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sunandshadow

Writing Samples Revenant

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We haven''t had a writing samples thread in here in a really long time, have we? That simply won''t do. So, why doesn''t everybody post a few paragraphs of something you''ve written recently? And then you should say what you though why you thought it was important to write this particular piece of writing in the particular way you did. How well do you think you succeeded? Can you identify any problems that you would like to fix in the next draft? Do you have any questions you want to ask the rest of us about your piece?

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Eh, not quite sure if this is whatcha mean... But I wrote this one to try writing in this perspective. Not overly thrilled with it, probably won''t write another story in this style. It was fun to try something new though

* * * * *

You''d think that with all the time we spend in this thing, they''d take the time to make it a little more comfortable.

"Final check, we go in five."

That was our squad leader, he''s been leading us on these raids for years now. I suppose I better check my gear. I''ve been using this stuff for so long I don''t even need to look at what I''m doing. First check the ammo cases on my belt, moving on to the grenades, two smoke, two concussion, two high-explosive, one incendiary. They don''t like us to set fire to stuff too much, makes em nervous. All there, on to the gun itself. Ammo canister in place, fully loaded. Canister ejection system working, trigger isn''t jammed, display says no mechanical faults detected. Gotta love weaponry that can tell you when it breaks down, saves you a few precious seconds you could better use hitting the dirt.

Everything ready, place gun butt-down on the ground, holding the barrel. Easiest way to signal that you''re all ready. It''s the little things that turn a good squad into a veteran squad, and a veteran squad into one of us. We are the best of the best, the Elite. And we''re going to show someone just what that means, too bad they won''t live to tell anyone else.

"Touchdown in 10..."

Darn helmet radios, always crackly...

"9... 8... 7..."

We all stand as one, can see our squad leader''s face twist in a humourless grin as he watches us. He loves it, calls us "balistically enhanced ballerinas".

"3... 2..."

Time for the drop, engage suit reactors and commence praying. Now comes the fun part.

"1... Good luck boys."

*snip*

Press to test... *click* Release to detonate...

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>Here's a section of an article I wrote during the September 11th tragedy. It's one man's revenge against Osama Bin Laden, and it's third draft.


Taliban operatives, aware of my cover mission as a sympathetic western journalist, intercepted me deep in the rugged mountain/desert terrain in specially built Mercedes-Benz’s with bulletproof glass and silenced high powered engines. Their desert midnight dust paint jobs were identical to my hog’s.

Battle hardened Jihad warriors sporting reliable assault weaponry stepped from the four vehicles that had swiftly overtaken me. I shut down, took my sand parking board from my saddlebag, and put my kickstand down on it, making sure the printed side with the Bulls eye and ‘NYFD’ logos were easily visible from space.

“You must be my escort,” I said, adding, “nice paint job.” “You could have chosen a less obvious method of seeking us out, infidel pig,” a voice from inside the car said in perfect Oxford English.

I pointed to the sky and said, “The CIA satellites would see us anyway. It’s all good. We all know this is a sympathetic mission.”

“We of the Holy Jihad have our own technological capabilities, you know,” the voice from the car replied.

“I’m certain I will see some of it during my visit, won’t I?” I asked. “Lots of it. We can start with some low tech right now. As you will see, it is quite effective.” “What is it?” I asked. “It’s called ‘no blindfold necessary’”, the voice replied.

I felt the rifle butt touch the back of my head, and was thankfully unconscious before the searing pain hit me.


>I love writing myself back into the story.

Addy


[edited by - adventuredesign on May 2, 2003 7:28:52 AM]

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That''s a piece I am writing for a premade character for a pen&paper RPG I wont name here not to give away too much (as if you cared ). The idea being that the player reads this and get a feel for the character he has to play.
It''s only the first page, I think the final thing will be 3 pages long, which is a bit long. Maybe I''ll reformat it. Opinions most welcome !

-----------------------

You wouldn''t tell just by looking at me, but I am one of a kind. Or at least I was, until I died.
I was a lawyer trying to do some good in this world. One would argue that being a lawyer is not exactly the most direct mean of doing good. I could have become a doctor, saving lives daily. I could have been a social worker, trying to fix people''s lives. But I became a lawyer, not because it was a direct way to help people, but because Law, that great concept that was supposed to protect people, had long been soiled by greed, corruption and the twisted minds of people more concerned with winning an argument than dispensing Justice.
My father, for one, spent all his life working as a corporate lawyer, crushing the lives of the unfortunate few who would dare to stand in the face of the corporations who would employ him. Oh, he hadn''t killed anybody, or put them in the misery they were, directly. He was only doing his job, right ? Yeah, right.
And so I decided to join the ranks of those I despised so much, in order to bring change from within, if that were ever possible. I graduated, and soon enough offered my services to those too poor to afford a lawyer. The homeless or the prostitute arrested by the police, the runaway girl that had had to steal to survive, the squatters that had entered a derelict building to avoid dying from the cold outside. Sure, there were a few guilty ones among those I helped, but I preferred those than helping some greedy old granny hit the jackpot because she had spilled her coffee on her lap, or some potato couch bastard get pumped full of dollars because his neck had been "hurt" in a car accident he had willingly provoked.

Despite the low income the job brought in, Mathilda never lectured me on the more rewarding cases I could be taking like my father. She married me for my heart and my convictions, she would say, not my fortune. And I married her for the comfort her simple presence provided me. Because she could understand me. My father would speak of waster talents, missed opportunities, but he never actually forced me to change my line of work. I think deep down he was proud of me. In any case, when Mathilda and I decided to move in a lovely little flat on top of a non descript building in the middle of East Village and needed a bit of help, he let mother pay a part of the place, pretending not to know anything about it.
Mathilda was giving a recital at the concert hall that fateful night. As usual when my time permitted, I would be listening among the crowd, enthralled as I had always been since the day I first heard her play the cello. After the applause had died down, after the crowd had dispersed, after the last lights had been turned off and we had left the building, we went, walking along the streets to our building, only a few blocks away. We had always walked so, as the neighbourhood isn''t renowned for its violence, and at this time of the night the streets would still be busy enough that they would feel safe.

I can''t remember much after we entered the alley that led to the entrance of our building. A roaring blur of darkness jumped on me. The searing pain of claws digging through my chest, the taste of blood in my mouth.
Mathilda unconscious next to me, dead ? Oh please God, don''t let her be dead !
And the warmth slowly leaving me. And the pleasure, the ecstasy of feral teeth biting my throat, the sheer joy of the pain through my chest. And the merry dizziness in my head, my mind slowly drifting away, like dead leaves floating away on a cold river. I knew I was dying, and yet I rejoiced. I felt the life leaving me slowly, and yet mourned the pleasure that I knew would stop, soon.
No film of my life flashing before my eyes, no old memories, just pure pleasure, and Mathilda lying next to me, in a pool of blood.
My blood ? Please God don''t let it be hers.

And then darkness.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Well, that''s just the first page, but I wanted to finish the rest before posting it. Plus I felt this part stands alone pretty well. What do you think ?


Sancte Isidore ora pro nobis !

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Well, I had a night without much sleep, so here is the second part.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Antoine ? Are you awake yet ? You need to feed if you want to heal the wounds."
A feminine voice. Soothing , comforting.
"Mathilda ?".
The nurse is smiling at me. In the neon light, so cold and devoid of life, she looks like an angel.
"No, Teresa", she says, as she hands me a bag of red liquid. Blood ?
That's when I first feel it, the hunger. I see the stuff and my stomach, dead as it may be, contracts at the sight of the crimson fluid in that plastic pouch. Transfusion blood, and yet all I want is to rip the thing apart and gulp it down like a beast.
"It's not as tasty as when it's fresh, but it will do for now", she says.
She opens the pouch, and I can smell the sweet metallic odour. Before I know it my hands are grasping it and I am swallowing as a drowning man trying to swallow air from an oxygen bottle. It feels cold, but even so it feels like the sweetest nectar I ever tasted. I feel it go through my veins, filling my heart with life, my throat with fire, my head with ecstasy.
"You need to heal your wounds, Antoine. Direct the blood to your throat, your chest, to the wounds. Simply will it, and the vitae will work its magic"
I look at the nurse, like a lion interrupted in the middle of a kill. I can feel the anger in me wanting to pounce and chase the intruder. I was never angry before, but as I feel the cold blood in my mouth, the extended fangs biting at my dead lips, I want to hurt her, punish her for seeing me like this. Weak.
She smiles at me :
"I am here to help you, don't let the Beast take you. Control your rage and the blood in your veins. Use it to heal your wounds."
She points at my chest. I pull the sheets off and look at it. So pale. Five holes adorn it, around my sternum. Claws have dug through my ribs, trying to gouge out a hole to reach the heart. I touch my neck and realise the presence of a gaping hole where my carotid used to be.
"Simply imagine the blood coursing through your body, let it flow and repair the damage"
So I try to remember it, the blood in my throat, pulsing, throbbing, and I feel it flowing from my dead heart, and into the gaping wound. I can feel the skin patching itself up, the artery taking back its place, the meat filling up the spaces. As I lay my fingers on the soft and cold new skin, I don’t feel any pulse. Dead .
"Where is Mathilda ? Is she alive ?"
"Your wife is in a coma, she will survive though. Dr Zeitberg was in a generous mood and decided to bring her back too. She was sent to the emergency service and treated as best as could be. Unfortunately you died on the scene, from blood loss"
She smirks.
"So why am I still here ?"
"Well, it would seem the Sabbat that attacked you spilled some of his own vitae in your throat as Dr Zeitberg's assistants shot him. An accidental Embrace is not unheard of, although it's pretty uncommon. Pity for your throat and chest though, you will have to heal those wounds every night as you awake. You had already risen when we came back to check on your bodies, so we couldn't do anything about that. We prevented you from killing your wife, though. It's pretty normal to feed as you awake for the first time, but given her state it would have been fatal. Especially in the frenzy you were. You probably don't remember it, either, which is better for you. There are better ways to be Embraced than by accident, and better ways to rise than in a feeding frenzy slaying your loved ones. But like I said, Dr Zeitberg was in one of his good nights."
"So what am I ?"
"You are part of the family now." Again she smiles like I am missing a joke only she can hear.
"A Kindred like Dr Zeitberg or myself, except that you are not from the same bloodline, the same clan. It seems your attacker and involuntary sire was a Lasombra. Which is unfortunate, seeing how tense our relationships with them are. In fact, we would tend to kill them on sight." This time her smile has a more feral edge to it. Like I am some sort of exotic delicacy she wants to taste.
"So why save me ?"
"Dr Zeitberg saw something in you. I would not presume to know his motives. I am his childe and I must obey. He told me to take care of you and so I will. I will teach you the ways of the blood. But now, we must feed you again little one" She grins mischievously, opening her blouse.
"I shall call you my childe, Antoine. I can't be your sire, unfortunately, but I'll treat you as if I were, like a mother" And as she uncovers herself, she delicately slices her alabaster skin, just under the left nipple, gently upholding her breast.
"Mother Teresa", she chuckles.
"Now, we must feed you well if you want to grow strong little orphan. Come, drink of my blood so that we may be as mother and son. We will share our vitae and bond with each other. I accept you as my childe and if you accept me as your sire, drink of my blood."
I can't understand all she is saying, but as my eyes detach themselves from the first droplets of crimson dew forming on her breast to look at her face, all I see is the angelic face of Mathilda looking back at me, beaming with love. Mathilda .
I close my lips around the cold, hard nipple, suckling like a newborn.
If the blood she has given me before was like a drug, sending me beyond pleasure, this is like ambrosia, a nectar no man should have ever tasted. I feel it trickle down my throat, warm, like liquid velvet, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through my body. I am beyond simple pleasure, beyond orgasm, I am alive. To think I had had to die to ever feel so complete, so happy. Mathilda .
As I lay there in my bed, my head tucked in Teresa's bosom, her arms holding me like an infant, I slowly drift in a drowsy happiness, oblivious to anything but the warmth of the blood within me. Teresa .

---------------------------------------------------------------

Now come on people, I'd love to see opinions here
I want to give this little -how should I call it, a prologue ?- to my player before the game. This text is there to give the person playing the character a little insight about who she is playing. Do you think the style is appropriate, does it convey enough about the personality of the guy ?



Sancte Isidore ora pro nobis !

[edited by - ahw on May 8, 2003 6:23:57 AM]

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Ah yeah, comments

Faradhi : loved it Sounds like a nice little intro for a bigger piece. Flavor text, they call it. I take it the guys are space marines ?

Addy : uh, I think the one thing I find annoying is the formatting of the dialogues. And I am a bit unclear on the role of the protagonist. Is he supposed to infiltrate the mujahidin ? Or is he supposed to be some sort of envoy ?
I like the dialogue and the "lo-tech" at the end, though


Sancte Isidore ora pro nobis !

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My attempt at creative writing:

I like toast. Toast is in interesting thing. Toast works well with jelly or butter. Toast is the next logical step in the evolution of sliced bread, which is the medium all new things are compared against. Two pieces of toast are even better, because with two pieces of toast you have the makings of a sandwich, possibly the greatest food item ever conceived. Never mind the fact most people don''t toast their sandwich bread, I do. It has been theorized that with a single piece of buttered toast, and a cat, one could create perpetual energy by strapping the jellied toast to the back of the cat. You would then throw the cat; if done properly the cat would stop several inches from the ground and spin indefinitely because, as we all know, cat’s always land on their feet, and toast always lands jelly side down. I think this is inhumane, I propose the use of two pieces of toast, back-to-back, jelly side out. It should produce the same effect, without traumatizing the cat. Furthermore, if I used a cat, I would be unable to truthfully say, “No cats were harmed in the conducting of this experiment”.



[My site|SGI STL|Bjarne FAQ|C++ FAQ Lite|MSDN|Jargon]
Ripped off from various people

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I prefer editing. I don''t really like letting other people read what i write.

...

You''d think that with all the time we spend in this damn thing they''d take the time to make it a little more comfortable.

"Final check, we go in five."

That''s our squad leader; he''s been leading us on these raids for years now. I suppose he''s pretty good; we usually come back in one piece, anyways. I suppose I better go ahead and check my gear. I''ve been using this stuff for so long I don''t even need to look at what I''m doing. Ammo cases on my belt. Grenades: two smoke, two concussion, two high-explosive, one incendiary. They don''t like us to set fire to stuff too much, makes ''em nervous. All there, on to the gun. Ammo canister in place, fully loaded. Canister ejection system working, trigger isn''t jammed, display... no mechanical faults detected. Gotta love weaponry that tells you when it breaks down, saves you a few precious seconds when you could better use ''em hitting the dirt.

Everything''s ready, place gun butt-down on the ground, hold the barrel. Easiest way to signal that you''re all ready. It''s the little things that turn a good squad into a veteran squad, and a veteran squad into one of us. We are the best of the best, the Elite. And we''re going to show someone just what that means; it''s just too fucking bad they won''t live to tell anyone about us.

"Touchdown in 10..."

Damn helmet radios, always crackling...

"9... 8... 7..."

We all stand as one, watching our squad leader''s face twist in a humourless grin as he watches us back. He loves it, calls us "ballistically enhanced ballerinas". Real cute.

"3... 2..."

Now for the drop... Engage suit reactors, Commence praying. Time for fun part.

"1... Good luck boys."

And we drop.

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Editing? You corrected what I assume are a few grammar errors I made, and added the ''F-word'' to a sentence Anyways, if yer gonna edit, bold or italic the changes so people can spot em...

ahw - Little whitespace would make it more readable, but other than that, I think this makes the character a lot easier to step into.

wild_pointer - I''m scared now...

adventuredesign - This one sounds like it could get interesting, little leery of the setting though...

Press to test... *click* Release to detonate...

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I've always had a few ideas I wanted to pull into a story. I don't suppose I'm good enough writer to develop characters and thrilling plots, but this is one of my ideas I hope will become a story one day.

-----
She saw mirriads of forgotten private histories, swept away by the tides of time. Wars and disease, food recipes and love affairs, fields covered with grass and claustrophobic ore mines. She saw sweat and laughter, cautious expectation of first period and dark devastation of death. She saw history the way its meant to be seen, through the eyes of its makers. Everything so endlessly important, yet omitted from history books was in the palm of her hand. She felt nostalgia sweep over her soul, nostalgia over times and places she never saw, people she never met. A cool breeze made her open her eyes. She got up from her chair and walked towards the window, looking over dozens of people going about their business on the cold Tuesday morning. It was time to go to work.
-----

[edited by - CoffeeMug on May 12, 2003 5:43:26 PM]

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Wow CofeeMug ! That''s very cool. I think that would make a perfect opening piece for an angel of death (a Halaku, if you have ever heard of a roleplaying game called Demon: the Fallen ?)
Short and to the point, yet evocative. Sweet


Sancte Isidore ora pro nobis !

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quote:
Original post by ahw
Wow CofeeMug ! That's very cool.


Thanks. You seem to have a better opinion of my writing then I do
quote:

I think that would make a perfect opening piece for an angel of death (a Halaku, if you have ever heard of a roleplaying game called Demon: the Fallen ?)


No, I never heard of it. I'm not really into game writing, I like writing in general. I wish I took some writing classes and someone tought me about character development and story creation. I think I could actually be a writer if I had the training. May be one day...

[edited by - CoffeeMug on May 13, 2003 4:56:47 PM]

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By the way, I love it as is, I just felt like doing something and your passage was cool and interesting.

And some of the grammar changes weren''t mistakes, I just thought a briefer sentence structure would be more, well, punctual.

Anyways, here''s the bold stuff. Actually made a couple of other changes from the last one.

-----

You''d think that with all the time we spend in this damn thing they''d take the time to make it a little more comfortable.

"Final check, we go in five."

That''s our squad leader; he''s been leading us on these raids for years now. He''s pretty good; we usually come back in one piece, anyways. I suppose I''d better go ahead and check my gear. I''ve been using this stuff for so long I don''t even need to look at what I''m doing. Ammo cases on my belt. Grenades: two smoke, two concussion, two high-explosive, one incendiary. They don''t like us to set fire to stuff too much, makes ''em nervous. All there, on to the gun. Ammo canister in place, fully loaded. Canister ejection system working, trigger isn''t jammed, display... no mechanical faults detected. Gotta love weaponry that tells you when it breaks down; saves you a few precious seconds when you could better use ''em hitting the dirt.

Everything''s ready; place gun butt-down on the ground, hold the barrel. Easiest way to signal that you''re all ready. It''s the little things that turn a good squad into a veteran squad, and a veteran squad into one of us. We are the best of the best, the Elite. And we''re going to show someone just what that means; it''s just too fucking bad they won''t live to tell anyone else.

"Touchdown in 10..."

Damn helmet radios, always crackling...

"9... 8... 7..."

We all stand as one, watching our squad leader''s face twist in a humorless grin as he watches us back. He loves it, calls us his "ballistically enhanced ballerinas."

Real cute.

"3... 2..."

Now for the drop... Engage suit reactors. Commence praying. Time for the fun part.

"1... Good luck boys."

And we drop.

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* bump *
Sorry for ressurecting, but I think this thread has a lot of unexplored potential. Surely there are others who can post some of their writing? Besides, I want some feedback on mine

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me toooooooo
Or I am gonna post it on its own.
I know it''s lengthy, but heck, it''s supposed to be a text to put whoever plays the character "into the mood". So I dont really think a few lines would have been enough.


Sancte Isidore ora pro nobis !

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Alright, I''ll allow people to critique my writing. This is something I whipped up for an RPG message board I go to on a regular basis and am slowly turning into a book. Hope you enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter One

Dawn broke over the horizon, the sleepy little village awoke to the sound birds chirping in the trees, cows lowing in the fields and the morning wagons making their deliveries. The week of the Red Moon had finally finished, now things could return to normal. The time of the Red Moon was a time of fear for everyone, it was the one time during the year when the Wardings were at their weakest, and the fearsome creatures were free to roam the land. During the day, people were safe enough to walk the streets but at night... that is when the terror would start. Centuries ago, the people of the land had learned to stay indoors once dusk had started to fall during this time. Occasionally, there would be the odd reports of people wandering out into the night during this time. All that would be found of them would be the odd bone and if lucky, a little blood.

The village went about its usual daily activities, selling, buying, baking, and repairing. Children laughed in the streets as if the past week had not been one filled with terrifying sounds that seemed to echo across the valley. On this bright day, it was hard to believe that the past week had been one of horrifying nightmares roaming the land. Ladies talked while the shopped for household items, men bragged about daring exploits from long ago childhood days, children played and ran through the streets. To watch this village was to think that the world was perfect, and it was... until three days ago.

During the week of the Red Moon, the Wardings would take time from keeping the Celestial Barrier in place to regain their strength. They did this in order to be stronger during the rest of the year until the next Red Moon time. There were nine Wardings in total, the temples constantly training young girls for the task ahead in case one should fall. Only those with the most powerful of magic was allowed into the temple for it was their youth and their strength that was needed to keep the Barrier going for most of the year. Only the high priestesses knew the locations of each of the Wardings, equaling nine in total once again. There was a Warding for each priestess, the locations kept secret so that if one priestess were forced to tell, the other eight Wardings would be kept in secret.

However, someone had managed to locate all nine of the Wardings without the help of the priestesses. They had not been afraid to go out into the night while the creatures roamed free, turning them into an army of unimaginable strength and size. It did not take long to be able to force the creatures to follow them, the beasts had simple minds with simple urges, to kill and feed off all they came across. While this person was busy working getting the creatures into an army, others were busy siphoning off the powers of the Wardings, making them weaker during this time so they would not be able to keep the Celestial Barrier at full strength.

In the very center of the lands lay a huge city of many races. No one particular race tried to lay claim to the city, having formed a nobility of all the races. There was no one ruler of the city or the lands, each race had one representative in the noble council that would speak for their people. Everyone in the lands felt this was a fair form of government and very rarely was it tempted with corruption. When someone was able to bribe one of the council, it was dealt with swiftly and harshly. The corrupted official would be removed and a new member placed onto the council. Because of the punishments, corruption was rarely an issue.

When word reached the city of the troubles with the Wardings, the council convened immediately. The large room had a huge table and many chairs, one for each noble. The room was in a chaos this early morning, each having their own theories as to what happened to the Wardings.
"What are we going to do about the outer villages? They won''t stand a chance against these abominations!"
"You are correct, Milord. We must find a way to get them here safely but it will be impossible since they are many days away."
"Perhaps our troops could go out and escort them back."
"A good suggestion. But how do we manage to do this with very little panic?"
"Coax them here with a festival. That''ll keep their minds off of the dangers for now."
"Then it''s settled. We have our troops escort the people more then one days travel to the city. Send out word that we will be holding a large festival in honor of the time of the Blue Moon. That''ll keep people too busy to worry about rumors."
With everyone in agreement, the council left to send word to the outer villages. Hopefully, their plan would work.

The troops had set out immediately, their armor and weapons glistening in the morning sunlight. Many of the city dwellers wondered what was going on until some of the messengers started putting up notices about the upcoming festival. A festival this close after the Red Moon was something that happened only rarely. Word rushed through the city like wildfire, hitting the closest villages by midday at the latest. The council looked over the city from the palace balconies, each one of them proud that they had kept the panic to a minimum. Lord Kurtuc did not look pleased though. The representative of the Anthrop people felt that things were going to get worse before the week was over. If only he knew then how right he was.

By nightfall, the troops had reached the first of the outer villages. The people were unsure of what to expect from the men until the captain met with the mayor. After a long meeting with the village officials, the captain stepped out to speak with the villagers. But as he opened his mouth to speak, a high-pitched scream stopped him from saying a word. A young girl, no more then five years old ran through the crowd, screaming about the moon. All eyes turned towards it and more screams were heard through the village. The troops quickly herded the people into their homes and stores, locking the doors tight behind them. As long as they stayed inside, they would be safe.

Loud noises filled the night air as the creatures fled from their daytime hiding places. They were hideous to behold. Scales, feathers, spikes, beaks, they were a vision straight out of a lunatic’s wet dream. They moved swiftly across the lands in search of prey but there seemed to be more order to their movements then there used to be. The bird-like creatures swooped around the night sky; their horrendous cries could be heard echoing across the land. There were strange insect-like creatures that seemed to float on the wind, huge bubbles on their backs keeping them in the air. The land bound creatures were even more vicious then the birds or the insects, their large claws would render flesh clean from the bone while their sharp teeth would crack the bones to get at the delicious marrow inside.

People shuddered at the sounds coming through the small cracks under doors and in windows. They huddled around the warmth of their fires as they waited for morning to come. Hushed voices whispered worriedly after children had fallen into uneasy sleep. The Celestial Barrier was supposed to be in place by now, the creatures safely tucked away behind it. Everyone wondered what could have caused the Barrier not to work.

In the heart of the city, the representatives of the races watched the sky through the windows. The city and the land beyond it was covered in a blood red light. One of the bird-like creatures flew past the window they were looking out, causing the men and women inside to run from the window. They gathered at the table in the center of the room to discuss what to do about the Celestial Barrier.
“Our people can’t hide in fear forever. They will demand something be done about this.”
“You’re right, Milady. But you’ve seen for yourself what these things can do to a person.”
“There is no need to bring up Lady Atiya’s experience with them. It will get us no where and cause her nothing but grief.”
“Thank you, Lord Kurtuc. But I will be fine. It was many years since that unfortunate incident and I believe I am over the grief.” Although Lady Atiya smiled to show that she was fine, there was a deep sadness in her pale, grey eyes. The council continued to discuss the creatures, the representative of the Equinoids finally coming up with some sort of idea.

“We must send someone past the Barrier to find out what’s going on. But we can’t guarantee their safe return.”
“Lord Swifthoof is right. But can we really send someone to their doom? Do we have that right?”
“I don’t think we have any other choice. But how do we choose who is to go?” The council sat in silence for a moment as they considered the questions put before them. Finally, Lady Atiya spoke up once more.
“We choose only the best the races have to offer and we must send a priestess or two with them to help them at night.” The council all nodded then the voices started raising as they argued who were the best candidates to go.

The night seemed to last forever. Priestesses moved through the villages with orbs of bright light hovering above them as they hurried to gather up those that were caught outside. The creatures stayed back from the light, knowing the pain it brings somewhere in the back of their demented minds. Malia moved swiftly through the night, the orb keeping back the creatures as she herded people into the temple. The high priestess didn’t like the way things were going in the land but didn’t have time to dwell on it as she slammed the temple doors shut against the night. She sighed with relief as she motioned the villagers further into the temple and away from the windows.

The sounds of the creatures moving through the night made the villagers huddle in despair. The week of the Red Moon should be over yet the creatures were lurking about. Malia and the other priestesses walked through the crowds, offering comfort and helping those that had sustained injuries. Food was set out for those that had not eaten yet. Leaving the others to do the work, Malia moved swiftly to her chambers to meditate on the events of the night and what to do about them.

Although the temple was rich from the offerings to the gods, Malia’s room was nearly bare of the usual furniture. A pile of furs in one corner was her bed, the high windows were devoid of any covering. A lone table and chair stood in another corner, a candle, some papers and books were all the furnishings she needed. Moving swiftly across the floor, she gathered up one of the fur blankets from the pile, laying it out in the middle of the floor. Seating herself comfortably, Malia closed her eyes and prayed to the gods for guidance during her meditations. Peaceful darkness entered her mind and she traveled swiftly through the Celestial planes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I''m still working on it, please no editing of it. I plan to do all of that on my own when I finally finish the first draft.




You really don''''t want my thoughts on that idea.... trust me.

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Hey all. Thank you for posting your writing samples and I want to apologize for not replying to anything - I''ve been having a lousy two weeks. Haven''t written a single thing I''ve been happy with, and been utterly frustrated that I''m so bad at plotting. Plus I have a script for a short original animated movie overdue because I can''t find a yaoi anime fan to beta edit for me. >.< Anyway, I''ll try to come up with some comments...

Faradhi - A solid start, good capturing of the mlitary register. I would try to personalize it more, add some more sensory detail if you intended to edit the scene.

Wild Pointer - ah, but can you apply that witty word choice to a funny story like Terry Pratchett?

Avatar God - Good editing! We can always use people who are willing to edit.

Ahw - Aside from the fact that my imagination balks at the idea of a woman cutting herself _there_, I rather like your second chapter, though I''m not particularly fond of the cruel-emotionless-type vampires. (Totally OT - Have you seen the anime Crest of the Stars? I''m just starting to watch the second season now and it seems to be both well-written and beautifully-drawn, although a little too g-rated for my tastes.)

KellzAngel - Have you read Paul Park''s Sugar Rain Trilogy? You seem to be heading towards a heavy-atmosphere somewhat horriffic story and the Sugar Rain books are a good example/inspiration of how to do that. You probably also want to slow down and spend more time describing things, but that''s a good thing to do in a first edit when you get there. I like the phrase ''a lunatic''s wet dream''.

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quote:
Original post by sunandshadow
Ahw - Aside from the fact that my imagination balks at the idea of a woman cutting herself _there_, I rather like your second chapter, though I''m not particularly fond of the cruel-emotionless-type vampires. (Totally OT - Have you seen the anime Crest of the Stars? I''m just starting to watch the second season now and it seems to be both well-written and beautifully-drawn, although a little too g-rated for my tastes.)



LOL ! Indeed, I am quite sure few women would like to have marks _there_ Biting nipples, on the other hand... but anyway.

I am totally shocked that you think the protagonist is cruel/emotionless !! I mean, bloody hell, I was precisely trying to show that he is a basically nice guy, with a nice wife, and he dearly loves her (all the references to "Mathilda "), but the power of the blood is stronger, hence the final "Teresa " at the end, to show that moment where he forgets her and embrace his new nature, sort of ).
awwwww :/

But my player liked it, anyway So it''s not too bad. We killed the wife altogether, severing his last link to his former humanity. He is now a character with only one thought in mind : revenge. Pretty dramatic, I think. I like.




Sancte Isidore ora pro nobis !

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I''m sorry, perhaps I should have been more clear - I didn''t mean that the main character is emotionless, I meant I don''t like the worldbuilding idea that becoming a vampire makes someone emotionless, and I find it very difficult to be sympathetic with a character once he has lost his humanity like that.

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Well, you certainly *dont* become emotionless.
The thing is that the only thing that now keeps you alive is the consumption of blood. This idea carries in itself the same sort of themes that are usually associated with drug-addiction : how far are you ready to go to get the next fix, the impact of your habit on your relationship, the physical impact on your body, and the all consuming thirst.
I find the whole concept quite interesting, especially having to feed on people, that you now consider like cattle rather than equals : just because you have different feeding habits, are you really "superior", and "different". What makes you so different ? Is it the teeth ? Is it the lack of regret for killing people ? How do you relate to humanity, how do you hold on to the last remains of your own humanity ?

Naw, it''s *all* about the emotions, and the loss of humanity. Quite the opposite of emotionless or inhuman, IMHO


Sancte Isidore ora pro nobis !

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quote:

Seize of Olympus:
The day heaven fell into hell.


Once in the kingdom of Xanar, there was a prosperity
and progress. Xanar was one of the most powerful
kingdoms in all of Sphere. In its vast land, many
swore allegiance to the king. Xanar had powerful lords
and knights but the two most powerful were the Sword
of Zanzibar and the High Knights of Xanar. In the year
of high moon 324, invasions were becoming regular
practice along the countryside of Xanar as well as in
other countries. Knights and lords were able to aptly
defend their lands, but something was unsettling about
the various skirmishes. Why were they happening? Who
led them? Why now? These were some of the questions
being asked. Five years later in 329, the answers come
to light at Ceremony of Judges.

“The ceremony seems to be going well. Does it not,
Ramses?”, says the King.

“Yes sire, splendid indeed. I wonder what other
surprises my liege has in store for us.”, Ramses
replies.

The King says smilingly, “You shall see.”

As the night goes on, jesters, magicians, and acrobats
filled the room with laughter and glee. The night
seems to be in full festive swing. Then it happens....


As a magician turns stone into clay, a spear suddenly
pierces his chest. Blood splatters over all those
around him. The magician tries desperately to chant a
spell to remove the almost 6 inch thick spear, but he
goes into shock and falls. The spear holds him up as
he resembles the image of a skewed pig. The hall is in
panic and disarray. Mercenaries burst through windows
setting the curtains aflame as they ride down on them.
Jesters who were entertainers now find laughter in
slitting the throats of whoever runs in their path.
Minsters, some being of defense, land, and ancient
scrolls, are captured quickly. Knights and some lords
notice this is too organized to be a random raid. The
King is taken to his secret bunker which is
underground and some ways from the castle, after the
magician was speared. Action must now be taken.

The king orders his mages to awaken his High Knights
and other soldiers to wipe the vermin once and for
all.

His orders are clear, “Kill all of those who bring
sacrilege to the Great Hall!”

The mages start an incantation that delivers the
message to the knights, lords and countymen in their
sleep. Since the raids began, there has always been a
plan in case of such an event. All of those who were
ready to fight met inside the armory. The High Knights
gave everyone their orders. Ra-Ares the Highest Knight
of Xanar noticed a group was missing. As the massive
group marched out of the armory, they soon realized
that this battle was far more sinister in nature than
they had imagined.

The moon was set high in the clouds, as if it was
meant to bring to light all that was happening. Orcs,
ogres, trolls, and elves began to flood the
countryside. Each horizon that could be seen glittered
with moon-lighted axes and swords. There in the midst
of the upcoming chaos was the group Ra-Ares had not
seen, the Sword of Zanzibar. What was once grass was
now a sea of murderers ready to bathe in blood.

A grand yet destructive battle was now in play. As the
soldiers loyal to Xanar looked upon the high moon for
guidance and victory, a strange star traveled near
it’s vicinity. As soon as the star passed in front of
the moon, a large blue flash filled the night sky.
When the flash passed, hundreds laid dead and those
that were alive fought blanketed with the blood of
their enemies. The battle raged fiercely throughout
the night. High Knights and Zanzibar Lords fought as
if they were competing for life itself. They matched
in skill in every way. Neither side gave the
advantage. High Knight Celis killed 50 ogres before
she was stopped by Dion, a Zanzibar Lord. The two
slaughtered another 200, some of them being their own
people, before the next wave of attacks started.

Suddenly a woman in a luminous white gown appeared
near the castle. She floated in the air for a split
second then just as quickly as she appeared
disappeared. As Melios, another High Knight, swung an
elf over his head with his broadsword, he saw large
fireballs blaze across the sky. It was headed for the
castle. The beginning of the end had come.

Night had turned to clear day. The castle walls began
to burn effortlessly and crumbled. Mercenaries poured
into the castle confines looting and destroying
everything they came across. The Knights of Xanar were
quickly being outnumbered two to one. Defeat was
imminent. Ra-Ares and Ramses, leader of the Sword of
Zanzibar stood atop a hill in a bitter clash. The two
in a stalemate watch the castle and Zanzibar troop
storm in blitzkrieg fashion.

“So do you wish to die now, or spend the rest of your
years in shame?”, Ramses laughs heartily.

“I’d rather reach in your chest and rip out your
spine.”, replies Ra-Ares.

“Ha ha ha! Yes and then you’ll sing a little song and
this will be all be over. Ra-Ares, you know this match
between us is futile. And unlike you, I can last much
longer.”, says Ramses.

“I wonder what he means by that....”, Ra-Ares thinks
to himself.

Knowingly unable to finish or end the stand off,
Ra-Ares retreats but not before he gives Ramses a
deadly blow to his chest. Ra-Ares signals his troops
and knights to retreat. As Ra-Ares and his troops pull
back, he notices that Ramses stands atop the hill
laughing. It is then that Ra-Ares realizes that
something else was behind the attack.

The castle burns violently under the moonlight. Humans
and subhumans cheer and roar at their victory. The
Sword of Zanzibar laughs and proclaim themselves
strongest in the land, an unstoppable force, an
ungodly power. The High Knights and other survivors of
Xanar can do nothing more than watch helplessly and
retreat for safer territory. Luck, on this night, was
not with them.

.......20 years later.
“So I heard they come back today.”, says Ra-Ares.

“From what I’ve heard they have seemed to learn much
more than we. I wonder how they will do. Maybe it’s
soon to tell.”, replies Richter.

“My sources tell me Celis’ daughter has learned some
Eastern arts. They are said to be quite deadly.
Speaking of that have you heard anything about the
sorceress, Richter?”

“No, actually I haven’t. It is said that the Eastern
region also shared the fate as we did 20 years ago. I
gather that our “sorceress” is not the only one.”

“Well it seems unlikely that she herself conducted all
these at once. Did you hear that....?”

As Ra-Ares, he caught a bow screaming past his face.
It was then that the High Knights knew their children
had returned. In the same respect, the children
realized that they were in the right place. Each child
greeted their parent individually. Magnus greeted his
father Ra-Ares and apologized for the bow. Ra-Ares
thought nothing of it, for he knew it was necessary.
As the sun began to set, a great feast began. Dancing
and drinks went all around. The High Knights and their
children sat together sharing brew, roasted hawk and
rat tail.

“I realized that all of us has only parent. Where did
the other leave to?” Bella asked quizzically.

“It is a mystery to all of us. Each of our partners
shared 5 years with us. Then told us to send each of
you to different part of Sphere to learn a warrior
art. After that was done, they were never seen
again.”, Galau replied to her daughter.

“I see.”, Bella replied.

After the feast, many words were spoken, ideas drawn
out, and adventures shared. Night became day and the
young warriors were called by their parents for their
first challenge.

“Ramses.”, Ra-Ares bellowed.

“Yes, father.”, Ramses answered.

“You are go with the others in Hlmet’s swamp. Bring
back the head of the Taurus and it’s master.”

“When shall we be back?”

“Two days time. If you are not back by then we will
burn the swamp, whether you are in it or not.”

“Yes, father I understand. Come all, we must destroy
the Taurus and on the way talk and eat.” Ramses said
happily.

The group of seven went off. The High Knights look on
approvingly awaiting their return. In two days time,
the seven young warriors might return to meet more
challenges only to face the greatest challenge of all,
the Sword of Zanzibar. Hopefully Time will be
gracious, and Fate will not deal them a heavy hand or
even Death.



it''s been awhile since i''ve proofread this. but some critiques, corrections, suggestions would be nice.
thanks alot.

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Wow.

The class of the writing here is amazing.

I just wish I could read the rest of the stories... It''s hard to stop after the first page or two, especially Alpha, since I really don''t know what''s happening yet

ahw - was not expecting THAT to happen. Like the story, though And your writing style, etc., is simply awesome.

adventuredesign - Love the low-tech part.

Farahdi - Love to read the next chapter. I''m curious what the guys'' purpose is. (Well, I know they''re space-marine ilk, but not what they''re doing)...

wild_pointer - Sounds like Alan Dean Foster''s intro to Codgerspace... He talks about a cheese sandwich and its effects in great (and strangely humorous) detail. I like the cat...

Kellzangel - I''m intrigued... Not entirely sure what''s going on yet (which is good, considering I''ve only read pages one and part of two...) There are a few places that lack the sophistication of most writing; really just a few sentences and phrases. But overall very good...

Anyways, if I ever get around to it, I''ll post something of mine... But I really really like this thread; it''s great to read interesting and varied (and somewhat weird and surprising) writings and having to imagine the rest of the plot and story.

Thanks for giving me something to read! I''m about to go stir-crazy...

-George
(red eye)

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*blushes* well, thanks I am still fighting to get a handle on the point of view and tense things...
I like to change for the sake of variety, but it somehow feels more natural to tell a story in first person. My main difficulty is when I want to do dialogues. I like dialogues, but it''s not exactly simple to integrate them cleanly in the narrative (well, for me, that is.)

Anyway, as I read the stuff here, I am starting to think that it would be nice to have some sort of archive where we could post, and where the reading would be easier. It feels kind of sad that some of the writings would vanish from the horizon after a few weeks (especially given the slow pace of our beloved forum )


Sancte Isidore ora pro nobis !

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