Whisker

Members
  • Content count

    1,679
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Community Reputation

1,331 Excellent

5 Followers

About Whisker

  • Rank
    One Thousand Club
  • Birthday

Recent Profile Visitors

1,095 profile views
  1. Rickon Stark He’s only six, he doesn’t understand what’s happening. He thinks everyone has deserted him, so he follows me around all day, clutching my leg and crying. I don’t know what to do with him.” – Robb Stark . . . The former spearwife looked back at Bran though he did not address her directly. “I’ll watch over the little prince, m’lord,” she promised in a low voice. “Might be I can even teach him some things.” “What sort of things?” Rickon asked at once as he pulled up alongside. He hadn’t wanted to go to lessons and listen to Maester Luwin talk about the Seven Kingdom’s houses and their words; Osha’s lessons, though, sounded interesting. “What about shooting a bow?” He’d seen Bran and Jon do it a hundred times. It wouldn’t be too much longer until he was seven – the same age Bran had been when father first let him learn to shoot. “No bows out here, little lord. And we don’t have time to make one proper.” “So what then?” “How to swim.” Rickon scoffed. “I already KNOW how to swim. I can swim real good. Can’t I, Bran?” He looked back at Bran for his support. The captive wildling merely chuckled, her deep brown eyes skimming the Godswood ahead where the shadows of Shaggydog and Summer prowled through the bushes. “I’m sure you can, but can you swim so silently that even the frogs don’t know you’re there?” Rickon frowned at that. He hadn’t ever thought about swimming not to be heard. “No, but why does it matter? Who cares if the frogs know I’m there? They’re just frogs.” “Aye, but frogs see more than most men, boy. And there’s things in this world that need hiding from.” Living in the shadows of the wild was her specialty after all, but it wasn't just hunting that was on her mind then. It was the rumors she'd picked up in the kitchens that filled her head now. @RosefromtheRiver
  2. Jeor Mormont The cold winds are rising. And the dead rise with them – Jeor Mormont. . . . “Close the door, Snow, and have a seat. Pour yourself some of that ale while you’re at it.” When Jon had done as he was commanded, the Lord Commander would look up from the letter he was writing. “So, I see you’ve taken it upon yourself to become Master-at-Arms while Ser Alliser is in the South.” “South! South!” screamed the bird. “It’s helped the lads a scratch – I won’t deny that. I just hope you’re taking care not to dig yourself another hole as far as he’s concerned.” Pouring himself his own wine, the Lord Commander took a long draught and then set it down to one side as he pushed the letters across to his steward. “Ravens from Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea,” he said with his eyes still lingering upon the boy. “Apparently, the wildlings have stopped taking an interest in the Gorge and the Bay of Seals. It’s been a month or more since the last sighting.” There was a brief pause as he allowed the other to skim each note in succession before picking up right where he left off. “I’m sure most of our brothers would consider that good news as we don’t have the manpower to continue increased patrols in those areas. Judging by what we now know to be true, I want to know what you think.” @Keidivh
  3. Edge - the byronic hero meets the rule of cool with hilariously bad results. The "edge" is essentially an attention-seeking, special snowflake character that wants to be the Bruce Willis panty-dropper of your rp. Bonus points if they're under the age of twenty.
  4. I don't have much to add on to @Tedronai's reply. However, I can tell you now that flowery descriptors of things like physiological expressions and clothes are vastly overrated. Sure, they help us visualize a scene, but they don't help the reader really get into a scene. I want to link you to this article that demonstrates exactly what I mean.
  5. My method is time-consuming and weird, but basically it's what works for me. I essentially treat my roleplays as though I'm an actor in a movie. Before I write any scene with them, I have to basically become them to understand. If they have a favorite food, I'll make it, eat it, write about it; if they're in a certain situation, I'll play ambient music from youtube (yes, they do have sections dedicated JUST to background noise); if they're good in a skill, I'll research everything I can about it and/or try it myself. All my notes on it are then recorded in a folder so I can pick it up at any time and remember. I know it sounds a bit much just for a hobby ... but I really don't like to half-ass anything.
  6. I know this might not get off the ground, but I dig the idea. Just though you might want to know.
  7. experiences

    I hate the disrespect of white space. I love my goddamn white space, and I damn well appreciate it if my partners appreciate the wonders of white space too.
  8. Mostly in inactivity limbo. 9/10 roleplays don't last long enough for me to make any kind of worthy Game of Thrones-like death scenes.
  9. Gareth Blacktyde “Even a Kraken is not such a fearsome beast when its arms are gone.” – Gareth Blacktyde . . . The longship prowled through the waves at double time, the men bending their backs at the oars with oaths and curses that carried up through the hold. Above a streak of lightning flashed in the distance; the wind shrieked through the ragged sails etched with the black-and-checked insignia of House Blacktyde. Standing at the helm, Gareth Blacktyde, owner and master of the ship was completely in his element. The wild weather had his blood pounding, and with each near miss of the rocks, his heartrate increased further still. “Steady as she goes! Dragonstone’s just ahead.” His second-in-command, graced with a booming, sonorous voice, shouted the command down to the tired men. They had been at sea for nearly seven weeks, and many were looking forward to a respite on solid ground. Admittedly, solid ground that wasn’t Dragonstone, for it was rumored that wenching was absolutely forbidden under Stannis Baratheon’s reign. But Gareth, so long as he was paid, was a loyal man, and he flashed a good-natured grin to the stern, unsmiling face beside him that was looking towards the island in the distance. “Homesick, Onion Knight?” He chuckled languidly as he shifted the wheel, steering the ship over another churning black wave. “Well, don’t fret. The bad news about Renly can wait a little longer yet.” Though he hadn’t been expressly told by anyone what Davos’s mission was, Gareth had guessed by the location of the rendez-vous points. And if the news in the taverns and brothels was anything to judge by, the ol’ fop Renly was gathering together quite a force of Baratheon-aligned Lords. He’ll be spitting fire, no doubt, Gareth thought as he let his ship drift closer to the mainland where the current wasn’t quite as wild.
  10. Rickon Stark He’s only six, he doesn’t understand what’s happening. He thinks everyone has deserted him, so he follows me around all day, clutching my leg and crying. I don’t know what to do with him.” – Robb Stark . . . Rickon scrambled up eagerly onto the pony that had once belonged to Bran before Dancer. Though he was growing like a weed according to Maester Luwin, it would still be sometime yet before he could ride a proper horse like his older brother. Taking hold of the reigns, he led his mount around in a long, loping circle while Hodor strapped Bran into his special saddle. Following behind him with watchful, patient eyes was Osha. Though the wildling was technically their prisoner, Rickon had been quick to forgive; he had decided early that he liked her. “Don’t wander off too far, little lord. There’s shadowcats and bears in those woods that could eat a fat little pony and lordling alive,” she advised him. Rickon smiled nervously and ambled back to them. “Then Shaggy will protect us! He and Summer are stronger than any shadowcat or bear!” Still not wanting to test the theory as bears did scare him quite a lot, he looked over in time for Bran to remind him of their duties. “Rickon, we cannot be out long today, we have some more complaints from the other farmers and citizens of Winterfell to keep them happy." “Okay,” he agreed though somewhat reluctantly. It was always so boring listening to the farmers. He’d rather ride and play with Shaggy. From there, he would wait for Bran and Hodor to lead them from the gate before putting his spurs to the pony and following along at a slow pace with Osha. @RosefromtheRiver
  11. Rickon Stark He’s only six, he doesn’t understand what’s happening. He thinks everyone has deserted him, so he follows me around all day, clutching my leg and crying. I don’t know what to do with him.” – Robb Stark . . . Rickon bit his lip and glanced guiltily at Shaggydog as he trotted out of the room. “Farlan,” he explained. “He wants Shaggy chained up. But he doesn’t like it!” It wasn’t as if he meant to bite people. They just scared him was all. And it wasn’t as if he bit them hard … Clumsily pulling his shirt over his head, he waddled over to Bran and pat his dire wolf on the head as he padded soundlessly next to Summer as though he were the pale wolf’s shadow. The black dire wolf wasn’t the only one who was afraid. As if reading his thoughts just then, Bran peered around Hodor’s head. "Robb will come back Rickon. We can't just stay behind and wish Robb never left. We have to learn and while I still have to learn how to fight while on my horse, you will probably be Robb's bannerman when the time comes." No, he won’t … They all leave, and none of them come back. Not even Father. His silent sulking cheered suddenly at Bran’s solution they go riding in the Godswood. “You promise?” The bright green eyes looked up at Bran hopefully and then turned to Hodor. “You’ll come too, won’t you, Hodor? And maybe Osha.” He liked the wildling woman’s stories. Some of them were even better than Old Nan’s. @RosefromtheRiver
  12. Jeor Mormont The cold winds are rising. And the dead rise with them – Jeor Mormont. . . . Lord Commander Mormont, known amongst the men as “The Old Bear”, was in his solar, pouring over letters from both Denys Mallister of Shadow Tower and Maester Harmune of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. According to the former, it had been nearly two moons since wildlings of any kind were spotted attempting to go through the Gorge and into the Seven Kingdoms. The latter reported the same by ship in the Bay of Seals, but also noted that the tracks of strange creatures not seen for at least a hundred years had also been found by their Rangers. He sat back in his chair and poured himself a flagon of mulled wine. His eyes looked towards the flames. The cold winds are rising … He could feel it in his bones. Just a few weeks hence, dead men had tried to murder him in his chamber. Only by the quick wits of his steward, Jon Snow, had he been spared a gruesome fate. I’ll have to move soon and fast. First, he would have to make appointments. Ser Alliser Thorne he had sent South to treat with the boy king Joffrey. Snow, he surmised, would not be pleased with that, but if the walkers were truly returning, they would need aid from somewhere. And speaking of Jon Snow … “Tarly.” A frightened squeak was his answer; the boy had nearly jumped a foot high from where he stood outside the storage unit collecting new sheets for Maester Aemon. “If you see Snow in the yard, fetch him for me. Also tell him to bring some good ale. I’ve run out.” “Corn! Corn!” the raven on his desk screamed. “Bloody bird,” Mormont said as he turned back to the seal the letter he was finishing.
  13. Stannis Baratheon "His claim is the true one, he is known for his prowess as a battle commander, and he is utterly without mercy. There is no creature on earth half so terrifying as a truly just man." - Varys . . . The late summer storms had come to Dragonstone. Winds in excess of 60 mph battered the castle at full intensity, kicking up waves that made Stannis Baratheon’s royal fleet bob at anchor like so many toys in a bathtub. It was, in essence, a paltry storm compared to the ones he had experienced at Storm’s End as a boy, where the winds would pick up to that of a typhoon and the waves would rise up above 50 meters to slam upon the rocks. But Stannis had no time to contemplate storms or otherwise save for the inconvenience they presented to marshalling his forces together to preserve his duty to the realm: The Iron Throne. It was his by right. There was no doubt in that. Even Eddard Stark in his final correspondence had seen the truth written in Robert’s countless by-blows. Oh, his brother had loved Stark, but the man was nothing to him. Just another Usurper of his brother’s attention, a leech who like Joffrey and Renly, consumed honors that were not his due. And meanwhile, I sit at Dragonstone, surrounded by lords weak as water and blasted by this confounded weather. Stannis ground his teeth and turned away from the window where he had been watching his men wrestle to secure the ships at the dock. He strode down the stairs, by passing his makeshift throne, to stop by the large painted table where the Seven Kingdom was his to view. As he had half a hundred times of late, his eyes turned to Storm’s End where his brother Renly was said to be gathering a hundred thousand traitors and false lords to his banner. Shortly before the execution of Eddard Stark, he had sent Sir Davos there as an envoy to gather support; he was due to return anytime, and though he expected very little from his Onion Knight in this regard, Stannis continued to wait. Wait and brood against Renly, Joffrey, and Robb Stark, the thieves who would receive their due.
  14. Sorry about the double. It keeps popping up on small posts. I think I'll go with a human role. They're likely to fill up pretty fast.