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Old 08-23-2013, 08:56 PM
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Nira Nira is offline
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Default [SIGN-UPS] Zen

Art has always been part of human nature. Millennium ago, the early man gazed upon the empty walls of a cave and saw much more than orange sediment; he saw wonder, he saw the cattle and beasts in his everyday life begging to break free and into the world in the form of a picture.

And every day since, man has illustrated his mind with paint or quill, evoking emotion in all of us. Art has always been a piece of us, whether it is our forte, or not.

There is life in art. People do not see paint on a canvas-- they see what the artist saw. It is the most remarkably effective form of communication ever, as well as one of the first. We can enter a world of our own by viewing art, and create a world of our own by painting it.

But perhaps the life in art is more than we have thought. Perhaps the little stick men that we all have doodled during class have lives. Maybe you had illustrated a single frame in a very complicated life. Far fetched, yes? But isn't a photo the same thing? Often times, we look at photos and see it as no more than art. It was someone that had stood up and posed, and was immortalized in photo. But what do those people go home to? What are their internal feelings? All of this is invisible from the outside, but they exist. As do the lives of each drawing you have created.

There are people that have tapped into this parallel existence. They walk among us. Comic artists, book illustrators, and the like-- they have risen above the average photo and have recorded video, sharing it for the entire world to see. They have captivated imaginations of men and children, as they build entire worlds in detail.

But what if someone went beyond? What if someone was sucked into this world of drawings, where possibility is endless and imaginations are tangible? And what if, in some crazy turn of events, that person that was sucked in brought a pencil with them?

_______________________

Chief peered into the familiar cell. Sand had formed on the ground, ivy and moss climbing up the uncleaned, cement walls. A ray of light came in through a barred window, growing grass on the golden patch it left on the sand. To someone who didn't know better, they would see a patch of black in the corner of the cell, but Chief knew better. He looked above the rims of his slick sunglasses.

"Alli," he called. The shadow in the corner stirred. "It is time," Chief added.
The shadow disappeared, then rematerialized in the form of a man by the barred cell door in front of Chief. The man had wispy blonde hair and bore a mask that covered his white eyes. He was clad in all black, notably a shadowy cape that billowed like fire on the bottom. His skin was deathly pale, as if it were bloodless.

"One million years," the man hissed. His voice was cold and serpentine, his breath reeking like a dog's. "I have spent one million years in this hell. Free me now!"

Chief stepped backward. He looked as young and regal as ever, with his black five o'clock shadow and his police garb. Fluffy hair ate at the bottom-most edges of his hat, and a white scar lined his jaw. His utility belt, brimmed with pockets that contained whatever he wished, was as polished as it was the day that Alli had been thrown into prison.

"I intend to," Chief assured. "Don't get snappy with me, felon." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a key. It was iron and covered in scratches, well guarded against Alli's minions who had tried to thieve it from him.

He slowly put the key into its respective hole and turned. The moment the lock clicked, Alli flung himself from the cage, his cape rising.
"Free!" he hissed joyously. He skidded to a halt, and turned around.

"It has been most unpleasurable doing business with you," he snapped at Chief. "It is of my greatest joy that I may depart. I may return here some day, but not into this prison. Heed my warning; nothing you can do will prepare you for the army I will gather." He cackled, his voice like scissors on paper. He flicked his cape around him, and like that, he disappeared.

"We shall see," Chief said. "We shall see."

* * *

tl;dr Art is important, drawings are alive, some felon got freed from jail. Sign up here.

Name: Your name. If your character has a nickname, put it in quotes.
Age: Pretty straightforward.
Weapon of Choice: It can be anything. Physical weapon, magic. Anything that you consider a weapon.
Partner: It can be any kind of non-human(oid) creature you desire. Dragons, Pokémon, animals, or whatever else you can think of. Anything you so desire.
Physical Appearance: What does your character look like? Can include anything that has to do with the eyes.
Personality: How your character acts, quirks, mannerisms, hobbies, areas of interest, etc. Anything internal.
History: What happened to your character prior to the RP? Remember, everyone is a drawing, so you can be as creative as you'd like.
Other Notes: Anything extra that doesn't really fit into any of my categories.
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  #2  
Old 08-23-2013, 09:03 PM
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Nira Nira is offline
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Join Date: November 1, 2011
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Default Re: [SIGN-UPS] Zen

Name: Mohac
Age: 13
Weapon of Choice: Katars or magic.
Partner: Bull the dragon.
Physical Appearance: Messy brown hair and cerulean eyes, with olive skin. He's a bit muscular and broadly set, and is vertically talented. He wears tight jeans and a green hoodie over an orange tee.
Personality: Very critical, he likes pointing out other people's flaws, but is relatively bad at taking what he dishes out. He's creative, and indulges himself to all the arts. Despite being slightly hard headed, he is also surprisingly open-minded, and loves to chat.
History: Mohac was always interested in the world around him. One day, while at the local fair, he heard a legend about an item called the pencil, and has been devoted to discovering it ever since.
Other Notes: Skilled in magic, but is a fan of brute force as well.
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