Abandoned Openers

Xanaphia · Sep 19, 2015

Ever start up a brainstorm with someone on here, and come with an exciting plot that you are just dying to play? You are your partner plan out all the details and then they ask you that dreaded question: Want to write the opener?

It’s hard to write an opener. It’s a lot of pressure to start something from scratch. You are setting the tone and the pace for the rp, but, you do it. You write something clever and sexy and funny, or whatever the plot you negotiated was supposed to be. You put in the work, and then, you never hear back. Or you do, and the partner is no longer interested. What a letdown.

I made this thread so that people could come together and post the openers to rps that didn’t get off the ground. The idea here is for us to discuss plots that didn’t go anywhere, critique openers that need some work before they are useable, and maybe even start new rp’s based on work that is already half-way done.

This thread is not for bashing those who have abandoned us in our rps. It sucks, but it happens, no need to harass or berate people for being unable to follow through on plots.

Let us know in your post is you are looking for constructive criticism, or just want to show off what you wrote.

Xanaphia · Sep 19, 2015

Now, since this was my idea, I'll go ahead and get started on it. I am always looking for criticism on my writing!

Til Death
So I negotiated a story where a newly wed wife discovers her husband has a penchant for violence towards women, after discovering some homemade porn of him beating a woman. The idea was for him to imprison his wife and start subjecting her to the same treatment.

Dawn brushed through her shoulder length brown hair, securing it behind her head with bobby pins in loose curls. She had just woken up but her husband was due home from work any time now. She still had to get some breakfast ready for them before he fell asleep after his twelve hour shift. She knew his work as an ER doctor was draining, but she hoped he would have a little energy for her. It wasn’t usually a concern, as he often came home from work and went straight for her, throwing her down on their bed with a morning love making session. Of course they were newlywed, only six months out from their wedding day. It was only natural for them to want to fuck like rabbits.

She looked over to the clock and cursed the time it shown, knowing he would come home soon. She was still in her shape wear, hadn’t even gotten dressed yet. The tight white corset top and matching lacy panties gave her a lovely silhouette so she was sure her husband wouldn’t mind. If he was feeling amorous it would be pointless to get dressed just to have him rip it off. So she made her way to the kitchen, cracking a couple eggs for an omelet and sizzling some sausages.

Once those were finished she plopped them onto a plate and took her breakfast into the office to check her email. She placed the plate down next to the keyboard and took a bit of her meat, looking up to the screen to maneuver to her email. Something was on the screen, a video of some sort. It looked like some porn, but the quality was poor and the lighting was dark. It was frozen with a naked woman on the screen, bound and gagged.

She hadn’t known her husband to watch porn, she didn’t even know what kind he liked. Curiosity overcoming her she hit play on the video, the muffled screams from the woman as soon as she hit play. The women in the video was getting whipped, bright red marks forming on her skin as the razor fast lash marred her skin. She was mesmerized in shock as the woman in the video cried real looking tears, and then she heard a voice that was rather familiar. His words were strange, asking if the bitch liked getting whipped like an animal. But she knew the voice, rather intimately, under different circumstances.

It was her husband.

Rudolph Quin · Sep 19, 2015

I've got 3 good ones that never made it anywhere and I sorta wish they had. These are the ones that stuck in my mind as stellar ideas that I was really bummed out that nobody else was excited about. Even though I feel like I know where each went wrong, criticism is definitely welcome.

Trygon · Sep 20, 2015

Damn, I had something for this, but I can't seem to find the thread...

Xanaphia · Sep 20, 2015

Rudolph Quin said:
I feel like these openings, as much as I loved them and was super jazzed about writing the plots they involved, were just not compelling enough. My strength is character, married with a plot that keeps you guessing and keeps the juices flowing. Most of the time, I put in a supernatural element to give me a free "break the rules" card to use sometimes. If you just don't know where to go for the moment, have everyone run from a monster or go temporarily crazy because they were possessed until you figure out what actually happens next. On that front, Follow the Leader fails right out of the gate, my cult leader not being very charismatic or entertaining in any way and being too focused on real human dramas. As much as i watch shows or movies and get excited about realistic dramas between realistic people, I'm actually not interested when it comes time to write the thing.

And the other two fail for their own reasons but partly the fantasy setting. I hate world building too much. I spend all my time wondering about meaningless crap like languages and religions and the fun gets sucked out of it. Because the interesting part is story, making stuff happen. And characters interacting. I put all this energy into cultures and maps for something that's never existed so the characters don't screw up and do something they shouldn't and there's none left for character. I'm exhausted by the time we have to have our two characters interact with each other.

Plus, for the Black Sand, I made the opening with the General and the Demon Lord way too compelling and kept getting character requests to play that side of the story. Nobody wanted to play the good guys.

I liked Follow the Leader. I felt as though you set the scene nicely, actually immersing me into the world of this cult. While I do agree that your cult leader's personality didn't get a chance to shine, I would have at least given you a couple more posts to establish him.

And I have to agree with you on Black Sand. Being chosen for a Demon Lord's bride is far too compelling to pass up.

Xanaphia · Sep 23, 2015

Sharing his Muse

Yet other rp I had high hopes for, that was not ever able to get off the ground. Bad timing for the most part, it seems. I was to play the wife of a talented artist, who uses her charms and beauty to win him influence. What I liked most about this rp is how is appealed to my vanity.

“More wine, signori?” Marianna Valentino asked, holding up the bottle of fine red wine. She bent over him ever so slightly, as she poured the deep burgundy liquid into his glass, affording him an all too brief view of her ample cleavage. She could feel Count Foretti's drinking in her body, rather than his wine, but that was fine. Intoxication was the couple's goal, but whether it was brought on by the wine or by her beauty, she did not care. She poured herself a glass, as well as a third for her husband, who was out of the room at the moment. “Tell me Count, how did you enjoy Florence?” She asked, running her fingers down from his shoulder to his elbow.

Before she met Marcus, Marianna had trained to be a courtesan. music, classic literature, etiquette, all the popular topics of conversation, and, most importantly, seduction. Had she not decided to pursue love instead of profit, she would have most likely become a famous and favored courtesan. Regardless, her skills made her perfectly suited for the task of convincing The Count to patron Marcus' art. Evening now, as her soft turquoise eyes followed him, as he spoke of his rather uneventful trip, her expression betrayed nothing but utter captivation. Even though his eyes rarely met hers, preferring to fix his gaze upon her body. She didn't dare make a fuss about it, she knew all too well how dire the couple's financial situation was, and if the Count would not support them, it would be months before they could attempt to impress another nobleman.

Marcus arrived, wheeling in a large marble statue covered by a paint splattered sheet. Under the canvas was Marcus' latest work, a piece she herself had not yet seen. She had no doubt that it was absolutely stunning, as all his work was. It was what originally attracted her to Marcus, as he told her that she was his muse, and that if he could not have her hand in marriage, he would never create a meaningful piece of art in his life. She certainly couldn't deny the world his works now, could she? While their marriage was extremely happy, money was always an issue.

Marianna and Count Foretti turned their attention to the unveiling, Marcus was beaming as he carefully pulled the sheet off. Marianna let out an impressed gasp as the statue came into sight, a completely nude figure of a woman. Long curly hair framed her face, falling just below her shoulders. Her arms were down at her sides, holding a sash that rested on her hips, and was the only scrap of clothing present on the figure. Her teardrop breasts were much fuller than most marbled statues of women. The nipples were perky and incredibly detailed, drawing ones eyes to them. Just below a slender waist narrowed and widened once more as it formed into round hips, ideal for childbearing. Nothing covered the public mound, as the vulva was intricately sculpted. Soft, thick thighs formed from there, growing leaner as the legs grew longer.

It was easily Marcus' greatest work yet, but that was not what inspired her gasp. She recognized every line on this statue, because she had seen them before. Often, every single day when she looked in the mirror, and in Marcus' eyes when they made love. He had sculpted her, down to the smallest detail. She looked over at Count Foretti, and she could tell that he recognized her in the statue, at least the parts of her he had seen so far. A deep crimson blush covered her face as she felt as though she had been stripped before the man who had already been leering at her all evening.

Star Pupil · Oct 21, 2015

xanaphia said:
Sharing his Muse

Yet other rp I had high hopes for, that was not ever able to get off the ground. Bad timing for the most part, it seems. I was to play the wife of a talented artist, who uses her charms and beauty to win him influence. What I liked most about this rp is how is appealed to my vanity.

“More wine, signori?” Marianna Valentino asked, holding up the bottle of fine red wine. She bent over him ever so slightly, as she poured the deep burgundy liquid into his glass, affording him an all too brief view of her ample cleavage. She could feel Count Foretti's drinking in her body, rather than his wine, but that was fine. Intoxication was the couple's goal, but whether it was brought on by the wine or by her beauty, she did not care. She poured herself a glass, as well as a third for her husband, who was out of the room at the moment. “Tell me Count, how did you enjoy Florence?” She asked, running her fingers down from his shoulder to his elbow.

Before she met Marcus, Marianna had trained to be a courtesan. music, classic literature, etiquette, all the popular topics of conversation, and, most importantly, seduction. Had she not decided to pursue love instead of profit, she would have most likely become a famous and favored courtesan. Regardless, her skills made her perfectly suited for the task of convincing The Count to patron Marcus' art. Evening now, as her soft turquoise eyes followed him, as he spoke of his rather uneventful trip, her expression betrayed nothing but utter captivation. Even though his eyes rarely met hers, preferring to fix his gaze upon her body. She didn't dare make a fuss about it, she knew all too well how dire the couple's financial situation was, and if the Count would not support them, it would be months before they could attempt to impress another nobleman.

Marcus arrived, wheeling in a large marble statue covered by a paint splattered sheet. Under the canvas was Marcus' latest work, a piece she herself had not yet seen. She had no doubt that it was absolutely stunning, as all his work was. It was what originally attracted her to Marcus, as he told her that she was his muse, and that if he could not have her hand in marriage, he would never create a meaningful piece of art in his life. She certainly couldn't deny the world his works now, could she? While their marriage was extremely happy, money was always an issue.

Marianna and Count Foretti turned their attention to the unveiling, Marcus was beaming as he carefully pulled the sheet off. Marianna let out an impressed gasp as the statue came into sight, a completely nude figure of a woman. Long curly hair framed her face, falling just below her shoulders. Her arms were down at her sides, holding a sash that rested on her hips, and was the only scrap of clothing present on the figure. Her teardrop breasts were much fuller than most marbled statues of women. The nipples were perky and incredibly detailed, drawing ones eyes to them. Just below a slender waist narrowed and widened once more as it formed into round hips, ideal for childbearing. Nothing covered the public mound, as the vulva was intricately sculpted. Soft, thick thighs formed from there, growing leaner as the legs grew longer.

It was easily Marcus' greatest work yet, but that was not what inspired her gasp. She recognized every line on this statue, because she had seen them before. Often, every single day when she looked in the mirror, and in Marcus' eyes when they made love. He had sculpted her, down to the smallest detail. She looked over at Count Foretti, and she could tell that he recognized her in the statue, at least the parts of her he had seen so far. A deep crimson blush covered her face as she felt as though she had been stripped before the man who had already been leering at her all evening.

Who was your partner suppose to play? The count?

Xanaphia · Oct 22, 2015

Princess Pittooey said:
xanaphia said:

Sharing his Muse

Yet other rp I had high hopes for, that was not ever able to get off the ground. Bad timing for the most part, it seems. I was to play the wife of a talented artist, who uses her charms and beauty to win him influence. What I liked most about this rp is how is appealed to my vanity.

“More wine, signori?” Marianna Valentino asked, holding up the bottle of fine red wine. She bent over him ever so slightly, as she poured the deep burgundy liquid into his glass, affording him an all too brief view of her ample cleavage. She could feel Count Foretti's drinking in her body, rather than his wine, but that was fine. Intoxication was the couple's goal, but whether it was brought on by the wine or by her beauty, she did not care. She poured herself a glass, as well as a third for her husband, who was out of the room at the moment. “Tell me Count, how did you enjoy Florence?” She asked, running her fingers down from his shoulder to his elbow.

Before she met Marcus, Marianna had trained to be a courtesan. music, classic literature, etiquette, all the popular topics of conversation, and, most importantly, seduction. Had she not decided to pursue love instead of profit, she would have most likely become a famous and favored courtesan. Regardless, her skills made her perfectly suited for the task of convincing The Count to patron Marcus' art. Evening now, as her soft turquoise eyes followed him, as he spoke of his rather uneventful trip, her expression betrayed nothing but utter captivation. Even though his eyes rarely met hers, preferring to fix his gaze upon her body. She didn't dare make a fuss about it, she knew all too well how dire the couple's financial situation was, and if the Count would not support them, it would be months before they could attempt to impress another nobleman.

Marcus arrived, wheeling in a large marble statue covered by a paint splattered sheet. Under the canvas was Marcus' latest work, a piece she herself had not yet seen. She had no doubt that it was absolutely stunning, as all his work was. It was what originally attracted her to Marcus, as he told her that she was his muse, and that if he could not have her hand in marriage, he would never create a meaningful piece of art in his life. She certainly couldn't deny the world his works now, could she? While their marriage was extremely happy, money was always an issue.

Marianna and Count Foretti turned their attention to the unveiling, Marcus was beaming as he carefully pulled the sheet off. Marianna let out an impressed gasp as the statue came into sight, a completely nude figure of a woman. Long curly hair framed her face, falling just below her shoulders. Her arms were down at her sides, holding a sash that rested on her hips, and was the only scrap of clothing present on the figure. Her teardrop breasts were much fuller than most marbled statues of women. The nipples were perky and incredibly detailed, drawing ones eyes to them. Just below a slender waist narrowed and widened once more as it formed into round hips, ideal for childbearing. Nothing covered the public mound, as the vulva was intricately sculpted. Soft, thick thighs formed from there, growing leaner as the legs grew longer.

It was easily Marcus' greatest work yet, but that was not what inspired her gasp. She recognized every line on this statue, because she had seen them before. Often, every single day when she looked in the mirror, and in Marcus' eyes when they made love. He had sculpted her, down to the smallest detail. She looked over at Count Foretti, and she could tell that he recognized her in the statue, at least the parts of her he had seen so far. A deep crimson blush covered her face as she felt as though she had been stripped before the man who had already been leering at her all evening.

Click to expand...

Who was your partner suppose to play? The count?

Marcus and with us sharing the other men.

TheCorsair · Oct 22, 2015

I've got two. Feel free to adore me and marvel at my writing.

Seriously, criticism is always welcome. I may try to recycle one or both of these one day.

Pirates of the Celestial Margin:

It is the 341st year of the reign of the Shijie Tuanjie Emperor, omnipotent ruler of the Shi Yiqian Tian. After centuries of conflict, the last of the independent stellar nations of the galaxy have been brought under the benevolent rule of the Son of Heaven. Supported by the Twelve Celestial Houses, his guiding hand controls the destinies of all within the Middle Universe.

There are some, though, who do not accept this guidance. These individuals go by many names.

Rebels.

Outlaws.

Traitors.

Pirates.

PIRATES OF THE CELESTIAL MARGINS

"This," laughed Captain Leonidas Nelson, better known to the peoples of the Shi Yiqian Tian as the dreaded pirate called "the Starhawk", "is entirely your fault. I just want you to understand that."

It really wasn't a fair statement, and the laugh in his voice and the grin on his lips showed that he knew that perfectly well. It hadn't been Myra's idea to visit Xin Dubai and meet with Three-Tongued Jacob. That was all him, because they'd needed the information the broker could provide.

Power bolts sizzled past him as the GBA[1] shock troops opened fire. "Halt!" roared their leader, a small and deceptively soft-looking man of the Jin Tu Clan. "You are charged with disturbing the peace of the Ten Thousand Heavens."

"Guilty as charged!" Leo called back, grabbing a chair on the run and throwing it through the window at the end of the hall. He followed close on it's heels, trusting that Myra would be right behind him, twisting and rolling in mid-air as he dropped two stories onto the roof of a pedirickshaw. The driver cursed him in Spanish-accented Urdu, and the two passengers shrieked in surprise as he crashed through the canopy and landed between them.

He was a tall man, nearly six and a half feet height and 235 pounds of lean muscle. He wore loose breeches of electric blue, bloused into calf-high black boots, a loose cream-colored shirt, and a grey Imperial Navy officer's overcoat stripped of all emblems of rank. Grey eyes twinkled merrily in the light of the triple suns, and shaggy sandy-blonde hair was visible under the grey tricorn hat perched on his head.

Contrary to expectations, he didn't have a mustache or a goatee. He'd tried to grow one, once, but it had been a pale and sparse thing. He'd shaved it within a month, mortified by the way it had made his face look.

Leo bowed and doffed his hat, balancing on the narrow floorboard of the pedirickshaw. "My apologies, ladies. Please, pardon me."

"میری ٹیکسی سے باہر نکل جاؤ!" the driver screamed.

Dropping lightly to the pavement, Leonidas flipped the man a quarter-stellare. "For your trouble," he said.

A power bolt sizzled past, turning a section of road the size of a saucer into bubbling molten cauldron. With a shriek of terror, the driver pedaled madly and raced away.

"You see," Leo told Myra as he raced into the crowds of pedestrians, "if you'd just talked me out of this, we wouldn't be in any trouble right now."

Behind them, the crowds parted as GBA troopers in black-laquered power-assist armor began to shoulder through in pursuit. Ahead of them rose the minarets and low flat-roofed buildings of Xin Dubai, climbing the caldera of an ancient volcano towards the atmosphere locks. The warbling buzz of a muezzin could be heard, sounding the call to prayer to the Kurzislamic cyber-faithful. As if in challenge, the bells of the Cathedral of Saint Darwin of Galapagos began to toll noon.

"Now," Leo said, picking up the pace, "we just need to make it to the locks. Preferably in one piece."

[1]Gongan Bu Anquan, which Google Translate assures me is Chinese for "Ministry of Public Safety".

The Habitation of Devils

It took nearly five years to kill more than half the human race. Bacteriological warfare and chemical warfare, meteor strikes and famine, all were employed. Civilization buckled under the strain as the death toll mounted daily. Wars broke out over water and food and natural resources, or over old jealousies and petty rivalries. By the time the armies of Heaven and Hell gathered at the Valley of Megiddo, nations had collapsed into warlordism and petty kingdoms, and only the old superpowers were able to maintain any semblance of order.

Nobody knows for certain which nation launched the first missile. But multi-megaton nuclear explosions erupted across the valley. What happened next is unclear, but within hours the first nuclear world war was over. There were no winners. Only survivors.

Nuclear winter plunged the Earth into a short-lived ice age, and the changed climate carried the ashes of Meggido across the globe. Rains, tainted by fallout and the ashes of celestial beings, wrought terrible mutations in plant and animal life. And the Hosts of Heaven and Hell followed in the wake of the storms, ragged survivors who found themselves cut off from the infernal and divine realms. They carved out kingdoms of their own, and the distinctions between "angel" and "demon" were often lost on the humans they ruled.

Ten years later, humanity struggles on the brink of extinction. Birth rates have declined substantially, and men and women are hunted for sport or forced to serve as foot soldiers in the petty wars between isolated pockets of Divine and Infernal kingdoms. But in some places, humanity remains free and independent. Constantly vigilent against both sides, they seek to rebuild their shattered world.

It was the outriders that found him first, ten miles downriver from Thurmond. Once, the region they lived in was known as West Virginia, but the old names no longer mattered. It was free territory, and that was what mattered.

He was a big man, dark haired, wearing a duster and battered wide-brimmed hat of dark cured leather. He was sprawled alongside the trail, breathing shallow and wounded. There were terrible rents in his clothes and flesh, claw and blade marks in arm and leg and torso that were clotted with blood and scarlet with infection. How he'd managed to get as far as he did was a mystery, because there were no nearby signs that a fight had taken place.

Jonas Lin reigned in his horse and dismounted, while Barry Talbot and Danielle Lang covered him with their pistols. The big man sure looked down for and genuinely hurt, but it wouldn't be the first time the community had seen clever bandits. Jonas edged in around behind him, and nudged him with his boot. The man groaned a little, and tried to move.

Nobody came barreling out of the woods. No gunshots or bows fired.

"Looks like he's for real," Jonas answered, crouching to check him over. "Pack here looks like he's a... peddler, maybe. Got some DVDs and a few books, even a couple of toys. And... uhm... this."

This was a bearded axe, nearly a meter long with a spike a hand's length long at the end and a hammer back. The gleaming silver metal was crusted with blood as well. "John Doe here looks like he gave as good as he got."

The big man groaned. With a horrendous effort, he pushed himself up on one arm and groped for the axe. The effort proved too much and, as Jonas scrambled backwards, he fell heavily back to the ground. The impact tore open unhealed wounds, and something that wasn't blood flowed from them. It was a luminous fluid, silver white and glowing.

"Fuuuuck," Danielle muttered, drawing a bead. "A goddamn angel."

"Or a demon," Barry growled, taking aim as well.

"Hang on," Jonas said, "you both know the rules. A man looking for sanctuary in Thurmond gets to plead his case to the council. Someone torn up like that, he's probably looking."

"He ain't a man," Danielle spat. "Fuckin' angels ain't men, 'cept in th' worst ways. I say we kill him now."

"C'mon, Barry," Jonas insisted, nearly pleading. "This isn't right. You know what the mayor says: we've got law, and that's what makes us better. John here hasn't done anything to us yet. If we kill him..."

Barry sighed. "...then we aren't any better than they are. Goddamnit, you're right."

Danielle glared at him out of her one good eye. The other was milky white under a bone-white scar. "Fuck me," she snarled.

"Anytime, Dani" Barry answered, automatically.

"You ain't serious! It's a goddamn angel."

"Yeah," Barry agreed. "Which is why you're gonna go fetch the mayor, so she can tell us all legal-like that it's all right to execute him."

The two outriders stared at each other. Finally, Danielle wheeled her horse around. "Goddamn it," she snarled, glaring at Barry. "You get yourself killed by it, I'll fuckin' murder you."

"Love you too!" Barry called as she galloped away. Then he looked back at Jonas. "Get yourself back away from that thing," he muttered. "No sense taking chances."

Technically, they weren't dropped at the first post. Margin made it three, and Devils made it ten. But I had high hopes for both of them.

Star Pupil · Oct 22, 2015

xanaphia said:
Princess Pittooey said:

xanaphia said:

Sharing his Muse

Yet other rp I had high hopes for, that was not ever able to get off the ground. Bad timing for the most part, it seems. I was to play the wife of a talented artist, who uses her charms and beauty to win him influence. What I liked most about this rp is how is appealed to my vanity.

“More wine, signori?” Marianna Valentino asked, holding up the bottle of fine red wine. She bent over him ever so slightly, as she poured the deep burgundy liquid into his glass, affording him an all too brief view of her ample cleavage. She could feel Count Foretti's drinking in her body, rather than his wine, but that was fine. Intoxication was the couple's goal, but whether it was brought on by the wine or by her beauty, she did not care. She poured herself a glass, as well as a third for her husband, who was out of the room at the moment. “Tell me Count, how did you enjoy Florence?” She asked, running her fingers down from his shoulder to his elbow.

Before she met Marcus, Marianna had trained to be a courtesan. music, classic literature, etiquette, all the popular topics of conversation, and, most importantly, seduction. Had she not decided to pursue love instead of profit, she would have most likely become a famous and favored courtesan. Regardless, her skills made her perfectly suited for the task of convincing The Count to patron Marcus' art. Evening now, as her soft turquoise eyes followed him, as he spoke of his rather uneventful trip, her expression betrayed nothing but utter captivation. Even though his eyes rarely met hers, preferring to fix his gaze upon her body. She didn't dare make a fuss about it, she knew all too well how dire the couple's financial situation was, and if the Count would not support them, it would be months before they could attempt to impress another nobleman.

Marcus arrived, wheeling in a large marble statue covered by a paint splattered sheet. Under the canvas was Marcus' latest work, a piece she herself had not yet seen. She had no doubt that it was absolutely stunning, as all his work was. It was what originally attracted her to Marcus, as he told her that she was his muse, and that if he could not have her hand in marriage, he would never create a meaningful piece of art in his life. She certainly couldn't deny the world his works now, could she? While their marriage was extremely happy, money was always an issue.

Marianna and Count Foretti turned their attention to the unveiling, Marcus was beaming as he carefully pulled the sheet off. Marianna let out an impressed gasp as the statue came into sight, a completely nude figure of a woman. Long curly hair framed her face, falling just below her shoulders. Her arms were down at her sides, holding a sash that rested on her hips, and was the only scrap of clothing present on the figure. Her teardrop breasts were much fuller than most marbled statues of women. The nipples were perky and incredibly detailed, drawing ones eyes to them. Just below a slender waist narrowed and widened once more as it formed into round hips, ideal for childbearing. Nothing covered the public mound, as the vulva was intricately sculpted. Soft, thick thighs formed from there, growing leaner as the legs grew longer.

It was easily Marcus' greatest work yet, but that was not what inspired her gasp. She recognized every line on this statue, because she had seen them before. Often, every single day when she looked in the mirror, and in Marcus' eyes when they made love. He had sculpted her, down to the smallest detail. She looked over at Count Foretti, and she could tell that he recognized her in the statue, at least the parts of her he had seen so far. A deep crimson blush covered her face as she felt as though she had been stripped before the man who had already been leering at her all evening.

Click to expand...

Who was your partner suppose to play? The count?

Click to expand...

Marcus and with us sharing the other men.

I thought Marcus was your character because of how you set the scene. It was very vivid and imaginative though. Sharing the other men? Like taking turns playing them?

Xanaphia · Oct 23, 2015

TheCorsair said:
I've got two. Feel free to adore me and marvel at my writing.

I don't do that enough as it is?

TheCorsair said:
The Habitation of Devils

It took nearly five years to kill more than half the human race. Bacteriological warfare and chemical warfare, meteor strikes and famine, all were employed. Civilization buckled under the strain as the death toll mounted daily. Wars broke out over water and food and natural resources, or over old jealousies and petty rivalries. By the time the armies of Heaven and Hell gathered at the Valley of Megiddo, nations had collapsed into warlordism and petty kingdoms, and only the old superpowers were able to maintain any semblance of order.

Nobody knows for certain which nation launched the first missile. But multi-megaton nuclear explosions erupted across the valley. What happened next is unclear, but within hours the first nuclear world war was over. There were no winners. Only survivors.

Nuclear winter plunged the Earth into a short-lived ice age, and the changed climate carried the ashes of Meggido across the globe. Rains, tainted by fallout and the ashes of celestial beings, wrought terrible mutations in plant and animal life. And the Hosts of Heaven and Hell followed in the wake of the storms, ragged survivors who found themselves cut off from the infernal and divine realms. They carved out kingdoms of their own, and the distinctions between "angel" and "demon" were often lost on the humans they ruled.

Ten years later, humanity struggles on the brink of extinction. Birth rates have declined substantially, and men and women are hunted for sport or forced to serve as foot soldiers in the petty wars between isolated pockets of Divine and Infernal kingdoms. But in some places, humanity remains free and independent. Constantly vigilent against both sides, they seek to rebuild their shattered world.

It was the outriders that found him first, ten miles downriver from Thurmond. Once, the region they lived in was known as West Virginia, but the old names no longer mattered. It was free territory, and that was what mattered.

He was a big man, dark haired, wearing a duster and battered wide-brimmed hat of dark cured leather. He was sprawled alongside the trail, breathing shallow and wounded. There were terrible rents in his clothes and flesh, claw and blade marks in arm and leg and torso that were clotted with blood and scarlet with infection. How he'd managed to get as far as he did was a mystery, because there were no nearby signs that a fight had taken place.

Jonas Lin reigned in his horse and dismounted, while Barry Talbot and Danielle Lang covered him with their pistols. The big man sure looked down for and genuinely hurt, but it wouldn't be the first time the community had seen clever bandits. Jonas edged in around behind him, and nudged him with his boot. The man groaned a little, and tried to move.

Nobody came barreling out of the woods. No gunshots or bows fired.

"Looks like he's for real," Jonas answered, crouching to check him over. "Pack here looks like he's a... peddler, maybe. Got some DVDs and a few books, even a couple of toys. And... uhm... this."

This was a bearded axe, nearly a meter long with a spike a hand's length long at the end and a hammer back. The gleaming silver metal was crusted with blood as well. "John Doe here looks like he gave as good as he got."

The big man groaned. With a horrendous effort, he pushed himself up on one arm and groped for the axe. The effort proved too much and, as Jonas scrambled backwards, he fell heavily back to the ground. The impact tore open unhealed wounds, and something that wasn't blood flowed from them. It was a luminous fluid, silver white and glowing.

"Fuuuuck," Danielle muttered, drawing a bead. "A goddamn angel."

"Or a demon," Barry growled, taking aim as well.

"Hang on," Jonas said, "you both know the rules. A man looking for sanctuary in Thurmond gets to plead his case to the council. Someone torn up like that, he's probably looking."

"He ain't a man," Danielle spat. "Fuckin' angels ain't men, 'cept in th' worst ways. I say we kill him now."

"C'mon, Barry," Jonas insisted, nearly pleading. "This isn't right. You know what the mayor says: we've got law, and that's what makes us better. John here hasn't done anything to us yet. If we kill him..."

Barry sighed. "...then we aren't any better than they are. Goddamnit, you're right."

Danielle glared at him out of her one good eye. The other was milky white under a bone-white scar. "Fuck me," she snarled.

"Anytime, Dani" Barry answered, automatically.

"You ain't serious! It's a goddamn angel."

"Yeah," Barry agreed. "Which is why you're gonna go fetch the mayor, so she can tell us all legal-like that it's all right to execute him."

The two outriders stared at each other. Finally, Danielle wheeled her horse around. "Goddamn it," she snarled, glaring at Barry. "You get yourself killed by it, I'll fuckin' murder you."

"Love you too!" Barry called as she galloped away. Then he looked back at Jonas. "Get yourself back away from that thing," he muttered. "No sense taking chances."

Technically, they weren't dropped at the first post. Margin made it three, and Devils made it ten. But I had high hopes for both of them.

Holy shit, that sounds fucking awesome! *Resists the urge to try and negotiate this plot with him.* Someone play this with him, before I try to!

Star Pupil · Oct 23, 2015

TheCorsair said:
I've got two. Feel free to adore me and marvel at my writing.

Seriously, criticism is always welcome. I may try to recycle one or both of these one day.

Pirates of the Celestial Margin:

It is the 341st year of the reign of the Shijie Tuanjie Emperor, omnipotent ruler of the Shi Yiqian Tian. After centuries of conflict, the last of the independent stellar nations of the galaxy have been brought under the benevolent rule of the Son of Heaven. Supported by the Twelve Celestial Houses, his guiding hand controls the destinies of all within the Middle Universe.

There are some, though, who do not accept this guidance. These individuals go by many names.

Rebels.

Outlaws.

Traitors.

Pirates.

PIRATES OF THE CELESTIAL MARGINS

"This," laughed Captain Leonidas Nelson, better known to the peoples of the Shi Yiqian Tian as the dreaded pirate called "the Starhawk", "is entirely your fault. I just want you to understand that."

It really wasn't a fair statement, and the laugh in his voice and the grin on his lips showed that he knew that perfectly well. It hadn't been Myra's idea to visit Xin Dubai and meet with Three-Tongued Jacob. That was all him, because they'd needed the information the broker could provide.

Power bolts sizzled past him as the GBA[1] shock troops opened fire. "Halt!" roared their leader, a small and deceptively soft-looking man of the Jin Tu Clan. "You are charged with disturbing the peace of the Ten Thousand Heavens."

"Guilty as charged!" Leo called back, grabbing a chair on the run and throwing it through the window at the end of the hall. He followed close on it's heels, trusting that Myra would be right behind him, twisting and rolling in mid-air as he dropped two stories onto the roof of a pedirickshaw. The driver cursed him in Spanish-accented Urdu, and the two passengers shrieked in surprise as he crashed through the canopy and landed between them.

He was a tall man, nearly six and a half feet height and 235 pounds of lean muscle. He wore loose breeches of electric blue, bloused into calf-high black boots, a loose cream-colored shirt, and a grey Imperial Navy officer's overcoat stripped of all emblems of rank. Grey eyes twinkled merrily in the light of the triple suns, and shaggy sandy-blonde hair was visible under the grey tricorn hat perched on his head.

Contrary to expectations, he didn't have a mustache or a goatee. He'd tried to grow one, once, but it had been a pale and sparse thing. He'd shaved it within a month, mortified by the way it had made his face look.

Leo bowed and doffed his hat, balancing on the narrow floorboard of the pedirickshaw. "My apologies, ladies. Please, pardon me."

"میری ٹیکسی سے باہر نکل جاؤ!" the driver screamed.

Dropping lightly to the pavement, Leonidas flipped the man a quarter-stellare. "For your trouble," he said.

A power bolt sizzled past, turning a section of road the size of a saucer into bubbling molten cauldron. With a shriek of terror, the driver pedaled madly and raced away.

"You see," Leo told Myra as he raced into the crowds of pedestrians, "if you'd just talked me out of this, we wouldn't be in any trouble right now."

Behind them, the crowds parted as GBA troopers in black-laquered power-assist armor began to shoulder through in pursuit. Ahead of them rose the minarets and low flat-roofed buildings of Xin Dubai, climbing the caldera of an ancient volcano towards the atmosphere locks. The warbling buzz of a muezzin could be heard, sounding the call to prayer to the Kurzislamic cyber-faithful. As if in challenge, the bells of the Cathedral of Saint Darwin of Galapagos began to toll noon.

"Now," Leo said, picking up the pace, "we just need to make it to the locks. Preferably in one piece."

[1]Gongan Bu Anquan, which Google Translate assures me is Chinese for "Ministry of Public Safety".

The Habitation of Devils

It took nearly five years to kill more than half the human race. Bacteriological warfare and chemical warfare, meteor strikes and famine, all were employed. Civilization buckled under the strain as the death toll mounted daily. Wars broke out over water and food and natural resources, or over old jealousies and petty rivalries. By the time the armies of Heaven and Hell gathered at the Valley of Megiddo, nations had collapsed into warlordism and petty kingdoms, and only the old superpowers were able to maintain any semblance of order.

Nobody knows for certain which nation launched the first missile. But multi-megaton nuclear explosions erupted across the valley. What happened next is unclear, but within hours the first nuclear world war was over. There were no winners. Only survivors.

Nuclear winter plunged the Earth into a short-lived ice age, and the changed climate carried the ashes of Meggido across the globe. Rains, tainted by fallout and the ashes of celestial beings, wrought terrible mutations in plant and animal life. And the Hosts of Heaven and Hell followed in the wake of the storms, ragged survivors who found themselves cut off from the infernal and divine realms. They carved out kingdoms of their own, and the distinctions between "angel" and "demon" were often lost on the humans they ruled.

Ten years later, humanity struggles on the brink of extinction. Birth rates have declined substantially, and men and women are hunted for sport or forced to serve as foot soldiers in the petty wars between isolated pockets of Divine and Infernal kingdoms. But in some places, humanity remains free and independent. Constantly vigilent against both sides, they seek to rebuild their shattered world.

It was the outriders that found him first, ten miles downriver from Thurmond. Once, the region they lived in was known as West Virginia, but the old names no longer mattered. It was free territory, and that was what mattered.

He was a big man, dark haired, wearing a duster and battered wide-brimmed hat of dark cured leather. He was sprawled alongside the trail, breathing shallow and wounded. There were terrible rents in his clothes and flesh, claw and blade marks in arm and leg and torso that were clotted with blood and scarlet with infection. How he'd managed to get as far as he did was a mystery, because there were no nearby signs that a fight had taken place.

Jonas Lin reigned in his horse and dismounted, while Barry Talbot and Danielle Lang covered him with their pistols. The big man sure looked down for and genuinely hurt, but it wouldn't be the first time the community had seen clever bandits. Jonas edged in around behind him, and nudged him with his boot. The man groaned a little, and tried to move.

Nobody came barreling out of the woods. No gunshots or bows fired.

"Looks like he's for real," Jonas answered, crouching to check him over. "Pack here looks like he's a... peddler, maybe. Got some DVDs and a few books, even a couple of toys. And... uhm... this."

This was a bearded axe, nearly a meter long with a spike a hand's length long at the end and a hammer back. The gleaming silver metal was crusted with blood as well. "John Doe here looks like he gave as good as he got."

The big man groaned. With a horrendous effort, he pushed himself up on one arm and groped for the axe. The effort proved too much and, as Jonas scrambled backwards, he fell heavily back to the ground. The impact tore open unhealed wounds, and something that wasn't blood flowed from them. It was a luminous fluid, silver white and glowing.

"Fuuuuck," Danielle muttered, drawing a bead. "A goddamn angel."

"Or a demon," Barry growled, taking aim as well.

"Hang on," Jonas said, "you both know the rules. A man looking for sanctuary in Thurmond gets to plead his case to the council. Someone torn up like that, he's probably looking."

"He ain't a man," Danielle spat. "Fuckin' angels ain't men, 'cept in th' worst ways. I say we kill him now."

"C'mon, Barry," Jonas insisted, nearly pleading. "This isn't right. You know what the mayor says: we've got law, and that's what makes us better. John here hasn't done anything to us yet. If we kill him..."

Barry sighed. "...then we aren't any better than they are. Goddamnit, you're right."

Danielle glared at him out of her one good eye. The other was milky white under a bone-white scar. "Fuck me," she snarled.

"Anytime, Dani" Barry answered, automatically.

"You ain't serious! It's a goddamn angel."

"Yeah," Barry agreed. "Which is why you're gonna go fetch the mayor, so she can tell us all legal-like that it's all right to execute him."

The two outriders stared at each other. Finally, Danielle wheeled her horse around. "Goddamn it," she snarled, glaring at Barry. "You get yourself killed by it, I'll fuckin' murder you."

"Love you too!" Barry called as she galloped away. Then he looked back at Jonas. "Get yourself back away from that thing," he muttered. "No sense taking chances."

Technically, they weren't dropped at the first post. Margin made it three, and Devils made it ten. But I had high hopes for both of them.

You're a very good writer, no question about that. But both these openers seem way too busy for a first post. There are a lot of things going on, a lot of characters and such. It would take me a long time to come up with something matching the degree of intensity that both of these posts have, which is hard to invest in at the start of the roleplay. The second one was my favorite, simply because of how well you set the world for the first part of the post. But introducing several characters before hand makes me scratch my head. Who are all these people? Which one is the main character? I question things like that.

Of course, if you coordinated all of this with your partner and explained who all of these people are at the beginning of your post, that makes it a little better. But I don't know, as someone who loves playing multiple characters, introducing them slowly seems to be better and makes all the characters have a more memorable presence.

I like to write my first posts with my partner in mind, I like establishing places where they can easily jump in. I don't know who any of the characters were, if any of them were suppose to be your partner. But a big mistake, one that I noticed in xanaphia's opener, is that you can also do too much for a partner on your opening like controlling their character and describing what their behavior is like. That, in my opinion, is an immediate deal breaker. Even if the character was originally yours, you should let the person who's playing the character set the tone. But again, I'm not sure if you did that in the posts above.

Other than that, you seem really fun to roleplay with! It's hard to find people who are interested in playing more than one character, even harder to play more than one character with differing personalities.

That's just my personal critique. At least your openers weren't abandoned on sight!

Star Pupil · Oct 23, 2015

Anyways, I figured it was only fair to share an opener from last year that never went anywhere. It took me a while to find it. I don't even remember what it was about honestly, I believe the pairing was Cop x Mafia girl.

The city of LA was gorgeous and booming with tourism, business, and also something that no one was willing to talk about...drugs. Organized crime was surprisingly high in the area. Along with drug trafficking, there were illegal plastic surgery rings and stolen human organs that would sell on the black market. Needless to say, there were quite a few gangs to make all that happen. And behind each gang, was a very intelligent, careful, calculating boss.

That was the type of man Annette Wolfe's father was. But now he was gone, arrested by the cops after being betrayed by one of his closest partners. Elliot Wolfe would be locked away for a long time. Unfortunately for the man who betrayed him, he didn't do enough research on her. At the age of twenty two she took over one of the biggest drug cartels in LA, and the first thing she did with her power was find the man who betrayed her father and kill him and all those involved. It was a swift, merciless execution, and Annette watched as they were gunned down one by one.

It not only was a satisfying revenge, but it also sent a message. Just because Elliot Wolfe was in jail did not mean that their territory was up for grabs. In fact, it was the opposite. Annette was much more aggressive and was determined to make her fathers business succeed. Her cunning, intelligence and determination was allowing her to slowly advance on the weaker territories, held by uneducated thugs. She was almost running the operation militia style. Her people were disciplined, and they had an unwavering faith in their new boss despite her young age.

Perhaps it was because she had a charisma about her that made people believe in her. She was also quite attractive, and well spoken. Or maybe it was the courage she displayed when she was willing to go out and get her hands dirty if she had to instead of just staying back and letting others do everything for her. Whatever it was, Annette was a strong, determined woman who would not let anyone get in her way, whether they be rival gangs, or the cops. She refused to watch her father's business fail.

Tonight, she was at the Sleeping Angel, a club that was well known for it's connections with the drug market. She was sitting at the bar, looking much classier than the other woman there. She wore a tight black dress that came down to her mid thighs, and most of her black hair was neatly pulled into a ponytail. Her bangs were just long enough to cover her eyebrows. She had thick eye liner on, though it really brought out her hazel eyes. There was also a bald man with various tattoos on the back of his head and neck dressed in a black suit that was standing close to her. He had a pair of thick sunglasses on, so it was a mystery as to what or who he was watching.

Finally, her contact sat beside her. He exchanged a piece of paper two her, and she placed it into her purse. "It's nice to see you again, Ollie. I hope you have some good news..." Annette said quietly as the thin, pale man in khakis and a polo shirt fidgeted around. He was nervous. Not a good sign. Maybe he thought that he was being followed? Annette had heard that the LA police were really starting to crack down on organized crime. She had to watch her back, and make sure no one was around eavesdropping on her conversations...or wearing a wire.

TheCorsair · Oct 23, 2015

@Princess Pittooey: I had coordinated some of the details in advance, but yeah. In retrospect, I may have overdone it. I don't honestly remember how much coordination was involved, beyond a little world-building and who the characters were.

And I have to say I loved your opening. It just screams "modern noir", which is a good thing in my book. I almost think it would have been better to have started at "Tonight, she was at the Sleeping Angel...". Frame it like a mivie, with an emphasis on the club and the characters and their actions, and let Annette's back story come out over time. Heighten the suspense for the hypothetical reader (even if they've read the back cover and know who she is).

Star Pupil · Oct 23, 2015

TheCorsair said:
@Princess Pittooey: I had coordinated some of the details in advance, but yeah. In retrospect, I may have overdone it. I don't honestly remember how much coordination was involved, beyond a little world-building and who the characters were.

And I have to say I loved your opening. It just screams "modern noir", which is a good thing in my book. I almost think it would have been better to have started at "Tonight, she was at the Sleeping Angel...". Frame it like a mivie, with an emphasis on the club and the characters and their actions, and let Annette's back story come out over time. Heighten the suspense for the hypothetical reader (even if they've read the back cover and know who she is).

Aww, thanks.

And yes, I do need to work on my scene setting. It has never been my strong point in modern settings. Tone setting is important as well. I've gotta say though, never thought about the hypothetical reader. I just assume no one reads my roleplays, haha.

TheCorsair · Oct 25, 2015

@Xana: Stop tempting me about Habitation! Because I would totally play that with you!

@Princess Pittooey: I pretty much always right like I think my threads are going to be read like others - even if that other is actually just my writing partner. It helps me think more about plot and foreshadowing and tone and all those fun literary devices.

Blue Hatter · Nov 1, 2015

I have quite a few openers that could go in here but unfortunately I've deleted most of them (I usually role play over PM and just occasionally on the forum). I've had people ditch me after I write an opening post more times than I care to remember and it's always extremely frustrating. Ugh, if they don't want to role play anymore they should tell me, don't make me waste my time and effort on writing something that will never go anywhere. So rude. ><;;

That's part of the reason that lately I've been asking the other person to start the role play. I've just gotten so tired of doing the starting post and never getting anything back. I don't know, maybe I write too much and scare people off... I have a huge imagination and sometimes it runs away with me...

I'll fish through my role plays and see what I can find.

darkangel76 · Nov 2, 2015

Well, as far as the abandonment goes with RPs......it happens. Does it suck? Sure. Especially if I'm really jonesing for the story. But do I get pissed off? No. I love writing. A lot. But, it's also a hobby and not something I'd ever force another to do. So, there's that. I don't chase people down or pester them. I kind of just give people what seems like an appropriate amount of time and then call it a day. If I have a decent OOC rapport with them, I might inquire, but I probably also have an inkling on how their muse works too. Meaning, I know if they are having writer's block, need a hiatus or just plain whatever.

That out of the way, I do have abandoned openers and/or abandoned replies (by this, I mean my co-writer wrote the intro...I replied and then the RP was dead after that). I probably have more of the latter. But, basically, it comes down to the fact that I only got to post ONCE. And, personally, I think that is the main deal. At least for myself.

Anyway, here's an abandoned opener for you to gander:

Song of the Stars: Exploration of the Senses & the Universal Language (written back in July 2013)

Just another year at the Inner Sanctum's Academy of the Arts—fully funded and run by the Illuminati elite on the lush yet, at times, dangerous planet Hemera—at least that was what Elanna Halsey kept on telling herself every day since the beginning of the academic year. It was her sixth year at the academy—an 'extended stay' as those of the Illuminati upperclass sometimes called it to help rationalize the extra time allotted to earn any kind of degree or certification—and she was beginning to wonder why she'd even bothered. Nearly a month had passed and she felt no closer to achieving her goals than she had when she'd arrived, yet again, for that fifth and more than likely final year. Then again, she'd made many achievements and was held in high regard by her 'family' for her young age given all that she'd managed to accomplish. Her efforts had far been fruitless, yet... why did she feel so empty, like her purpose had yet to be truly realized?

It was a question Elanna asked herself often, almost every day when she woke up in the morning. She especially wondered it every time she completed a task, made mark on her set goals. Goals that ran deeper than those set by her professors at the academy. Then again, those true goals were unlike most... As she moved to stand up, pushing her slight body up and away from her bed situated in her room, she walked across the floor toward the room's far end. Her feet were bare and quietly she padded toward the window so she could peer outside at the lush and intriguing beauty that was planet Hemera—one of the Illuminati's most inspirational planets, home of their finest art school, its indigenous inhabitants those of great mystery and wonder. The school itself was safe enough, protected by a barricade that kept anything that might be considered a threat outside its walls. Though such instances were rare on the paradise, the school wanted to ensure all of its students and employees were safe while residing on its grounds. The thought made her chuckle knowing where her own loyalties lied. As she silently stood there, she could behold the beauty from her window, which overlooked the forests and other darkly beautiful terrain of the peaceful planet she'd been more or less calling home for the past several years. On the other side, she knew the majestic beaches laid in wait, the wondrous waves crashing upon white sandy shores. But those shores would indeed have to wait for she had other things pressing on her mind.

Elanna brought a hand up and began twisting her fingers through her dark curls, her mind wandering a bit as her blue eyes fixed upon the green trees in the distance. She thought on an assignment she'd been given by one of her professors. One that seemed rather heavily involved though was a requirement for one of her classes. She hoped it didn't detract from her 'other goals', those secret goals she didn't speak of to anyone, those that she kept to herself and strived toward for her 'family' while trying to earn a degree at the academy... She heaved a sigh in that moment. It was a good thing that she loved music, that she held such passion for it. Sometimes it was the only thing that got her through the day, helped her keep focus and her center so that she wouldn't lose sight of why she was even there in the first place.

Why she was there...

As Elanna's fingers began to comb through her long, chestnut tresses, she reminded herself of why she was there—to recruit for the rebels. Just then, she could feel the bile rise. How she hated the Illuminati and all that they stood for. Their cruelty had far extended itself into too many corners and was ever reaching further, seeking to destroy everything just so that it could gain the power and the upper hand. They had to be stopped and if she could play an active role in that... she would do so, even if it meant sacrificing her life. After all, it would be for a worthy cause because wasn't a better life for all worth more in the long run? She thought so.

Letting out another sigh, Elanna looked away from her window, her blue eyes staring at the cold tiled floor beneath her feet. She needed to get ready. Her 'assignment' was waiting. A part of her was giddy to embark on it while another felt held back. Her professor had instructed that she assist a fellow student with his thesis project. It involved helping him read older pieces of music that had been found, the notes written on parchments so old that they could not be placed on any devices for translation or scan-lation. She had to admit the idea of being able to see such music was beyond amazing, something she'd dreamed about seeing as one of her passions was in fact music—it was one of the reasons why she was there, though not her primary reason. She just hoped that by working with another, it wouldn't become cumbersome and bog down her efforts on her true mission at the academy. The last thing she needed was a distraction from her ultimate goal. Still, to be able to see such things and possibly more... it was the chance of a lifetime and she knew it, though she found it curious that she'd be needed to assist in such a task. However, who was she to question what her 'assignments' were?

"Right then," Elanna mumbled softly to herself, her hands moving to rub at her arms.

Elanna walked over to her dresser and picked out something decent to wear. Not wanting to show any support of the Illuminati yet not wanting to give away her true affiliations, she chose a brightly colored gown of blue, one that reminded her of the oceans on her home planet of Helios—pity that she hated what had become of her home world. It fitted her perfectly, accentuating her hourglass shape. To help give her smaller breasts lift, she wore a corset like most of the middle and upperclass girls and women. The garment lifted and squeezed them together, making them all but enticing to the casual onlooker. Once ready, she grabbed her bag, making sure it had all that she'd need within it and began making her way to the private study room in which she was supposed to meet her 'assignment'.

And this one wasn't 100% abandoned, though it might as well have been. The response I got to this opener was, well, three sentences long. And, not to sound like an asshole, but....seriously? What's more, the three sentences kind of said the same thing in 3 ways--nothing. =/ I asked the person to beef up the post so I had something to work with. They refused. As such, I consider this opener...abandoned:

The Warrior's Claim (written back in May 2010)

Morgan Grady sat on the beach staring out upon the rough ocean waters bordering her small village of Comare. The wind was stronger this time of year and blew her long, dark hair all about as she stood upon the sand dunes. She pulled her knit shawl tightly around her slim body as some sea spray splashed against her body, making her shiver a little. Cold, but not yet ready to say goodbye to the day, she sat down upon the sand.

Compared to the air and the spray from the waters, the sand was quite warm against Morgan's skin. She relished the warmth of it as she let her fingers play with the sand, running it through her fingers over and over again before hugging her knees to her chest. She glanced back toward her small village and smiled.

Behind Morgan, further inland and off the beach, stood several small stone and thatch huts. Billows of smoke rose up from the hearths of each one, a sign of life and contentment. Yes, her people were simple, peaceful. But they were also kind and so very hardworking, always trying to contribute to the greater good of all, not just one. It was this attitude and way of life that she admired most about her people that made her proud to be one of them.

Just then, Morgan caught a glimpse of Gavan and Cael. Cael was her older brother, a man who was well respected among her people and someone she loved deeply.

"It's getting late, Morgan," Cael shouted out as he approached his little sister. "And I think a storm is coming." He peered out over the rough waters as the winds became stronger, ominous clouds slowly rolling in from beyond the horizon.

Morgan just nodded. âJust a bit longer. I promise to be in before the rains come.â

Gavan stepped forward and placed a hand on Morgan's shoulder. She wanted to flinch at his touch, but managed to refrain. He was her brother's best friend and for some reason had his sights set on her. Yes, she liked him well enough and found him reasonably desirable. But she just couldn't see herself sharing her life with him for all of her days. No one in the village of Comare appealed to her in such a way and she often found herself arguing with her parents and brother about it as a result.

"I'll stay with her, Cael," Gavan spoke up.

Morgan just shook her head. "I'd rather be alone, if you don't mind." She gave Gavan a small smile, though she could see the disappointment in his dark eyes.

Cael just scowled and kicked at the sand. "Suit yourself," he muttered as he headed back to their home.

Morgan knew that Cael's little outburst wasn't just because she wouldn't come home with him. It was also because she was rejecting Gavan's advances... again. But honestly, she couldn't help it. She didn't want to insult Gavan. He deserved someone who truly wanted him. He was a good man and she knew she could never love him the way he ought to be one day.

Gavan gave Morgan a nod and followed after Cael leaving her by herself once again. She looked back out over the waters, the winds blowing, the thunder softly booming in the distance. A flash of lightning lit up the sky causing her to squint as she caught sight of something on the water. It looked like a ship of sorts. She tilted her head wondering who would dare brave such rough waters. Their little village of Comare didn't have that much to offer outsiders, so she found the sight of such a ship curious.

Gazing out at the ship, Morgan pulled her shawl tighter around her slim body. As the sky darkened, both with night and the storm clouds, she couldn't take her eyes away from the approaching ship in the distance, the flashes of lightning making its silhouette clearer and cleared as it neared the shores of Comare.

It's interesting reading over these abandoned openers. My writing has evolved sooo much since these. I like to think I write better, for one. And for two, I write about darker themes over all. lol. Interesting. XD

Absinthresher · Feb 4, 2016

I actually just stopped by to say that I honestly don't mind writing an opener that never gets replied to. I love writing introductions, getting to show of my writing skizziziles. I might come back later with some of my more awesome intros that I have saved somewhere though. That or I might just write some new ones just to see what people think.

Anyways, HANG IN THERE MEIN FREUNDS.

Paradox · Feb 5, 2016

I've accumulated so many abandoned openers, but this one is still a favorite. It was written for something closer to collaborative storytelling than "traditional" roleplay, wherein we would write first-person accounts--statements to the police--from different, possibly unrelated characters who all converge by the end on a scene of black mail and murder.

Sometimes—most the time, really—I’m perched on the edge of a roof and have to jump off. But I don’t.

Annie and Lucas met me outside a little strip of a ghost town in the middle of Oklahoma, with gunmetal clouds mottling the sun and sweat drizzling down my back. While I was thinking of giving my thumb a rest, about a hike to that abandoned old service station I’d seen near a mile back where I could shelter out the gathering storm and reconsider my strategy—since I hadn’t had a ride all morning—the two of them rounded the corner on the highway and got their first look at me.

I saw her bare feet first, legs crossed up out the side window and lean body leaned back on the bench seat. Long and dark with a blunt fringe, her hair suited their early 60s station wagon. She looked me up and down behind her sunglasses before she tipped them down to survey the sky.

“Looks like rain,” she said to me, or the driver, or the air itself. Her man nodded, his eyes still straight ahead at the road, never looked over at me, hands at ten and two with the motor running and the brake pedal held down and gear shift still in drive.

“I need to get to Tucson.” I set my hands gingerly on the burning edge of the door and leaned in, the acrid cold of the a/c shivering the sweat on my cheek. The interior smelled of old vinyl and cigarettes, and I tried for the life of me to pay attention to my spidey senses. “Tucson or thereabouts,” I added, just to break my own tension.

The driver nodded; long legs slid back through the window, slick sweat against my wrist, and Annie shimmied up to reach behind her seat and open the back door.
Annie introduced herself and her old man and lit a cigarette, and they passed it back and forth between them.

“Where you from?” she asked. Or something like that. I wasn’t listening. I was watching Lucas’s eyes in the rear view. Eyes watching me, sizing me up, making plans I couldn’t imagine, but that half-frightened me and chilled me and made me squirm a little and rub my thighs, all at once.

Spidey sense.

“Ruth,” I answered, wrong, but my voice was so quiet against the wind of the open window and the blast of the air conditioner that I’m not sure she heard.

Annie took a long drag off the cigarette, spun around in her seat, and rested her chin angelically on the head rest and peered at me with a smile.

“Where you from?”

“Kansas,” I said, and tore my gaze reluctantly from hers to check the mirror. Between glances at the road ahead, Lucas still held me. “Liberty. Kansas.”

Annie saw it, traced a line from my eyes to his and back again. I must’ve reddened a bit, because she mussed his hair until he caught her wrist and moved it back into her lap.

“Lucas is quiet,” she told me, and held the cigarette to his lips so he could take a long drag. “But he’s a alright sort.”

Annie kissed him a smack on the head, rolled, flipped, and ended up in the back seat next to me. She twined her fingers with mine and pulled our hands into her lap. Nails short and cracked, I could tell she chewed them—and the skin around them—and I liked that she didn’t try to hide it.

“So tell me about Liberty,” she said. Then smirked sideways and added: “Dorothy.”

And just like that, Annie made us friends.

Can I smoke in here, Officer? Mmmm, that’s better.

It took longer than usual to get Joe into the ground, on account that there was some question of jurisdiction, and once that was sorted out, the coroner had taken ill and they had to bring another one in special from a different county, so that by the time that was all finished and the detectives signed off, there was no seeing my fiance buried. The police may have cleared me of wrongdoing, but I was damn well toasted in the town’s eyes, and while they all filed in to their football hero’s funeral, Mom thought it best I stay home.

But I didn’t say any of that when Annie asked. Instead, what came out was less than the truth and more than I expected. “Liberty,” I said, “is the sort of place where everyone’s had their hands in your panty drawer your whole life. Where you marry your high school sweetheart, who just happens to be a boy you’ve known since you were five, so that it’s like incest without the cross-eyed babies.”

Lucas’s eyes squinted in the rearview mirror with a grin.

Annie squeezed my hand. “Then?”

“Then you get a single-wide and worry about bills and take the same shit jobs your parents took. And when the jobs run out, you get food stamps and welfare and wait for the next shit job.”

“So you ran?”

I watched my hand in Annie’s, trembling. I’m sure she felt it. “I ran,” I said finally. “I ran because when you don’t have the sweetheart to pump out the babies with, when everything else has been worn out, you’ve got to run. You don’t want to be that girl. Not in Liberty.”

No one spoke for a while, until the ruts of the road thunking under the tires filled the cabin and became the only sound. Maybe that had put me into an otherworldly frame of mind, or it really was something in his voice, but when Lucas finally spoke for the first time, I nearly jumped.

“Sometimes that’s all you need: a new place. Somewhere clean—” (And the way he drawled out the word “clean” made it feel anything but) “—clean and ready and waiting. You can’t write your story on a soiled page.”

He turned his head and looked directly at me with a dangerous grin, for just a moment, but it was enough to know. He expected to be part of that story.

There was nothing that scared me more.

Hell, that was the whole reason I was about ready to high-tail it when I saw their car coming down the highway. Contrary to what I told you earlier, I’d seen them before.

GracieParker · Jul 10, 2016

So this was supposed to be a noncon tribal rp, where a white girl in the 50s is trying to reach her husband that serves the army in the pacific ocean for a vacation trip. The ship sinks and she ends up on an island full of primitive black savages that think of her as a gift of the gods and pleasure themselves mercilessly on her. I guess you could say the tags were: facefuck, gangbang, interracial, anal, bukkake, rough, forced, rape, dp, big cocks, bareback, facials...stuff like that.

Sadly after a certain time of plotting I wrote this opener and never got an answer. Obviously that has happened before but I was kind of sad for this one cause I had high hopes for it. I dont know why it was abandoned, he gave me no reason. Maybe its my writing?

It had been two months now since Dolores Baker had married Henry Whitaker and therefore became Dolores Whitaker. The young blonde had met Henry only three years prior, right after he had left Germany and got back to the United States in 1949. Having served in World War II, the ambitious man had climbed the ranks quickly due to his leadership qualities and because a lot of his superiors were killed in action. When the war was won, Henry stayed in Germany and was part of the occupation of the defeated enemy. His return as a respected veteran made him a desirable bachelor in his hometown of Vienna, Virginia. Despite all the girls who were pursuing the handsome Henry Whitaker, he had only eyes for the young Dolores, who was the daughter of his aunts best friend. His endeavours were not in vain, as he conquered her heart after having courted her for a few weeks. The slim beauty, nineteen years of age at that time fell for him head over heels and was devastated when Henry got back into service, as he was sent to one of the oversea bases. Nonetheless the couple made it work with lots of letters and in 1951, while Henry was on leave he proposed and without hesitation Dolores said yes.

A little less then one year later, Henry, now thirty years old became her husband in a beautiful small ceremony in the large colourful garden of his grandfathers farm. Talk of the town was that there has never been a more gorgeous bride, even though gossip like that made Dolores a bit uncomfortable. She had been raised pretty conservative and still attended church every Sunday where the minister taught the church goers about humility. In small town America around 1950 the classic view of the woman was still predominant. She had to support her husband and take care of the house, all duties Dolores gladly fulfilled for the man she loved. Part of that loyalty was to suppress her true feelings about Henry leaving the country again. This time Army sent him to a remote island in the South Pacific. Being away from him was almost unbearable for the blonde pearl of beauty, yet she had to let him go. When she uttered her fears about his safety he had only laughed, assuring her that he was perfectly safe in the middle of nowhere and that the closest inhabited islands were a few hundred miles away. Furthermore, only primitive native folk lived there who never left their islands and the only point of holding a base in that area is a strategic one on paper. Again they wrote each other letters and a few months later Henry told her to pack a suitcase in order to visit him on the island.

With a huge adventure in front of her Dolores excitedly stepped on a plane from the Washington National Airport to Acapulco in Mexico. There she stepped aboard of an old shabby fisher boat which provided a few cabins for passengers. Due to the lack of regular transportation to the pacific islands, Henry had instructed his wife to take a small boat from Acapulco and had even mentioned the name of that particular boat. The "Diablo Marino" clearly had it's best days behind itself, yet Henry had been clear and so Dolores had wasted no second thoughts on that choice. She trusted her husband and was sure he knew what he was doing. Even when some of the crew men started eyeing her slender body every now and then she felt no need to worry, after all they only stared a little. Humility was one thing, yet she was aware of her pretty face. She was a good Christian, not a blind Christian. The boattrip was supposed to last for three days, so the young blonde woman felt relieved when the second night approached, as this meant it would be the last night in the small shabby cabin which smelled so strongly of oil and rotten fruits. Still wearing the small blouse and the blue skirt she had been wearing all day, Dolores prepared to change in order to go to sleep one last time on that weird little boat.

Just before she could grab her suitcase a huge jolt shook the whole boat and a deafening metallic screech masked every other sound that might have been audible otherwise. Dolores fell roughly to her knees and just barely avoided hitting her head on the edge of the bunk. Shocked and disorientated the young woman failed to realise that the whole boat was tilting to its side and only after things in her cabin started to fall over, it dawned on her that she was in trouble. Moments later water started entering the cabin which felt surreal to Dolores, it could not be could it? Her cabin was supposed to be high above the waterline, yet she felt the cold lashing water hit her feet and knees. By the time she managed to get up and make up her mind of how to proceed, the water had risen to her hips already, the cold almost paralysing her. What followed would only remembered by her in a blur. The opening of her cabin door, half swimming half walking through the corridor, the wetness, the cold and most distinguishable, the fear. Never had she been so afraid in her entire life, never had she been afraid for her life. Inside her mind she begged god to help her. She would have begged the crewmen as well yet there was no sign of anybody. Dolores faintly remembered seeing half of the boat submerged and herself holding on to a piece of wood for dear life in the all surrounding darkness of the night on the sea.

The next thought her mind was capable of comprehending was the simple fact that she had sand in her mouth. Confused Dolores tried to push herself to her knees, but her arms felt weak and refused to do the job. She did however managed to roll over onto her back, causing her to narrow her eyes to slits in order to avoid the sun of blinding her. Then all of a sudden it came over her, a flash flood of memories entered her head. Henry, the trip, the boat, water, water everywhere and the fear for her life. "It's a miracle", she thought and spurred by this thought she managed to sit upright, eyeing the surroundings right in front of her carefully. Water again. Yet there was other things as well. The beach for starters, and while she grabbed a handful of the warm delicate white sand, she spat out the grains that had gotten into her mouth at the same time. She turned her head from left to right and saw trees behind her, yet the head turning was her way of checking for other survivors. Anyhow the beach was empty and so she focused her attention on herself. Glancing over her body she noticed that her shoes were missing, but her clothes were almost dry. "How long have I been here?", she whispered to herself and grabbed her right hand in panic, only to take a deep satisfying breath. Her wedding ring was still on her hand. "Oh Henry, what have you gotten me into?", she muttered and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

Mr Quixotic · Jul 19, 2016

I think I might have run into my first abandoned opener, though still hold out some hope that it might be picked up, although my intended partner, online daily when we were setting it up, hasn't been online in the over-a-week since I posted it. Thought I'd throw it on here, mainly because, Xana, it's the same premise/plot as our initial story together (for which you wrote the opener), but quite different in its starting point.

At age thirty-four, Daniel Taylor lived the life that most men could only envy. An adolescent prodigy when it came to technology and computer systems, the adolescent had started-up his own company in Senior Year at High School, and by age twenty-five had accumulated his first million dollars. The upward trend only continued with the subsequent development of a scheduling, timetabling and rostering application which offered considerable time-saving and efficiency improvements to the outdated systems in use, and was soon purchased by the largest travel agency franchise in the country.

Three years later, the software had been adapted to the Educational Sphere, and Dan was in the process of marketing it to Institutions across the country, using the local Public High as a guinea-pig as an example to confirm its efficiency. The first year alone, his application had saved the Institution fifty-thousand dollars in direct costs, and freed up valuable teaching time for the Faculty. As useful as the School found the system advantageous, over the past four years, Dan himself had found it even more so.

What was a man meant to do, when not even yet to reach forty, he possessed enough wealth to never need work again, owned a mansion on the summit of Signal Hill, the most prestigious estate in the medium-sized city, more cars than he could drive in a lifetime, and even more women chasing him for his money, to keep himself entertained, and have to look forward to? The vapid big-titted blonde gold-diggers with the fake tans who continued to throw themselves at the six foot, two inch tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed man had begun to bore him a long while ago.

Though handsome enough, with a strong jaw, an aristocratic nose, dimples that became prominent when he smiled, and a slim, athletic body kept in shape by the daily use of his home pool and gymnasium, Dan was completely aware that it wasn't his looks that attracted them. It was what was contained in his bank accounts, and you could only date so many money-hungry, entitled, egotistical and selfish bitches, no matter how cute they were, before one blended into another, and they no longer offered a challenge, or anything of interest. Daniel had dated more than his fair share.

As had the male friends and colleagues who moved in the same circles as he. Wealthy and influential in their own right, they'd all had similar complaints, and one night at his mansion four years ago, after a copious amount of alcohol, and discovering a shared penchant for younger pussy, Dan and those colleagues had hit upon an idea. Tired of being sought out for their wealth, what if they turned things around, and offered up a large sum of their own volition? Sex for money. Women closer to their age were too experienced in the ways of the world, and accustomed to the sexual appetites of men, for that concept to much arouse their interest, but what about those of High School age? Would a normal teenage girl agree to spend the night with a group of males for the offer of more cash than she'd ever seen in her life, and possibly ever dreamed of? Just what would it take to tempt one, and how far would she go?

That's what the men discussed, and each was on the same page. They weren't talking about a ready-made slut, or corrupting a virgin, but for all intents and purposes, just an average, everyday, middle-class girl, and the parameters had been set. Attractive, but not model-good looking, neither a known whore nor a prude, parents not wealthy nor dirt-poor, a good-student, and eighteen years old as a minimum, but no older than nineteen. Approved acceptance to an out-of-state college, where the offer of a free ride, and opportunity to study free of debt and work commitments would hopefully be too tempting to pass up, whilst in return, the provision of their money would assist the girl in obtaining her college degree, and get her off to a good start in life. Amongst themselves, they referred to it as a 'Scholarship.'

The morning after that conversation, Dan had commenced to use his technical knowledge of the school's computer system, and hacking abilities, to narrow down possibilities, and select potential targets. Exam results and attendance records were checked, school yearbooks trawled, photographs and disciplinary records obtained, as were College applications and the young woman's parent's bank records. There was no intent to cause harm, or to use the information for any sinister purpose, and where the candidate was found to be unsuitable, all records were destroyed, and the list of potential schoolgirl's who could possibly be tempted, narrowed down. For two out of the three years, the men had been successful; with the young woman at the centre of the failed attempt having been provided a $5,000 cheque to maintain her silence.

Now, on a Friday afternoon, nearing the end of the school year, Dan glanced at the photograph, which sat atop a copy of a college application on the leather passenger seat of his Mercedes E-Class convertible, intending to make it three from four. Dressed casually, but neatly, in a pair of khaki pants and pale blue dress shirt, he slipped from the vehicle and rested against the hood as the school bell rang, in the hopes that he'd be able to catch Rebecca Meyers on her way out.

NSWAVR · May 13, 2017

I had one going on for a while, it was a lot of fun. I played a young man who was looking for jewelry designs for his new collection, while my partner played a young woman who had an illness and was dying, it was very nice. 5 posts in and it was gone.

another I played a demon king who was kind and gentle to his subjects, while my partner played a gypsy woman who was chosen from her people., we had just about to get to the betrayal when my partner decided the demon wasn't up to her taste.

I keep a sample journal of all my old posts and ideas.

NitroFury · May 14, 2017

I have plenty of abandoned openers, and it's usually due to me either not giving enough information (which can make it a tad confusing), just me refusing to give away further information, or not giving rules.

greenandgold · May 15, 2017

Technically, it wasn't the opener that was abandoned, but we were in the middle of the two rp's, one over PM's, and one in a thread, and suddenly my partner just drops out of sight. No more replies to either rp, won't reply to a regular PM asking if they're still interested. Nothing. It just irritates me, because I've been wanting to rp those fandoms for a long time, and thought I'd finally found someone to rp those fandoms with, and now, poof, they're gone.

Abandoned Openers

Biblically Accurate Bitch

Biblically Accurate Bitch

Mistaken for some sort of scoundrel

Supernova

Biblically Accurate Bitch

Biblically Accurate Bitch

Old soul

Biblically Accurate Bitch

Pēdicãbo ego võs et irrumäbo

Old soul

Biblically Accurate Bitch

Old soul

Old soul

Pēdicãbo ego võs et irrumäbo

Old soul

Pēdicãbo ego võs et irrumäbo

One Broken Teacup

.:The Vampiric Fae:.

Banned

Planetoid

Planetoid

The Lowest Form Of Wit

Moon

Roleplayer/Writer

Supernova