show me your worst writing

[Cassi]

I am procrastinating so I think we should have a thread showcasing your worst writing. We were all beginners once and I hope some of you have those old posts saved and want to share them because COME ON who doesn't miss those good ol' days of RPG dictionaries.

[~Sapphire~]

Yas, I found my first BQ post ever. Good thing that the Den wasn't a too active board
But it really is cringe worthy.. Even the OOC is misspelled and there are some words missing... XD

Gràidh

One by one, small hooves are pulled from the ground up for the next pass to be put down again. Every pass seemed to cost more trouble than its predecessor and his head dropped closer to the ground. Gràidh was not very sturdy on his legs, but he was just a week old. If there wasn't anyone to worry about him, there wouldn't be much left of him. But that was not something the Irish Cob colt thought of, the only thing left was the question why he was left behind. That question was followed by the next, how could he still his hunger? The water he had found had no taste compared to its mother's milk, as did the grass. It was at the end of the second day he walked alone, without help he would not long endure. He walked around without even seeing where he went and he didn't care anymore. He was alone, abandoned, doomed to die.

When his legs under his small body trembled violently and he could no longer keep himself up, he let himself fall to the ground. With a soft thud he landed in the grass. Briefly slipped around his eyes, his dark ears pricked up, before his head lowered to the grass. He was too tired to continue, he would see what would happen further. Perhaps the end came quickly, perhaps it was destined for him long to suffer.


OCC: Uhm, that didn't go very wel.. This te first time I rpg in English, I'm trying hard, but it isn't very good I think..

And here is the link to the thread!
http://www.boards2go.com/boards/board.cgi?action=read&id=1307987899&user=beqannaadoption&page=4

[Cassi]

mine:

"The only flames that I can see are those black ones which flicker and wane, but then they grow strong again, these black infernos reside within his eyes, which cannot be eyes, for eyes are portals to the soul, and Carnage has no soul, he was raped of one when he emerged from the loins of Thaqib. So these pits within his Arabic visage, what are they, truly? I believe them to be onyx gathered from lava pits, hollowed out and within them his creator (whoever it may have been) lit black fire within the hollow space. And so those…those things, for I fear calling them eyes would bring wrath down upon us all, stared out, how were they so empty yet so burning, so engulfed and tainted by malice? But yet if you stared deeper within them (as you surely will, for it is so easy to become lost in these black flames of his) you would see a joy, an almost loving joy. He was eager for the birth of his children. But my goodness, I have lost myself talking of his dark pits, those things within his skull! For I have explained the burning part, but not yet have we gotten to the angel part, have we? I forget myself so easily, staring into those fathomless things, those dark pools, those portals to nothingness. He was, quite frankly, not what one would call an angel. He did not gleam a milky white, and no halo of gold crowned his head in some grandiose glory. Should he sing, I can assure you, his tone would not be lulling, it would merely be a grating cacophony. He does not know a God, by that name or by any other name (for the record, he does not know a Devil, either). But demon creatures are often referred to as fallen angels, heavenly beings removed from Heaven for their vagarious sins weighted to heavy upon them for redemption to be sweet. And although he was no named demon, what else could he have been? So, my friend, he is a burning angel that is not a burning angel."
--a Carnage post circa 2003. I was 15. 15 was a very strange, arrogant, horrible time for me, as evidenced by this incredibly melodramatic description of Carnage's ~*evil*~ eyes

"Two horses, both sleek by the rain, stared at each other in a dimensional confrontation, their features were twin images etched in blown glass, with a lightening backdrop of the cosmos. The stars disregarded their pain; the screams echoed silent within a world forever deaf. They each saw within each other reality’s reflection in a surreal form, as bright stars arched above the power of pain grew slowly, murdering its silent partner. And in this phantom world, in contrary motion father and daughter glared, the earth’s barren soils stirring beneath them. Reflecting against the far-flung starlight of night’s canopy, an end became clear, appearing like a mirage of a desert’s oasis."
--Carnage and his daughter, circa...2004? not so much bad as incredibly overwrought and nonsensical. I loved the thesaurus a little too much. overcompensation?

"Can I be saved? Or have I been condemned from birth, cursed the day Epic threw herself at him? I thought it could be valuable, this life. Is it, yet? I am a stigma to them all, they all cowered beneath penumbra and gloom, cloaked themselves in dark. Oh, the whispers of shadows are disgustingly adhered to my hide, but I will not fall to them! I am combating it, trying! Let me prosper…pull the phantom from my skin let the sun sparkle down!"
--Mephisto circa 2004ish. It gets better, teenage self. It gets better. Now quite whining so much.

and from when I learned to make fun of myself, a Satire post, circa 2015.
"The brute ingressed across the loamy tierra firma, his visage held aloft as his limpid pools scanned the other equids. His pelt was ebony and ivory, and his phlegmatic carcass was a bit obese – how his pistons held him upright is something only the deities know. His nares flared wide as he drank in the mysterious scents of, like, grass and water and horses.
Moving again because that’s what those of the equine persuasion do, his flints struck the earth like it had told him a yo momma joke, or a really bad pun. The frondesence around him was a rich green and the herbage was also green. So was the glebe. The firmament above was blue, though, so that was a nice change. Such was his colossal encompassment. A light zephyr whispered lustily across his visage.
Lowering his cranial for a moment, his enamels clipped at the verdant grass, because a man’s got to eat. His auds swirled like satellites as he listened to everybody talk and laugh without him.
(He was very lonely, possibly because no one appreciated his ballin’ vocabulary.)
His labrums lacerated a final piece of grass with loathing and his piqued boa raised his dial once more. This was getting old (but not as old as him – rim shot). His jaded whipcord and dynamic tassels (I’ll leave it to you, faithful reader, to figure out which is which) fluttered against his lithe hocks and prodigious crest, respectively.

His small brown lanterns looked at the horses again. As the narrator, I’m pretty sick of looking and listening to other horses. But what else is ol’ Satty boy to do?
There were equids of all colors – flame hued and ebonite and moon washed and sun kissed and sepia and talc. Satty himself was a mix of stygian and alabaster – ‘piebald,’ to you commoners. He hadn’t gotten this hue from his sire nor his dam, it was a weird accident. Like most things Satty.
The fat stag was especially interested in the senescent brujas who were in Beqanna, but he wouldn’t say no to the seasoned, brawny vagabonds. Maybe not a flicka – that was too young – but then again, never say never. He was a brute of preppy exigency, after all.

Mostly Satty was elated – he often was – as he transgressed across the mirthless ground. A bellicose wind was blowing through the gnostic strands of his pelage, but he didn’t care.
“HEY GUYS,” he articulated to no one, feeling very transgressive and 2003."

[Sarah]

Grim Reaper, 2003.

My, my aren't we all having just oodles, and oodles of fun? Some little wench actually thinks she can beat Dune... and then ME! Ha! How i laugh at that prospect. My dear, we are in our positions for a reason, and soon you will see why. I have no doubt in Dune's abilities, and would enjoy seeing your downfall, but in the meantime, i will sit back and relax whilst everyone else fights each other.

Accoustic organs swivel, catching the cacaphony of noises from the battle grounds, as facial features turn upward in what might be called a sinister sneer. So far, none had thought themselves up to the challenge... but she knew it would change. Some ironic fool would think themselves the 'best' and challenge her. Zephyr toys gently with her ragged ashen locks, pelt unkept, and a general monstrous appearance all illuminated by the lunar body. Still she felt the ache of an empty heart.. it had been so for three years now, a long, long time. Now she had a purpose.. a deadly purpose. Ceaseless fighting, devotion to Carnage... become a Leader. Grim Reaper, bringer of Death. Raspy vocal pattern expels a harsh laugh, fathomless eyes burning with a funeral pyre flame.

Beware, for she is driven by an unseen force, and nothing will stop her. Nothing, save death.
----------------
Equinus brow raised, amusement tinging the edges of occults. Woopee. Go you. Dry, raspy vocals start to work, but little is said. Im not a talking kind of gal... fighting is more my type. Congrats. Pleasure, im sure. Vertebral column arched, skull pivoting atop crest. Fathomless chasms fixate the other with and endless gaze, unblinking and unwavering. She was improving.. slowly but surely. The ache was gone, replaced by an urge to decimate someone.. something! Let's all follow Mr. Carnage's example.. go murder a babe! Forelock flipped before gaze, blocking unpleasant vibes. Yeah, im not a happy horsey. Get over it. Hock kisser flayed irritably, accoustic organs harkoning to a cacophony of sounds. Woopee, happy world. Screw it to hell. Mr. Carnage? Can i see you for a moment? Attention returned after wandering, once more focused upon the newest initiate. So i take it you're Beta? Very well. Don't cross me, and no one gets hurt.... if you're lucky.
----------------
Rather bored by by the turn of events, skull pivoted atop vertebral peak, paper thins flaring subtly, inner ring visible for but a moment. The iron tang of blood remained ever present, cadavers creating an interesting scenery about the realm. Truly? I have never seen him. I have heard he has recently attacked an innocent babe... in the dark lands. Sounded fun. Ive picked my first victim, born to a light mystic fool. Care to join me? Hell, like i really gave a damn... but it was polite to invite the other along for the fun. Ragged ash dipped locks sway with a small gale whipping about, stirring up those pesky vampiric beings. Whipcord punishes them thoroughly before moving away, a swaggering gait adopted. Gaze turned 'round, directed toward Endless. Coming?



I think this is the worst example that I have... textbook early 2000's RP XD

[Calli]

Dear lord.
I have two posts I saved from the Beach when my two favorite ponies died. I was, let's see, 16 years old. I don't have any post from before that but trust me, they were bad. I definitely remember using the word ingress a lot.

A sharp pain rips up my side, reminding me how little time I have left to live. An unkown disease has been eating at me ever since last winter, slowly tearing me apart. I kept it quiet for so long, not wishing to believe I must leave that which I love. But I have finally made peace with the fact that my life is ending and I have little regret for it is my time. Spasms wrack my body as I make my way to Lonely Beach, my final resting place. My great raven black wings are loose at my side, disheveled and mussed. It has been long since I felt strong enough to preen and make them at their best. And now, it no longer matters. My blessing and curse with never fly again, feeling the cool breeze ruffling my feathers. There is no rain falling from the sky, no trumpets blasts to announce my death. No songs or flashing lightning to convey my final breath. As one thinks it should be. I was nothing special in the larger scheme of things, just one stallion living for his family. I never wanted part in anything else. The clouds are nearly gone, in this, the early evening. The setting sun has cast a soft glow over everything, making it difficult to distingush bodies from ground. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. And so I return. So many faces, and names to go with them flit through my mind. That first day when I wandered into Herdless and met Mirror Image, Forsaken and Abuse. All three agreed to join me and we made our home in Echo Trails. Oh how I loved that home, the tall pines and weeping willows. The saplings filled with promise and the bubbling brooks. I wanted nothing more than to wander its paths with one or more of my family. Forsaken and Mage left sometime soon after, during which time I invited others to live with us. Soon my herd was quite large, containing many. It was then that Damaa struck, threatening our family for mares and pleasure. The battle was long and though we were not injured severly and none were taken I could never feel the same about our beloved Echo Trails again. So I moved our herd to Golden Plains and it is there that I lived my last few years in peace and happiness. Many were born to me and my ladies and though I have not seen many of them in years I love them yet. My herd has dwindled in size, leaving me with Espejo, Deneige, Belatrixa, Icon, Tiny Dancer and Abuse. Abuse, my love. The first year after I met her we were caught in a snowstorm together, It was in the chill of winter that our love blossomed and I have never loved another like I loved her. Although we never were blessed with the girl she so wanted we had three fine boys, one of whom I adopted. I will always keep in my heart the way she felt at my side, so natural and calming. So much has been left out, but I keep it to myself for it is my right. In my final few minutes before death takes me I ponder over my long years of life. It has been good and for that I am thankful. Although I wished I could have stayed alive for those I care so deeply for I cannot. Icon and Espejo, each different but in a way the same. They both enjoyed me in solitude, uncertain of others but trusting of me. Tiny Dancer, for whom I fought a battle for. The scar remains for Dementor's hooves but I never regretted it and her daughters and mine were a joy. Deineige, who joined us so recently and her first daughter, not mine who died weeks ago. The snow maiden who could warm a frosty heart. And Belatrixa, whom I had little time to know, one of my few regrets. A final pain wracks my body and I fall to my side, breathing my last. Dark wings fan out beside my still grey form. The last thought flees from me.
Abuse . . .


Adriel claimed allegience to the nuetral mythicals. His heritage blessed him with raven black wings, dark and comforting and his love shone bright. He died November 19th, 2003 leaving behind Abuse, Tiny Dancer, Icon, Deneige, Espejo, Belatrixa and their children. He goes on to rejoin his desceased parents, Strider and Fala.