Post by firesblood on Nov 9, 2008 23:21:17 GMT -6
- the basics.
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What would you like us to call you?
You may call me Lace.
How old are you?
I am 21 years old.
How long have you been roleplaying?
I have been roleplaying for close to 7 years now.
Favorite genres:
My favorites include Fantasy, Future, Post Apocolypse, Medieval, Sci-fi/space, and Slave. I also dabble in High School when I'm especially bored.
Application Number:
Is this your first time auditioning? Second? Third?
This is my first time Auditioning.
How did you find us?
Neopets, proboards, affiliates...we're everywhere.
I found you in Neopets.
Anything else?
Well, if I make the audition, I can guarantee I'll be here almost every single day for a good few hours, and I'll tell all my friends about it. I love roleplaying, and I don't know about you guys, but to me it's very difficult to find a good roleplay board these days. I've been looking for a good roleplaying site for the past two years since Flatearth went down, and I'm hoping this is the one I've been waiting for.
- the intro.
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Post a sample of your roleplaying skills (i.e. the best introduction you've ever written).
Genre: Fantasy/Medieval/Slave.
It all began on the day of her fifth midsummer. She didn't remember much of her life before then, merely that it included the rounded face of a woman whose hair was brighter then the crimson rose, and whose smile seemed to light the cloudiest day. She remembered scratchy green cloth against her face, and calloused hands stroking her hair.
That morning, she remembered better then the rest of it. Lorelei, her face and clothing dirty from playing in the mud, watched with fearful emerald green eyes as the men stormed into her mother's hovel. She watched as one of them struck the plump woman at the fireplace, sending her flailing to the dirt floor, where her head hit the black kettle that held a half-put-together stew for supper.
The little girl had screamed when a stream of red ran down the side of her unconsious mother's face. Before then, she had been silent and the men had not noticed her. Now, all of their cold eyes stared at the soiled waife in the corner, that shook and cried from fear.
"The witch's little bastard...we could get a pretty yellow coin for it, we could..." one of them commented, leaning on the sword at his side. One of the others, a dark haired man with steel grey eyes crossed the short distance to the child and knelt down.
"Young enough to be trained, still. What is your year?" The man asked the little girl. Trembling, Lorelei bit her lip, and said nothing. The man raised his hand.
"You'll answer me, whelp, or I'll take your head off and stick it next to your mothers in the fire..."
The little girl swallowed and looked at her mother. Deciding that she most definately did not want that, she looked at the man.
"Tis my fifth midsummer." she whispered, barely audible.
The man had rubbed his chin, a look of deep thought on his face. He studied her from head to toe before he spoke again, his hand held out to quiet the others behind him.
"Are you a boy or girl?"
"Girl, sire." she answered promptly.
The man she had come to know as The Baron had offered his hand then, and she, only a five year old child and not understanding what the offer was, had taken it. She never saw her mother, or their little ramshackle cottage in the woods again.
The Baron and his men had taken her to a large estate on the edge of a lake and taught her all she would need to know for the life she would lead when she reached her seventh midsummer; the life of a slave.
Her first owner had been an old woman, who had liked to talk to her and stroke her hair as Lorelei's mother had done. She had known only kindness at Lady Arriana's hands, and when the woman had passed, Lorelei had gone to her cruel son, a slothful wretch who beat her and humiliated her in front of his friends.
When he decided that he had no more use for her, she was sold to another.
Lorelei had gone through five previous owners, and now found herself in a muddy, raining hell hole, caged like an animal in a cold so deep that it chilled her to her very bones.
She had reached her seventeenth Midsummer many days ago, and she had grown into something that could be considered lovely.
Her face was pixie-like and beautiful, with eyebrows that arched perfectly over large emerald green eyes. Her cheekbones were high and framed a nose that was slightly crooked, a sign of a break that had taken place sometime in her long journies. Her heart-shaped mouth was frowning, and looked as if it had never formed a smile. Flame red hair hung wildly about her face and down her back, matted with the grime of the market that she had been waiting in for the past week.
She wore a simple shift, the most that had been given to her when her only other dress became too worn and ragged to wear.
She pondered now on one thing; that if she was not bought before the morrow's setting sun, she would hang by the neck and would no more feel the warmth of a summer breeze upon her face.
Lorelei still feared death more than anything else, even more than she had twelve years before, and she shook at the thought of it.
But the question then broke to the forefront of her mind: would it be better to die by the rope, or to die under the crop of another brute?
