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So earlier this evening I was talking with a gentlemen who basically made me realise that despite having been on this site for 18 months or so I have never really posted a piece of my writing which got me to thinking that I hadn't really seen many other's writings either. So here is the thread to do so. Throw a small sample in...it doesn't need to be complete, it can be on any subject but it should be sufficiently large enough to give a taste of your style. Think of it as a way to demonstrate your ability and advertise yourself in a public forum filled with people ready to cut you to shreds on the smallest typo. By way of demonstration here is an opening of mine to a piece I am currently working on 





In the hours of loneliest night

I set down these words by the lamp’s light

For I wish to record a most wonderful tale

Of a prince and a princess and the dragon’s scale


It all began on a cold winter’s night

When a little village awoke in fright

At the horrible sound of some beast’s roar

Then all fell silent and they slept once more


It wasn’t till dawn when they found they horse

Half eaten up that they knew the source

The manner of beast which in the night did wail

For lying on the ground was a dragon’s scale


It was large as a cartwheel and made of gold

And when it was lifted took three men to hold

Laughter broke out and they all capered around

But amidst the excitement an old man frowned


Stop this foolishness the man cried to the crowd

Waiting for silence before speaking out loud

‘Tis an evil gift evil indeed

For dragon’s gold fills a heart with greed


You all know the legends and what they tell

Look not at the gold or deeper the spell

We must take it away before we are lost

And only evil into our hearts has crossed


I fear not this spell spoke a stranger from the side

I fear nothing at all ‘cept my soon-to-be bride

And if you allow me I would buy your scale

For it pleases me with its yellow so pale


The crowd turned as the stranger’s voice spoke

And saw a young man in threadbare cloak

Who are you asked the old man his eyes ablaze

That treads forward a fool where a wise man stays


Who am I you ask in a voice that demands

Why I’m Prince Kiranon from far distant lands

Searching the world for the one I’ll marry

Going on where a wise man would tarry


Then Kiranon removed his threadbare cloak

Causing the old man to near have a stroke

For revealed to all was armour and sword

Of such quality befitting a lord


“You said night twice.”


“You ended with night twice. It’s right at the beginning and it breaks the story straight away.”

“You do realise my young prince, and not withstanding that it is way past your bed time, that writing is either best done in solitude or in collaboration with other writers and never...ever with a critic peering down in judgement over one’s shoulder right at the moment of its creation?”

“But isn’t it better to fix up your mistakes straight away to avoid repeating them?”

 “Mistakes! Get out! Get out before I call the guards to return you to your bed.”

The young prince pulled back to the doorway. “You also ended with ‘cloak’ twice” and closed the door.




Hope you liked it and I look forward to others who also step in with submissions

Edited by Stormynature

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This was a start to a story I was thinking about several years ago:

Slowly, Soul rose. It was the second time that he had been knocked to the ground today. His mind just wasn’t on training today. Soul assumed his stance once more, determined not to be caught off guard again. As soon as the staff was swung at him, Soul blocked and forced it away. Voron took another swing at him, this time from the side, sending Soul sprawling on the ground. Furious, Soul pounded the ground, got to his feet, and dusted himself off.

“I’m sorry. My mind is just not with training today. I can’t keep my mind off of tonight. At midnight, I turn eighteen, and I plan on having it being a night I will never forget,” he said.

“I know what you mean. I remember the night when I turned eighteen. I had forgotten about my birthday, and was woken up by fireworks right outside my window. Mom and dad thought they would surprise me…” Voron stopped, noticing the usual glow in Soul’s eyes had vanished. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned my parents.”

“No, it’s alright. You shouldn’t stop talking about your parents. I still have Serene and Lyon. They may not be my birth parents, but they have looked after me and raised me just the same.”

As they said their goodbyes, Voron noticed the glow returning to Soul’s eyes. Even though Soul seemed fine, Voron couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. He had grown up under Serene and Lyon’s care, but the other children of the village always picked on him, calling him “The Abandoned”, “The Orphan”, or some other name related to his lack of parents. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard any of the children call him Soul, ever. Then he clenched his fists around the staff.

Voron watched as Soul walked out of sight, glad Soul had not seen the anger that crossed his face. Two other names had come to him as he was thinking of the village children. One was “The Shadow”, describing Soul as if he wasn’t really there, but the other, “The Bastard”, was what really made his temper flare. The other children must not know what it’s like. Voron’s past slowly came back to him, and this time, he let his anger loose on a nearby boulder, shattering the staff he wielded, thankful no one was around to see him losing his temper.


As soon as Soul returned to his house, he set about, planning tonight’s ventures. He would wake the whole town with fireworks, and then shout to the full moon that he was finally eighteen, finally able to do what he pleased. He had reached adulthood. Wait, there’s a full moon tonight. Soul double-checked with his notes. He watched and waited for the full moon faithfully. There was no doubt about it. Tonight was a full moon. Perhaps things will be even more spectacular tonight.

Then storm clouds began rolling it. As the sound of thunder reached Soul’s ears, he leapt out of his chair, leaving it crashing to the floor in front of his desk, and ran to the front door, flinging it wide open. Just as soon as he opened the door, rain poured from the clouds, and the wind began blowing fiercely, closing any doors or shutters opened. Soul just stood at the now closed door, dumbfounded. How could a storm come in that fast and start pouring down rain? And where did those fierce winds come from? There wasn’t even a breeze when I was coming home. Come to think of it, I didn’t feel anything. The air was still. And there were no children playing today. It was the weekend, so they didn’t have school. Not even the birds were singing…

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