Tips for writing RP starters

Okay so this isn’t that big a deal but I just figured that I should share this.

So a roleplay “starter” is basically the first post in a roleplay thread or the first approach of two characters. This is sometimes known as a prompt. Moving on. There are two main types of roleplay starters, one of which is absolute gold, the other of which should be avoided at all costs.

Passive and active starters.

What the hell do this fancy terms mean, you may ask? Well it’s not something a lot of people put a name to, but it’s very important when creating starters. While active starters are almost always thought-provoking and interesting, passive starters are often boring and absolutely useless.

Here is an example of a passive starter.

That. That is literally the bane of my existence. Now, not all passive starters are simple “hello”s. In my own terms, a passive starter is any starter that requires more thought on the receiving party’s end than the giving party’s. Yes, a passive starter could possibly be worked with for a few replies, but the two characters quickly run out of things to talk about. But you see, the person dishing out the starter should be igniting something, giving them receiving person something to talk about. That, in essence, is what roleplaying is all about. That’s why you would want an active starter. For example:

Now, obviously that’s not the best starter in the world, but it gives a motive. It’s thought-provoking. It gives the receiving end of the RP more to think about, and therefore, propels the RP forward.

Does this make any sense? If so, just keep this in mind. For future reference, some of the most common passive starters are:

Any of those should be avoided, and anything else that seems passive to you. I hope that now, with this whole passive/active system in mind, you can write better starters and have better rps! Peace be with you. Any questions? Feel free to ask me!

Feel free to reblog if you learned something or think this might be helpful to others!

He turned over and sent his hand out into the darkness in search of Tatiana’s comforting presence, but his fingers brushed only the blanket’s edge on the other side. Scattering the remnants of a dream, he opened his eyes and found the bed truly empty. Warmth lingered on the pillow and within the quilt; Tatiana had not been gone for long, and it was perhaps the gentle shake of the bed with her departure that had drawn him from his sleep.

The shadows thrown by the moon through the single window in their modest bedroom had shifted and distorted before he became aware of how much time had past. Rare were the nights that he woke not to find her by his side, but rarer still were the ones when she stayed away for so long. Gathering up a coat and his shoes, Zeke ventured out of bed in search of her.

Instinct led him outdoors to the hill near their home, which overlooked the vineyards. She had often remarked how much she loved the view there, and if something was troubling her, then perhaps she had gone out in search of a pleasant vista to contemplate. Whether or not that was her reason for her midnight excursion, Zeke’s instincts proved correct. She rose up and greeted him with all the warmth that had been missing from the bed.

“I was worried that you might have wandered into trouble,” he admitted, but he mirrored her smile and looked skyward. “I am glad to find that it is only the pleasant evening that called you away.”

Obscure Feelings drabble prompt meme

Send in a word for a drabble of our muses based on it.

First Blood [Camus & Belf]

gradiivus:

This part of Grust was not entirely new to Camus like it was to his young knight, but he had explored the cliffs and their tunnels only once or twice before, years ago. Not much had changed about them though. The rocky cliffs towered high above, almost white in the sunlight, and cast their shadows over the sea side, and if one looked carefully at the darkened grooves which pockmarked their sides, one could find the entrances of caves hidden within the darkness. Camus gestured for Belf to follow close behind.

Keeping low along the edge of the field, Camus hid his movement in the swaying of the tall grass. The bright, lively field itself would have made a picturesque scene, were it not for the secrets it concealed. Harlow’s group likely used it to hide their dead, as the grass was thick and the breeze from the ocean carried the scent of rot far away. Perhaps other women like the one from the village had been laid to rest here, far from her family and loved ones. Perhaps no one missed them and their memories ended here with their corporeal forms.

The two men they had been trailing had disappeared from sight, Camus quickly realized, and he slowed his pace to search for sign of their departure from the path. An overturned stone. A groove in the soft earth. A forgotten palm leaf. He stopped at a fresh break in the field where the hardy stalks had not yet risen back to place. Someone had recently passed through…

Echoing shouts suddenly rent the seaside tranquility, not from the field, but from the cliffs. Hand on the hilt of his sword, Camus spun and looked skyward. A watchman that he had missed, perhaps? No. Then…

He looked behind, seeking his trainee but finding that he, too, had disappeared.

“Thought we didn’t see ya, didja?” A voice from the field this time. Camus turned back, blade already out to meet the scimitar of the bandit that had been lying in wait in the grass. He spared him no verbal response, and knocked him on his back with one powerful thrust of his knee into the man’s solar plexus. But as he had expected, there was no such thing as a brave bandit, and soon more crawled out from the safety of the grass like ants.

Where was Belf?

Camus took a few hurried steps back toward the cliffs, sword between himself and the half a dozen men that had come to encircle him. If he was not careful, he would soon be surrounded, but still he inched ever closer to the cliff wall. Instinct told him that that was where his young knight had gone, and that was where the shouts originated.

The small group descended upon him at once, masterfully coordinated to make up for their lack of skill. Camus made quick work of them, however, turning their momentum against each other and little else. He hardly needed his weapon and soon had half a dozen men unconscious at his feet. They would not be out for long, but it would buy him the time he needed and he broke away to sprint toward the entrance of the nearest cave.

Inside, the walls rang with even more voices, sounding their alarm throughout the entire network, and Camus followed them. Where they were concentrated had to be where Belf had been found, and if he could―

He sidestepped quickly, pressing himself against the wall to avoid a collision with another man hurrying in the opposite direction. The white coat glowed even in the dim light.

“Belf!” Camus grabbed him quickly by the shoulder and pulled him to a stop. “What happened?”

Let It Snow [Camus & Sakura]

0-cherry-berry-0:

“A princess?” Camus echoed, surprised, and then a soft smile came to his lips. “I apologize for not recognizing your noble bearing sooner, my lady.”

He reached for her hand across the table and carefully brought the back of it to his lips with his greeting, then let it go again. His smile remained, however.

“It would be my honor to assist. Yet… I am afraid that I do not know Hoshido,” he admitted. “Did you come by boat? The nearest port is half a day’s ride from here.”

Double Sable (Eldigan | Camus)

nordionpaladin:

“Very well.” Camus bowed and took a step back to allow his guest to mount the horse he had selected, but still near enough that he could help as needed - a habit grown from assisting Grust’s aging king and other old nobles ever since he was a squire. Eldigan’s men followed, and then Camus directed his own unit to take up their horses behind them.

“The ride is not too long,” Camus said as he rode up to take the lead beside his guest. Whether Eldigan realized it or not, he had selected a horse who had descended from the same line as Camus’, and the siblings snorted cordially at one another before resuming the stoic, concentrated facade for which the royal horses were known.

“We will also be taking the flatter of two paths, unless Lord Eldigan would prefer sightseeing in the mountains along the way. They are fine this time of year, but the road is trickier to maneuver.” A pause as he tried to recall what he had seen of Augustria. “Your motherland is comparatively flat, is it not?”

Ambush || Zeke & Eirika

restorationprincess:

“Though I am a general here, I am but a new one, and my orders will come under scrutiny by those who have already suspected me to be a traitor,” Zeke said sharply. He had been separated from his men, and yet would return to the capital with a foreigner. New as he was, he knew well Rigel’s distaste for outsiders, and he doubted even the life of a queen would outweigh the lives of the Empire’s best-trained men. But rationality and optimism eluded him in his exhausted, grief-stricken state - a fact that he was faintly and painfully aware of.

He slumped to the ground beneath the little alcove all too willingly and looked to Eirika’s face for… something. He did not know what. Grounding? Comfort?

The unconscious boy…

“We do not know if even he still lives,” he countered. What was it that he was looking for from Eirika?

perceptiveknight:

Their blades clashed loudly as Belf met Camus’ and effectively halted the slash he had aimed for his his arm again. He held there for half a second, waiting for his pupil to give indication of his next move, and suddenly the blade retracted from his own, as did Belf himself, and then he slipped in close past Camus’ defenses. It was speed alone that spared Camus injury, as he twisted and sidestepped to parry Belf’s retaliation, but the breeze came suddenly through the new cut in his coat sleeve. As he had expected, Belf’s quick wit had discovered a weakness in his fencing style and sought to exploit it, almost successfully.

Almost, but not quite.

Camus did not waste time returning to his defensive stance, and instead transitioned his parry to counter, simultaneously knocking Belf’s blade downward and shooting out his left hand to grab him by the wrist. With a pivot, he dragged him close and bent his hand back to loosen his grip.

“Be careful of those who are military-trained,” he warned. “A battle between blades does not exclude the use of other methods to gain the upper hand.”

infamy -- open

countreglay:

The Count’s voice came to him as if through water, far away and dream-like in the aftermath of the explosion, but by some miracle he had heard him. There were larger, more ornate buildings past the bridge, he realized, untouched yet by the flames that had followed them this far. The meeting hall was likely among them, and from its place on its little hill, anyone who happened to peer out one of its windows would see a battle unfolding, if they were not already pressing their faces to the glass at the sight of smoke rising from the town center. Then Pent had confidence those awaiting him within its halls were not in alliance with the men set on killing them before they reached it.

Camus had no option but to trust him.

While the rest of their assailants scattered like confused ants, their leader still pressed down on Camus’ blade with the focused determination of a man who had been in the business of danger for years. He would be harder to shake, but with a cry of exertion, Camus knocked him back, then aimed several quick strikes at his knees and feet until he succeeded in unbalancing him enough to fall into one of his men. Without checking to see if the man had landed on the other’s blade (doubtful, but good fortune frequently came to him in battle), Camus disengaged and dashed for his discarded lance. He tossed it up with the toe of his boot and caught it in his free hand, then leveled it at the remaining men who had not the sense to run like the others had.

“Keep close, Lord Reglay,” he called, his own voice just as distant and detached as the Count’s had been. Much like he had done with the sandbags, he would carve them a path through stubborn bodies and into the open. They were so close…

From the Past [Zeke & Xane]

divinechameleon:

Zeke considered his answer, eyes wandering off to the evergreen-covered mountains that had begun to rise before them as they made their way through the final gate of Rigel’s castle town. What did he remember? Faint feelings and the instinct for familiarity, but…

“I do not remember much more than names,” he settled to say. “Archanea, of course, and lands like Macedon and Khadein…”

Grust.

“But I cannot be certain if they are true memories, or simply facts I have learned by listening in on my comrades.”

Somewhere deep down, he had always known, too, that he had been General Camus of Grust, long before Xane’s jarring impersonation, but did he want to be that man, now? Archanea and the life he had left behind were simultaneously foreign and familiar, and he was both living his memories and looking at them from the outside. And wondering how that could possibly be.

“Xane,” he said resolutely, and yet hesitated to allow the rest to follow. “… What do you remember of General Camus?”

Hope In The Dark [Forsyth & Zeke]

dreamsofknighthood:

More monsters, more clanking metal and unholy moaning, but with each one felled, Zeke realized that no more were rising to take their places. The horde was subsiding… for now. Best to end it quickly, he thought, twirling his lance between his hands to impale a mummy that had shambled up to his right flank, and then used its disintegrating body to knock down one of the sturdier zombies before it could come too close. It bought him a moment to pull his eyes away and check on his companion. One of the gold-adorned monsters had honed in on him, raising its decaying, clawed hand to strike. Zeke’s eyes widened as he saw the trajectory.

“Watch yourself!” he shouted, turning his horse to intercept, but he was too late and Forsyth’s pained shout told him he had taken the brunt of the hit. His own step faltered - dismount and catch Forsyth if he fell, or focus on the remaining enemies? - but fortunately the young knight had energy enough to hold his ground, and with a firm nod, Zeke made quick work of the rest.

He dismounted when the area had at last been cleared, and followed Forsyth to a place near the wall, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword and eyes ever searching the dim light of the cavern… just in case.

“You could fool me,” he said cordially, eyes swinging back to Forsyth. “You act and fight as any knight I have ever known.”

Perhaps a touch too foolhardy, but than in itself was not entirely uncommon among younger knights. There was always desperation and desire to prove one’s worth, and Zeke understood it. He was certain that he had been no different in his youth, though he had no memory of his training.

His eyes remained firm on the shadows, still unconvinced that they were entirely safe. Terrors could rise from the ground at will, and with his companion already injured, he could not afford to let down his guard. He allowed only a quick glance toward Forsyth when he mentioned Rigel.

“I can only imagine how men of Rigel are taught to fight.”

“They are a wicked bunch,” he answered, no malice, only the tone of admiration and the peculiar implication that he was an outsider among them. “Their training is certainly more hands-on than your book-learning, but you and the rest of this army have bested them thus far. ... How is your wound looking?”

He stepped closer and held his lantern over their heads. “Can you walk?”

Ambush || Zeke & Eirika

restorationprincess:

Zeke did not answer immediately, a doleful, contemplative silence falling upon him. He watched the rocky earth - monochrome in the dim light - blur beneath his feet.

“Knowing well that the future cannot be predicted does little to ease the regret I have for my actions this evening,” he admitted. “For the time you have already spent here in Rigel, neither of us have gained anything.”

Instead, he had risked Eirika’s life more than once, and subjected her to all manner of disturbing scenes, scenes that made even an experienced soldier queasy and uncomfortable. The bloody corpses of Zeke’s comrades flashed vividly through his mind, as if seeing them again for the first time, and he shut his eyes against them.

“… I should have taken you straight to the capital the moment you arrived.”

Let It Snow [Camus & Sakura]

0-cherry-berry-0:

“Very good.” Camus nodded his approval. “I have a horse, and I would gladly escort you to your destination once this snow lets up, if you desire it. But if you wish to leave in the morning, then allow me to pay for an escort, at the very least. I know several noble knights in these parts who would gladly lend their aid.”

The silence settled in between them, the faint crackling of the fireplace behind the bar and the gentle pattering of the snow against the windowpane taking the place of words. Camus sipped from his mug and looked outside at the fading light of the early winter evening, and remembered suddenly the most basic part of any conversation. In his desire to find and fix the root of the girl’s problem, he had entirely forgotten to ask her name.

“Forgive me,” he said with a warm chuckle. “Now that we are sharing this time together, I should perhaps introduce myself. I am Camus, a soldier of Grust.”

He searched her face for a spark of recognition.

“You are a stranger to Archanea, are you not?”

infamy -- open

countreglay:

There were questions and warnings, and myriad other doubts racing through Camus’ mind as he held his ground between the Count and the mysterious hooded stranger, but he was a foreigner, it was true, and in that moment, also a mercenary. His loyalty was to Pent and Pent alone, and it was not his place to question the morality of attacking Pent’s countrymen. He raised his lance at the cloaked man, and the strange, warm static from earlier began to crackle all around him again, revealing Pent’s decision before he gave the order.

“These gentlemen will die here, I am afraid.”

That was all Camus needed to push his doubts away. The leader of the assassins recognized the threat as well and Camus met his charge with a resounding clang of steel axe against speartip. But he was at a disadvantage, and as the man dragged the axe back toward himself, he tore the spear from Camus’ hands - though Camus had not entirely resisted. The lance clattered to the ground and skidded several feet away, but he gave it only a cursory glance. In a fluid movement, he drew his blade and met the man’s axe once more. The rest of the mercenaries in the alley descended upon him, but his sword gouged and scored tendons faster than the eye could follow. Another sharp clash of metal as he blocked a second strike from the leader’s axe, providing just enough time to shout an order over his shoulder.

“Count Reglay, I will hold them off. Please continue to the meeting hall!” And yet he had the feeling that Pent would not so readily leave. More of the assassins flooded into the alleyway and across the rooftops, making it clear enough that this was their last resort to stop the documents from reaching their destination. They were desperate, and that would be their downfall.