The Writer Thread

Login or register to post comments
Sun, 2015-08-09 02:30
grishnax's picture

I recently wrote the beginning of a story and wanted to share it with everyone. But when I decided to post this, I remembered that there are some other people on the site who also have stories that they've written. So I made this thread as a hub for people to post their stories. You can either post them directly here or link them from another site. If you don't have a story, I highly recommend commenting on other people's stuff. It's always nice to hear feedback, at least in my opinion. So if you have a story that you want to share, now is the time and this is the place!

Sun, 2015-08-09 02:31
grishnax's picture

I'll start this thread off with a story that I started and might continue later.
Deed of the Damned, Part 1

The wheels of the carriage clattered against the aged stone road as large droplets of water splashed on the roof. The coachman was completely drenched, having been driving through a good two hours of rain. Even though he was terribly soaked, he was glad for the heavy downpour. After all, it was the only thing preventing him from hearing the stream of complaints that had come out of one of the passenger's mouths since she first stepped into his vehicle.

Inside of the carriage sat two women, both wearing the garb of a priestess. One was idly staring out the window and giving an occasional sigh, while the other was ranting about how miserable everything was. "...And then there's this rain!" The second woman continued with a frustrated tone, "It's bad enough that we have to discuss anything with that horrid creature. It just makes me so mad, I could just... Ugh!" She stomped on the floor angrily, causing the carriage to shake slightly.

"Calm down, Aerid," The first woman said with a tinge of irritation in her voice, "We're almost there. You complaining about it won't get us there any faster, and the sooner we've done our business, the sooner we can return to the Temple."

Aerid pouted. "I know, Lenna, I know! I just don't see why we aren't just sending paladins to go smite the damn thing. I'm still not sure why they sent my on this mission. I mean, sending you is an obvious choice, but me? I'm of noble blood, I shouldn't have to be making deals with a-" A boom of thunder cut her off, giving Lenna a chance to speak.

"They did send paladins," Lenna explained as her brow furrowed, "A full squad of them, in fact. Only one returned. In a cart. With most of his bones shattered. The fact that he was alive at all was a miracle. Did you not read the reports?" Aerid paled at that information.

"So we're going to negotiate with a monster that killed an entire squad of paladins? Us, a pair of acolytes, are going to have to have a discussion with something that has that much power?" Aerid looked almost ready to faint, and while it would certainly be nice to have some time without her continuous tirade, Lenna needed her to be conscious for the negotiations.

"If you had read the reports like you were supposed to, you would have known that there was a letter with the paladin. In fact, I have a copy of it now." Lenna pulled out a piece of paper, which Aerid quickly snatched and scanned frantically. Lenna sighed again. Dealing with Aerid was always a pain. Hopefully they wouldn't be put on many assignments together after this, seeing as they meshed as well as water and oil.

Aerid began to read, mumbling parts of the note as she did. "Cordially invites... Original land owner... Discuss territorial boundaries... Exactly two clergy members, preferably female... Sincerely, Lord Vorgan Kesteros." Aerid paused when she finished, then looked up at Lenna, seemingly surprised. "Wait, that thing has claim over the land? I thought it was holy ground!"

Lenna waited for Aerid to hand back the letter, and wasn't surprised when she didn't. Knowing Aerid, she probably forgot she was holding it. "From what I've heard," Lenna said, sounding far more patient than she was feeling, "Most of the high priests thought so too. But then some researcher found proof that the land was actually owned by nobility before we acquired it."

After pondering this statement for a while, Aerid said hesitantly, "So you're saying that this 'Vorgan Kesteros' person owned the land, then the Order acquired it later?"

"Yeah, that's right. Now we have someone or something claiming to be Lord Kesteros. If it's actually Lord Kesteros, it has the right to that territory."

"But it's undead! Undead things can't own land!" Aerid exclaimed indignantly.

"Actually, there are no laws against it. As long as Lord Kesteros rightfully inherited the territory, which he did, and no other noble family has claimed it, he still owns the place. Since the Order, not a noble family, claimed the land, it's still technically owned by Lord Kesteros. So as long as this thing is who it claims to be, it doesn't matter whether it's alive or dead." The corners of Lenna's mouth rose a bit. All of the studying she did was worth it to see Aerid struck speechless, even if it was because of something that was fairly grim.

Aerid opened her mouth to protest, but before she could get a word out, the carriage rolled to a stop. The door was opened by a thoroughly drenched coachman. "We're here, ladies," He said, shivering from the now-lightening rain. Aerid and Lenna stepped out of the carriage onto a dirt path, both shivering for reasons other than the heavy fog. "May the gods grant you their favor," The coachman whispered as the pair walked into the mists, watching them until they were out of sight.

Sun, 2015-08-09 13:09
Friendly MSE Designer
Guitarweeps's picture

An interesting opening...

I hope you indeed plan to finish it.

Check out my updated set hub.

Sun, 2015-08-09 22:44
Liz the Goddess
Liz the Goddess's picture

I wrote a book a while ago. I wrote it for my friends who loved the idea and the characters, and begged me to write it so they could read it. I wrote it, and one of them actually read it. The rest gave vague promises and would get awkward whenever I brought it up, so I gave up. I had a trilogy planned, and after the book turned out to be shorter than I'd hoped (41,000 words isn't a long book) I thought I'd just smoosh the three books into one. I got halfway through chapter one of book two and kind of gave up, because no one was showing any interest anymore and I was feeling down on my skills as an author. I could try to get just the original idea published, but the people who were going to edit it also backed out of the deal, so it's kind of just sitting here on my computer.

The prologue is kind of tacked on, honestly. It's barely been edited and I'm still not sure if I like it. I just added it at the end of writing the rest of the book cause I felt it needed a better introduction.

Crusades of Morania

The world of Morania was the jewel in the sea of worlds built by the Architect, a god of infinite power, knowledge, and greatness. A world created out of His image, he crafted it perfectly as four spheres of influence, and left guardians to watch over and house the magic he had created to be used by His people, whom the called the Humans.
These beings, known to the Humans as the demigods, watched over their charge with care. The sun, acting as a beacon of light and purity, housed the demigod of Light, who looked over the souls of those who had done well in their life. It circled around the world, moving through the blue expanses of Nothing, because as we all know, Nothing is the color blue.
The moon, sitting high in the sky, also sat in an expanse of Nothing. It houses the demigoddess of Death and Magic, who fairly sorted each soul brought to her into its honest place.
Finally, beneath the ground of the planet of Morania, there sat Hell, from with the last demigod oversaw the souls of the damned, those who had gone against the Architect’s wishes and done evil deeds.
This continued for years, peacefully, until each of the demigods themselves went against the Architect’s Will. Creating their own creatures in their own images, the Architect cast them aside and left, never to return.
Now the world works as a clock, ticking along, self sustaining. The demigod of Hell, full of avarice and greed, seeks to gain control of the other spheres of Morania. His evil grasp has been thwarted before, in past wars, but the forces of the other demigods are weak in comparison to the armies of demons he has at his disposal. We start our story with one such weak creature, who will prove in time to not be quite as weak as he seems.

chapter 1
The patter of feet carried across the hillside, mingling with the cries of birds and animals in the nearby jungle foliage. The stone steps helped carry the pitter patter as a young boy charged up the hill, full of energy, giggling slightly to himself. He had climbed these steps a thousand times before.
After all, at the top was his home: The aged church stood against its wild surroundings, though the faintest hints of ivy creeping up its sides gave hint that it was slowly being re-taken by the jungle. The steps reached the patio, which reached the door, which the young boy opened in a huff.
“Dad, I’m home!” the young boy, out of breath, stood by the open door. His father, an ancient looking man, looked over from his place by the fire, a smile on his cracked face.
The boy leaped over, and sat down next to his dad. At first glance, you wouldn’t assume the two were related. This was mostly do to the fact that they were of different species: The old man was a human, pale and blond haired, while his son was very much not a human, but a young ferret boy; he stood on two legs like his father, but was one of the beastmen who inhabited the island of Midlin.
“Ah Lore,” his father laughed, “Slow down! You can’t always charge through life!” He ruffled the young boy’s fur, “How was school today?”
Lore’s fur, which stayed frizzled where his father had touched it, was a speckled brown with white stripes reaching up onto his muzzle and black fur covering his hands and his bare feet.
“Not too bad,” he said, wiping his nose, his voice high pitched in contrast to his father’s, “Jeb and Rinlay were chasing me again today.”
“Oh really?” His father got up and walked other to a counter, “What happened?”
“I ran away again.” Lore stared at the open fire, “I can’t fight those bullies one on one. I don’t even know if I’d want to, if I could. I’m not much of a fighter.”
“Ah, but Meister Lorris told me himself that you’re doing wonders in your magical study classes.” He walked back over with a bag of gold, “Specifically with light magic, am I right?”
“Well,” Lore balanced on his behind, grabbing his legs, “I do kind of have a good tutor.” He grinned up at his dad, then jumped onto his feet, “Do you have something for me?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” The bag was dropped into Lore’s hands, “Can you go into town and see if Jonas has any more of that amazing bread left for sale? I have a bit of a craving tonight.”
“Sure thing, dad!” Lore charged out the door, and his father’s words just barely reached him on the winds.
“Just be careful! I love you!”
Lore ducked his head back in, “love you too!” before he ran back out and his bare feet pattered against the stone steps again.
The winding stone steps lay in front of him; The townsfolk called it the Million Staircase, but Lore had counted. There were only about a thousand. His dad, Father Jorain, liked life on the outskirts of town, and for the most part, Lore did as well. It was quiet.
Quiet, of course, in terms of civilization life. The jungle surrounded them constantly, its chattering animals a quiet background noise to their every day lives. Lore could see the town on the horizon, at the end of the steps, peeking out of the jungle. The coastline sparkled just beyond the city’s reaches, shining the rays of the sun back into his face.
Lore raised a furry hand up and stared into the sky as he continued downhill; there was the sun alright, bright as ever, but it was starting to set in the sky, so he could again see the moon, same as it ever was. His people, the beastmen, were deeply connected to the moon for religious reasons. His father had never taught his son about the religion of the beastmen, but Lore had caught wind of the stories just the same from living near a city full of them, the beastman capital of the world, Bralant.
The streets raced up to meet Lore, and he finally had to slow down to avoid slamming head first into a building. Still going a little too fast, he danced around town, heading straight for Jonas’ bakery.
Lore’s mind was still on the moon, so he didn’t notice two figures stand in front of him until he was right on top of them. He skidded to a halt, and found himself staring at the grinning faces of Jeb and Rinlay.
Jeb, a dog, looked comical when he grinned. His drooping jowls picked up ever so slightly, but not enough to make him look presentable, and you could barely tell Rinlay was grinning through his chicken beak. “Hey kid,” Jeb said, poking Lore in the stomach, “Where do you think you’re going?”
Lore looked back and forth, trying to find a way out. “Oh, you know,” his voice quivered, “Just going to pick up some food.”
Jeb’s eyes fell onto the sack of clinking coins in Lore’s paws. “Oh? Did your freak of a dad give you some allowance?” He laughed, and the rancid breath wafted over Lore, nearly making him vomit, “Mind if I take it?”
“Well yes, I mind that very much,” Lore said, right before ducking to avoid Jeb’s freakishly large hands. He bolted, running between them and down the street.
“Get back here you pathetic coward!” Lore ignored their shouts, but could hear shouts of other people as he ran smoothly past them. He looked back to see his bullies plowing through those he had just avoided as they gave chase.
Lore dove into an alleyway, looking back to see Jeb and Rinlay grabbed by a giant Walrus in metal armor. The young ferret stuck his head out of the alley to watch.
An otter, wearing an incredibly rich looking silk suit, stood up from a pile of mud on the side of the street he had just been unceremoniously shoved into. He grabbed his felt hat off the ground, now crumpled, and slammed it onto his head, walking over to the boys, “Do you have any idea of who I am?” He seethed at them, “I will make sure neither of you see the light of day. Boris!” He turned to the brute, who stood at attention, “You keep a hold of them. I’m going to go find out where that rat ran off to. No one makes a mockery of me!” He turned to where Lore could see him clearly, and Lore quickly ducked back into the alleyway.
Lore’s teeth were chattering; that was one of the Patricians, the rich ruling merchants of the city. His eyes darted around, before he bolted out the other side of the alleyway. He couldn’t stay here. His father would help, he would understand. Tears came to Lore’s eyes as he charged up the Million Staircase to his home. He hadn’t meant to get anyone hurt.
He slammed into the door, bursting it open, “Dad!” he cried out, before stopping dead still.
His father’s head lay on the ground, next to the family sword, and his lifeless corpse was held suspended in the air by a man. The corpse fell to the floor as the man dropped it. The dark figure turned to Lore, and grinned, his shark-like teeth glistening in the firelight, a cigar smoldering between them.
“Sup?” The demon asked, head tilted slightly, a grin illuminated by firelight.

This is funny, cause looking at it, it barely looks like anything. This is five pages worth of text in Word.

I like bears.

Sun, 2016-09-18 15:14
Udelude's picture

Sadly the book I'm writing is in Portuguese A sad 'frowny' And translating it would take time. I'll just finish writing it and hire a translator when it's published

Sat, 2015-08-15 15:02
Udelude's picture


Sun, 2015-08-16 04:18
Touhoufanatic's picture

i'd post some of my stuff im working on, but the average size of my chapters for it is 2k - 4k words in size.
edit: to hell with it i will post mine anyway, but first I'll give feedback, because there's nothing worse to an author than a lack of feedback!

this is a really interesting start to a story. it had good setup that explains the beginning without getting too horribly into the details, but keeps the reader interested. i particularly liked the driver at the start as he gives a different view to what is read later.

one thing though, the acolytes, what kind of garb do they were? i ask because even in the catholic church different 'wings' of it are garbed differently, and the garb could say things about their religion as well that could help with world building. (though obviously you could be saving such descriptions for a later time.)

it's a really nice read, and i have to say, if i read that as the intro to a full book, you'd have my attention very quickly.

this has some really powerful descriptions to it. i can feel the environment that you've described and would love to go there! having an intelligent and naive kid is a fun thing i think as you can watch him grow from the hardships of life, and hope it does not change him for the worse.

I'm trying to imagine what lore looks like as a ferret person, but I'm having an odd amount of trouble, don't know why.

this is a really interesting idea though!

if i read it slowly and imagine it being spoken with a low voice, it sounds like a movie advertisement, and it sounds like a really fun fantasy adventure, something we need more of honestly. an say much more, but i like the sound of it alot!

Okay then, now mine!


On a dark street corner, under a dim flickering streetlight stood a boy and a girl, the cold wind blowing against them harshly.
“John, where is he?” the girl asked quietly as she pushed up to the boy for warmth from the cold night. Her short dirty blonde hair swayed in the wind, covering her light blue eyes.
“I don’t know, Maria.” John replied in a worried tone as he turned up the collar of his jacket pushing his brown hair up over it. “I still wonder why he chose to meet us here of all places, and why he’s late.”
“Yeah, it’s not like Rick to be late. He’s always on time, if not early!” Maria commented angrily.
“What I want to know is why every light on this street is out!” John said as he pointed down the black unlit streets around them as the light above them flickered. “Except this one that is.” He added quickly.
“You should not have come.”
“Huh? Who’s there? Show yourself!” yelled John as he stepped in front of Maria defensively in response to the unseen voice.
“Oh come on. You know me.” The voice’s owner said as he stepped out into the light of the streetlamp. He was between John and Maria in height and looked around their age, in his early twenties. He wore what looked to be black leather pants with a matching black leather jacket over a bright yellow shirt. His spiked blonde hair almost lit up as he looked up to the two of them, illuminating his face to them.
“Rick!” screamed Maria in shock as she pushed away from John and embraced him in a forced hug.
“You’re late!” John said sarcastically as Maria let go of Rick and stepped back away from him.
“I know, and I’m sorry.” Rick said while keeping his gaze pointed away from the John and Maria. “But you have to go.”
“Pardon?” John said as he stared in disbelief at his friend. “We came here to see you after you texted us, and have been waiting here in the cold for an hour, Rick!”
“Yeah, we’ve been worried since you disappeared. You’ve been gone for so long you’ve been kicked out of your university courses.” proclaimed Maria. “Where have you been?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you that. “Rick whispered as he finally looked them both in the eyes. “You need to get out of here.
“WHY!” yelled both Maria and John simultaneously as they stepped toward Rick.
“I, I can’t tell you that.” Rick said as he took a step backwards.
“Why not, Rick?” John asked as he stepped closer to Rick. “We’ve known each other for ages and have never kept a secret from the other. Why start now?”
“Because it’s to protect you! Both of you!” Rick said loudly, causing both John and Maria to step back in shock.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m telling you this for your own good. I asked you guys here to say goodbye. You know I’m alive and that’s all I can give you. You’ll never see me again and you have to forget about me, okay!”
“The hell with that! What have you gotten yourself into, Rick?” John demanded causing Rick to flinch slightly.
“Look, just get out of here and forget about me, okay? You need to, - Do you hear something?”
“What? All I hear is your bullshit, man!”
“No, I mean like an engine or a… Get down!” Rick yelled as he leapt forward and with both arms caught John and Maria pushing them to the hard sidewalk as an explosion happened right where Rick had been standing, showering them with bits of cement and asphalt.
John looked up from the ground as Rick pulled himself up. “Holy- was that a grenade or something?”
“Rocket.” Rick stated as he pulled both John and Maria up off the sidewalk and began pulling them behind him. “This way, we need to get out of here!”
“And go where!” Maria asked as she tried to keep up with Rick’s ridiculous running speed.
“I know a place, a warehouse by the docks. Now hurry up!” Rick yelled as he forcibly led his two friends through the dark streets.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Maria said in shock as Rick opened the door to what looked to be a janitorial closet in the warehouse he had broken into moments before.
“No I’m not. Both of you get in and stay quiet!” Rick said as he turned away from the door.
“And then what, huh? What are you going to do while we hide like this, Rick? What?” John demanded.
Rick turned his head to look at the two of them as he pulled out a small pistol out of his jacket. “It’s simple. I give you time to survive, keep you from sharing my fate, and lead what is coming away from here!”
Maria stood up and pushed John out of her way as she opened her mouth to yell, but was interrupted as the roof above them exploded sending pieces of wood and metal onto the floor all around them.
From the hole in the roof dropped a mechanical thing that looked like a stylized medieval knight’s armour that instead of legs had a jet coming from under a skirt of chainmail. It brandished a large sword at the three of them and held what looked like an arm mounted rocket launcher. The machine looked at them emotionlessly for many moments before Rick leapt to the side, away from Maria and John, and began firing off shots at it to no avail.
The hovering knight turned and flew toward him, blade raised, and swung down hard at him, missing by a mere hair as Rick dropped to the side to get out of the blades way.
“Run, I’ll hold it off!” Rick yelled as he fired off another shot at the knight, the shot merely bouncing off its plate armour.
“But Rick, we can’t just-,” Maria started before John put his hand on her shoulder.
“Let’s trust him for now. Let’s go!” John said as he forcibly pulled Maria away from Rick and the knight and outside of the building.
“But we can’t just leave him!” Maria whined as they ran.
“You’re right. Once we’re far enough, we’ll double back and watch from a distance. If he needs our help, we’ll rush in and give it!”
Maria looked at John and nodded and within moments they stood by a broken window to the warehouse they had just left.
Rick had thrown aside his jacket and pistol and now held what looks to be glowing yellow balls of energy in his hands. As the knight once more lunged toward him he smirked and released them towards the knight. “Now get a load of this!”
The knight took the full force of the two lightning bolts that leapt from Rick’s hands and slammed into the far wall with a thud, and then to the ground with another. Rick panted heavily as he stared at the knight, making sure it stayed there, then suddenly leapt to the side as the knight’s arm mounted rocket launcher abruptly went off, sending the rocket toward the wall opposite it.
The wall fell to pieces and from under the noise Rick could hear two separate screams, causing him to scramble to his feet in terror at the thought of what happened. Had John and Maria stayed and been watching from outside?
Rick inched toward the rubble and watched as the hovering knight looked at him with its cold lifeless mechanical eyes as it got up, it slowly raising its blade to strike the closer he got to the rubble.
As he reached the rubble the knight raised its blade, its engine howling just before a cascade of fire erupted from its side, covering it completely until it was nothing but a pile of sparking molten slag.
“You are a fool, Rick Jeriah!” came the extremely loud and irate voice of the woman who stepped into the warehouse. The woman was thin with long straight black hair, and wore only a small low cut nightgown the same deep red as the flames covering her bare arms. She stood there for many moments, as if letting Rick take in her image before elegantly walking up to him and looking at the pile of slag before her.
“That doesn’t matter now! My friends, they’re -“, Rick stopped as the woman placed her hand on his shoulder, and threw him backwards into a metal support beam with a heavy crack.
Before Rick could even get up the woman had walked over and slapped him across the face with a flame covered hand. “I believe I had told you to speak with your old friends and family to keep them out of our hair, not to get them caught up in it!” The woman scolded him.
“I did that, but then this bloody Hornet came out of nowhere and attacked us!” Rick explained as he got up and pointed to what was left of the machine, ignoring the obvious burn on his cheek.
“Then explain why there are two barely alive people under all that rubble, hmm?” the woman said, obviously both mocking him and scolding him while doing so. “If you had told then to go elsewhere instead of bringing them with you we could have avoided this little problem, but now they’re in the same boat as you!”
Ricks face, even the burnt cheek, paled instantly. “How- how do you know that? They couldn’t. . . . Not already!”
“What did you expect would happen when you so boldly tried to fry the Hornets circuitry, hmm? And did you not recall what I had told you?”
“. . . yes, Hornets have strong electrical resistance. But-“
“Ah, ah, ah, no buts. We must deal with this problem, and your little friends will be taken back with us.”
“But they’re innocent!” Rick screamed.
The woman looked at him and scowled. “Not anymore they aren’t, you made sure of that. Now come along Rick, there is much to do and I’m sure Vlad will keep you well . . . occupied.”
Rick’s head hung low as he walked over and began clearing away the rubble. “Yes, Mistress Diana.”


for those that are interested, i write fanfiction :

Sun, 2015-08-16 11:25
Che Fantasia
Che Fantasia's picture

What I have here is part of a prologue I'm writing for some characters I will probably use for the Battle Boards.



I warned him. I warned him so many times. And still, he didn't listen, his body wouldn't respond. He wasn't himself, he was sort of... possessed. And I couldn't do anything about it. Even if I tried my hardest. I rewinded, I rewinded so many times. Trying to be faster, trying to get there in time. Failing, falling. But every time I arrived, there he was. Laying on the ground, covered in blood, both eyes closed, and a mysterious man walking away, like nothing happened. But I knew that man, I could have sworn it. I knew who he was, I could have killed him. But every time I stopped there, paralyzed from that image that I saw thousands and thousands of times. And every time tears came falling on my cheeks, and every time, I pressed that button, and there I was, at the bar, with the mysterious man sitting beside me, with that grin on his face. It was a race, but every time I lost, no matter how much I tried to beat him at it, he would have been faster every time. But I didn't want to give up, I never gave up. I had infinite tries, I thought to myself, but every time I had one more scratch, and I felt weaker, every time, until I almost couldn't walk, but I still didn't want to give up. I sat down, besides him. I called him, I called him so many times. He opened an eye, like always, filled with red. And every time his words were the same. "Kill him". But I couldn't. I knew who he was, it would have been too hard for him to understand that our own mentor killed him. And so I pressed that button, crying, and I tried, I tried until I fell in the deep black waters, trying to jump the gap between the bridges of Fortune and Despair. And it was then I understood that I couldn't do it anymore. I knew that I would have pressed that button for the last time. But this time, it would have been different.



I was finally free, I thought to myself that day. It was my final fight, I thought. And I wanted it to be the last, I was so desperate that I really thought that. I thought to myself that It was the last time that I would have been forced to spill blood to entertain those who of fighting knew nothing, those who knew nothing of death, of desperation. I thought to myself that I didn't want to pick up those swords ever again. I thought that I came too far to give up. And the thought of freedom came to my head once again, even if I knew it was false, even if I knew that nothing would have been better, it would have been worse, and I knew I wouldn't be free, even if I got out of that goddamn Arena, and I knew they would have wanted me to fight more, and thinking about it, I could not deny them that. "Fight or die". These were the words of the guards when they launched you in the middle of the Arena, and you fought, you fought until you died. No one got out of the Arena. It was awarded to those who won five hundred matches. This was my last one, but I knew they weren't going to let me out, I was the main attraction, and that disgusted me. It was like being a lion in a cage, you felt powerless, even when you fought so many times... But when you entered that Arena; full of other warriors, some just like you, the ones that came because they were forced, and now they were driven by madness and desperation; and others young and brave, that came for the reward, and realized that the only trophy was the blood of others on your hands; all you could do was fight. And you were disgusted by them, because you knew that they enjoyed it, they enjoyed the killing, the blood... and when you finally got your hands on them, sword on their gut, you saw their reality shatter in their eyes, and you couldn't do it. But you had to, you had to if you wanted to live. "Fight or die". Many decided to die, thinking that it would have made the audience understand what was going on, what really happened to the fighters, but they were the main attraction, besides Zy. And when they finally realized that their sacrifice was in vain, their head fell on the ground.

I'll read Soulless later, but it seems quite fascinating, I didn't read it all, so I can't give you my thoughts just yet.

Sun, 2015-08-16 12:43
Neottolemo's picture

Comments on what I read. If I read what my brother wrote, I'll just tell him what I think about it in person and not post it here, though.

Deed of the Damned part 1
I loved it. Lord Kesteros really feels like a noble even though he's undead, and I'm really looking forward to hear him talk. Also, I know Touhoufanatic encouraged you to describe the acolytes' garbs, but I'd rather read descriptions which were relevant for the story; in my opinion, you wrote just the right informations to keep the reader reading on.

Crusaders of Morania prologue and chapter 1
The part about the beastmen's connection to the moon? You should either omit it, or explain something about why it's important to them, or explain that Lore doesn't know. Also, describing Lore's fur wasn't really necessary. Other than that, Chapter 1 was okay. Not amazing, but there were some interesting parts in there. Didn't really like the prologue for some reason, it didn't feel like it was telling anything that important to me.

Synopsis of Nelkaria-genesis
The part after the last semicolon pretty much enumerates protagonists without telling us why they're connected to the Karilith and all that, so it could probably be left out, but it sounds like a nice idea with a good premise overall. I'd read it if I could.

Soulles chapter 1
Doesn't start making sense until the last paragraph, but it does start making sense, so I'm okay with that. I suggest you to pay more attention to punctuation, and possibly make sentences shorter to make the story flow better. Although, I suppose that the punctuation thing might be an issue because you might be writing from your phone or something. The descriptions of the characters were kind of awkward, although I couldn't really say why. Mostly the metaphorical sun-litting hair and the description of the woman interrupting a fast-paced scene. Also, is 'strong electrical resistance' a thing? That mostly just made me go 'huh', but it's a pretty minor detail. Overall, you could've probably done better, but it's not that terrible.

Sun, 2016-09-18 15:13
Udelude's picture

@Touhou: Thanks A happy smile That's exactly it The goal was that it sounded like a movie advertisement.
@Neo: Thanks A happy smile Yeah, that part was a bit unnecessary.

Thu, 2015-08-20 23:08
Community Award
Yoshi's picture

Kinda new to writing too...

Title TBD
It was a dark and stormy night in the world of Belkan.

Not like it mattered much anyways to thirty-five year old Wes Everglade, who had his eyes open. In Belkan, you never knew what to expect, but that was part of the fun to Wes. It also meant there weren’t any traps you had to memorize and more importantly, there were no shortage of museums or relics, for that matter. He channeled a small stream of green energy and launched it into the foggy plains in front of him. The night was dark and the moon was out, not staring or glaring, but just there, watching. Wes did not see any of the enemies that could be lurking beneath, but that didn’t matter. He was an animist, which many thought was a fancy name for a druid.

How wrong they are, he said to himself.

He was one with the land. That, he thought, was what made him different from the thousands of adventurers who had tried- and failed, to explore the wilderness at midnight. Perhaps they got lost in the dark. He scoffed inwardly. It should be impossible for anyone to get lost, not when the stars are guiding them.

Wes put up another veil of green light and saw a hulking shadow trying to hide from the light. His neck snapped backwards, hearing something crack. As he saw what it was, he exhaled a sigh of relief. It was just a dead tree, overgrown by moss, another victim of one of the many dangers of Belkan. Wes began to walk away from the towering colossus of a tree, relieved. As he was walking through the fog, he saw a shooting star, a streak of cobalt light in the darkness. He smiled. Shooting stars in Belkan were a sign of good luck. Just as that thought came to his mind, he saw the slightest glimmer of gold in the mist.

Wes approached the glimmer of light, and was astonished to find a gargantuan treasure chest, etched in blue glyphs telling of great treasures. He was about to pry it open and reveal it when it dawned upon him that the chest was rusted shut. Not that it would be a problem for him, or most adventurers for that matter. Unlocking rusted chests was something Belkan explorers learned very early on, as they were a common sight in the generally tumulous weather of the world.

He began to approach opening the rusted chest how anyone would. He took out his staff and lit it, not unlike a torch. The rust began to fade, but the chest still wouldn’t open. It was simply too heavy. Wes then began to carefully, ensuring his staff would not break, insert it into what little opening there was in the chest. Sticking it in further, he cast an impermeability charm on his staff, and began to use the staff like a crowbar. It creaked and groaned, almost as though it was resisting.

I will open it. Open! He began to press harder on the end of the handle, and the chest began to shudder. Perhaps it was his own imagination, but he swore it began to shudder. And with a great shove and push, the force or the magical glyph holding the chest together was broken, and Wes stumbled backwards. That was to be expected though, and the impact didn’t even sting a little. He dusted himself off and prepared to stand up, when something material, a tentacle to be specific, knocked him back painfully.

Damn it! Wes had soon realized that he forgot to consider the possibility of a mimic. And sure enough, as soon as he stood up, there the mimic was.

Perhaps one could have mistaken it for an octopus, had it not been for the fact that there were six tentacles, and the lack of a beak. There was only two mouths filled to the brim with yellowing teeth and six purplish tentacles where the treasure should have been. Both mouths frothed with pearl-white fluid. Judging from the way it’s heads bobbed and swayed, and what the liquid smelled like; a mix of burnt ash and decaying flesh, it was best not to be touched.

Wes’s staff was lodged deep in the convergence of all the appendages, coated in the frothy stuff. Already the magical, once flawless wood was beginning to grow ashen and grey. If it could do that to a mere object of minor magical power, what in the world would it do to a full grown mage like himself?

Hastily, Wes attempted to pull the staff out. But the presence of six tentacles could easily best two hands. He was left with no choice but to snap what little could be salvaged of the staff and take it to the alchemist to repair. Not like anyone could repair it, at least not to it’s original, untainted state.

The staff was absorbed into the pallid, pale violet flesh of the mimic. The mimic must have realized it had the upper hand, as it began to spit out jets of that frothing substance. It’s tentacles began to drag it across the ground clumsily, as it haphazardly began to sniff out it’s own scent on Wes and chase him.

Wes could not afford to be so clumsy, nor could he run forever. Strafing the jets of the bubbling fluid, at a time when the mimic’s mouth was fully open, it’s tentacles ready to strike, it’s head rearing forward in aggression. The mimics might be equal parts deceptive, powerful and hideous, but it would not be able to see this coming. He sent vines from the dead forest and sealed the mimic’s mouth shut, leaving the head and tentacles dangling out. The tentacles fell to the ground with a putrid slurp, and the heads tried to scream out as they began to cough out their life. Eventually, it did not move.

Ensuring he did not touch the now tainted soil, he opened the mimic slowly and began to take notes.

Classify as mimic. Has six tentacles, two heads and shoots streams of white corrupting substance. Attempt to defeat by slamming head shut. Extremely dangerous. Destroys weapons with ease, consumes magic. Appears only at night, as far as concerned.

After taking his brief notes, he severed one of it’s heads and one of it’s tentacles, for the druid’s academy. To them, a complete mastery and knowledge of life and unlife was necessary. He put on a seal, being sure to seal it with the academy’s rune code, so that whatever hazards was within them did not endanger any others. As he was beginning to seal the head, he heard a rumbling thud that put him out of his concentration, and caused him to drop the head, and by extension, it’s jaws on his hand.

“Gahh!” Wes screamed as his hand began to rot. He would be able to fix it later. Hopefully.

The rumbling became louder. Wes restarted the seal, and this time, completed it. Hastily bandaging his rotting hand with a divine bandage, he applied a speed glyph and ran, hoping to outrun whatever was coming for him.

In spite of how fast he ran, the rumbling grew closer. It chased him down. It felt like it surrounded him. Despite himself, Wes began to grow scared. He ran faster and faster. The town gates were in front of him. He would make it. He would make it. He woul-

The pain of rot came back, worse than ever. In his haste, he had completely disregarded the off-chance that the rot might spread to the rest of his body, as he crashed on his legs, unable to move.

The splintering shards of the earth being destroyed came closer and closer. He tried yet again to apply a healing glyph to his feet, and he succeeded, though he was still unable to move. Not like it would matter. He could probably hold off whatever was coming for him.


He began to channel a barrier of vines, and channeled it both below and above the ground. He then grew venomous, thorned roses on the barrier.

The rumbling was no longer just a rumble. It was like a constant roar of full-blown thunder. To a crawling Wes’s horror, the tunneling monster took no time to destroy the vine barrier. It simply fell into it’s endless maw, never to be seen again.

And in fact, in a sudden twist, it would be the fate of Wes. Ready for a terrible creature, he materialized another barrier of vines on the ground, for whatever wurm was coming, so it could not tunnel as easily. He was halfway through the process, and the vines were beginning to grow thorns, when he realized that he was standing on the edge of a cliff.

At first he thought it must have been the delusions from the rot. His theory was soon dismissed however, when the vine went over the ledge. It was obvious that vined runes didn’t walk, and there was no way anything could break through it so easily, and he was positive of it. The
vine wall was broken quickly due to horrible placement, but it seemed that something so large had consumed it. What could possibly be so large?

As Wes began to contemplate his question, he was soon provided with an answer as he realized he was no longer standing on solid ground.

The only thing that could be large enough to consume a fully-charged vine barrier directly without stopping was Belkan itself. The world itself! Of course!

Wes began to fall, along with the rest of the world. Was it truly so angry as to think that it should end the world?

Then he had another revelation.

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. If there’s a new landscape created every morning…

...then there must have been an old landscape destroyed every midnight. Of course, it didn’t discriminate between environment and adventurer, as he realized.

He began to wonder how long he would be falling for. What felt like hours passed as the wind began to grow hotter. He felt like a living fireball, the breath of a dragon. He knew he would have this question answered soon, but when?

Now, he thought, as he felt himself fall in a molten slag, along with the rest of the horizon and landscape, melting in, never to be seen in the same form again.

Perhaps to the landscape, it didn’t matter. It was simply clay to be molded, to be changed. Quite frankly, it was the same for him. He was the building material. He was the clay.

All of a sudden, the notion of being one with the land became so very literal and terrifying, all at the same time.

Italics not showing up A sad 'frowny' It's okay though.
I'd critique, but I'm not so sure I'm good at writing myself Stick out your tongue

December 2017 - R32 - "We are more than just rank and file..."
February 2018 - DDH - "Remember that overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer."

I stand with the specimen.

Thu, 2015-08-20 23:50
Administrator - MSE Add-On Award
WindyDelcarlo's picture

I may post links to my stories later. I've recently began rewriting Volaria (same general story, but hopefully a lot better), so when I get back to my laptop I'll type up my prologue