Hello, and welcome to Valley Plains, a Intermediate to a Slightly Advanced* wolf RPG.
As the icy hands of winter enclose the packs in a winter wonderland, the peaceful white snow brings treacherous times upon the packs. Many food supplies run low, as fish are nowhere to be seen in the freezing waters and many rodents hibernate. Luckily, among the many rodents, bears hibernate. So Minds can be somewhat at ease. Though the Medic wolves are far from at ease. They’ve gotten dreams from their ancestors, and what is to come doesn’t look very good for the sake of the packs.
-This is only some of our plot. Please go to the Plots/Idea board to read the rest. Slightly Advanced: Meaning you don't have to post over 300 words. You can post anywhere between 150-200
Weather
Weather: Early Spring Temperature: Its very cool, but the snow is melting, and the sun feels warmer. Mating: YES Birthing: YES
A majority of the snow has melted, and blossoms are peeking through the remainder of the white coating. Wolves are beginning to settle in, but alphas and medic wolves are slightly jumpy due to the continuous dreams of no furs treading on their lands. Each wolf is told to be on guard this spring.
OK, since Jack said she likes to write poems, and I do too, I figured I'd put some up. However, they'll go up slowly since I do not have any of them type except this one. This is an onomatopoeia I had to write in English. I find it rather interesting. Enjoy.
I sit cross-legged under an old, decaying Willow Tree. It is old and rotting, Like the decrepit, Graveyard around me. I am here to meditate, To release all emotions. Moans and groans Reach my ears from that Swaying old decaying Willow Tree. I close my eyes and shiver: As a ghostly fog engulfs me; Pulls me in. A crow shrieks in the distance: Its wings flapping hard against the wind. The tree leaves rustle as if Fighting away the wind. CRACK! A tree limb falls to the ground And it lands with a loud, thud. My eyes close tighter, Not wanting to see, The sights all around me. A putrid smell begins To hover in the air. It smells of what some would say, ‘Rotting fish’. But from where? How can it be lingering, In the air? When one is so far away From any ocean or river? It is one of the many mysteries For it was gone, crept away, As silently as it came. I’m still here, Meditating under the old And swaying, Willow Tree. CRACK!! Another limb falls with a Louder crack; another Crow shrieks, the fog, It lifts. The tombstones rumble and shake, And the ground rumbles, Under my feet. The old Willow Tree, Can take no more. It is done. It won’t sway anymore. I open my eyes, To a world unseen. There is nothing left, Of the old Willow Tree, But a stump and some leaves. The tombstones are broken, The crows shriek no more. Morning had come and there’s nothing, Nothing no more, Nothing left to meditate under. New life will come, And replace the tree. In time, I may return, Return to meditate under a new tree.
« Last Edit: Nov 29, 2008, 1:52pm by Shadow♥-San »
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