he gripped the heart firmly in his hand and raised it into the air.
"Sabnatha...."
"Anala...Sabtain...Mithrakas…"
Each syllable echoed on the cold wind, bringing with them a redolent, earthy aroma, like that of a forest just before a storm. It was the Anem Cira, or "soul spark" as it was known in the common tongue; the veil between the Ghost Land and the corporeal world was growing thinner with each word the Skin Walker uttered. He pulled a sharpened ceremonial blade, thin and needle-like from a leather sheath upon his ankle and raised it high above the sternum of the rotting corpse. With all the force he could muster he drove the blade into the center of its chest, twisting it back and forth until an audible crack relieved the pressure beneath him. A puff of noxious odor spewed from the freshly formed cavity. His eyes welled up with tears. He'd only invoked Albiach Cineadhia on three prior occasions, and never on a corpse so late into decomposition. Under the tutelage of Judoc he had performed many spells and rituals which required dabbling in the macabre. He'd grown accustomed to writing in the blood of goats, horses, and men, and creating salves and elixirs from the organs of all manner of vermin. But no invocation had thus far required him to work with a specimen so repugnant.
"Vamarus...Danir…" The surrounding greenery was sapped of its vitality and form, leaving behind a ring of withered husks. From the Ghost Land energy continued to flood into the corporeal world unabated, creating a subtle humming on the air. Morcant's heart raced, the hair on his arm and legs standing on edge. A melange of ecstasy and dread enveloped him, brought on by his ever deeper immersion into that timeless realm. He reached his hands deep into the corpse's hollow chest, and tore what little remained of the heart from the side of its ribcage. The maggots which had burrowed beneath the rotting flesh wriggled to the surface. He felt a lukewarm mixture of stale water and bodily fluids trickle down his arm and soak his plain linen shirt. Fighting back the impulse to vomit, he gripped the heart firmly in his hand and raised it into the air.
"Sabnatha...."