|
Post by ℜust ℜed ℜose on Oct 16, 2016 13:22:56 GMT -5
A description, my dudes. I almost always make these kinds of threads when I'm bored and have nothing better to do, and, well, here I am. Bored, with nothing better to do.
Some of these are character descriptions, others are scene descriptions, etc. If you want one about a something specifically, just ask. I really like writing description, because it's way easier than just writing short stories (I tried that one time and it was fun, yes, but a lot of work.) You can do requests or just post; whatever is fine by me, just so long as you don't ask for fandom stuff.
|
|
|
Post by Cheyenne on Oct 16, 2016 13:30:08 GMT -5
Fear me I'm a Hufflepuff who speaks parseltounge.
|
|
|
|
Post by ℜust ℜed ℜose on Oct 16, 2016 13:39:34 GMT -5
Fear me I'm a Hufflepuff who speaks parseltounge. There was a cool chill to the air this morning. It was not a harsh cold, not like sharp spires of jagged ice, nor the bitter frost of steel pressed against the neck. No, this was the gentle, sweet sort of chill, like the damp of dew on fur, or the cool of a melting popsicle, left to sit out in the sun. The ancient willow trees fluttered in the calm breeze, the rain falling softly down to earth, the ripples on the clear glass pools scattering. The patter of rain filled the forest, the melodies of songbirds had fallen quiet, for all had stopped to enjoy the beauty of Mother Nature’s music. The wooden wind chimes hanging from the great willow tree clinked together, playing a sort of harmony to anyone who stopped to listen. And there, under the great trees, out in the rain beside the silver pools, the satyr played his flute.
|
|
|
Post by feign on Oct 16, 2016 14:00:34 GMT -5
|
|
|
Post by ℜust ℜed ℜose on Oct 16, 2016 14:01:37 GMT -5
She kept the company of a kitten, so small and soft and grey. She hadn’t spoken to anyone, and still hasn’t to this day. Those who knew said she killed a man, a day thirty years ago. Legend says he mocked her so and she did not take it well. With a laugh so smooth and full of hate, she cast a wicked spell. His head rolled onto the floor, and then she closed the door. He stained her sweet white roses red; the fool would regret the lies he’d said. Legend said her eyes like raven’s, so wise and black and cold. All seeing, many often told, and some even thought it true. Those eyes told a tale so dark and beautiful, and wove a story cold and cruel. Her ebon hair was greying now, her skin silver like stone. It was little wonder how her robes were white like bone. Still she sleeps to this very day, under the rust red rose bushes. Much to the taven's woe and dismay, where those mighty trees still stood, the witch lay within the wood.
|
|
Bleak
RN does not stand for Refreshments and Narcotics
|
Post by Bleak on Oct 16, 2016 14:07:25 GMT -5
She kept the company of a kitten, so small and soft and grey. She hadn’t spoken to anyone, and still hasn’t to this day. Those who knew said she killed a man, a day thirty years ago. Legend says he mocked her so and she did not take it well. With a laugh so smooth and full of hate, she cast a wicked spell. His head rolled onto the floor, and then she closed the door. He stained her sweet white roses red; the fool would regret the lies he’d said. Legend said her eyes like raven’s, so wise and black and cold. All seeing, many often told, and some even thought it true. Those eyes told a tale so dark and beautiful, and wove a story cold and cruel. Her ebon hair was greying now, her skin silver like stone. It was little wonder how her robes were white like bone. Still she sleeps to this very day, under the rust red rose bushes. Much to the taven's woe and dismay, where those mighty trees still stood, the witch lay within the wood. Wow! You're a fantastic writer! I was expecting about one paragraph, with slight detail....but wow
|
|
|
Post by ℜust ℜed ℜose on Oct 16, 2016 14:16:37 GMT -5
It wasn’t that she was ugly; no, she was very beautiful. Ugly was only the word for when Winter came, which twisted her in such wicked ways. When Autumn arrived she would emerge from the trees, clad with golden leaves. She would step out of her shell at last, and open her soft amber eyes, brushing out the pollen and dust from her silky auburn hair. The hair hung in soft curls down her back, held back with a jeweled yellow headband, where tiny antlers poked through. Her skin was dark like the bark of the tree, her hair like it’s many leaves. Her lips were soft and gold, and her skin itself seemed to glitter. The autumn dryad was a sight unlike any other, but like the leaves she was gone too soon. Winter would come and the leaves would fall, leaving the branches bare. Her hair would turn to grey to white, her eyes would lose their glow. She’d sit there looking cold and glum, the colour of the snow.
|
|
|
Post by Lórien on Oct 16, 2016 14:17:40 GMT -5
Hello!
|
|
|
Post by ℜust ℜed ℜose on Oct 16, 2016 14:18:30 GMT -5
BleakThank you, it always means a lot to hear that!
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 16, 2016 14:25:43 GMT -5
This is a good concept and I support it.
|
|
|
Post by feign on Oct 16, 2016 14:27:53 GMT -5
✞
Your poem had such deep meaning and I absolutely love that! Good job!
✞
|
|
|
Post by ℜust ℜed ℜose on Oct 16, 2016 14:31:55 GMT -5
A song drew me in; I knew it against the rules. I set my basket of bread loaves down. I thought I had imagined it, for I had nearly missed it, but it was there, unmistakable. I pushed open the might oak doors, straining against its heavy weight. There the song was, faint, but there nonetheless. I knew the others were waiting for me, but I just couldn’t resist. The song of a hundred valkyrie, riding right into battle. They drew their swords of holy light and waged a war of legend. Deep within these stony halls the mighty battle maidens sang. They echoed down the damp hallway of the mighty castle, but no one else seemed to hear. They called to me, they didn’t stop. My footsteps on the stony floors almost threatened to drown them out, but the maidens merely sang their battle sing louder as I drew closer still. I dusted a spider web off of my shoulder, and ducked under the sunken roof. My head brushed against the tunnel’s low roof, and it seemed I’d walked for hours, but the song of the dead heroes was deafening now. I could feel the damp within my bones when I picked up the Maiden’s Shield. A golden glow of warmth ran up my arms and kissed my mortal heart.
|
|
|
Post by Lórien on Oct 16, 2016 14:39:26 GMT -5
A song drew me in; I knew it against the rules. I set my basket of bread loaves down. I thought I had imagined it, for I had nearly missed it, but it was there, unmistakable. I pushed open the might oak doors, straining against its heavy weight. There the song was, faint, but there nonetheless. I knew the others were waiting for me, but I just couldn’t resist. The song of a hundred valkyrie, riding right into battle. They drew their swords of holy light and waged a war of legend. Deep within these stony halls the mighty battle maidens sang. They echoed down the damp hallway of the mighty castle, but no one else seemed to hear. They called to me, they didn’t stop. My footsteps on the stony floors almost threatened to drown them out, but the maidens merely sang their battle sing louder as I drew closer still. I dusted a spider web off of my shoulder, and ducked under the sunken roof. My head brushed against the tunnel’s low roof, and it seemed I’d walked for hours, but the song of the dead heroes was deafening now. I could feel the damp within my bones when I picked up the Maiden’s Shield. A golden glow of warmth ran up my arms and kissed my mortal heart. aHHHH that's amazing!! Thank you so much!
|
|
|
Post by ℜust ℜed ℜose on Oct 16, 2016 14:42:51 GMT -5
This is a good concept and I support it. The candles on the table of the great hall had been blown out by the wind. The doors were still ajar, the feast still upon the table. Red ran down the wooden throne, pooling on the stoney floor. The smell of copper filled the air, sick and foul. A king lay face down in his chair, slumped over and without breath. He held in his hand his sword, which he’d had barely time to draw. His golden armour was still shining bright, polished by his squire only two hours before. His royal tabard was died a crimson hue, and his crown lay bent upon the floor. The azure banner at his side had fallen to the floor, tattered and soaked with blood. The king’s mouth still lay open in horror, the realization of his officer’s betrayal hardly having time to cross his mind.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 16, 2016 14:45:53 GMT -5
This is a good concept and I support it. The candles on the table of the great hall had been blown out by the wind. The doors were still ajar, the feast still upon the table. Red ran down the wooden throne, pooling on the stoney floor. The smell of copper filled the air, sick and foul. A king lay face down in his chair, slumped over and without breath. He held in his hand his sword, which he’d had barely time to draw. His golden armour was still shining bright, polished by his squire only two hours before. His royal tabard was died a crimson hue, and his crown lay bent upon the floor. The azure banner at his side had fallen to the floor, tattered and soaked with blood. The king’s mouth still lay open in horror, the realization of his officer’s betrayal hardly having time to cross his mind. RIP. (And thank you! This was cool.)
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 16, 2016 15:05:26 GMT -5
$-$
|
|
|
Post by ℜust ℜed ℜose on Oct 16, 2016 15:17:00 GMT -5
Some said Anne Marie was an angel, but I knew she was just as human as the rest of us. She made mistakes, she slipped up, she cursed, she cried. When she cried the whole world got sadder, and it was just the most heartbreaking thing to see. Why, a sunny day would have become a rainstorm if Anne Marie was down. I never liked to see her that way, broken by that harshness of the world. She had a friendly, happy sort of voice, softly accented. Scottish, I think. I never really payed attention to the way people talked until I met her, and then I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. She had a way with words, each one was carefully chosen, perfect, like she knew every one there was, and which one to use at any given time. She had a kind smile, wide and beaming. Her blonde hair was wavy and tangled, but she didn’t seem to care. She had grey blue eyes that dazzled like they knew the secrets to the world. Maybe she did. But to me, when she knew the secrets to get the songbirds to start singing, when she knew the secrets to making the perfect apple pie, or bring a smile to any face, that was enough secrets to last any man or woman a life time.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 16, 2016 15:20:01 GMT -5
Some said Anne Marie was an angel, but I knew she was just as human as the rest of us. She made mistakes, she slipped up, she cursed, she cried. When she cried the whole world got sadder, and it was just the most heartbreaking thing to see. Why, a sunny day would have become a rainstorm if Anne Marie was down. I never liked to see her that way, broken by that harshness of the world. She had a friendly, happy sort of voice, softly accented. Scottish, I think. I never really payed attention to the way people talked until I met her, and then I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. She had a way with words, each one was carefully chosen, perfect, like she knew every one there was, and which one to use at any given time. She had a kind smile, wide and beaming. Her blonde hair was wavy and tangled, but she didn’t seem to care. She had grey blue eyes that dazzled like they knew the secrets to the world. Maybe she did. But to me, when she knew the secrets to get the songbirds to start singing, when she knew the secrets to making the perfect apple pie, or bring a smile to any face, that was enough secrets to last any man or woman a life time. I love this!
|
|
|
Post by ℜust ℜed ℜose on Oct 16, 2016 15:24:05 GMT -5
I'm glad! I love writing these!
|
|
|
Post by ℜust ℜed ℜose on Oct 16, 2016 17:03:40 GMT -5
Annnnnnd... bump.
|
|