Difference between revisions of "Thief/Descriptions"

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For something that's pretty well dead the grasses are putting their all in to swaying listlessly and rotting away into the cold, soggy ground.  If it wasn't the work of nature they'd probably get employee of the month, at this rate though, nature won't get it either, mainly because of a slight accident with a hurricane last week.
 
For something that's pretty well dead the grasses are putting their all in to swaying listlessly and rotting away into the cold, soggy ground.  If it wasn't the work of nature they'd probably get employee of the month, at this rate though, nature won't get it either, mainly because of a slight accident with a hurricane last week.
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The long grass of the plains lies in all directions, mostly a dull brown in the autumn.  It is still an impressive, although monotonous, sight to see the wind move in waves across it, despite the dull colour of the stalks.   
 
The long grass of the plains lies in all directions, mostly a dull brown in the autumn.  It is still an impressive, although monotonous, sight to see the wind move in waves across it, despite the dull colour of the stalks.   
 
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Latest revision as of 02:51, 9 November 2018

Interesting descriptions

The creators of this wonderful world put a lot of effort into it. Much of it may go unnoticed. Nelow is a list of some cool, funny, or just plain odd descriptions found around the Discworld.


[very very deep hole] This is the proverbial deep hole that is reached through too much digging. The floor is compact earth, as are the very very very high and extremely steep sides. High above in the distance is the sky, you think.


Some creator really despises grass

The smell of suncream wafts on the air as millions of grass stalks roll on their towels for a nice even tan.


The air itself drips sweat as the sun beats down upon it.


Darkness has wrapped the plains in a an all-concealing cloak. Thank goodness for that because it's so boring here! Not to be overly judgmental or anything.


Nighttime is just so last week. Like sure, black is slimming, but wouldn't a lovely pastel mauve be more flattering? or perhaps even pink? It does hide the grass rather well though.


Night, it has been observed, is often quite dark. Well it all seems to be going to plan here as far as that goes.


Grass stretches in all directions. At least, it is probably all grass, but only the plants right here are visible. It's possible the stuff farther out is pudding or something. But not very likely.


The best thing about summer, and grass is the smell, that sweet smell of baked grass, just like fresh washed laundry. Now, adding one pint of night-time to this will give the perfect mix. The sweet smells of summer, without the view of the plains.


The joy of night-time, being so black and dark, is that one can almost believe that the plains actually have been scourged by fire. Sadly this is often invalidated by the smug-sounding sigh of wind in the grasses. Stupid grass.


All around, stalks of grass brush against each other, creating a low whisper like people talking just out of earshot. The dark masses of grass all around wave and move like an undulating sea of darkness.


"Welcome to the plains! We have fun and games! We got everything you want! Everything you need!" Sadly the writers of that song were sued for false advertisement, but we do have some lovely grass!


The stalks of dead brown grass all around wave gently in the night, rustling and rattling unpleasantly, like an army of skeletal knee-high warriors dancing in the night.


The large sign asks: Hey, remember when that god-botherer came by? The small sign says: Yeah, he tried to do some strange silence ritual to make us shut up. The large sign says: Good thing we're using sign language.


The Toad!

You prepare to attack the gentle pigeon, the anxious decrepit washerwoman, the peasant and the pudgy thief.

The anxious decrepit washerwoman exclaims to you with a Sto Plains accent: You common, low, FAT thief! Don't you DARE treat your betters like that!
The anxious decrepit washerwoman exclaims to you with a Sto Plains accent: I'll have you know that I am a TOAD! THE Toad! The respectable and distinguished Toad! Washerwoman indeed! Ah-ha-ha-ha!

The anxious decrepit washerwoman leaps on a nearby horse and tears off her bonnet!
The cross-dressing Toad exclaims with a Sto Plains accent: Don't you dare treat your betters like this!
The cross-dressing Toad yells: The Toad! The Toad! The Toad triumphs once more!
The cross-dressing Toad flourishes his bonnet wildly and gallops off whooping.


This is an expertly executed portrait of Bonobo, posing naked, graciously giving an exquisite pearl necklace to what looks like a kneeling Genuan maid. What a generous person Bonobo must be!.


For something that's pretty well dead the grasses are putting their all in to swaying listlessly and rotting away into the cold, soggy ground. If it wasn't the work of nature they'd probably get employee of the month, at this rate though, nature won't get it either, mainly because of a slight accident with a hurricane last week.


The long grass of the plains lies in all directions, mostly a dull brown in the autumn. It is still an impressive, although monotonous, sight to see the wind move in waves across it, despite the dull colour of the stalks.


The plains in autumn are a classic example of seasonal fashion victims. Dying and turning brown just before winter went out of fashion twenty years ago, but the plains, and primarily the grasses, have stubbornly stuck to the whole dying and turning brown thing in the vain hope that it will have a resurgence -- posers.


Swathes of dying, brown grass extend in every direction, like some filthy plague of living things going through their natural progression of life. Disgusting, isn't it?


The plains have so much potential! There's dead grass everywhere! That has to be useful for something, and there's an awful lot of stuff around the plains.


Browned grasses wave and sway on all sides here. A single stalk of grass is not terribly awe-inspiring on its own, but the sight of the endless waves stretching out to the horizon is pretty impressive.


As the season turns so do the leaves on the trees, from greens to golds, to reds and browns, blanketing the ground with a multi hued, rustling carpet. This is the beauty of autumn at its peak. Unfortunately there are no trees on the plains, but rest assured, such lovely things are occurring elsewhere. There is a lot of brown grass here though.


There is so much grass here, even in autumn, that it's strange that the local dress doesn't lean heavily towards grass skirts. This strangeness is mainly because very few people are stupid enough to live here, and no self-respecting badger would be caught dead wearing a grass skirt.


Brown grass and brown dirt sums up the autumnal plains. Judicious use of "dreary", "miserable" and "awful" would also be acceptable, but they're pretty much a given.


The thing, about winter, is that if you could just squirt some brightly coloured sugary syrup all over the ickily frozen expanse of it, the sno-cone like effects would virtually eliminate any complaints. Of course you can't, so the cold icy snow blights the last strands of grass and gives poor little bunny rabbits chattering teeth. Awww.


Grass! Awful stuff it is, covers all of the plains like a filthy plague, luckily, in winter, there is a different plague called snow and mud, which really wipes out the grass plague. It's a truly vicious cycle.


The terrain here is made up mostly of clumps of grass, studded in a field of mud. It could really use some landscaping, maybe a nice fish pond, some trees, or maybe just spring.