I personally can write a post over 300 words with out even trying.
It feels like I am putting in more effort and the one driving the story.
This is why. I'm not saying I don't understand the feeling, and I'm not blaming you for having it, and I'm not trying to twist your words or call you a hypocrite. I'm just saying that you are not alone in the association that less is lazy, and while you seem very well-intentioned and understanding, others aren't.
I don't want my partners to think that I'm lazy, but I hear this sort of thing all the time. The people that I want to RP with--usually the people that can make compelling characters and write well--are often verbose. Which is great, fine, sure. I can be verbose.
This post drives me mad with how much I see wrong with it. I'm still fixing it up, fleshing it out, to make it better. It's a starter and an introduction. It's over 1000 words long, and counting. But, admittedly, there's a good bit going on. It's 1000 words of people talking, discussing, moving about. I couldn't possibly write such a thing if I only played one character and not the two that are present. (No, I'm not expecting you to read my post--like I said, it's not even finished!)
“Ester, where are my things?”
Amara’s voice was assertive, and yet it trembled. She stood in the doorway of the dimly lit room, shadows cast over her tired form. She let her gaze move around the chamber. The mahogany wardrobe doors hung ajar from their hinges, exposing the bare back of the container. The drawers beneath it were open and just as empty, with only spare bits of clothing that had seemed to have been overlooked. The sheets and decorations were stripped from the bed, where Ester had been sitting moments before. Now, the handmaiden stood, approaching Amara with a soft caution.
“My lady, you were informed of our leave.” The words were as kind and gentle as Ester herself, as though she spoke to a frightened fawn caught in a thorn bush.
They both stood still for several moments, before Amara lowered herself into the cushioned chair that stayed by the hearth. There were no flames now, but still the embers glowed in the hearth, and there was a remnant of heat rising from the coals. It was not yet evening, and light poured in through the open window on the far side of the wall, casting long shadows upon them.
Amara’s body sagged. She had always been a very beautiful young girl, the envy of many of her peers, and even now there was a remnant of beauty in her pitiful state. But the day had worn heavily on her, and the grief that consumed her kept away all hints of a smile. Her green eyes were glossed with emotion, and the bags under her eyes betrayed her weariness. Beneath her extravagant dress, she looked smaller. She was like a child, and she did not belong in such a position.
“I had not thought we would leave so soon,” the young noblewoman said.
Ester nodded, moving forward and placing her hands gently on the blue cloth that covered Amara’s shoulders. “Do not be afraid, my lady,” she told her, offering a warm smile. Amara had been gifted with a lovely handmaiden, a few years her elder, but not one that rivaled her in beauty. Where Amara’s hair was a wavy, light brown, Ester’s was a pale blonde, and fell from her head in long, straight lines. The handmaiden’s smile was her most charming feature, and had always comforted Amara, but now it was of no use.
She shrugged the woman away. “When do we depart?”
“A carriage awaits us.”
“At the gates?”
“No, my lady.”
Amara fell silent once more. Her gut felt as though it would tear apart just then. They would be leaving through one of the smaller entrances, where they would not be seen. It was the greatest insult that could have been laid upon her, then. Her mouth ran dry.
“It is for your protection, my lady.”
“Who should care to bring me harm? Who would dare?”
Ester did not answer. Two men, armored in steel, came to Amara’s doorway. They were taller, and more brutish than she was accustomed to, the decorative point of their helmets nearly scraping the top of the arch. She turned a weary eye on them as they announced their presence.
“Where are my guards?” she asked them.
“They were relieved of their duties, Lady Amara. We shall be your new guards.”
“... With all due respect, my lady, they were spellswords.”
The anger that boiled under Amara’s skin threatened to burn her alive, and she could not even care for the cruel gaze that Ester cast to the men in her defence. She was on her feet in just a moment, pushing past the men when they caught her fearlessly with their metal arms, refusing to let her go. She spewed her bloody curses at them, and they did not blink. All she could find in their eyes was pity.
“I need to speak to the prince,” she demanded. “He will take care of this.”
“I’m sorry, my lady, but it is on the prince’s orders that we are here to escort you.”
The soft words were enough finally to calm Amara. The reminder of her bethrothed’s betrayal. She grit her teeth, pulling the heavy cloak off of its hook and throwing it around her shoulders.
“Please,” she murmured, barely able to contain the contempt in her voice. “Lead the way. Escort me.”
- - - - -
There was too much time to think, in the carriage. Too much silence. Ester did her job well, with a smile that did not falter, always ready to comfort Amara should she need the kindness. But Amara could not stand being coddled in such away, carefully gazed upon as though she were a rabid animal that needed to be watched.
“It is difficult, what’s happened to you.”
Amara glanced up, meeting Ester’s gaze once more. This time, the smile was weak on the woman’s face, and she looked at her lady with only true concern.
“Are you fully aware of what’s happened, Ester?”
The woman shook her head. “No. I was given a bit of information, but not much. People of my station are not given detailed accounts. We are simply expected to obey. I just meant... The suddenness, the relocation. It’s okay to be upset.”
“They called me a Devourer.”
“Pardon, my lady?”
“A Devourer. The common term for someone who consumes the essence of other magic-bearing creatures. They are very few, but they are among the most feared beings in the realms.”
“I thought Devourers were only monsters of legend.”
“As did I.”
Amara could hear the heavy steps of the horses on the cobblestone, the turning of the wheels beneath them. The utter terror of the man’s scream filled her ears still now, and his withered form on the ground greeted her with every blink of her eyes. She had unfathomable fortune that she’d not been put to death for the incident, but she refused to see the worth in living on.
A touch. All it had been: a simple touch, and a man lay dead at her feet.
Perhaps this is a better example. Here is my starter (again, not my best work, but I allowed myself to relax and have fun with this one).
“Caella, would you bring me another candle?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Eliana sat before her vanity, toiling with the rich auburn hair that fell around her shoulders. No matter how she tried, she could not get it to set right, no matter how pointlessly silly it was to fuss over her appearance at this hour. For the dim lighting, she could hardly see herself in the mirror despite the number of candles her handmaiden had already lighted on the vanity. She was more likely to set fire to her hair than make a beauty of it.
“If I may, Princess--”
“You may not,” Eliana replied, knowing that Caella would only offer to help her with her hair, as handmaidens are meant to do. But the princess had always been stubborn, and displeased to be touched by any she did not know well. Caella had been her handmaiden for two years now, and Eliana only allowed her near when it was necessary, and the style too complicated to be handled on her own. Nonetheless, she thanked the girl for lighting yet another candle upon the vanity, where now there were eleven.
“Remind me, Caella, of the date?”
“It’s the eve of the Winter Solstice, nearing midnight now.”
Eliana’s pale lips curved into a smile, just enough to form shallow dimples on her cheeks. This was--and would always be--her favorite night of the year. There was a chill that swept in through the window. Normally, there was a curtain to keep out the cold, but tonight she had requested to see the stars. The sky was clear, but there was no moon tonight. All the better; it would be very dark.
Every Winter Solstice, at midnight, she and her brother went unsupervised to the lake. It was a long standing tradition that had roots in their childhood. But this year was the eleventh year, and Eliana was rather fond of the number eleven. The eleventh year, if she could help it, would be far greater than the years that came before it.
Finally--and hesitantly--content with her hair, Eliana rose from her seat, beckoning her handmaiden to tighten her bodice. The princess was nearly four fingers shorter than her handmaid, and this was no surprise. Everything about her was uncharacteristicly small and petite. Tonight she wore what she called her ‘running dress’: it was significantly less bulky than the other gowns she wore during the day. While she did wear a bodice with it, she always wore it much looser for comfort. Its fabrics were a pale blue that glowed when the light caught it, and the bodice itself was only a few shades darker, so that she looked altogether as though a beautiful phantom in the night.
“Don’t wait up for me,” she told her handmaiden, slipping out of her bedroom door.
And this is a post from far later in the story.
Eliana saw the intent in the eyes, because it was the same intent she’d had. But she would indulge him, if only because she loved the look of victory that always swept over his features. “You wouldn’t,” she taunted him, her lips twitching into a smile as she readied herself to run.
In total, that RP has now come to a total of over 3,000 words on my part alone, and it has only been a few days. I've enjoyed the quick interaction of my characters.
My point is just that, as a whole, I think it's a problem. I think that the effect of this combined mindset a lot of players have is bigger than one individual's behavior. I think it causes insecurities in the masses. I think that people start demanding larger posts because that's what they think they're supposed to do. I don't think everybody has the same thorough insight that you do about why you ask for it, GothicFires. And I think there is an entire atmosphere of insecurity about post size that lives in the RP community, rather than just a few people who you can say are jerks and call it a day. I don't even think that everybody who equates quality with size is a jerk to begin with.