Stories with more plot substance then smut.
Looking for Female Leads to match with what I have written.
If interested, please PM me - let me know what you see the plot as, what type of character you are thinking of playing, etc.
DO NOT POST IN THIS THREAD.
Into the Wild
At 18 years old, Sam Galpin was at home in the Wilds.
He found a certain sort of peace when it was just him, the wind, the trees, and the wildnerness. He embraced it, with all his heart, and open arms. He had to thank his father, of course, for teaching him how to track and how to hunt, how to survive no matter what situation you were in. Sam knew the types of trees and plants that you could eat, which ones were good for stomach ailments and which ones could kill you. He could spot a trail through overturned leaves or bent stalks of grass. Sam could move quietly and cover his tracks. He could ambush a predator that was stalking him and hunt down even the swiftest of prey. More importantly, Sam was one with his bow. He knew where every arrow would land before he let it fly. It was a gift, his father had said, something a person was born with and not something a person could learn.
Sam, at 16, had entered his first archery contest in the nearby town. Though among the youngest of competitors, he was by far the best. His arrows hit the same spot, time after time, and he felt it was like childsplay. The older men, the Rangers and the Hunters and the Trackers, had been impressed at first but when he kept hitting that same mark, they started to grow angry and annoyed with him as one by one they fell. Sam knew that he could beat each of them with his eyes closed. So he had won that tournament, won the Golden Arrow and purse money (which he gave to his farming family) and had vowed never to participate again. It was not a competition for him.
Sam had retreated to the Wilds after that and avoided going into town as much as possible. He didn't like the look the older men still gave him. He was careful when in the Wilds as well, in case one of them tried to do something. Two years had passed now and Sam was stronger and more agile then ever before. The game he brought down when he went hunting allowed his family to prosper. They were able to sell the furs and bones in town along with the majority of what they harvested. Sam also kept an eye on the neighboring farms, especially those that were struggling for one reason or another. For those farms, in the dead of night, he would leave same Game he'd hunted on their doorsteps, knowing that it meant warm food in their bellies the next day, less strain on their purses. Sam was just that sort of person.
Today, everything was about to change.
Sam woke in his lean-to and stretched. The chatter of birds was the best sound to wake up to in the morning, he thought. He broke camp and shouldered his light pack before stringing his bow. There were dangerous creatures in the Wild and he had learned to be prepared for anything. Two rabbit pelts hung from his pack - he had eaten one for dinner and salted the second to preserve it until he returned home, at which point his mother could turn it into a rabbit stew. The pelts could be turned into boots for the coming winter, or to sell in town. Sam would let his parents decide and would enjoy the last few hours of his walk back to the farm in silence.
Walking along the trail, Sam spotted something that gave him pause. It was a footprint in a muddy spot in the trail. It was of no animal he had seen, nor of any man. He wasn't sure what it was, exactly, and could not recall ever having seen one before. He knew these Wilds like the back of his hand, knew every type of creature that resided here, but in all his years he had never come across such a print before. Something about it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He instinctively crouched low and freed an arrow from his quiver, ready to draw and fire it at a moments notice. And then he began his hunt.
He followed the direction of the print, saw the turned over leaves on the forest floor, the bent straws of grass, the broken ends of twigs. The trail was easy enough to follow. Whatever it was it was certainly man-sized - if not bigger. An hour passed as he followed the trail which was certainly headed towards town. It was headed upslope as well, over a rise in the ground, but Sam paused as he crested the rise. The smell of smoke hung heavy in the air. The birds had fallen silent.
The Town of New Haven was on fire!
[Looking for some one to play a Human Character - a survivor from the town, a friend of Sams who has survived, some one traveling through the area, etc]
The Last Dwarf
Gori Ironhair was alone.
He did not notice the pain from his wounds or his blood soaked clothes. He did not notice the gashes in his armor and tunic that would need repairing. He did not notice that he was out of Throwing Axes and that his Battleaxe had a large nick in its edge. No, these things he did not notice. What he did notice was the complete and utter silence of being alone.
He was surrounded by other Dwarves of course. All of them laying in the grotesque forms of death. Blood still steamed from the fatal gashes of many in the cool air. They were all recently departed. But the final attack of the Dragonslayer Clan had worked. Gori Ironhair was alone but he also stood face to face with the Gates of Ashenwood.
The Gates of Ashenwood were not nearly as impressive in person as they were in the tales he had been told as a youngster. Only the Dragon Guard ever had access to the Gates and what lay beyond them. Yes, the carvings of the 'Outside World' were intricate and impressive, but the Gates themselves were really no bigger then any other door he had ever seen. But that was the last thing he was thinking about as he stared at them.
It was what lay beyond that had frozen Gori. But he had made it this far and he wasn't going to turn back now. He didn't have a choice really. Everyone else was dead. Everyone. The remains of the Dragon Guard lay at his feet. And Firesides Finest. The Darkside Raiders. Gori himself was a Soldier of the Dark Watch. He had been one of 12 who had survived the initial attack. One of six that had made it back to Firesides Bastion. He had been the only survivor from the Dark Watch that made it out of the Bastion, along with a ragtag band of the Finest and a dozen other units. He supposed he should consider it an honor to have been included in with the Dragon Guard but it had been a suicide mission from the start. Ever since all the women and children....
He shook his head to clear it. No, he wasn't to dwell on those things. King Yuri Dragonslayer himself lay closest to the Gates, face contorted in a grimace of death. One hand still reached for the Gates though it was missing nearly half its fingers and palm. Those lay not far away, with a now bloodied satchel. The Satchel. Gori's eyes fixated on it. Staring at it seemed to warm his insides, to loosen his oh so tired muscles. The Satchel. It was no longer his duty to protect the Satchel but to deliver it. But he had never stepped outside before. Could he do it?
The sound of metal racking against stone, of thousands of feet marching in unison, echoed up the hallway towards him. With out looking back, he bolted forward and grabbed the Satchel, slinging it over his shoulder before throwing his weight against the Gate. Rusting Hinges that had not been opened in untold years screeched in protest but slowly started to budge. Tired muscles drained of blood as he threw everything he had left into it. Slowly, the Gate of Ashenwood opened. It opened just enough for his tired body to slip through the gap. He threw all his weight into his back, pushing the Gate closed. A rusting bar of Iron caught his attention and he grabbed it, sliding it through the equally strong handles on this side of the door.
He doubled over then, catching his breath, before looking around. He seemed to be at the end of a mineshaft. So much for all those tales he had heard. Well, there could still be some truth to them. The first thuds sounded behind him as THEY reached the Gate, setting his heart to panic mode again. It was time to get moving.
"Come on, Gori." He says aloud to himself. "Time to go on that adventure you always wanted." Straightening up and regaining some of his pride, Gori set off along the old minetracks, following a slope that started to rise and rise towards the surface.
The Mercenary and the Boy
Richard didn't know much about life. Even at 18 summers of age, he had hardly ventured more then a day from home. Home, of course, was The Lonely Stallion, an Inn and Tavern situated halfway between two towns. It was two days ride between the two towns so instead of having to spend the night on the road, the Lonely Stallion had been established. Despite its isolated status, it did business fairly well in both the Summer and Winter months. Of course, occupancy fluctuated, but it was a well situated Inn and Tavern.
Richard lived there with his parents. The Lonely Stallion also had a Barn - both for the families horse and those who were staying the night. There was plenty of hay in the loft as well. A vegetable garden and a field of barely - used in the Taverns own distillery - ensured that food was always fresh and the Tavern well stocked. Richard enjoyed his jobs, whether it involved farming or serving the guests. Of course, whenever female guests arrived, Richard always found it quite awkward talking to them, especially if they were attractive looking and paying him undue attentions.
Richard had certainly overheard his share of conversations - his ears seemed quite good at hearing whispered voices it seemed - and he always remembered everyone he had ever seen, surprising visitors with their name even if they hadn't been in a year. He never imagined that overhearing such conversations would change his life forever.
Three men had come to the tavern, acting rather paranoid and picking the darkest corner they could find. It was a quiet night, so Richard hovered near their table should they need anything. He picked up bits of their conversation though some if it didn't make much sense to Richard. Finally, they called for their horses. Richard headed out into the barn and saw that the hayloft doors had been left open for some reason. He climbed the ladder and had just closed the doors when he heard voices.
It was the men and what they said sent cold chills down his spine. Richard made a noise and climbed down the ladder, pretending he hadn't hear anything. But the men knew better and cornered him. Richard saw the flash of a blade and panicked, managing to burst between two of the men, sprinting for the Tavern to warn his parents. A burning pain in his back sent him tumbling head over heels to the ground before blackness swarmed his vision.
Richards nightmare was only just beginning.
[For more plot details, please PM. Seeking a Female Mercenary in specific for this role-play.]