((If a spot is open, may I join? Otherwise I’ll stalk))
(Yeah, just show me a sample)
Okay, here’s one from a past RP
The skies were dark, with rolling clouds. It looked as though it would rain. And Siirawyn didn’t know if he’d live to witness such rains.
“Te il e Nhvil! Tes lvin himn rhiv le ne tese phourvil!” He could not understand their words. And he couldn’t turn to face them, either, with how he had his wrists bound, held in place by the hands of a large Serlo soldier. But he knew they were talking about him. And he did recognize a word - Nhvil, ‘mage.’ How they knew of his Aeth; well, he tried to use it to threaten the soldiers into letting him go, but they called his bluff in him not being able to use it offensively. And in the end, Sira was hardly a mage.
They pushed him upon a rock, and he could briefly catch a glance of the small crowd that had gathered - to watch the execution, he realized, much to his horror. The scenario was sinking in, and Siirawyn knew he had no desire for death just yet; preferably not at all. Yet nothing he could say or do would persuade his killers; the Serloven people wanted blood, and blood they would get - as the executioner’s blade fell, directly onto his neck.
When Siirawyn woke, it was not on the executioner’s stone. It was not on the muddy battlegrounds. It was not even in the castle the army had laid siege to, and failed. It was…grass. Grass, Sira felt, opening his eyes, not quite recalling what had happened. He could feel - this surely could not be a dream, he wondered - sitting up, Sira glanced at himself. Indeed, his armour was still clouded in signs of a struggle; mud and dirt. He needed to clean that soon.
But he looked around, and didn’t even see a familiar sight. No landmarks, and more importantly - not one person nearby. He quickly checked his back - his sword still on hand, and referred to his helmet, which he carried, but didn’t wear, not yet.
Perhaps it was a dream, then? A vision? Sira got to his feet carefully, minding the mild ache in his neck. He briefly touched it, then looked at his own hand - no blood, thankfully. Dismissing it as him laying on the ground, Siirawyn moved across the grassy hill.
It was unusually green, all things considered. And the weather was…nice, Sira could only think, as he shaded his eyes with his hand. Odd for the location that he remembered being in.
Sira stopped as he met new ground that wasn’t grass. He inspected the large, dark road. He’d never seen anything like it, but didn’t think much of it either. Perhaps he should of, as the moment he stepped forwards, some sort of thing rushed past him. The sight deeply frightened Sira as he flung backwards to the best of his abilities. He glanced at the thing as it retreated down the black road, its form, and noise unfamiliar to him. The roar - that grew quieter as it moved away.
Siirawyn wondered just what manner of strange thing that was. He’d definitely report it to the commander, once he got back. Once he found his way back. And he would. He’d be sure of it.
Looking both ways this time, Siirawyn practically ran across the black road, and without looking back, continued forwards, albeit slowing down his pace the further he got away. He slid on his helmet - now uncertain of the area, figuring it best for him to have some form of head protection. The strange metal thing that prowled that road - he had no clue if it would leave to pursue him; as such, it was not in his interest to stick around.
Instead, Siirawyn proceeded forwards, hoping to come across some landmark, friendly locals he could ask for directions, or even a map - anything to get him back to the site of the battle.
