obsidianserpent
New Member
Hello, everyone! I've been writing and roleplaying online for nearly a decade. My preferred genre is Fantasy of one sort or another, but I also enjoy sci-fi on occasion. I prefer quality over quantity; I post three or four paragraphs (at least) once a week, sometimes more, and I put a lot of time and effort into my posts. It would be nice to find some peeps within the community with similar RP styles and interests. I also love to draw and have created a great deal of concept art to be used in our adventures. I'll post some of my artwork and a sample of my writing below.
Hope to hear from some of you!
Hope to hear from some of you!
Morcant knelt beside the corpse and collected a piece of talc from his rucksack. Ancient spells ushered from his lips as he drew a delicate circle around the body. It was strange that the rotting slab before him, so harmless and decomposed, was once the most dangerous thief in Vogos. And yet, nothing remained of him but his legacy of pain. He recalled Judoc's words. Death, time; these were the only true lords of heaven and earth, and it was through their power that the vanity of man's pursuits was laid bare for all to see.
“Anala...Sabtain...Mithrakas…'' Each syllable echoed on the cold wind. An earthy aroma filled the Morcant’s nostrils, like that of a spring forest moments 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 Skinwalker uttered. He pulled a sharpened ceremonial blade, thin and needle-like from a leather sheath upon his ankle and pitched 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. Morcant’s eyes welled up with tears as he retched. 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 that 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…” Vitality and form abandoned the surrounding greenery, leaving behind a ring of withered husks. From the Ghost Land energy flooded into the corporeal world unabated, creating a subtle humming in the air. Morcant lowered his hands deep into the corpse’s cavity and tore what little remained of the heart from the side of its ribcage. Maggots buried beneath the fleshy surface wriggled to and fro. 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 elevated it into the air. “Sabnatha…”
“Anala...Sabtain...Mithrakas…'' Each syllable echoed on the cold wind. An earthy aroma filled the Morcant’s nostrils, like that of a spring forest moments 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 Skinwalker uttered. He pulled a sharpened ceremonial blade, thin and needle-like from a leather sheath upon his ankle and pitched 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. Morcant’s eyes welled up with tears as he retched. 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 that 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…” Vitality and form abandoned the surrounding greenery, leaving behind a ring of withered husks. From the Ghost Land energy flooded into the corporeal world unabated, creating a subtle humming in the air. Morcant lowered his hands deep into the corpse’s cavity and tore what little remained of the heart from the side of its ribcage. Maggots buried beneath the fleshy surface wriggled to and fro. 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 elevated it into the air. “Sabnatha…”
c your writing style is so detailed, makes me wanna read some sci-fi horror in it. I my time for roleplay replies is pretty limited though, I could try to post once a week :3