I am looking for someone to help me continue a prompt that fizzled on me. I really like the concept of some gritty dirty fantasy where the world has magic but most people are uncomfortable with it. Perhaps our traditional fantasy races lurk on the edges of civilization and the world seems full of dangers; real and imagined. I picture our characters as members of a military academy that trains both warriors and battlemages, both sides sharing a large structure but little else. Yet, an intelligent military commander sees the potential of them paired, united against their foes. Shades of Dragon Age, I realize.
I had hoped to take the roleplay in the direction of a war eventually separating our characters on either side making the writing in almost mini-stories of their meetings between partings, perhaps they even secretly exchange letters. Romance is necessary but it could happen, it adds poignancy to the tale. I tend toward multiple paragraphs and enjoy details, violence, and humor. I like a partner who isn't afraid to take a concept and run with it, making it their own. Everything I write is open to compromise, I am just posting the prompt to spark interest and show an example of my writing style.
It had to be a rain it was raining down whole lakes, hadn’t it? It could not be a day when the sun was shining cheerily on the hills of rich green, when the birds were filling the air with their songs, and the breezes cut through the sultry afternoon with enough respite to bring an air of contentment to all. No, it had to be a day just enough freezing with the courtyard turned into a mire and the wind plastering fallen leaves against the heavy stone walls of the Ridge Fire Academy. That was the day that Lenners called Camdon an “anus faced cat fucker” during morning inspection and send every lad within earshot into a helpless fit.
Now they stood in the pouring rain with hair plastered to their heads and their white tunics nearly clear with the wet, trousers wicking uncomfortably to their legs, and their boots sodden. Standing before them was the entirely neutral faced Headmaster Stephens, which meant he was furious and creative at the same time.
“I was going….to wait until a nice day for this little exercise! But since you princesses have the giggles, today will have to do.” His voice carried beyond the steady sound of rain and wind with ease, he was a war hero used to shouting orders to whole armies. In his elder years when his hardened body was developing a paunch and his formerly steady hands a shake, he busied himself teaching war to boys.
“I am going inside to a warm fire, a roast, and some wine. I am locking the door behind me. I am putting Lieutenant Averans….” He referred to a youth barely older than the boys with a currently soaked dark uniform and a permanently glum expression. “...at that door with a bowl. Out here I hid twelve..brass balls. Since you lads have none, you are to work in teams of two to find them. You will notice there are twenty six of you. Two unfortunate lazy bastards will have nothing to give to Lieutenant Averans and will have to learn how fish survive.” Youths started to eye one another in line, eyeing their roommates, friends, and kinsmen for preliminary pairing.
“....and…” Not a good sign. “...before you milkmaids start picking your girlfriends to go frolic in the forest with….you have to pair up with someone outside your school. Shields, find yourself a Torch and make pals. Torches, find yourself a Shield and make nice. Any of you fail to do this, you can find all the balls in the world and Lieutenant Averans will direct you to the dryest bit of wet he can find because he is such a nice lad. You sneak in any door but this and you get to clean latrines for a month. You come in through a window, latrines. You hide in the cellar, latrines AND cellar. I make myself clear, lads?”
There was a resounding “Yes, Headmaster” which was punctuated by a crack of thunder, the thick ceiling of clouds showing no sign of respite upon the horizon. Demarc scowled as he had been eyeing Lenners, his bunkmate, and a boy who could find a virgin in the King’s own court. He hadn’t much experience with the Torches, he only saw them at mealtimes. He was a tall lad, near man now with a head of brown head that was currently plastered to his head. He stood a head taller than the tallest other boy and had a pedigree of soldiers stretching back to his great-grandfather on his father’s side, his grandfather on his mothers.
The Headmaster dismissed himself back into the dry academy and left Demarc rubbing the back of his neck and groaning as Lenners elbowed him.
“Sorry, mate, guess you have to carry a big heavy sack of mewling cats through this one. I better find my own to strap to my back and sink in the mud with. Headmaster is such a pile of moldy bullshit.” Demarc laughed and shook his head, a dramatic groan.
“Find the smallest one and you can toss him into high places or shove him into holes to search for you, like a badger killing dog.”
*P.S. Shoutout to Oglaf for the bestest of insultery.*
To message me, I have a few options:
fogerasestheshore #1908 on Discord
Wish upon a star or something. Can't guarantee it will work but why not?