Do you know the Discworld? I was thinking of starting an RP based on it, but members are hard to find. Anyway, here's a sample of my writing:
The ground was barren, with occasional small rocks littering the surface, as though God had accidentally dropped a bag of them while working on some other part of the world and hadn't really bothered cleaning them up.
It was dark too, dark, grey and rocky.
As befits such a place, a dark open plane, it was also windy. Especially fitting considering that the only figure who was present wore a long black robe, and stood at the edge of a cliff, gazing out over the world spread out below him.
Some might consider this melodramatic, the porduct of writing as low as fan-fiction. But at the end of the day, that's what this story is.
The Discworld, as seen by its fans.
Death stood stock still, the eye sockets of his skull stayed still. He had no eyes to scan the horizon with, only the tiny pin pricks of light in each socket. To gaze into them, seemed like gazing into eternity, a far bigger space than the skull could possibly occupy.
He stood there, holding his scythe upright, almost like a banner pole as though he were posing for a portrait. But Death never posed. Anybody who could see him was in no position to hold a paint brush.
They were wither dead atrists, or wizards. And Wizards knew all too well how dangerous imagination could be on the Disc.
He stood there, staring. Stories were happening. He could see it, the invisible pen of fate scratching its markings on the land, and he knew all too well what that pen used for ink. Stories fed off people.
And stories were happening, things were changing.
And when things changed, people panicked. And when panic ruled, people did impulsive things. Which meant more work for him.
OH BUGGER he sighed to the empty air.
Another rattling sigh. There really was nothing he could do, there were rules after all. He had broken thembefore of course, but this was different. This wasn't the life of just one person whom he would choose to addopt, this was the course of history itself. Or rather it would be history after it had come to pass.
But exactly what that history would be, even he didn't know.
It didn't bother him though. As an anthropomorphic personification, he had a job to do.
He walked across the plain, the bony digits of his feet clacking on the ground. He approached another form, that of a gigantic white horse. This was the steed of the reaper. It was a magnificant white beast, deserving of a name such as 'Sabre' or 'Ebony'. But as it happened, its name was Binky.
Climbing into the saddle, Death picked up the reigns, and sighed once again.
JUST WHEN I WAS BEGINNING TO ENJOY THE VIEW he muttered.
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