Ok, so anyone can say, "Hey, your writing looks great! Kudos bro!" I would like to ask this community to be rather critical of my following Role Play post. Let me know what it meant to you, what you liked, and DIDN'T like about it. I've only very roughly fixed some grammatic errors in it so I realize that part is not perfect but do feel free to point those mistakes out.

What I'd RATHER have, is some critic on the style, the use of metaphor, etc. Constructive critism only, and really, I'd honestly take any opinion. If you can't say anything beyond you liked it that's fine but I'd love it if everyone read this and told me what it MEANT TO THEM. That would be awesome. I wana know how it makes people feel, what they think are the UNDERLINED meaning in my writing.

Without further a due.



|☣|Her Presence|☣|


He'd simply gone out to observe the stars that night. In doing so, it wasn't particularly refined in what had become of his thoughts. They were not in whole coherent, nor did they have any particular point about them. As he raised his head, heavy up to the sky what took place was both in part ; observation and extrapolation. What drove him? Perhaps one with dealings in psychology might have tried to analyze his thoughts, or maybe they would decide he was simply bored. IN any case, the results were much more unique than simply a quick glance through to the heavens…

A mountain peak is a lonely place at night. It reaches to the sky, and even trees and flora refuse to grow. Barren, it exists as almost a separate plain of existence. As one looks down, sprouts begin to come into view here and there until they staircase into larger and larger forms before forming into a full blown forest. Beasts hide within, but remain hidden. They are cloaked in white skin and fur and blend in with the blankets of snow; further shrouded in a veil of black. Kaishi came here often, to this peak and others. Peak was a good word for it, the top of the world. One could only stand in awe at the silence of this night, his body cold and his breathe heavy as he sat in the frozen droplets. They clung wanting to their existence, refusing to be smashed out by his heavy body.

In the distance, a pack of wolves were on the hunt. They cried out warning the prey of their pursuit, claiming this mountain as theirs. He did not hear them, slowly, softly, he was fading into the sky above. HIs mind cleansing itself of both desire and fear. Of dreams and of failure. His expression soften, his tense body relaxed, and away he went, drifting into the great dark yonder. Mediation? Not quiet, more a state of inner awakening where one must first lose themselves in order to be found. On the other hand, perhaps it was simply the cold, quietly taking him into her deadly embrace, maybe this time he really would die up here, for now, his mind contemplated, refused to cease in it's analysis.

They were so distant, so faint. Just frail little specs of light, whispers in a sea of dark, but it is not just black, not empty, not cold or lifeless. Shades and swirls, colors even in the pitch of night. They turn and move as he moved with them, as though that pale, almost silent, whisper, that slow churning was a part of him. It echoed, he could feel it, it was not strong, not more than a tingling, a faint shadow of a memory but it was there. Even when he closed his eyes he could feel it pulling at him. He looked up and he was small, but as he breathed, as he closed his eyes again and felt the rise, the fall, the echo, the silence, it was all connected, all linked together. Again he looked up, and again he was small, but as he breathed the night breathed with him, the stars flicker, and the stillness in the air shuddered around him.

There were more of them now, some strong and bright, bold against the growing pollution of the advancing world, but others, in the murk, in the cloudy depths so faint and timid that he'd had to stare off into the nothing for a brief eternity before he could see them, but they were there, and they are beautiful. So small and so large, so much larger than he could ever begin to imagine, our own sun a dwarf in their shadows. He shuddered to think how he must seem to something out there. Did he even register, or was he just a dream, and idle musing or something less, forgotten or discarded. Fancy. Fabrication.

Did the waves remember each stone they turned to sand, are the mountains carried on by the wind that makes them low, or are they lost to the many, faceless in a faceless sea? Could he remember all the lives that he had touched, had been touched by? Would they remember him? When Kai closed his eyes could he see their faces, faded like the stars? Must he stare into the nothing before they flicker, before they form and fill the void, the darkness, like whispers carried though the stillness of the night, or where they lost to him like so much else?

The Kage could feel the cold now, the slow creeping of it up his legs, along his arms. He rubbed his hands across his skin, callused fingers hard and rough, familiar as they tried to chase away the cold. But it was not just the cold, not just the falling of the night nor the faint breeze the pulled loosely at his hair. He felt cold, and it was an empty sort of cold, a hollowness accentuated by the silence that he wrapped willingly around his form. It was his own creation, this cold, and maybe that is why it was so familiar to his touch.

He lets his hand trace though the snow, feel the cold within, but it was not the same as the cold in himself. Scooping some of it up he let it slide between his fingers in clomps, and feel its weight linger after it is gone, a memory in his hand, and then gone. It slipped though the frigid air, fallen back to the blanket of white, to the faceless sea as he watched it disappear. He gazed, trying to find his clomp again but in the growing twilight he couldn’t be sure, they had melded with their partners, splattering this way and that. He was alone again.

There was more truth, more art and genius in the idle musings of the man, in the simple stare and the play in snow. But it was beyond even him and his humble ways to convey it, to capture, confine it to a simple act or story for others to see, to feel as he saw and felt. In this brief Zen moment he was but a keeper of cheap tricks now found himself in the presence of true magic. Helpless and hopeless and lost. Alone. Empty.

The stars were gone, stolen back into the night. He looked up and he was small again. He breathed, and knew that that did not matter. He was here, content to look up and see the stars to wonder as they flicker, as they fade.

Slowly, the sun would rise soon, and steal them away for good. Rip away his musings and this time would be forever lost, a simply memory….just like Her. Why was she gone? It was his fault! He was too small to protect Her, his eyes only able to capture so much. It was he whom had killed Her. She was part of the mountain now, Her faint, sweet whisper heard on the wind by him alone. If he had taken Her away from this world, why would She not just take him? One last kiss. That's all it would take and they would be together as She took the form of death. He leaned back, and fell into the snow, breathed in and out, and slowly began to drift off to sleep here, atop this lone peak.


|☣|Was tangible the moment she walked into a Room|☣|