Post by The Master Tactician on Apr 18, 2013 23:14:15 GMT -5
(( Last night amidst the chatter, an idea struck me. The two-champ per member limit on MS serves many purposes--and will likely always remain in place--but many of us love more champs than we can portray or want to try our hand at others from time to time.
Consider this a chance to demonstrate your versatility. The rules are simple:
1. Assume the role of whoever posted before you. 2. Write a stand-alone scene from that champion's perspective--whatever you like! 3. Do your best to accurately portray the champion above you. 4. Non-champion accounts can participate too. Just specify what champ you'd like to see portrayed at the end of your post. 5. Do not post after yourself. Do not post as one of the champions you RP on MS. 6. If you are in the middle of typing a lengthy scene, you may "claim" next post with a short OOC note to avoid being Shen'd. 7. Have fun! EDIT: 8. Don't troll each other. Be a good sport!
Since I'm first, I'll pick one of my favorites, someone for whom I've been wanting to write for a long time: Yorick Mori. ))
Bury the quota; bury the fill. Bury the dead, for no one else will.
Some nights I wish these eyes could cry, but they are all dried up, these tears--dried up by these endless years. I watched him rise, the undead king. I heard him call and Karthus sing.
Death is a strange thing.
Fog crept over the forsaken hillside, so thick that the green glow of the Gravedigger's lantern only barely pierced its shroud. Through the night, through the trees and in the gentle rustle of the leaves, the sound of forlorn moaning met his ears. "Little lost soul," came Yorick's melancholy answer. "Come out, come out."
A cry of distress, of loneliness, met his ears. He hobbled on through shadow, lantern dangling over his hunched shoulders. "Death," he whispered to the gloom, "is the gift I offer."
From the shadow of a looming elm, a pair of yellow eyes peered through the mist. Their owner hissed at the approaching keeper, talons scratching down tree-bark. It seemed frozen in some eerie combination of curiosity and contempt, unable to flee, though the Gravedigger's sloping strides brought him ever-nearer, over undergrowth and dampened leaves.
Drawing nigh, Yorick bent to observe the creature: a little ghoul, an ailing spirit, a lost soul. "How long have you been haunting here," rang echoes dark, from Yorick's embalmed lips.
The ghoul hissed and edged behind the tree, afraid.
A melancholy smile pressed the keeper's lips together, knit his brows. "A hundred years is not so long, you wistful wight." He extended a swollen hand, "Come hither."
Again the ghoul peeked out around the tree, its yellow eyes piercing bright through the miasma. It edged closer, its spectral body stirring the decaying leaves over which it hovered. Tentatively, it extended its hand to meet Yorick's.
The Gravedigger's smile broadened. "Toil aimlessly no more... for I will show you purpose."
((Oooh! I lay claim! Since I'm a military historian fan and Swain is a Master Tactician, I wanna try myself if I can RP as him! :D
Sorry if my RP is still amateurish (even like how long I've been in Maelstrom and LoL RP?)...this might be the best I can do!
Oh and I'm going to post it tomorrow...so...in advance, I like someone to do Kennen! :D))
...
His eyes stare on the dusty decaying grandfather clock. 11:50 PM. No moon shine down on the victorious Master Tactician. No star twinkle in blessing of his total dominion. No constellation dance a show of glory. The Grand General can only hear the wind and its solemn requiem bristling on the tent flaps. Outside is a wilderness with no end from the east and to the west. Outside is barren and occasional thunderclouds quietly grumble from a considerable distance. Outside, Jericho is alone.
Inside the tent is simple yet poor. The pot rests above a heaping pile of ash. Next to it is a couch that can be converted into a bed. There is a table and one chair in the middle of the tent with a chess board on the table. To the other side is a cabinet with his essential clothing. Resting on top of the cabinet is his laurel crown when he conquered Runeterra, only now that several leaves are missing and the remaining ones decay.
The chair creak when Swain sits down. In front of him is a chess board, but now it only has the black king resting in the middle. He couldn't find the other chess pieces; they were lost during his wars. Like the grandfather clock, even the chess board is dusty. Swain picks up the white king resting sideways outside the chess board. He picks it up and examines the white king. Its head is missing. He then compares the white king to the black king. The only difference between the two is the color and the black king is missing its cross.
"Oh I have done it...I have certainly done it..." He mutters with a corroding sorrow.
He could not remember the time his moment of glory took place, but Swain was certain...he did make it happen.
...
Twilight. December 14th, 33 CLE.
((Okay so this part is kinda rushed...))
Demacia has sallied out of battle. Rows of defending soldiers outside the walls of the city state ready to meet their enemy...one last time. In the front lines where the Grand General stands besides his legions, the Demacian vanguards swell in numbers. The golden ranks of Demacian armor thicken the ranks and columns until they vastly outnumber, outmatch, and seemingly outwit the Grand General. The horns blare out for battle; the Demacian army marches. Swords drawn out and arrows and rune magic aimed into the heavens, the Grand General could see the justice of Demacia marching closer and closer to Noxus. And leading it is none other than King Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth.
"Hold position!" The Grand General commands. He may be crippled but his posture is powerful and standing.
He raises his right hand and at the sound of the horn, the Noxian cavalry rides out against the Demacian horsemen. The two swift forces clash. Swords and axes clash with shields. Runic magics began to take massive toll on the battlefield. Bodies of Demacians and Noxians fall dead into the ground. And yet the Noxian cavalry kept on charging.
The Demacian infantry steamrolled into the Noxian lines. The center begins to bend and curve as waves of Demacians pour in into the center. And Swain is fighting for his dear life. He could see his enemy. His adversary, Jarvan IV, leaps into the fray. The two rulers battle each other out, drawing blood after blood. Jarvan IV finally pinned won the Grand General. Has he made a mistake?
The Noxian infantry was on the verge of collapse. Victory was near for the armies of Demacia. Then Swain unleashed his coup de grâce. The Noxian cavalry came back...this time behind the Demacians! What used to be an army bent on iron will snapped and ran. Noxians cut down the fleeing Demacians. Jarvan IV, who tried to rally his men, had his head severed by Swain's claws. Victory was his.
But that was 30 years ago.
...
Demacia fell after that. Valoran was his...
...it was his. Now Swain rules an empire that never exists. Runic magic has taken its toll against the world. Now a scant amount of beings are left. Not even the Void or the Undead are left. His enemies, allies, and monstrous beings are either dead, dying, or wish they are dying.
He reaches for a glass of water and takes another glance at the Grandfather Clock. 11:58 PM. He seems alone. He thinks he's alone. Then the wind rustles the tent more aggressively than ever.
It's coming...
((I think I'm gonna end it here...lol. I can't finish my Swain impression. Basically it was his worst Pyrrhic victory and now this is an Apocalyptic scene.))
Post by The Mad Chemist on Apr 19, 2013 1:28:29 GMT -5
Mmm...kennen give me like 1 hour. Here it is Kennen the heart of the tempest one of the 3 members of the kinkou whose work is to swiftly deliver the commandment of the kinkou and the punishments to those that outgrew their boundaries or threatened the balance in any way. This figure of respect of frantic justice, the Heart of the tempest that beats always only to comply with his duty, with his sacred job given by the elders of Ionia, such responsible yet good looking young yordle that maintains balance despite his companions “The can’t get a joke if freaking killed me Eye of the apathy” and “Oh look at me I’m sooooo pretty independent and strong also I won’t tell you my reasons on WTF I wanna kill Zed so much even though right now his chaos is bringing a contrast to our order Fist of the side boob…wait where I was stupid scater brain of mine keep the self-narrative…Ok back on setting the mood “smooth” yea that’s better “Ehem” From the shadows…steady undetected wait for the perfect moment to complete your mission. “Click” sounds a camera and suddenly a Kama flies a little too dam close of kenne’s…I mean my freaking head. “Why third person again? Doesn’t matter now run run run mother fraker run till my little yordle legs can’t be seen.
“Kennen I swear that this time there is not mercy for you not matter what Shen says about you little rat being necessary this is the last Picture of my naked body you take on your short life!” Another kama flies to my little yordle butt…wow and here I thought that using metal plates there wouldn’t ever work I need to tell Akali it actually worked for something…Oh wait. “Get over here!” “Before long it wasn’t necessary like…at all because the flying naked body of the young woman was kicking me…or not.” Before shadow dance kick could connect with my rear a shield appeared around me and after that a big guy that guess what? was Shen who took the kick on the gut. The two of them stumbled on each other and Akali fell on top of him. “Just as planed tell him that is something important that has to do with a mission and he will believe it. He can’t risk of a failed mission because of a little joke…or two…or three anyway if they don’t hook up this time I’m done playing the yordle cupid part for real. “How much for the set of pictures?” “I can’t accept less than 10000 valorans since I risked my ass and I’m sooo getting punished even if she blows of some steam on the league matches the death glares…Oh the death glares…well actually 14000 valorans.” Says the young handsome talented yordle shivering at the thought of what was next on store for him. “Tsk ok here is the money.” Says the shoddy figure before parting ways. Really I don’t know why she wants to kill Zed if he is such a good customer. Says counting his money before getting back to the order, “…how should I call this extracting founds from our rival…or gathering info…I need to come up with a good excuse for Shen.” Ok it was a little more of a fanfic rater than a stand alone but it was the best I could come up as Kennen.
Post by The Revered Inventor on Apr 26, 2013 13:50:16 GMT -5
((Alright, sorry for the wait: here it is! It's a bit short, so sorry about it basically looking like a fanfic.))
He had never thought it would come to this.
He wasn't even technically the one who committed all those crimes.
To him, he was just a brilliant chemist; one who was only continuing the prestigious line of his family's revered science. That Noxus had made an offer that couldn't be refused: to be paid an unimaginably large sum of money, to be able to do what he loved: chemical research and development, the very thing his father would have wanted him to do with his life.
What Noxus did with those chemicals was of no concern with him; he was simply the one behind the research, development, and creation of such things. What Noxus decided to do with them, was not of his concern.
However, those bloody Ionians ignored that fact and kept pinning all of those biochemical 'atrocities' to him.
...him.
...just a brilliant scientist! Who, as a matter of fact, tested many of these chemicals on himself! It was not as if the chemicals he sent to Noxus were that deadly to begin with: if he, a mere scientist, could tolerate such compounds, then others surely could.
Alas, the ignorance of the Ionians seemed to be boundless... for he had now received a final challenge...
...from Irelia.
The Captain of the Ionian Guard.
This woman clearly remembered all of the chemical weapons Noxus used... and she knew he was behind their research.
That he was associated with the Noxian decision to use them was incomprehensible! Again, he wasn't the one behind deploying them: he simply used them!
But, alas, Irelia had made terms that he found desirable - and worth risking much for - and so he agreed to the face-off.
If Irelia won, he would have to end all his chemical research. This was originally too much just to lose.
But then Irelia gave alot in exchange: if Singed - or rather, himself - won, not only would Ionia drop all complaints against his chemicals... they would be required to support all his future endeavors.
Why Irelia was so willing to fight him in such a high-stakes duel... but it mattered little to him.
The terms were set, and the time and place as well.
He made his way to the place, and saw the young woman.
She was evidently already ready, her famed 'hiten style' blades formation hovering in front of her.
He gave a small breath, and with a quick pop! and a swig, was now on a dose of his famed insanity potion.
As he uncorked his famed gigantic bottle, now setting off the famed tabun poison gas which he was used by summoners to bring down his opponents with poison, he looked at the Captain of the Guard, and gave his last words before the fight.
"It's nearly time... and a warning: this may hurt."
((Figured I would start this up again! I mostly want to see what people might do with Gragas, but rping Heim will be fun as well! :D))
Click
The lights slowly illuminate the laboratory, revealing machines, gizmos, and contraptions galore. Some are polished and perfected, examples of the Inventor's finest craft, and others are just nuts and bolts, scrap metal waiting to become something amazing.
Gears, wrenches, gunpowder, and dust litter the floor. A pair of feet shift through the sea of parts, creating a symphony of clangs and scrapes as the metal materials collide with each other.
A lone workbench lies in the center of the room, which is no more organized than the rest of the laboratory. More and more noise is created by the litter, as the pair of feet come to a halt at the base of the workbench. A space is cleared on the workbench, an empty canvas on which to innovate. The unmistakable sound of paper unfurling is heard.
Blueprints.
The plans are laid out onto the table, and making space for this allows for more unused supplies to fall to the ground, joining the rest of their companions in the ocean of metal.
Then, silence. Heimerdinger takes in the musty smell of his workplace. He promptly cracks his knuckles, and grabs a wrench, some scrap metal, and a few nuts and bolts.
Welcome to Maelstrom, Original Characters, Summoners and Champions alike. We are a divergent setting roleplay forum for the ever-popular MOBA by Riot, League of Legends. This means we are based in Riot canon, but your characters' actions can have a real, lasting impact on the world. Together, the Maelstrom community endeavors to bring the League of Legends setting and characters to life through collaborative storytelling and meaningful development. We welcome you along for the ride.
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