RP Forum
RP Sample 1 (Intro)
(RP Between Die Shize and me.)
Security is a novel concept. Many have aspired to obtain it, yet few, if any, have succeeded. Kings, merchants, and generals to peasants. All have sought refuge behind barriers only to discover themselves crushed against it. The sanguinary facets of existence couldn't be denied. And while necessary, it still amounted to a fool's errand—a doomed struggle to keep away the frigid hands of entropy. Valerna had seen it play out innumerable times. The names may change along with the faces. However, the song and dance presented itself as the same. Valerna was no exception; she, too, desired the impossible.
While an illusion, safety was a creaturely comfort Valerna didn't take for granted. Her time under the yoke of a self-imposed higher calling was ripe with turmoil. Her motherland, the Verdant Dynasty, was formerly teeming with conflict. The butchery of kin and social upheaval was once routine within that humid hellscape. Turbulence was the currency of the land. Its leafy bosom was painted red, and its animus ran deeper than its roots. Bigotry was commonplace, aimed at one's immutable traits.
Ever since she could recall, her father forewarned her of the realm's penchant for discrimination. The augury was ignored, assumed to be the ramblings of a jaded man. However, it wouldn't take long for the Araneae to encounter abuse. The people she met throughout her odyssey were skeptical of outsiders. They regarded her as a monstrosity, an aberration, and an affront against nature.
Relentlessly, Valerna was bombarded with invective and physical altercations. The monster with a heart of gold soon discovered that the world would never tolerate her. The dreams of starting a family and interacting with others as equals had long since evaporated. Alone, she faced the unrelenting heat of this truth. Aimlessly, she bounded between settlements, her spirit charred by the inferno of their indignation. To prevail against such a cruel reality, she retreated into her mindscape.
It was through the gardening of introspection that she discovered repletion. Those dexterous arachnoid ligaments toiled away at the construction of her webbing. Her thirst for knowledge couldn't be assuaged. With each discovery, she desired just a drop more. Valerna's dearth of savoir-faire presented itself as a stumbling block. Clumsily, she navigated an unfamiliar theatre. Her spindly appendages scribbled her thoughts in a bid to provide a resolution.
The fear of being harmed often fostered sequestration. Her quotidian existence resumed without incident for a time as Valerna vicariously absorbed more and more data concerning what led her to this precipice. It's ingrained in her; Valerna is an explorer of all pursuits under the firmament. She rends the veil between enlightenment and ignorance—the spearhead within the vanguard that is discovery. When she first cracked open the door to perspicuity, she studied prudently into the darkness. Fearful of the wailing horrors that dominated beyond the threshold.
She didn't balk, for a glimpse beyond wasn't enough for the mistress of the web. She had long since plunged headlong over the escarpment and set sails across the sea of understanding. In this ruminative stupor, there were no suns by which one could navigate. Nor a moon to guide the tides. Latitude and longitude would not avail her, for the laws of time and physics are unique to the temporal plane.
This errant sojourner represented order within an expanse of raucous chaos. And as she broke the murky swells, she discharged spumes or creation before her. The elders were ever anticipatory. The impudence of this mere speck amused them. But she was most zealous and would stand dauntless before these wills. After all, she helmed her destiny. She sought to break the code and discover the truth of her enemy. For understanding is power, and mental oblivion is weakness.
The defiled is the riddle unsolvable. The door unopenable, the tome unreadable, the query unanswerable. Nevertheless, Valerna pledged to solve the unsolvable and answer the unanswerable. The secret she searched for was one that even the demons of plague had forgotten and erased from the chronicles of memory.
There, within a cave, crystal lighting dimly pulsated. Its luminosity painted the ridges of the rocks. The shadows were repulsed into the depressions darted throughout the earthen chamber's walls. The space was eerily silent, with but the turning of pages to break its spell. Even the moats of dust seemed to be frozen from trepidation.
Valerna fell into its orbit. Her spirit rattled due to the reverberations of its gravity. She could feel it. The secrets, yet unlocked, yearned to be opened. That sensation swelled within the back of her mind as if twisting tendrils suctioned onto her sanity and squeezed. The crude pincers clenched her curiosity while snipping away the twines of uncertainty that remained. Her notes filled the heartless earthen pouch she had been camping in with inferential power. The sort of energy that would elude most.
While silent to others, Valerna swore it yawned with the fury of a leviathan. The waves of delirium crashed violently against the rocks along the shores of sanity. The foam scoured any fear as the moment passed, and the tide returned to the sea. It brought a eureka moment, one sealed by the scratching of a quill against hemp paper.
While she wrote, her arachnoid additions reached out, performing various complex motor functions—organizing her supplies, combing back her auburn mane, and spinning the strings of her bone harp. One thing was clear to anyone that may disturb her meditation. Valerna is within her zone, her very own pocket reality. However, she ultimately would close her journal shut, securing it within a bag of filigree she had spun. The giantess rose after collecting her things and tchotchkes before she crept through the veil of shadows, inching into the light and trekking down the dirt road.
The primordial call of her motherland was absent here. Its dearth brought with it a sense of forlornness. The psithurism of the wilds failed to fill the chasm in her heart. The kiss of the sun's rays that perforated through the verdant canopy supplied a mite of elation. The fauna of this world was foreign; it lacked the magnificence of the kaleidoscopic array of her motherland. The ferns were replaced by extensive patches of wild grass mixed with the bushes and thorns of the forest. The soundscape was serene, camouflaging the predators that prowled this labyrinthine wilderness.
The trees here were lilliputian in stature when contrasted with the edifices of her ancestral home. The animals she had spotted from the shadows were smaller and no more agile than the behemoths of the Verdant Dynasty. The saurians were replaced with more mammalian critters. And even the air itself emerged as lacking. Everything felt wrong. The biodome was an effrontery to what she had known. Valerna had felt such dismay before. During her time as the eternal voyager, she ambled through many climates. And, by happenstance, worlds.
The winks before her materialization here were a blur. The last thing she recalled was being immersed in a bright light. A sense of weightlessness took hold as an extraordinary void lingered for an indeterminable passage of time. She was adrift, bobbing on the currents and eddies of the great silence. Valerna brooked it all, curious to face what awaited at the end of such torpor. She languished but was thankful its permeance wasn't interminable. That's when she slipped into this plane of existence.
It didn't take long to thread together that she was far from home. The spider needed only to gaze at the welkin to reach that conclusion. Whatever this globe was, it had a lonesome sol traversing the sky. The positions of the stars were also off, further confirming her fears. Valerna was alone, an inescapable truth she had to accept.
A hefty sough divorced itself from her gullet. Her lips parted as that split oral muscle moisturized them. The woman didn't belong. She stood 13 feet tall, and her body was swathed in spider silk with a bone mold overlaid on top. Its rubicund hue matched the arachnid legs affixed to her back. Its light red hair picked up on the breeze as her armored palm rubbed against the surrounding plant life.
The dew streaked across her hand as she kept vigilant and analyzed her surroundings. Whatever caused her extraction remained an enigma. Nevertheless, this wasn't her first foray into such phenomena. Valerna understood the universe had a way of correcting itself. Things that didn't belong would return to their natural point in space and time. It wasn't a question of if, instead, when. And at most, all her measures could do was defer or accelerate that inevitability.
Val's sculpture was buxom. Her curves were hugged tightly by the protective veneer. Prematurely, some might be predisposed to assume she was hedonistically inclined. Should such wild assumptions manifest, she'd quickly shoo them away. Her people's culture and mastery over cellmancy would be lost to the people of this province. It wasn't donned to solicit the fickled and short-lived carnality of others. No, it stood as a testament to her proficiency and status in society. A telltale sign that she wasn't one to be trifled with—a woman who had warranted her status via the sweat of her brow.
Here, feminity may be taboo. She wouldn't permit the astigmatic perceptions of others to restrain her. Valerna was a matron, a woman whose only fetters were her responsibilities to her people. For heavy is the crown, but heavier is the heft of failure. Risque or not, this spider none would cage. She wasn't responsible for the libidinal hankerings of the dim-witted and close-minded. Regardless, she anticipated it to stand as an obstacle. After all, vainglorious cretins had a way of projecting their moral arbitration on others with little regard for the contrast. That's why, in her mind, most were slaves, subjects crushed under their belief. What wasted passion and effort if only one would be amicable to see the world through the eyes of another? Perhaps then, most of our woes might be circumvented.
Eventually, she reached a clearing. Her sharp eyes inspected the disturbed grass. Wildlife frequented this spot. She was famished and required sustenance. Quickly, she spun together a few lines of her web before crawling on all fours and hiding within the brush. She remained silent for some time until, eventually, a doe ran into her mesh. Once her meal had become entangled due to its pointless struggles, Valerna emerged from her nested position.
The spider sashayed, kneeling as she planted her hand on the quarry's head. Her eyes stared into the creature's own, seeing only fear mirrored back at her. Valerna's own reflected gratitude. A gesticulation that likely ranged hollow. Nonetheless, she'd present it all the same.
"Thank you for your bounty. May your life force nourish me. And should the predator become the prey, may my flesh add to the cycle. Rest now; your time to ascend the trunk of the tree of life has come. May you peer down from the leafy canopy and see my gratitude." She spoke in her native tongue, which none here could understand. Her voice was melodic, almost as if uttering a hymn or incantation.
Valerna wouldn't prolong the deer's suffering. She quickly snapped its neck before lurching forward and sinking her fangs into the beast. The venom she injected quickly liquified the animal's innards. The delectable soup was quickly sucked free from the body. The shriveled remains were ripped from the web and heaved into the bushes. Others would feast on what remained, guaranteeing the commemoration of the timeless cycle. The giantess kept silent as she removed the twine she had woven and ingested them, recycling the fibers. Now nourished, she'd continue following the traffic the other animals left.
Providentially, it led the Araneae to a body of water. She stood silently by the lake, kneeling down as she peered into its reflective and still surface. A weak smile formed across her countenance as she stared at her reflection. It had been too long since she had communed with nature. The anomaly behind her journey was unexpected yet good for her soul. Regardless, she doubted any benevolent benefactor was behind it all, whether mortal or higher.
Valerna remained, taking out her bone and spider silk harp as her talons danced across the strings. Her playing sent forth an otherworldly yet soothing melody- a hymn of repletion accentuated by the heavenly voice that accompanied its vibrations across the winds. A flash of solace, while ephemeral, merited appreciation. And she intended not to fritter it away. Visibly, she'd air an atmosphere of collectiveness. Internally, however, she mulled over a great deal. Were there any people on this rock? And, if so, what manner of folk were they?
She apprehended that the universe is hostile. That the natural order never favored wimps. Any intelligence she ran into was a threat, no matter its corporeal form. They had reached their position in the hierarchy of the macrocosm through tribulations—an endless bout against threats and fulminations. The tools they appropriated and the faces of their menaces may change. But the stage and play remained invariably immovable.
Still, she'd need to tread prudently and abide by any barbs. Valerna wasn't in the position to be antagonistic. It would be wise to observe, study them, and ingratiate herself. Assimilation, while a terrifying prospect, may prove indispensable to her survival. But the point remained. Would they reciprocate the gesture? Would they see the world through a similar lens? Time, as per usual, would serve as the lone arbiter. She need only wait and see how things might unfold.
RP Sample 2 (Response)
(RP Between Die Shize and me)
The forewarning wasn't necessary. Valerna was hardly a damsel in distress. She was no stranger to conflict; her eternal voyage was overgrown with it. In her youth, the thicket of despair and its prickly thorns strangled her. The spider was born in blood; her mother was cut open so that she might live during the delivery process. That baptism continued through the innumerable wars and dissents spurned by the factions she once served. Peace was fleeting; it loitered one moment and dissolved the next. If one blinked, they might miss that wink of respite.
Her account was one of strife. The giantess lived for the hunt and was purified through the continual process of proving herself. Should death somehow claim her now, she'd expire as she lived, opposing its power. Her ligaments had long since awoken, their tips aimed at the rustling of the brush. The emergence of a second disturbance within the overgrowth brought a smile to her face. How riveting. The pair found themselves becoming the hunted. She could only speculate what manner of beast stalked in pairs.
Veron's side commentary had been rightly ignored. Now wasn't the time for idle chitchat. She did not need his direction, nor did he hold any authority over her. The rat had vastly overestimated his influence over their little dynamic. Perhaps he regarded Valerna as an equal or a subordinate. If so, the potency of his delusions knew no bounds. They were not comrades; no great thread of camaraderie linked them. No, they were merely aligned presently due to circumstances. And it was a transient alliance at best.
Her twin hearts thumped wildly against her ribs. Her breathing became calm as those pupils dilated. Valerna's split tongue sketched her lips as she crouched and stood on all fours. Her spider legs rested on the soil as she exhaled. The loose dirt was carried off as those eyelids tapered ever so negligibly. Something was calming about this experience, something palliative about being so close to her roots. Her hearts drummed to a primordial and primal cadence, the tempos like that of war drums.
Where the trees stood tall and proud, a treeline thick with brush camouflaged their foes. The dense greenery formed a natural barrier, obscuring the view beyond and lending an atmosphere of mystery to the surroundings. Each leaf appeared to whisper the forest's mysteries, while the tangled undergrowth presented sanctuary to unseen creatures.
Amidst the verdant landscape, the calm lake lay nestled, its surface as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the emerald hues of the surrounding herbage. The tranquil waters sparkled in the dappled sunlight, casting dancing shadows upon the forest floor. Yet beneath the tranquil mask crept the unknown, a silent sentinel waiting to reveal its secrets.
The forest's silence was palpable, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the soft chirping of birds. Its stillness seemed to linger as if holding its breath in anticipation of what would come. The air was heavy with the aroma of earth and damp vegetation, mingling with the faint bouquet of wildflowers carried on the breeze.
Sunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting spotty patterns of light and shadow upon the earth. Each beam supplied a window of wonderment, unveiling glimpses of concealed beauty amidst the thick foliage. Yet even as the daylight danced upon the forest floor, there was a sense of presage, a sensation that all was not as it seemed.
Despite the picturesque stage before them, there was an underlying suspense, a connotation of forthcoming conflict that hung everywhere. Two unknown predators lurked in the forest's depths, their presence only betrayed by the subtle indications. And as the serenity before the storm swathed the wilds, the treeline silently witnessed the impending clash.
It wasn't long before the boars walked into view. Valerna's eyes locked with one of them as they sized one another. The wild hogs were impressive in stature. Nonetheless, they were dwarfed by the Araneae. Each beast had to weigh at least a thousand pounds. Their muscular build suggested they were successful predators. They reminded her of the tusked critters of her ancestral home. However, those pigs were far bigger and hideous by comparison.
These boars were odd; they behaved differently. Rather than focus on the smaller prey, they renounced their edge. Most pack hunters ganged up on whichever prey they deemed weaker or more vulnerable. Instead, the hogs broke ranks from one another and confronted the pair on equal footing. Bewildered but not stupified, the spider kept her wits and senses about her. She wondered if more were waiting in the woods and that this was merely a distraction. Their hooves trampled the tall grass as they proceeded cautiously at first. This opening gave Valerna time to examine the beast more closely.
Her opponent towered over the undergrowth; his enormous frame bristled with muscle and sinew. His coarse and mottled fur bore the scars of numerous battles, proof of the ferocity with which he defended his territory. With gleaming tusks, his formidable weaponry protruded from his snout, honed to razor-sharp points capable of quickly riving flesh and bone. His steely gaze revealed a rudimentary instinct.
As he moved through the forest, the ground trembled beneath his weight; the earth seemed to recoil in deference to his poundage. Those hooves left imprints as his deep, guttural grunts echoed. Yet despite his homely shell, his form had a primal beauty. It embodied the untamed wilds from which he hailed. He was a creature of raw power and indomitable will, an incarnation of the untamed spirit of the wild. The board now charged headstrong into the fray.
Valerna remained muted as she counted to herself. The sprinting beast warranted no fear or disdain but respect. She was humbled that he considered her worthy game, an honor and distinction she'd reciprocate. The spider waited as his stampeding diminished the space between them. Her posterior rose as those spinal legs were bent and supported her weight. The giant's bountiful bosom dangled and swayed as she wiggled her rear from anticipation.
It had finally come, the opening to strike. It's a pity the critter had a slew of openings. Valerna used her arachnoid legs to pounce into the air. It was just enough to clear the creature by six feet or so. While she did so, one of her ligaments fired a blotch of webbing onto the soil. The unwitting boar ran into the trap as he squealed and writhed. Vainly, the hog thrust his tusk, further entangling himself within that silky filigree.
There was no escape; the swine's fate was sealed. The natural forces of the world would do all the work for Valerna. She weighed over a ton, and all that was crashing down. Gravity was as much a friend as it could be an enemy. A variable that, in this instance, aided her triumph. Her boots came down first, only for the right foot to dig into the boar's neck. Bone snapping and a terminal cry of resistance rang out across the wilds.
The distant birds flew away as silence once more returned. Valerna stood upright, her boot pushing deeper and crushing the neck. She stepped off and turned to look down at the predator. Its body twitched as its little legs kicked futilely to escape. She sighed, and her bosom rose and sank as she brought her left leg upward. The spectacle showcased her flexibility as it pointed to the heavens.
Valerna sent the leg downward in a fluid and powerful strike. The boot collided with the boar's cranium as it caved in. Blood pooled around its mashed skull as the fleshly bits were crushed and smeared by the digging of her footwear. Her spider legs combed back her auburn mane once more as the Latina giant turned her head to catch Veron gobbling the corpse. Had he foregone sustenance? How long had it been since the rat had eaten? Judging by the ferocious manner in which he consumed the prey, she'd assume it had to be a notable period.
The prehistoric hogs of her world were classified as unclean. If the meat wasn't cooked just right, one risked parasites. And here Veron was, eating them raw without care. Was it possible his gut wasn't susceptible to them? They were aliens, so maybe the differences implied they didn't exist or wouldn't affect him. Of course, it was equally likely he'd have no defense to oppose the invasion. Either way, a foolish risk given, there were methods to sidestep the potential hazard.
The spider didn't dare deny him his meal. For all Valerna knew, this could be Veron's last supper. While he feasted and gorged himself, she walked to the lake and peered out across its glass-like surface. She said nothing, opting to feel the moment instead of spoiling it with cheap words. The giant procured water yesterday and boiled it. She had had enough for a few days and now pondered, questioning the rat about whether he had any containers on him. She had collected sufficiently for herself, but two may dwindle her reserves.
Outwardly, she appeared still. Privately, Valerna regretted not bathing before playing the harp, but that's what she got for breaking her mourning routine. She shrugged indifferently before pivoting and facing the rodent. Her eyes scanned the carcass, estimating how much meat would spoil. There was no way the man's gut could hold all the gristle and muscle. How sad that so much would go to waste. But at least the fur would provide him some fiber.
RP Sample 3 (Response)
(RP Between Tab and me)
In truth, Florentina didn't require her parent's approval. She had set her eyes on a prize, a trophy, and nothing would prevent her from rising victorious. The diva would burn this entire patch of dirt if it meant achieving what she wanted. The centaurs were a fine people, a race led astray by false ideals. Their tribe had paid a heavy price to nurse on the teat of delusions. They adopted an ethos of peace and have been pushed to the outskirts of two worlds due to it. How pathetic.
She saw in them the potential to carry her banners—a species on the brink of extinction destined to gallop from the ashes—a stampede whose hooves would jolt the very foundations of the globe. The tribe may not realize it yet, but they were already conquered. No, not conquered, reclaimed and redeemed. Nonetheless, Florentina would keep up the façade of civility and buy her time.
Was it fair that they were given such a wretched lot? No, but who deserved what was inconsequential. Ultimately, all that mattered was who held the power. Many a fool died for their nation and principles. However, if one stood within a field of a million dead souls and asked them what difference it made, they'd be invariably greeted with the uniformed answer of none. It is a dark philosophy, but no one could refute that it is the nature of things to thrive off conflict. The centaurs had their time in the dream of a false promise. It was time for them to awaken. (edited)
Florentina gave the older pair a bow as Lyra and her trodded off. Those malachite eyes studied the gaiety brought on by such a weak lifestyle. They seemed content, happy to fade into oblivion. Lyra's overprotective aura was hardly obfuscated. That sudden puff of dominance aroused and intrigued the giant. How curious. Did the broodmare seek to lay a stake to her body? Could she genuinely weather such abuse?
The diva grinned, her mind conjuring forth a myriad of lewd imagery. Her libidinous inclinations were only kept at bay due to the others that galloped about. The other mares didn't interest her. They couldn't fathom the depravity the giantess harbored inside. Their pitiable flesh couldn't survive the ordeal of assuaging her fleshly hankerings. Lyra had tasted it, endured the vicious pounding, and yet she lived. Flora even swore she demanded more, something that only made her stand out among the sea of suitors.
The brute kept silent throughout their trek. The secluded little patch was suitable enough. Begrudgingly, Florentina heeded her command as she loitered about. Lyra prattled off at a hundred miles per hour rather excitedly. Was she nervous? Whatever the source of this rambling, she didn't care. (edited)
She dropped to the ground, her legs resting Indian-style as she waited. Lyra had promised to bring some items. She would have preferred alcohol or meat but wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. There, she abided, brooking the absence of her prize until she reemerged with a bucket and some berries. Those green eyes focused on the mare. A brow raised to communicate her confusion.
Flora appreciated this isolated patch. They were heltered from the outside world by towering trees and tangled undergrowth. Amidst the subdued soundscape of nature's orchestra, one might unearth solace in the psithurism of the wind weaving through the leaves, harmonizing with the periodic chirps of covert songbirds. The air was alive with the harmonious trill of distant rivulets, their garrulous laughter reverberating softly against the moss-covered rocks.
The twin suns cast their golden rays through the verdant canopy above, dappling the forest floor with a dance of light and shadow. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the dense verdure, illuminating the emerald blades of grass that swayed in the gentle breeze. Soft soil, cool and inviting underfoot, it cradled each step with a comforting embrace as if beckoning them to linger a while longer in this natural haven. (edited)
Amidst the earthy bouquet of trees and ferns, the air was crisp and invigorating; it carried the promise of new beginnings with every breath. The skies stretched endlessly in a canvas of azure blue, speckled with wispy clouds that sailed lazily across the horizon. Yet, despite the idyllic beauty that surrounds them, the sanctuary exuded an air of mystery. Almost as if it existed in a pocket realm suspended between reality and reverie. It seems too perfect to be genuine, almost like a dream woven from the webbing of imagination and wonder.
It wasn't till Lyra accompanied her that it reached a new zenith. The acme roused an uncharacteristic smile. Florentina stretched forth her hand, gently brushing away any loose strands of Lyra's hair. She'd tuck them behind the ear before sketching those tempestuous lips once she had finished speaking. The silence continued, allowing the air between them to ionize and synergize. Harmony blossomed much like the eclectic array of wildflowers strewn across the landscape.
Those domineering eyes peered into Lyra's portals. The two were alone and had time. And while Flora would need to reply eventually, she saw little reason to squander this moment with idle chitchat. She leaned forward as her hands grabbed the mare by the chin. Forcefully, she pulled her in for a kiss, pushing that split tongue inside her mouth. That fiendish oral muscle wrestled with her own, fighting for dominance as the cradle song of the wilds continued unabated.
Feverishly, she'd make out with her catch before breaking free with an audible pop. Florentina leaned back, her palms pressing into the dirt to support her weight as she discharged a sigh of elation. Her arousal was evident, but it wasn't something she'd bring attention to or strive to remedy. Her broodmare deserved a break; there would be time for such a profane ritual later.
"I saw your jealousy. It's beyond seductive. Don't worry, they wouldn't survive an evening with me." She added, emphasizing that she was a bit too observant. Her eyes veered over to the things Lyra had brought with a huff.
"Pain is weakness leaving the body. Go ahead, I trust you. It's ok, we're alone and have time. Explore my body, pick my mind, evaluate my soul. But I should warn you. If you clean and spoil me, I may never let you go. So, go ahead, undress me, and let us enjoy and feel this moment, even in silence. Words are nice, but sometimes they can be unnecessary distractions." Flora added as her eyes studied Lyra. The giantess was curious how the pony might react to her assertive nature.
RP Sample 4 (Response)
(RP Between Gumbo and me)
The early morning light slipped through the distant canopy of twisted, gnarled trees. The necrotic swamp roused with a diabolical allure. Draped with sickly moss, Willows drooped low over the murky waters. Their deformed branches dribbled squalid solutions that oozed into the stagnant pools below. The air hung heavy with the pungent fume of decay, an offensive aroma permeating the atmosphere and clinging to every surface like a shroud of hopelessness.
Amidst the oppressive stillness, the swamp's soundscape was a cacophony of eerie whispers and anguished moans. From the murky waters, unseen creatures emit guttural croaks and hisses, echoing through the convoluted labyrinth of roots and vines. Above, the mournful cry of scavenging birds pierced the shroud of silence. Their sharp calls were a haunting reminder of the land's desolation.
.
The loamy scents of rot and mildew mingled with the acrid tang of sulfur. It created an inhospitable environment that reflected the conflict and turmoil that had tormented all. In the heart of this forlorn topography, the ground seems to pulse with malevolent energy, as if the significance of its dark history condemns the land itself. The necrotic bog is a manifestation of death, where the boundaries between the living and the departed blur, and the line between hope and despair fades into obscurity.
Some might label this foreboding biodome as foul and repugnant. Florentina, however, deemed it as therapeutic. Its antagonistic aura mirrored the strategist's perspective toward existence—a fitting domain for one baptized in the clouded waters of war. The haze that loomed just above the surface was a veil of sorts. It embodied the fog of war that all soldiers encountered during the thick of battle. Its primordial cadence spoke to the giantess in ways few could fathom. The profundity of it wasn't lost on her, and one that beseeched her to persist down this unceremonious path of repudiation.
It was beautiful to her—a dead spot of creation, a reflection of the macrocosm's true nature, an affidavit of the futility of denying the indisputable truth. Conflict, despite all its negative connotations, was essential and inescapable. When you boil down all things, two classes emerge in some form: the predators and the prey, those with power and those who have none. And unlike the grungy waters of the fenland, this illustrative pool was crystal clear. And it filled the giant's bosom with repletion and delight.
That elation couldn't endure for perpetuity. Nevertheless, it was a wink of oneness Florentina cherished. Roha had been given a rare break. She wondered if the Nokhoi took it all in, if the sand ape managed to glean the account that the habitat descanted. A solemn vow manifested as a bittersweet psalm, a homily that affirmed what the diva regarded as unequivocal.
The precise poundage of the tactician's presence wasn't lost to the mangy pup. The mongrel took it all in and abode the gravity. Flora envisioned nothing less. After all, Roha was a soldier at heart. It would be a pity if she succumbed to something so readily. Still, she was a tool of a now defunct regime—the remnant of a bygone era that had yet to bud into something genuinely worthy of admiration. Florentina assumed an impossible responsibility. She wanted to turn two discarded implements into proper tools of war. Sukegei and Roha could demonstrate to the lesser factions the might of the grand tactician. And that was purpose enough to justify this whole affair.
Roha finally had the resolve to speak. The scabby vixen prostrated at her feet. If she had feigned any more pleasantry, she might have begun licking her boots clean. The diva wouldn't fault the student; after all, she was born from weakness and nursed on it. The fact she ingested such spoiled milk and still walked was a testament to her resilience. The giant kept silent, allowing the neglected hound to yelp. Once her gums discontinued their flapping, she'd raise her hand to command silence.
Flora gripped the handle of her weapon firmly. Those muscles bulged and pressed against the spider silk. The under armor appeared more akin to muscles than fabric as it hugged her body faultlessly. Roha would have her answer, as promised. Even with this in mind, she may not like what the brute had to say on the topic.
"You were there and yet learned nothing? Whatever you heard is likely a mixture of poison and truth. I know what your dead thought of me. The titles and vitriol they slapped onto me to decay my accolades. It didn't work; I sported them with distinction and pride like my medals." She opened with a stern voice. Flora lifted her blade from the mud as she hoisted the sword club and rested it along her shoulders. The diva gave the fox a bratty smirk and a hefty huff before resuming her address.
"A list of flaws? A more manageable list would be your strengths. Regardless, I'll play along and slake your thirst." The blonde added as she paced back and forth.
"Your people were helpless and rotten creatures—fools who served dishonorable tyrants and council of idiots. You barked and mauled one another, all in the pursuit of power. Some say I crushed the desert. I didn't; I merely put a moribund animal out of its misery. Sukegei would have you think it was some glorious battle, some exemplary affair. It wasn't; it was an insult.
Over my five decades of service, I have opposed many factions. Early on, I understood that military leadership isn't a destination but a continuous journey. Complacency kills, and ego can blind even the fairest of tacticians. There is no peace, only fleeting armistices—moments where one regathers their strength and prepares to face the next adversary. There are always more foes waiting to be identified and vanquished. Some have helped me grow through my victories and even my defeats." She turned her head, stopping her movements, and looked down at Roha with a smirk.
"The desert was no such rival. It was a cluster of toddlers yelping orders and swinging sticks around. They were as fierce as children, playing soldiers with their friends. Their defenses and plans were as solid as the shifting dunes they called him. I needed only to breathe to blow it away. There was no organization, no common goal, no great mission. They wanted power for power's sake at the expense of everything.
Like acid, it eats away at everything. I merely delivered the final blow, crashing down upon their heads. If I had never entered that dilapidated province, it would have cannibalized itself. They were an army without order and structure. A people without conviction. A pedagogy that was silent and held no lessons. Every structure was as valuable as a flaccid cock or a barren womb.
They took away only the wrong lessons from war. Instead of showing their people how they could live, they showed them how their rule would end. To summarize, there was no foundation, and the houses stood divided. They were too busy quarreling and nipping at one another to mount a worthy offense.
I get hard thinking about it, the battles we could have had. But instead of wrestling, they laid on their backs and took my hammering like a pillow princess. It was loose, unclean, and barren. They failed to grasp the fundamental truth of existence. It is conflict, and it is through conflict that the survivors come to appreciate and see the world more clearly.
Rather than ruminate, they stuck their heads in the sand and embraced stagnation. That's why I detest them all. For the same reason, I abhor the defiled." She paused, pivoting to face the pup before giving Roha a few head pats as she stood awkwardly close
"But you, you're different. The fact that you want to learn and came to my swamp is evidence enough. You glimpsed it, you survived it. And although you haven't pieced together the entire image, you've already begun questioning the red strumpet—the way things were and are. If only a tenth of your "men" and women were so inclined, maybe then we'd have stories worth remembering. Not bad for a sand ape." She concluded, allowing Roha to take it all in and continue this conversation. They had time, and Florentina was positive this wouldn't end the Inquisition. The bitch was hungry, and she wanted to feed the frothing beast.
RP Sample 5 (Intro)
(RP Between Seamus and me)
The dynasty was nothing short of an experiment. One that its founder suspected was condemned to succumb to entropy. The purpose behind her filigree was to relieve those entangled from the burden of their existence. At least, that's what she'd assert to those within her court. Nevertheless, a clandestine agenda stoked her aspirations—something she scarcely admitted but became increasingly relevant. The scourge that is the defiled stood as her grand antagonist—the incarnation of upheaval soon to confront that embodiment of order.
Historically, her predecessors took a more hands-off approach to governing. They'd rest their romps on that throne and dispatch commands as they relished unadulterated hedonism. Valerna regarded this as obscene. The want for unfettered indulgence could only disseminate deficiency within one's ranks. The great spider remained prudent on her web, analyzing the vibrations of her threads. Like marionettes, the people under her yoke marched to the chords she plucked. That cadence reverberated across generations and only increased in volume.
The time had come for the Araneae to creep down from her mesh. She'd traverse the earth and inspect the condition of her empire with those domineering eyes. Rot was inevitable and often manifested where one might least expect it. If her troops' discipline and aptitude waned, it insinuated complacency within the officers. Such inspections were commonplace and ostensibly arbitrary. However, Valerna never moves without purpose or design. The targeting of the city garrisons foreshadowed much.
Silently her spindly ligaments carried her across the capital. The entourage following her was ever vigilant as they navigated the serpentine streets. The bustling cacophony of the municipality boded well, and the people's faces emitted a glow of hope. The heft of responsibility she shouldered was immense. She bore its poundage not out of hubris or the intent to architect some legacy. Valerna carried it because another might get it wrong. And the cost of failure greatly outweighed all else.
Valerna raised her amber gemstones to the cerulean welkin. The binary sols' luminance and warmth harbingered a pleasant day. The ambiance of faith empowered the chieftain's conviction. Nevertheless, despite being communicable, she couldn't help but wonder if something was overlooked. She'd remain hushed, waving to the people who had assembled as was expected—a thoughtful gesture, albeit perpetrated out of habit, more so than empathy.
The matron's bountiful figure was embellished with a kaleidoscopic array of plumage. Feathers plucked from peacocks and positioned in such a way as to lure one's focus. Across those hackles were spots that, like eyeballs, gawked every which direction. A symbolic component of her habiliment that announced the wisdom and reach of the state. Valerna's youthful visage was painted in multicolored dyes, lines that accentuated her features while telling a tale—pigmentation derived from the corpses of the giant insects that crept across the jungle's floor.
Rubicund bone mold and freshly woven spider silk boasted the dynasty's might and resilience. It aired Valerna's dominance as the chieftain strode across the throng on the back of her steadfast carnotaurus. The force of its footfalls spurred forth the slightest of trembles as its muscles worked to support its mistress's weight. The spider crown was secured on her head while her arachnoid extremities combed back that auburn mane. Those blackened eyes gazed across the multitudes and circled the totality of the headdress.
The transport had become a parade, an organic development that puffed Valerna's bosom with pride and gratitude. However, her royal guard and blood thralls were none too pleased by the security risk it might pose. Eventually, they exited the lower districts and moved into the militarized west wing of the boneyard. Horns blared, signaling her arrival as those who assumed their post banged their fist against their breastplate to show solidarity. Typically the nobles wouldn't return the gesture. The spider wasn't one such woman and reciprocated the same symbol to each soldier and guard they passed.
The chieftain respected these virtuous souls. Before her time as ruler, the eternal voyager spent many a decade as a mercenary and soldier. Throughout those voyages, she understood what it meant to answer that call. That one will sacrifice all upon the tabernacle of civilization and yet quickly be forgotten by the masses. These men and women embraced such thraldom. Servitude to one's people without any assurances of glory, let alone remembrance. A saddening facet of society that was seldom weighed even by philosophers.
Those old eyes veered from one face to the next. Valerna was futilely endeavoring to do the unattainable—ingraining all their mugs onto her finite mind. No doubt by now, those in command of this outpost were sweating. She had arrived ahead of schedule and purposely took the scenic route. It must be pure pandemonium within those walls as they scrambled to organize some ceremonious greeting. But that wasn't what the spider wanted. No, she wished to see her servants in their natural environment. Or in one that resembled it as much as possible.
The carnotaurus continued the trek as they eventually came to the training grounds. The lone fighter diligently honing his craft was effortlessly spotted. The entire group stood on the edge as they awkwardly watched his form. The entourage desisted their travels at the behest of their matron. An order communicated not verbally but by raising that skeletal-clad hand. Those amber jewels watched his little performative dance before she dismounted off her saurian.
Sōwilō might feel the immense gravity of her presence. Those aged eyes assessed his form and carried with them an overbearing atmosphere. Like a predator Valerna circled the boy, her hands behind her and above that spheroidal posterior. Her muscles were perceptible through the silk as they flexed to support the sphinx movements. The chieftain evaluated the lad while her dutiful guard set up a perimeter while maintaining their formation.
Ultimately Valerna stopped her stride as she stood behind the boy. The hair on Sōwilō's neck may have been standing upright due to the ionization of the air. She needn't say anything. Her mere proximity was enough to communicate her authority. Finally, the silence shattered due to the Araneae speech.
"The training ground is barren. What am I to make of this? Could it be only one soldier under my collar has any aspirations? A boy, young, inexperienced. Hardly a man, and yet he defies the allure of the doldrums besetting the others?" Valerna's voice was loud, booming. The officers who had spotted the queen stood on the outside as they were forced to bear the brunt of her scathing observations.
"How can I work with a patch of silt? A garden plagued by infertility? What good are we if we disregard the call for excellence to loll within the tempting pits of slothfulness?" Her spider ligaments were busy knitting together an inch thick of rope the entire time she spoke. Valerna turned her head as a powerful glower met the men who bore responsibility.
"Boy..." She lingered on that moniker, swiveling her head to face Sōwilō as she stared down at him.
"Give your name. And the name of those whose charge you're under. Why do you toil while others are satisfied to vegetate in the meadows of complacency? And, what should one do when weeds seek to choke the garden?" She questioned as the men that accompanied her slammed their shields on the ground and lifted their spears, creating a thicket of death around them.