|
| 06 Oct 2012 12:07 PM |
I mean seriously, I want a simple RP. No Stats, no moves, no preset story things, nothing.
Just a normal sandbox RP. |
|
|
| Report Abuse |
|
|
| 06 Oct 2012 12:11 PM |
| Like, uber generic town RP? |
|
|
| Report Abuse |
|
werternut
|
  |
| Joined: 19 Aug 2008 |
| Total Posts: 1817 |
|
|
| 06 Oct 2012 12:12 PM |
| I pass through the inter-dimentional rift, square into blank emptiness. "Hey," I say to Misterio. |
|
|
| Report Abuse |
|
|
| 06 Oct 2012 12:13 PM |
No, Llama.
How about, a sandbox Survival?
Or maybe a SteamBox? |
|
|
| Report Abuse |
|
snakehunt
|
  |
| Joined: 22 Jun 2009 |
| Total Posts: 34463 |
|
|
| 06 Oct 2012 12:19 PM |
| Your missing all of it around you.... |
|
|
| Report Abuse |
|
loppolh
|
  |
| Joined: 26 Jan 2010 |
| Total Posts: 6164 |
|
|
| 06 Oct 2012 12:20 PM |
A watch-fire on a sandy waste Two trenches – arms in stack A pyramid of bayonets Napoleon’s bivouac! Yonder the stately grenadiers Of Kleber’s vanguard see. The general to inspect them Close by the blaze sits he.
Upon his weary knee the chart, There, by the flowing heap, Softly the mighty Bonaparte Sinks, like a child to sleep.
And stretched on cloak and cannon, His soldiers, too, sleep well, And, leaning on his musket nods The very sentinel.
Sleep on, ye weary warriors, sleep Sleep out your last hard fight Mute, shadowy sentinels shall keep Watch round your trench tonight.
Let Murad’s horsemen dash along! Let man and steed come on! To guard your line stalks many a strong And stalwart Champion.
A Mede stands guard, who with you rode When you from Thebes marched back, Who after King Cambyses strode, Hard in his chariot’s track.
A stately Macedonian Stands sentry by your line, Who saw on Ammon’s plain the crown Of Alexander shine.
And, lo, Another spectre! Old Nile has known him well; An Admiral of Caesar’s fleet, Who under Caesar fell.
The graves of earth’s old lords, who sleep Beneath the desert sands, Send forth their dead, his guard to keep, Who now the world commands.
They stir, they wake,their places take Around the midnight flame; The sand and mould I see them shake From many a mail-clad frame.
I see the ancient armour gleam With wild and lurid light: Old, bloody purple mantles stream Out on the winds of night.
They float and flap around a brow By boiling passion stirred; The hero, as in anger, now Deep breathing, grasps his sword.
He dreams; a hundred realms, in dreams, Erect him each a throne; High on a car, with golden beam, He sits as Ammon’s son.
With thousand throats, to welcome him The glowing Orient cries, While at his feet the fire grows dim, Gives one faint flash – and dies.
. |
|
|
| Report Abuse |
|
zadfad
|
  |
| Joined: 28 Apr 2011 |
| Total Posts: 7953 |
|
| |