Post by Pimpmaster McSlap-Bitch on Jul 9, 2005 8:21:17 GMT -5
Meh, I figure I might as well share these, see what people think. They were homeworks from a year ago, as you may be able to tell.
This one is Prince of Persia inspired. Description
He leaned hard, struggling to push open one of the huge multicolored wooden double doors that hindered his progression through the incredibly vast and complex palace, and succeeded to grant himself access with one continuous drive. The door’s old oxidized hinges groaned with the pain of friction as the other doors before it had as it scraped the tan stone floor slightly, shifting the sand that had collected behind it into perfectly circular lines over the tablets. Silt fell from above him and stuck to his clammy arms; this place felt both old and untouched, as if the owner of this fort had so many treasures to occupy himself that he hadn’t even discovered this room yet. Trying to catch his breath through the dust infiltrating his throat, he regained his upright posture, slapping his hands on his hips for support, and took in his new surroundings.
The room was soaked in a golden light that shot through the stone framed windows. These were portals without glass that invited the evening breeze to dance with the dust lazily about the floor. Huge crimson veils trimmed with a golden thread that gleamed hung from the dizzyingly high ceiling and heaved slowly, the wind that entered by the way of the sunset, their spirit, their breath of life. They undulated in what seemed as a slowed motion, with fat waves that passed through their red velvet bodies. Contrasting, eight mammoth columns of stone held the roof from falling, their peaks almost vanishing completely into the dark that clambered up to heights the light could not reach. Concave grooves running up their cylindrical circumferences striped the great pillars with lightness and darkness.
Ringed by the heavy sedimentary grains that collected close to the walls, and covered by a lighter dust that settled upon them, were beautiful ornaments only kings of prosperous kingdoms could afford to own. Vases, water jugs, rugs and crockery with styles and fashions typical of European and Asian art were arranged as if they anticipated the great kings arrival. Four awesome female statues carved from a mysterious blue-gray granite-like stone circled a burgundy colored pillow-plush bed with magnificent dimensions, each divine lady occupying a corner, facing outward. With both arms held high, they carried veils that cloaked the enormous mattress. This all sat upon stone slab floor raised 2 feet into the air, with stone steps littered with small statuettes of regional spirits and deities. It seemed as if this room could just as easily been but a simple guest room as it could have been the king’s most favorite of harems; it was said that the king, in one hundred lifetimes, could not spend half of his riches. It was majestic, but the intrepid explorer was soon to forget this because, once his blood had stopped rushing through his ears and he had caught his breath, he once again became aware of what had troubled him the most during his stay at the huge palace: the silence.
This is completely original. Description again I think.
The rain sprinkled the earth lightly now but previously there had been a downpour of relentless and heavy water droplets lasting for hours, three or four at least. He had sat though this realizing that his position may be compromised by the sound of his soaked clothes moving quickly through the air while carrying out his duty, but his assignment could not play second fiddle to variations in climate in any case. His black outfit stuck to his skin and the rain was exceptionally cold. At one point it had hailed. He was frozen but he did not waver. He could not waver; it would be shameful and he would be branded with dishonor among his brethren, if not mercilessly executed. Breathing through his wet mask soon became uncomfortable, so he pulled it down and inhaled, subjecting his nose to the sharp frost of the bitter and dismal afternoon. It smelled like pine. Long streams of mist swirled from his nose slowly as he exhaled, mirroring his own relaxed patience. Squatted twenty-five feet high on a tree limb thick enough to support his weight, he held his position against the pounding raindrops beneath the canopy. The training he endured on a daily basis now found its field mission counterpart. With will power alone, he had adjusted his body temperature. Now the skies tossed him but a drizzle. It was a start.
He checked down below for changes in his surrounding environment. Trees with dark brown trunks stood tall and spread their sinewy branches and vivid green leaves wide, effectively casting a dark shadow upon the ground as far as the reaches of the forest itself. Clouds above made it darker still. A sodden trail beaten into the dirt snaked its way though light ground foliage. There, one chasing the other, two squirrels zigzagged quickly and darted behind a tree. Looking up, he noticed a bluebird ruffling his feathers, spastically removing the rain with a puffed chest. The drops were flung upward and outward before bowing towards the ground. A mate settled behind it called for attention and so it hopped about on its perch until it faced the right direction and took flight, weaving through the tree trunks as it went. He turned his attention back towards his objective and watched for his targets approach through the shiny wet leaves.
Half of an hour had passed before he heard the faint sound of a male voice over the peaceful forest ambience. He prepared himself silently, rolling forward on the balls of his feet and placing a hand on the wet and slippery tree bark. His other hand slid into position behind his back and rested under the handle of a black metal kunai, his preferred throwing weapon. The air remained cool. He remained still. Upon attaining visual contact, his target was clear; a small man dressed in floral red and white loose fitting garments rested an umbrella with the same design on it on his shoulder. He chuckled at something. Boxing him off from hostility, four Samurai wearing gray and blue Kimonos held their scabbards as if they were once cautious but had become lax, perhaps through feeling at ease during light conversation. They all trod the damp earth with wooden sandals that punched rectangular holes into it. It was likely that this assignment would be completed with maximum efficiency and minimal collateral damage. His arm pulled at the throwing knife.
This one is Prince of Persia inspired. Description
He leaned hard, struggling to push open one of the huge multicolored wooden double doors that hindered his progression through the incredibly vast and complex palace, and succeeded to grant himself access with one continuous drive. The door’s old oxidized hinges groaned with the pain of friction as the other doors before it had as it scraped the tan stone floor slightly, shifting the sand that had collected behind it into perfectly circular lines over the tablets. Silt fell from above him and stuck to his clammy arms; this place felt both old and untouched, as if the owner of this fort had so many treasures to occupy himself that he hadn’t even discovered this room yet. Trying to catch his breath through the dust infiltrating his throat, he regained his upright posture, slapping his hands on his hips for support, and took in his new surroundings.
The room was soaked in a golden light that shot through the stone framed windows. These were portals without glass that invited the evening breeze to dance with the dust lazily about the floor. Huge crimson veils trimmed with a golden thread that gleamed hung from the dizzyingly high ceiling and heaved slowly, the wind that entered by the way of the sunset, their spirit, their breath of life. They undulated in what seemed as a slowed motion, with fat waves that passed through their red velvet bodies. Contrasting, eight mammoth columns of stone held the roof from falling, their peaks almost vanishing completely into the dark that clambered up to heights the light could not reach. Concave grooves running up their cylindrical circumferences striped the great pillars with lightness and darkness.
Ringed by the heavy sedimentary grains that collected close to the walls, and covered by a lighter dust that settled upon them, were beautiful ornaments only kings of prosperous kingdoms could afford to own. Vases, water jugs, rugs and crockery with styles and fashions typical of European and Asian art were arranged as if they anticipated the great kings arrival. Four awesome female statues carved from a mysterious blue-gray granite-like stone circled a burgundy colored pillow-plush bed with magnificent dimensions, each divine lady occupying a corner, facing outward. With both arms held high, they carried veils that cloaked the enormous mattress. This all sat upon stone slab floor raised 2 feet into the air, with stone steps littered with small statuettes of regional spirits and deities. It seemed as if this room could just as easily been but a simple guest room as it could have been the king’s most favorite of harems; it was said that the king, in one hundred lifetimes, could not spend half of his riches. It was majestic, but the intrepid explorer was soon to forget this because, once his blood had stopped rushing through his ears and he had caught his breath, he once again became aware of what had troubled him the most during his stay at the huge palace: the silence.
This is completely original. Description again I think.
The rain sprinkled the earth lightly now but previously there had been a downpour of relentless and heavy water droplets lasting for hours, three or four at least. He had sat though this realizing that his position may be compromised by the sound of his soaked clothes moving quickly through the air while carrying out his duty, but his assignment could not play second fiddle to variations in climate in any case. His black outfit stuck to his skin and the rain was exceptionally cold. At one point it had hailed. He was frozen but he did not waver. He could not waver; it would be shameful and he would be branded with dishonor among his brethren, if not mercilessly executed. Breathing through his wet mask soon became uncomfortable, so he pulled it down and inhaled, subjecting his nose to the sharp frost of the bitter and dismal afternoon. It smelled like pine. Long streams of mist swirled from his nose slowly as he exhaled, mirroring his own relaxed patience. Squatted twenty-five feet high on a tree limb thick enough to support his weight, he held his position against the pounding raindrops beneath the canopy. The training he endured on a daily basis now found its field mission counterpart. With will power alone, he had adjusted his body temperature. Now the skies tossed him but a drizzle. It was a start.
He checked down below for changes in his surrounding environment. Trees with dark brown trunks stood tall and spread their sinewy branches and vivid green leaves wide, effectively casting a dark shadow upon the ground as far as the reaches of the forest itself. Clouds above made it darker still. A sodden trail beaten into the dirt snaked its way though light ground foliage. There, one chasing the other, two squirrels zigzagged quickly and darted behind a tree. Looking up, he noticed a bluebird ruffling his feathers, spastically removing the rain with a puffed chest. The drops were flung upward and outward before bowing towards the ground. A mate settled behind it called for attention and so it hopped about on its perch until it faced the right direction and took flight, weaving through the tree trunks as it went. He turned his attention back towards his objective and watched for his targets approach through the shiny wet leaves.
Half of an hour had passed before he heard the faint sound of a male voice over the peaceful forest ambience. He prepared himself silently, rolling forward on the balls of his feet and placing a hand on the wet and slippery tree bark. His other hand slid into position behind his back and rested under the handle of a black metal kunai, his preferred throwing weapon. The air remained cool. He remained still. Upon attaining visual contact, his target was clear; a small man dressed in floral red and white loose fitting garments rested an umbrella with the same design on it on his shoulder. He chuckled at something. Boxing him off from hostility, four Samurai wearing gray and blue Kimonos held their scabbards as if they were once cautious but had become lax, perhaps through feeling at ease during light conversation. They all trod the damp earth with wooden sandals that punched rectangular holes into it. It was likely that this assignment would be completed with maximum efficiency and minimal collateral damage. His arm pulled at the throwing knife.