![1265630650199[1].jpg](https://i.imgur.com/gOBRA37.jpg "1265630650199[1].jpg")
The fortnightly Storythread returns for another week of action packed adventure. Romance, intrigue, death,smut?- we have it all.
If you have /tg/ related stories to post, post them here, and hopefully some kind anon will give you feedback (or at least acknowledge that someone did actually read it, which let's face it is what writefags really want).
If you don't have a story ready then I and other anons will be posting pictures throughout the thread for you to test your writing skills on. This is, more or less, a world-building and character-building exercise: two vital skills for playing roleplaying games. If you don't have any pics to post, you could try posting an idea for a setting or a character, and maybe someone will be willing to write a story using it. It's also an exercise in writing though, where writefags can try out their material and gain inspiration, so if you just want to talk about world-building save it for the world-building threads.
Remember that writefags love to have feedback on their work. Writing takes a long time, especially stories that go over several posts, and it can be really depressing when no one even seems to read it (and the writer won't know you read it unless you leave a comment).
And since writing takes a long time remember to keep the thread bumped. Pics are good, feedback is better.
last week's thread can still be found in the catalogue here if you have any comments or anything about the stories there
>>47820601
And finally, don't forget to check out past stories on our wiki page:
http://1d4chan.org/wiki/Storythread
>>48059536
”Get back here, I’m not done with you yet!” The shrill scream, teetering on the verge of panic, shook Al-Amein awake form his reverie. He looked around and loosened the black robe around his face. He looked at the woman, her hands bloody, a badly made arrow nocked on the string of an ugly bow. Her leather armor had been cut open, the robes underneath torn, her flesh bruised and abused by rough bodies and eager, groping hands. Women, Al-Amein thought as he watched blood dribble down her thigh, make poor soldiers. She had been overpowered without killing a single one of her assailants. Even now, when they were running away, she could not hit them with her crude weapons. Her hands were shaking too bad, her rough sobs shook her body too much for decent aiming and the tears in her eyes blinded her in the bright desert sun. The sounds of killing and dying were finally over with a panicked, horrified yelp of a young boy feeling the air escape from his lungs as a heavy boot crushed his delicate chest.
Three others were dead, their mutilated bodies impaled on spears as a warning not to trespass on the lands of this particular nomad tribe. Their death had been more or less merciful. Al-Amein had been too busy defending his own life to see who killed who, but he was sure the men had been killed in battle. Otherwise they would have screamed a lot more while he was talking as fast as he could, trying his best to convince the nomads he was of the faithful. With little success, he though wryly, as he probed a shattered molar with his tongue. The woman was wailing now, kneeling in her own blood. She should not kneel in this sand, it was filthy and littered with dry leaves, he thought as he wiped it off his own legs. They weren’t very deep into the desert yet, so the sun hadn’t burned it clean.
>>48060202
“Who were they?” Al-Amein turned around and was shocked to see the pale stranger still alive, not a scratch on him. His hands were bloody to the elbow and his horrible cruciform sword dripped crimson, a small piece of curly-haired scalp stuck in its pommel, but his eyes were cool as the soothing lakes of the Cold North and his breathing was slow and easy. Al-Amein’s fear of the man deepened as he looked behind him, at the field of glistening red and yawning white, all those men and women lying on the unforgiving sand, laid open as a sacrifice to the god of killing this man worshipped. He claimed that his god was a god of life, but Al-Amein knew that gods and Shaitans were creatures of deceit and mystery. Al-Amein was sure that he had to get rid of this man before he led the caravan into the ambush his own tribe had set up. He was a danger, something he had not expected.
“A small tribe of nomads sends out their young sons to be tested in battle, Walker on red fields,” Al-Amein said. Every man has a weakness, and to some it is pride and flattery. The Northman looked behind him and then at the massive, hulking Arab. Al-Amein never felt comfortable while under those eyes. They had seen too much death, if one could believe the tales he had heard of the lands in the North and the horrifying wars the people of those lands fought with each other. Al-Amein had seen too much of the world to swallow those tales outright, especially when he had been party himself to several tribal wars, but there was something very unnerving about that man. Something out of place. Those eyes did not belong. They laughed.
>>48060218
“I see. Why did they run away?” Al-Amein shrugged.
“You might have scared them off, Smiling red Ruin.”
“You never get tired of the names, do you? Besides, I doubt that,” the man said as he pulled off the headpiece of the young boy Al-Amein had killed and wiped blood off his hands and sword with it. The boys’ bright green eyes were dull now, the shock and disbelief gone. “I’m that scary.”
“I think-“ Al-Amein started, but swallowed his words. The three survivors turned around and even the woman rose up to her feet. The wind carried a new kind of sound, something that was not just sand and debris flying through the empty heat. Al-Amein felt something very close to religious horror as he joined his shaking hands in a warding gesture before his face. The woman had tilted her head, her pain and mutilated dignity forgotten as she tried to find meaning in the discorded notes on the wind. Al-Amein looked at the Northman who had a slightly curious look on his bland features. His eyes still held those mocking crow’s feet.
“What is that?” The woman muttered through her split lips. Al-Amein noticed that she had forgotten to clean the long stains of disgrace the men had left on her face.
“Burning men,” he whispered quietly. She turned to him, one eyebrow cocked over a rapidly blackening eye. The white was bloodshot and the lids would be swollen shut before sundown.
>>48060236
“Burning men? More raiders?” There was a resigned note in her voice. A horribly amused gleam glittered in the Northman’s eyes at the mention of more raiders. Al-Amein shook his handsome features.
“No. They are creatures of the desert, wanderers of this arid wasteland and demons and shaitans in the lore of the nomads. We will see them soon,” he said, swallowing hard. There seemed to be something dry stuck in his throat.
“Are they a danger to us?” The Northman asked, his longsword resting on his shoulder. He could have just as well asked if they were going to eat chicken or duck for dinner.
“I hope not, Keeper of the red temple. If they are, we are unable to escape, since our mounts are dead. Most likely they will not bother us if we won’t venture too close. Oh, dearest Mother!” Al-Amein sank to his knees as he saw the first one, shaking with fear and disgust.
“Slaves?” The woman muttered as she noted the gleam of burnished metal on the necks of the walking figures.
“Not quite,” Al-Amein said from his kneeling position.
“What are they?” The pale man asked. Al-Amein hated the cool demeanor of this intruder. He did not belong here, not in this hot place full of passion and the joyous struggle of life and death. His fire burned too fierce, for he was of the cold lands. The flame of his life did not belong here.
>>48060249
“They are my people. They are nomad tribes, they are lost caravans. They are-“ He was cut off short but a clatter to his right. The boy he had killed was standing upright, his broken ribs sticking grossly out through his robes. His mouth was stretched in a blissful smile and his eyes glowed with a restless light of their own. Al-Amein rolled nimbly on his feet and dashed to the side.
“Get away from him!” The Northman sprinted swiftly to the massive Arab with that eerie speed he seemed to hold as a private joke that he told to only few, but the woman picked up a notched scimitar and slashed at the walking apparition as hard as she could. The boy had been the first to have her, Al-Amein knew, since it had been a rite to prove his manhood to the tribe. She had clearly not forgotten that. The sword sank into the youngster’s smooth forehead, right above his glowing eyes and plowed halfway through his skull until jamming into the bone right behind his ears. The boy’s head rocked back viciously and a reddish goo trickled around the edges of the blade, but other than that, the blow had no visible effect. He walked right past the stunned woman and a keening cry, like that of a baby, rose from his throat. He walked to the column that seemed to have no end and reached out to the first apparition. The woman, her blonde hair accentuated by her dun robes and the burnished collar around her tanned neck reached out to him, grabbed his hand and then passed him on to the next walker behind her. The boy was passed on the column of collared, chained people in this weird fashion, shaking hands with each one.
“What is this?” The Northman asked as he watched another corpse walk to the long line. Al-Amein shook his head again. A horrible scream drowned his following words.
>>48060261
The disgraced infidel woman was walking towards the column too, raising her arms, as if to reach out to them, and her scream was echoed by the leading figure. She kept on screaming as she was passed on to the next person, blood left by the walking boy staining her hands with fresh, bright red. They could not see her face, but her screams were high, shrill and seemingly unending. Wordless, too.
“I take it this is why you told us to get away from them?”
“Yes, Fire of Life. She is lost to us, one of the Burning Men now. She will join their endless march and become a part of the greater horror or their shambling numbers. We will be seeing more of them; they always travel in massive hordes,” Al-Amein said as he watched more and more dead join the marching line of humanity, their wounds closing and knitting together.
“What kind of magic is this?” The Northman muttered as he watched his handiwork coming undone.
“It is the magic of life, corrupted and twisted into a horrible punishment, O Shattering smile. There are people with clothing and weapons from our oldest tales in these columns, people of foreign lands, men, women and children all together joined in this eternal torment,” Al-Amein said as he spotted another column, this one ridged and thick, mashed together and twisted, slowly making it’s erratic way to them. This column was filled with strained limbs, grasping, outstretched hands, twisted legs flailing in the air and horrified, moaning faces shining momentarily out of the rolling mass of flesh before being covered by the shifting mass of horror rolling towards them like a hellish maggot. There was nothing of the peaceful bliss of the dead boy in this column.
>>48060280
“Some columns end up like that. The magic must have some sort of flaw in it, for nobody could ever compel the undying into punishing themselves in such a way. It always starts at the head of the column, when someone never lets go of the hand of the newest walker,” the Arab answered the curious look of the Northman. “Some of them build massive monuments of themselves, chaining each other into masses of writhing, bleeding but never dying flesh reaching for the merciless sun. Some bury themselves in sand, never to be seen again, except when a Khamseen blows the sand off them. Some gather into enormous globes, rolling back and forth aimlessly in the desert, snapping bones and muffled screams heralding their arrival. Others lash themselves into grotesque imitations of animals or even humans and some walk weird patterns that hurt the eyes and make you bleed from your hair. Looking at their patterned footprints will make you babble in your sleep in foreign languages and see things in shadows at the edge of your vision.”
For once, the Northman looked shaken. He followed the near aimless zig-zag of the second column, then moved his eyes to the horizon.
“God!”
>>48060280
A crown rose above the dunes, a crown made of flesh, bone and gleaming chains of burnished metal. All around it, under and even inside those twisted, malformed spikes of horror, was a gleaming mass of tanned flesh, screaming faces, broken, twisted and malformed limbs, insane gibbering and the occasional hoot of laughter. Al-Amein nodded sadly.
“You can never come back once you are taken into their fold. There is no aim, no motive, no communication between the individual hordes. The never coordinate, never merge even when they crash into each other. Sometimes they might get tangled with each other, but usually those ones separate in a week or two. I’ve never seen so many this far out,” he mused. The Northman’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the crown of suffering travel on its broken legs across the desert floor.
“They never die?”
“Never. There are known men from centuries past in some of the columns wandering the desert,” the Arab whispered as he watched one spike of the crown bend dangerously and then right itself with a collective scream of agony.
“And every year more people are caught,” the Northman muttered, resettling his grip on the sword.
“Yes. And the desert is not limitless”, the Arab said as he watched an insane contraption of tortured flesh, at least a hundred feet high, walk it’s unsteady way towards them on seven screaming legs.
“The desert is not limitless.”
>>48060332
/ fin
>>48060202
>>48060218
>>48060236
>>48060249
>>48060261
>>48060280
>>48060302
>>48060332
very good story, anon.
It reminded me a little of:
https://1d4chan.org/images/8/88/TheThirst.png
although I think this line
> she had forgotten to clean the long stains of disgrace the men had left on her face.
was a bit unnecessary.
>>48061589
>was a bit unnecessary.
That's there kind of on purpose to get an emotional reaction out of the reader. Originally when I wrote this piece, I knew one of the readers would be this fat acceptance feminist cunt, so I wanted to see if I could annoy her a bit.
Needless to say, the woman character, Al-Amein, the scary white man and that line triggered her like no tomorrow. Many laughs were had.
elf soldier fraternizing/flirting with female human civilian
Does this paragraph make sense to you? I'm starting a new novel.
>My story started January 21st, 2013, the week before finals and the week NZ-17 made it to Damaranth. Twenty-nine days later I would be flat on my back, missing half my skull and bleeding to death, but the only thing occupying my attention at the moment was this thing on the back of Peter Willis’s neck. I thought maybe it was a wart, or a really nasty spider bite and I was trying to google it as I waited in line. I shouldn’t have had my phone out, but I was forcibly filled with a morbid curiosity. The press of a few hundred students trying to get out of the snow storm whipped up off of Lake St. Clair had my nose within a foot of the thing and I couldn’t help but look at it. Then he reached his grubby hand back and scratched it.
>>48068758
>Twenty-nine days later I would be flat on my back, missing half my skull and bleeding to death
on a purely medical note I'm not sure you can be missing half your skull and not simply be dead, rather than bleeding to death.
> but the only thing occupying my attention at the moment was this thing on the back of Peter Willis’s neck.
I'd rearrange that as
> but at the moment the only thing occupying my attention was this thing on the back of Peter Willis’s neck.
since you're trying to contrast the different points in time, emphasis should go on the bit signifying the time
>but I was forcibly filled with a morbid curiosity
seems a little awkward phrasing. perhaps 'but I was gripped by a morbid curiosity' would work better.
other than that it seems fine
>>48069171
>on a purely medical note I'm not sure you can be missing half your skull and not simply be dead, rather than bleeding to death.
He's not quite human by that point.
I'll take the other suggestions though. Thanks
For bumping, I'm going to post the rest of what I have
>Black pus squirted out of it like one of the oversized pimples on his face, and nailed me in the face. My mouth had even been hanging open since the cold had frozen my nose shut with snot. I gagged and tried to retch immediately, the taste of bile in across my tongue. My backpack was like a battering ram, forcing people out of my way so I could keel over and try to spit it out of my mouth. I wasn’t very successful at it, just at drawing attention to myself. I had always been the kind of guy that couldn’t ever attract the good kind of attention in high school.
>Hands closed around my shoulders, hauling me to my feet by the straps of my backpack. The rent-a-cop looked me up and down as my stomach sank. I licked my lips and spit on the ground one more time as he noticed my cell phone. I tried to yank it back but his hand closed around my upper arm first. My two-hundred-dollar smart phone was pried out of my fingers and I never saw the thing again. “Cell phones are prohibited on school grounds,” the twenty-something prick said as he wagged it in front of my face. “This can be returned to your parents only. Now, back of the line,” he said, giving me a shove.
>“Oh come the fuck on man. Everyone brings their cell phones in,” I said, sweeping my hand across the three lines of students queuing through the metal detectors. Peter Willis was obviously caressing the outline of his own cell-phone in his pocket. I made eye contact with him and groaned. His eyes were blood red from smoking dope and I was the one getting nailed. Later that day he’d be expelled for stabbing Mark Wozniak through the hand with a pen. Whether that was a symptom, or just due comeuppance I will never know.
>>48069209
seems fine. (and you didn't really need to post it as greentext)
what's the novel about?
>>48069437
I greentexted it to set it apart from the message of the post. I can refrain from doing it in the future.
Novel is halfway between Fight Club and Highschool of the Dead. Going to play up various themes about memory, death and immortality through them. An infection breaks out, similar to a zombie scenario. MC becomes a symbiotic carrier of the disease, getting the physical benefits (near immortality) whithout going insane. But everytime it heals him it skews his memories and twists his perceptions just a bit more, pushing him down the slope to madness without realizing it. His friends that hes been trying to protect realize it though, bringing out a lot of teenage angst.
Its meant to be YA trash essentially.
>What ails thee, brother?
Dost thou really wish to know?
>Most certainly! Thou art unwell, and thus need guidance.
Fine. Allow me to explain.
Dost thou remember that one castle by the north Alancia? The one supposedly shackled by a witch, who wished to control the entire duchy?
Well, our captain assigned me to investigate this place alone. He said that everyone else was on assignment, but I could tell he was withholding some element about this mission. However, our code demands loyalty to our superiors, and thus I was called northward.
Wouldst thou believe it, the spire, 'twas completely unguarded! I stepped in there with firm hand and glorious purpose to protect the duchy of Alancia! The spire's interior was equally unguarded, and 'twere it not for the prior information, I would have thought it forsaken by our Lord!
But that was where things, they took a different wind! Suddenly, I found myself beset on all sides by undead fiends, possessing the desecrated corpses of what must have been the guardians of this spire! Of course, being a paragon of mankind and master of martial skill, they were no match for me, but believe me when I say that the match was surprisingly harrowing. 'Twas like the entire spire had just been roused by my presence!
So I had slain the last of the foul revenants when I reached the top of this spire, and there was this princess there with the corpse of what seemed to be the witch on the floor. "Forsooth!" I said, "Never have I seen a woman with such steel in her to kill her own captor!" The princess collapsed into mine arms, sobbing about the horrible things the witch was planning to do, and how she was planning to supplant the princess and take over the duchy. Thou would think this would be the end, right?
>Most certainly!
Well, thou are wrong!
As I was reassuring the princess, she then climbs her way around my back and began whispering into my ear. She was asking me to become her consort, to help her conquer the duchy from her parents!
It was - well, 'twas treason!
So I then asked what foul sorceries compelled her when I then noticed her face hat turned from that of a modest maiden to that of a long-eared witch! The experience had shaken me to my core, this was all a ruse!
>But how did thou escape?
Allow me to explain.
So the witch was all up in my visor, promising me power and sexual favors and asking me to join her, but I was reciting my vows. She was saying that nobody would save me and I'd fall to her, but dost thou know what I did?
>And what was that?
I just said "None of that, you witch!" and punched her in the face! I swear to you, the face she had was priceless for a heathen! She began shouting about how I should not have rejected her, but as she was about to rip my helmet off, I punched her again!
So then the heathen was like "Why wouldst thou do such a terrible thing to a maiden?" and all I had for a witty one-liner was "Deus Vult!" again and I cut her heretical witch head off!
>Well that sounds like a splendid rout, brother! But that does not explain your problem.
Let me get to that!
So there I was, now with a witch's head in tow. I looked around the room to see that there was a second door open. And that was when I was floored by this other...homely-looking person. They were heaping praise upon me, as I was their hero and layering sloppy affections on me. Imagine the look on my face when it was revealed that this was the princess!
>Dear Lord! That must have been a terrible shock!
I know. I am thinking I should probably take vows of chastity, if only to prevent this from happening again.
>Cheer up, brother! This cannot be something that happens more than once, can it?
....Have I told you about the time I nearly married an Orc princess?
>Oh dear...
>>48083585
Gotcha cover, bro.
Dark Eldar utilizing a child molester van to catch human kiddies.
>>48085747
>>48085760
>>48085783
>>48059536
So opening lines. How the fuck do you guys do them?
>>48085830
I type out "So there was this man [x] and he had a big fucking problem. You see" and then I get on with it
Goodnight, beautiful writefags.
>>48059536
>"You" are Tuck. A young svirfneblin.
"HOLD!" Bellows the towering half-orc commander, arms outstretched, palms facing back towards his comrades, bracing for a charge as his team of humans, dwarves, elves, halflings, half-elves, gnomes, and a dragonborn tense in their line, bending at the knees: split stance.
"HOOOLD!"
You take a few steps forward, tagging onto the line's right wing, and glance across to ensure that you are directly in line with your troupe. The line's average shoulder height sinks closer to the patchy, damp turf; ready for take-off.
"HOLD!"
You catch the eye of your inside-man, a scruffy, tattooed halfling. He looks at you, giving an excited grin like a beastly child who hasn't had play-time in weeks, about to rough up some cunts. *Eyebrow Flash* You return by twisting your deep-gnomish features into the ol' eyes-squinting, closed-mouth, pouted smile, chin-up, eyebrow-flashing, ~fuckyeahmuh'fucka'~ kinda look. Your face drops back to a relaxed state as he turns back round to watch a tall elf, one of the local rangers, step, hop, and skip out in front of the line, wearing just a tunic, shorts, and boots with sprinters spikes on the sole. He takes one final bound, leaving one leg raised behind him, he drops an oval ball and uses dat elven accuracy to kick it right in the face of the opposition.
"STEAL!!"
The game begins.
>D&D rugby: what PCs and NPCs do in their spare time
>>48061589
I feel like it was useful. The reader is constantly reminded she was raped until it's now a facet of that character, but then the horror of what they are seeing makes her completely forget it.
Also triggering tumblards is always a worthy cause.
I enjoyed the story. Loved the constant names for the Irish bastard.
>>48093979
I don't see horror when I look at this.
>>48094053It's for convenient cataloging
And that's what I heard space zombies are called.
>>48093979
It's Major Tom, and he went home
an elf girlfriend trying to impress her human lover/ boyfriend by wearing human clothes.
Still waiting for anyone willing to make a story out of this: Setting with modern-industrial human civilization sending their military to fantasy magic lands with such hi jinks like this.
Someone else did made something from this but was not able to continue, so still waiting for anyone who'd make a story of this.
>>48100956
The girl meant well, but goddamn she did not know when to shut up. Sgt. Halsey had no idea how old the girl was, he never could when it came to Fey. But he figured she had to be a kid with how persistent she talked and talked and talked about shit the Sergeant did not care about. He volunteered for the Colonial Expeditionary Legion for space adventures and for the honor of serving his Government. Not get his ear talked off by a sugarplum fairy.
"Alright. ALRIGHT! I'll get my team to look at the goblin problem," Halsey growled, eyes still on the horizon.
"YAAAAAAAY~!" The Fairy struck out her arms in cheer, darting to the Legionary's face and gave it a hug. Halsey brushed her off a with a finger and turned to face her. Just like something out of a kiddie book, the girl looked the part of a fairy tale. Glittering wings, sparkly skin, and glimmering eyes. If Halsey was into cutesy things, he swore could have gotten diabetes by just looking at her.
"Give me five minutes and I'll have my team ready, just wait for us at the town gate."
The girl's grin grew wide and opened her mouth, Halsey put a finger to her mouth, preemptively shutting her up. "Five minutes. Meet at the gate. Understand?"
She nodded her head and fluttered away, still cheery as ever. When she flew out of ear shot, Halsey groused and cursed like his mother during football season.
"Goddamn sugarplum... I am not getting paid enough for this..."
>>48102691
High Command's latest grand strategy for the Legion called for total cooperation with the local populace, and a fair bit of discretion for officers and their NCOs in carrying out tasks on behalf of the indigenous. That meant Halsey could take care of this "goblin problem" and not have to bother the Captain about it until after he finished up. All he had to bother now was his squad, he stomped over to the barracks and shouted as he went in.
"Jonesy, get your ass outside!"
He startled a handful of men huddled around a cot, playing cards and chips tossed around as men jumped to attention and saluted to Halsey. He saluted lazily back, though he saw that none of them were the man he wanted. "Where the hell is Cpl. Jonesy?" One of the soldiers pointed to a mountain of blankets and coats piled unto a cot. Again, Halsey groused. He stomped over to the cot, knelt down and grabbed its legs.
"Get up, Jonesy."
He picked up the cot and gave it a lift, and abruptly let it fall from his hands. It landed with a noisy metallic clang, enough to rouse the man underneath. "Mothefucker, I'll fucking kill...!" A lanky man erupted from underneath the pile, brandishing a canteen like a knight would brandish a morning star. His rage dropped when he caught sight of Halsey, and his expression drooped to that of bored indifference.
"Oh, hey Sarge," The man grunted, popping open the canteen's cap and knocked it back. It reeked vaguely of watered down moonshine.
"Hey yourself, get up and get your kit. We're gonna play detective today."
Jonesy shrugged, knocked back again. "What's the situation?" He asked.
"A hamlet east of here has a thief problem, the girl who called it in thinks its goblins."
"Ain't that the town guards' problem?"
Halsey shook his head. "The hamlet just falls outside their jurisdiction. Its our problem now."
>>48102458
"We come for an escaped convict of ours who goes under the name of "Ted Cruz" he is currently disguising himself as human politician auch as yourself. He may look human, but he is not."
Human President/Politician(s): "Wait really? Wow, I knew something was off with Ted 'Zodiac Killer' Cruz."
>>48100956
Czechfag here. I gave it an honest try, wrote a few pages, but then found myself lost. Can't think of any actual plot line that I would be even remotely satisfied with or interested in exploring. Plus, as I've said, not much of a comedy writer to begin with. Not sure if I should post the incomplete text or not: it's basically an interoduction.
Close to falling off the cliff into the realms of archive again...
>>48069171
>on a purely medical note I'm not sure you can be missing half your skull and not simply be dead
Didn't that happen to Jackie Chan? He's got a plastic plug in his skull because of it.
>>48114492
his skull was badly fractured, but that's not the same as half of it being completely missing
>>48114609
>badly fractured
There is definitely a hole in his head, one that needed plugging. Saying that, I felt the "half my skull missing" was hyperbole on the writer's part anyway.
>>48102691
>>48103024
>>48103461
Hey, you actually wrote something for >>48100956, thanks. Is that all? If not, you gonna complete it?
>>48107315
Really, you did? What were the pages you wrote for >>48100956 ? I think I missed those.
>>48117426
>Really, you did? What were the pages you wrote for >>48100956 ? I think I missed those.
sry, I have a big backlog of the smaller stuff
>>48117426
Maybe. My muse has been fickle with me though, I'll try continuing on later.
How do I write a cover letter that doesn't sound like garbage?
I can't just say "It's a hard sci-fi romance between a man and his cute AI replacement that can't decide if the story is more interested in their journey through time or their journey to be with each other so it does both as they fight against all of society."
I need to say that... but better, and more professional
Still working on this.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1fC1TACtbBVL9ko-KOQTrJdxB_s6sIVSCVypU_5C1JL4
I feel like my beginning is pretty terrible. Any ideas on how to improve it?
>>48117426
>Really, you did? What were the pages you wrote for >>48100956 ? I think I missed those.
I never posted them... If you want, here they are.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1kO6teQwBr77n7hXmsmu-xGN2rSy8weZIHdw_qZzQtmw/edit?usp=sharing
It's not worth much though, I'm afraid.
>>48109906
It is something that should not be.
After all, the spirit of the forest is not supposed to fall in love with a mortal.
It felt just like yesterday that a boy was abandoned in the forest. As a son of men, a son of hunters, he had no business here. But when it became clear that nobody was coming to help him, the forest began to intervene. These acts were small at first; make some berries grow a little faster, put some prey to deter a fierce predator, occasionally rain, but never too hard that the boy couldn't find cover in the trees.
To something as timeless as the forest, it felt strange to grow attached to one thing above the others. Dedicating all that attention to one single thing when normally it would bother with the welfare of thousands gave off a sensation of desire. Eventually that desire mounted enough to form a body - shaped like a mother - to finally interact with him. It was difficult at first, neither of them exactly knew how to act normally. The forest knew nothing of human behavior, and the boy had only faint memories of human culture. Eventually, he learned to grow fond of the forest's spirit and they became friends. She would teach him everything she knew about the forest and the animals that lived in it.
Eventually, that boy grew up to become a man. It felt scary for the forest; he looked just like the hunters and eventually she was proved correct - the hunters did recognize him as their own. From that moment forward, the boy the forest knew left her to live with his people. Though it meant she no longer had to trouble herself to protect him, she still felt like she was being abandoned.
Even for a forest, time felt slow. She spent each day thinking about the boy who used to be by her side, and when he did come she could only think about prolonging the time they spent together. Though she had no idea of the expression, he knew that it was love.
>>48124348
Surprisingly, he had also grown to love with that forest, the only motherly figure he knew and the one home he had. Despite knowing the affection and appreciation of every animal that had ever lived here, it swept the forest off her feet nonetheless. For one instant, one blink of an eye, the forest gave herself to this one boy, her child and her dearest person, the only person she desired. It was the happiest moment she ever felt.
It could only last so long, however.
After all, she would always live as long as the forest did, while he was but a man with all the frailties of a man. One instant, he was a child, another he was grown up. In but a minute, he was gone altogether, off to help some friends he made.
She waited for him, even if it took minutes, even hours, but she understood that she had crossed a line. In falling in love with this one person, she could no longer think about the forest.
She only learned that he had passed away when a sword was planted at the base of a tree - she knew immediately which tree it was and what it meant. It was the first place she found him, and now it would be the last place she would see him. She cried when she realized this. She cursed him for doing something so foolish. She begged him to just come out, thinking it was just a trick. She lamented not saying so much more about her feelings, doing things lovers would do. All that remained now was this sword, a sword that supposedly had his spirit.
Eventually, this sword's spirit also formed its own body one shaped like its wielder. On that day, the boy and his forest reunited, and forever they would stay here, never to part again.
>one month turn around on storys under 1k words
>Im actually still waiting
Gaaaaaaaah
While I walked through a wakeful night, sleepless, ceaseless stirrings running through my mind, I wandered through the winding hallways without light. Not even faint and flick'ring candlelight. Just the knowledge of my ancient home in place of sight. Down the staircase, through the hall, and past the cellar door until I came upon that place - my heart began to race.
The library door.
Ever silent under its carved-stone arch. Petrified roses twining round each other framed age-twisted oak, kept whole by wrought-iron strips that bound the portal tightly to its task. Century after century it had stood, that library door, and would it seemed for centuries more.
The library had always been forbidden to me. Not once had I swung back that oak, not once had I stepped through that arch. Not once had I so much as seen the books that slept therein.
Yet if I could not sleep then why should they? The house was mine now, and the books in turn. Not my grandfather's. Not my father's. Unkind fate had seen to it that they were no longer masters of this house - and nor was I the boy that they had once warned away. Had they intended their prohibitions to stand they would have left instructions, or even destroyed the books themselves.
Though the suddenness of my father's death had left him little time for final acts. Even the funeral, these few months past, I had had to plan myself. If there were last words left unsaid, cruel circumstance had seen to it that I would never know. No matter how long I wandered through the unlit halls and wondered on what words my father might have offered me.
I would never know, and all I'd find by walking would be shadow after shadow.
On impulse I turned the handle. Unlocked - and at the lightest touch the library door opened, as if t'were oiled every day. Strange, for before my father's death I had always known it to be locked at all times. I waited but a moment, then, dismissing all apprehensions, I stepped inside.
>>48132824
It took my eyes a second to adjust - not quite as dark in here as in the hallway, since the windows allowed for a trace of moonlight. I saw row upon row of shelves, stacked with books from floor to vaulted ceiling. A library, much like any other. I saw no distinguishing features, save that there did not seem to be any slimmer works; no light romances or topical pamphlets. Just very many large, leather-bound books. Though in the gloom of night I could not read the titles of the tomes. I cast around for a candle or an oil-lamp, but could find nothing. Apparently these books were only meant to be read by the light of day.
As I walked along the stacks, my glance slid over the slumbering serried ranks of books arrayed along the shelves. An interesting inheritance - perhaps. Ah, if there were only light to read them, for as it was I could not tell whether I stood before a grand collection of philosophy and art, or merely treatises on the trifles of estate management and etiquette. But then my gaze caught on something - some sigil upon the spine of one the volumes, which by some chance I could discern despite the darkness. I looked again, and realised that I could just make out some lettering, faintly visible. Even though the other books remained obscured to me.
I reached out and plucked the volume from the shelf, and took it to a reading table. Laying it down, I saw that the cover bore the same symbol as the spine, in larger form - a simple circle, it seemed, with a dot in the centre. I could not see what about it might have drawn my eye. I ran my fingers over the cover, and to me the interior of the circle seemed curiously textured, quite different to the leather of the binding. Nothing else was forthcoming, however. I squinted, trying to read the title, and after a moment I found that I could make out the words:
The Book Of The Third Eye
>>48132850
A curious name. Perhaps the circle and the point within was a representation of an eye - albeit in its simplest form. With nothing further to be learned from the cover, I opened the book. Upon the first page I again found the title, but no description or explanation of the contents. I turned the page again, and saw much densely written text. But unfortunately the smaller print was too much for my eyes to cope with in the light-lacking library, and I was forced to give up on my attempts at reading it.
I closed the book, but I did not return it to the shelf. Instead, resolving that I would return the next night with a lamp, I left it on the reading table. Entering the library without incident had freed me from whatever lingering apprehensions I might have had. By my forebears former injunctions against entry I might have half expected to be struck by lightning upon setting foot in that room, but I found nought but silence and dusty, forgotten volumes.
Perhaps the contents of the books might still surprise me, but I was bolder now and indeed somewhat reckless (for indeed, alone as I was in the world what reason was there to take too much care with my safety?). There was but a single means by which I might make out if the writings long locked away behind that ancient oaken door were worth the prohibition. Only by reading them would I know if they had justly been imprisoned.
In the meantime, though, I decided to retire and see if sleep might yet come to me. I walked back along the light-less hallways, to the grand staircase, where the great windows let in a little more of the moonlight, such as made it through the think clouds. And as I rose up its steps I noticed out the window that the clouds were tinted red. I had thought the morn long distant yet, and indeed the moon was still high in the night sky, yet I distinctly discerned a reddish lining to the clouds.
>>48132863
Odd, but I thought little more of it and went directly to my bed, first to lie in restless wakefulness, and finally to slip into that long-solicited sleep and there dream restless dreams.
I woke late, and as I had business to attend to I did not return to the library until after I had dined that evening. The sun had long since set by the time I found myself again in front of the library door. It looked as it had ever looked - inanimate rose blossoms bordering foreboding fine-carved wood and black-iron bindings. There was no sign that it had ever opened, no sign that I had ever entered. No proof that the previous night had not merely been a dream.
Yet I did not hesitate, and there upon the reading table where I had left it was that mysterious piece: The Book of the Third Eye. This time I had brought a lamp, yet as I set it down on the reading table and prepared to light it, glancing over at the book I found that I could still read the title despite the darkness, as I had the previous night. Indeed, it almost seemed brighter than before.
I opened the book, and found that the interior text was almost legible. I concentrated, and then I noticed that at the top of the page was the same symbol that the cover bore. At the very least it would be good to know the meaning of that mark before I returned this book to the shelf, so I looked again to the text.
Giving my eyes a moment to adjust, I found that I could just make out the words. Perhaps, I thought, the moon was brighter tonight, thus giving the library more light than before. I was again ready to light the lamp, the better to read the smaller print (and thus spare my eyes), but I was distracted by the opening word of The Book Of The Third Eye:
'We are blind, and all are watching us.'
>>48132886
I sat, and read a little further. And then a little further still, and all the while the lamp remained unlit beside me. Enraptured as I was, I did not note the passage of time. Hour upon hour I sat there reading, as the night deepened around me. It was only some flash of movement out the window - some owl or bat - that distracted me for a moment from my study of the book, whereupon I realised the lateness of the hour.
I hesitated, for there was much about the cryptic contents of the book that was still unclear to me. But I felt the claws of fatigue dragging my mind towards much needed sleep. I closed the book, but once again left it on the table, for I now was certain that I would return to it again the following night.
As I walked with unlit lamp in hand through the silent hallways of my home, through the spaces of my mind ran the strange words and phrases I had gleaned from The Book Of The Third Eye. There was much that remained perfectly obscure to me, but as far as I could make out the book was describing a world that existed beyond the visible world - or rather, existed as an integral part of it, but a part that we could not see. Like some ideal of Platonic perfection, it was a world more real that reality itself. We mundane creatures existed only in the shadow of that world, seeing nothing in the darkness of our blindness. Except, that is, for those with the eyes to see the truth.
Madness of course - and I was well enough acquainted with madness to recognise it when I saw it. But fascinating madness nonetheless, and I myself felt no less sane for having encountered it. Perhaps this was why my father and grandfather had kept me away from the library, fearing the effect such works would have on my developing mind. It was not hard to imagine the reason they would keep such writings themselves, for they had both made a study of the hereditary affliction which plagued my family line.
>>48132902
To discover the roots of insanity was a noble goal, but sadly one which had remained outside their grasp. All my father's investigations had done little good in the end.
I did not credit for a moment that the books themselves might have driven my father from his senses, for although such things might have a disturbing effect on a younger mind, or one already frail, my father had been of a strong mental constitution. It was well know that it was an imbalance of the humours, a purely medical condition, that brought the ague. It was widely known to run in families; such was the brutality of the condition, that rendered even the strongest mind to nought.
Walking up the grand staircase towards my room, I glanced out the window as I had the night before - and for a moment the passing clouds opened to reveal the crescent moon. It was gone again in an instant, and it was then I saw that the clouds were tinted - not red, in fact. I could not rightly describe the colour, save that it was neither the black of night nor the white of moonlight. I stopped on the stair, puzzled by this, when suddenly the clouds parted again. But if what I then saw was the moon, it had somehow jumped to the left, and down towards the horizon, in the space of a few moments. And it was now a colour I could not describe except in reference to the tint upon the clouds - that is to say, if the clouds were reflecting the light of something, it could only be of this.
I blinked, stunned, and the clouds closed again. Before I could process what I had seen, the shifting clouds again revealed the moon - in it's right position, with the same familiar silver-white light.
>>48132918
I turned away, disquieted, and continued on towards my bedroom. Like as not the experience was some trick of the light, magnified by my fatigue. My doctors had warned that my insomnia could only have a deleterious effect upon my health, both physical and mental. I had resisted their proscriptions of laudanum, and other morphiates, but it seemed that now I was beginning to pay for my stubbornness. I could only have exacerbated matters by reading so late into the night.
I dared not think that there might be a deeper cause. Even as I passed that door, behind which lay the staircase that led to the roof, I kept myself from thinking of my father, or his illness.
With relief I sank into my bed, and thence to silent sleep. I know that I dreamt, but I do not remember what of.
Again, I woke so late that I was not able to return to the library before sundown. The Book Of The Third Eye remained where I had left it, and I sat down with the determination that I would only read for an hour or two, then retire to bed. Before I opened it, I noticed that the symbol on the cover seemed different somehow. I paused, and decided that the central circle seemed larger, expanded from a point to cover a quarter of the surface. I dismissed this observation, putting it down to the darkness, and opened the book. I had refrained from bringing the lamp this time, since I seemed perfectly able to read the book without it - I was still perplexed by this, but it had occurred to me that perhaps the ink had been mixed with a chemical with faint luminescence. Given the subject matter of the book, nothing seemed too outlandish an explanation.
As I turned the pages to where I had halted the previous night, I noticed what I had missed in my eagerness to read the actual text - that the symbol was printed at the top of every page. Noting this, I returned to my study of the text. Perhaps tonight I would discover the significance of the symbol, for curiously the book had yet to reveal it.
>>48132958
In truth, I had known before I began that I would not stop reading until tiredness once again forced me to stop. On and on I read, page after page, and the more I read the more certain I became that whoever had written this had been of a brilliantly philosophical mind, however deep into insanity he might have fallen. The discourse on the nature of existence was both novel and insightful, even if it was used to support conclusions that were utterly deranged.
I thought at first that it was a moth fluttering at the window - that little flicker at the corner of my sight. And then I realised that I sat I darkness, with nothing to draw the attention of an insect. I turned, but there was nothing at the window. I went back to my reading, but again there came the disturbance at the corner of my vision. I turned again and saw no sign of what might have caught my eye. I looked back down, focusing intently on the book, and read another line or two - but there! Again! At the window, something moving.
I stood, and moved towards the window. There was nothing at the glass, but out in the darkness, on the lawns - was that something? Something moving.
Quickly, I ran towards the door, out of the library and along the corridor. Towards the kitchen, and the side-door that led out onto the lawn. It could scarce have been more than a minute before I was standing knee deep among the unkempt grass. Of my tormentor, there was no sign.
I looked up, up into the vast, unending darkness of the night. And there in the cloudless sky I saw the moon.
And beside it, another. Another crescent hanging over me. Not white, nor red, nor black, but all colours together and at the same time none.
>>48132975
I ran. Ran straight for the main door to the house, the door which I had never used since... since that day. I kept my eyes straight on the ground ahead, yet when I reached the door and realised on what spot I stood I could not help but look up. Look up towards the roof, the parapet where...
I opened the door, then threw it closed behind me. The crash echoed through the silent house. I did not stop there, however, but ran straight up the stair towards my bedroom. Tearing off my clothes I fell into my bed, with eyes firmly closed.
Sleep was a long time coming, but I did not once open my eyes until at last did slumber take me.
If I had hoped to wake the next day to find that I had merely suffered some horrible nightmare, I was soon disabused of the idea. The sun was already close to the horizon by the time I rose, and beside I saw, as one sometimes sees the moon at that hour of twilight, that other heavenly body. I should I rather say hellish? It had a malignant air to it I felt.
I swept the curtain closed. This was madness - the world had not suddenly acquired a second satellite. The only other logical conclusion weighed heavily upon me, however: that I was beginning to experience the hereditary affliction which had, mere months before, caused my father's... accident.
It was recorded as an accident, at least, and might indeed be the truth. Since the fall killed him immediately, there was no way to know one way or the other.
I did not return to the library that night, but instead resumed my habitual wandering of the house, avoiding routes that would take me near the many windows of my home. Numerous as they are, however, I could not avoid them entirely, and every time I chanced to glance upon the sky I saw it there.
>>48132997
Eventually I returned to my bedchamber, yet I did not sleep at all for the rest of the night, merely tossing back and forth with ever greater frustration. It was only when the clock showed that dawn had long since come that exhaustion at last overcame my unquiet mind.
It was night when I awoke again, and I did not even bother to dine before I went to the library. Had I not seen the malefic crescent still fixed there in the night sky I might have refrained from returning. Indeed, had my perceptions been re-balanced I might well have accepted my good fortune and never set foot in the library again. I was not yet willing to say that the book itself had been responsible for disturbing my mind, yet it seemed that it might be at least possible, and that for safety's sake the library should be avoided.
But still afflicted as I was, it seemed that I had no choice but to examine the book and see if I might determine what precisely about it had set my mind askance, and thereby hopefully come to a better understanding of how to come to a remedy.
The Book of the Third Eye lay open upon the reading table, and I was surprised for a moment until I remembered the haste in which I had left the night before last.
I sat down, tentatively, and once again began to read. I had intended to go back over the passages I had already read, to see if I could find some signal word or phrase that might have served to turn my senses against me. But first I studied the page I had been reading when that first attack of madness had overtaken me. As with the others, the circle within a circle symbol lay at the top. Again, the inner circle seemed to me to be larger than the small point I remembered it as.
>>48133015
Then I read the contents of the page, and remembered what I had been reading two night's prior: the source of the invisible light. Just as the sun and moon cast light, so must the light which cannot be seen come from somewhere, it seemed to be saying. This - perhaps this was the trigger for my fantasy.
Onwards I read, learning of a cosmology entirely new to me and yet disturbingly familiar. The colour beyond colour, cast by the third main celestial body. And more, so much more. I did not let the movements at the edges of my vision distract me as I encompassed ever greater depths of the knowledge held by The Book of the Third Eye.
Only when I read the same line three times without absorbing a single word did I cease my study. I did not even bother to shut the book, just leaving it open on the table as I left the library.
I was unsurprised to see the other moon there in the sky - although the crescent seemed fatter now, as like a waxing moon.
The next night, I went straight to the library once again. And the next, and after that until my routine consisted simply of the walk from by bedchamber to the library, there to continue my study of The Book of the Third Eye. A week or more perhaps passed before I neared the end, for I read every word and every line with ever greater care, not wanting to miss any meaning. There was still much that I didn't understand, but much more was becoming clear to me. Indeed, I felt that I was closing upon an answer that might give me a means to reverse the change that had affected me. Throughout that time I saw the new crescent in the sky continue to grow.
>>48133035
It was in the final passage of the book that I found it, the answer to my riddle. Having described the theories of the sight beyond sight, the author now turned to consideration of the means by which this might come to pass. The practical measures for awakening the sight, which all are born with the capacity for, but very few come to except either by uncommon chance or the application of the method described in the book.
The third eye could be opened by means of a symbol, which would awaken the sight in any who looked upon it.
The symbol was complex and required arcane methods to draw, and for the most part written in materials only visible in their entirety to the third eye. As I poured over the details of its construction an image of it began to form in my mind and suddenly with fearful apprehension I realised the implications of what I was reading. The symbol would only open the third eye a sliver at first, as with a waking man squinting at the first rays of sunlight. Thereafter, however, repeated exposure to the symbol would serve to hasten the sight.
I slammed the book shut. And there upon the cover was the sigil which I had seen that first, fateful night. Except that now it was not merely a point within a circle - the central dot was blown wide, as with a pupil exposed to sudden light, and between it and the outer circle were lines which gave the overall effect of looking into a bloodshot eye, yet which I could see were arranged with geometric accuracy to form certain diagrams which I had just had described to me.
>>48133049
I drew away from the book, and turned towards the window. Outside I could see movement - contorted, twisted motions of things which had been ever present at the edges of my vision these last few days, which I had by an effort of conscious desperation blocked from my mind. Things which had always been part of the world around me but which I had been previously unable to see - though I now knew that I had always been visible to them. That I had lived, as everyone did, under their constant scrutiny.
I turned and ran, ran from the library. Through the carved stone arch with its roses, petals frozen in the act of opening. And as I ran I saw inscribed along the walls the same refrain:
'It cannot be closed.'
Whatever substance it had been written in it left only a faint mark, yet now I could not help but see it. Everywhere. In the same, shaky scrawl. Along the corridors, past the cellar door - and still the same words over and over again - through the hall, up the staircase... it would not stop, it would not ever stop.
And nor did I - I ran onwards, away from that library of forgotten lore, on until I came to that damned door.
>>48133068
I wrenched it open, and scrambled up the stairs - up towards the roof, towards the uncovered sky.
And there I stood, alone, on the roof of my most ancient home. Above me in the sky, what shall I call it - sun, moon... eye? That not-red sphere, crazed with arcane patterns as the moon with craters.
And below across the land - what did I see? Or should I rather ask: what did see me? The writhing, contorted spasms of wondrous horrors dancing beneath the not-light of the third celestial orb greeted my eye - my opened eye.
I fell to my knees, stretched up my hands towards the sky as if to hold that hanging eye. Bathed in it's uncoloured light, I howled into the night - for I knew now that never would I lose the Sight.
The Third Eye could not be closed. There was only one way that I'd be free of sights that no sane man would ever wish to see.
And yet - what unimaginable wonders might still be revealed. What truths were there to learn that had until now been concealed?
What path to take, what choice to take? What possibilities could I see?
Everything was illuminated by the un-light from the source of the third sight, and standing there on the roof of my ancestral hall - I saw all.
--- The End ---
>>48133082
oops, forgot the title
- 'The Book Of The Third Eye'
>>48103024
"Well shit. A'ight. Gimme ten minutes and I'll be kitted out. "Jonesy groaned, clambering out of the blanket pile he hid under. Each blanket had a unique pattern and stitch, no doubt work of svelte young women in town, wishing to earn Jonesy's attention. How a lazy bastard like him gets all the ladies is beyond Halsey. Maybe they liked the moody types.
"You got five. Rendezvous at the gate," The Sergeant grunted, ignoring the string of complaints and moans he got from the Corporal. Just as Jonesy finished his bitching, Halsey was already outside the door. Next stop, the Mess Hall.
"Marstetter!" He shouted. Again he barged through the door, again men scrambled to their feet and saluted. A bear of a man rushed through the wooden tables, beard matted with mas potatoes.
"Pvt. Marstetter reporting, Sergeant!" He said in a panicked but curt manner, salute matching his tone. Halsey could not help but smile. Marstetter was a good man, but as sharp as a barn full of bulls. Tough as one too.
"Get kitted out, Private. We're going gobbo huntin'." Halsey gave him the full details and sent on his way.
"Sir, yes, sir. This soldier will rendezvous at 0905!" The large man shouted, excited like a kid going to the candy store. Two down, one misfit to go.
"Now if I was an asshat like Anselme, where would I be...?" He only had to ponder that a second. He sighed exasperatedly.
"The Captain's quarters..."
>>48086374
To say that the raid on that Eldar settlement was successful would be an understatement - it was a massacre. With the majority of the military forces occupied fighting some Militarum regiment halfway across the continent, all that the Sisters of Battle has to fight were some random Guardians and support platforms. They were dealt with quickly using fire and faith in excessive measure (as always) and soon turned their sights to sacking the civilians. The streets ran with their unclean blood as none were spared.
Well, almost none were spared.
Sister Olivia had, while nobody was looking, kidnapped a young Eldar boy and shoved him into a sack and ran before anyone noticed. A rational mind would have come with several conclusions, each with a sinister purpose behind them: Perhaps she was going to give the boy as a specimen for an Inquisitor; Maybe he was going to be used as a hostage - Eldar did value every soul they had; It was also possible that this child held some critical information in his young mind that was critical for a future campaign.
But this is the Forty-First Millenium, and common sense died tens of thousands of years ago. No, the real purpose of this kidnapping was far more...predatory in nature.
They were in an abandoned little shack by the outskirts when the Sister empties her loot out on the floor. The boy tumbles on the floor, gasping for breath. As soon as his senses return, his eyes widen when he notices his captor and he immediately scrambles for the nearest wall.
"Why do you run?" The Sister asks in a pained voice. "Don't you wish to embrace the Emperor with me?" The boy begins breathing hard, reaching out for anything to throw. He screams out in his xenos tongue to stay back, but the Sister does not oblige. "Don't be afraid, child! I have taken you so I can cleanse you!" She licks her lips. "Your body is so young, so...tainted. I only wish to absolve you of this stain, to teach you the joys of serving the Emperor!"
Would anyone read a story about wizard school?
I'm picturing it as something akin to Filthy Frank meets Hogwarts, with the crassness of Tarantino dialogue.
Also, ideas to flesh it out.
>>48137678
Olivia reaches her hand out, but the boy pushes it away with all his might.
She chuckles, to the boy's confusion. "Perhaps I did not make your predicament clear enough." She reaches to her side and pulls out a bolt pistol to the Eldar's head. He breaks into a cold sweat staring down the barrel. "You cannot leave here. You are now my property."
Despite his defiant looks, the boy knows has no chance to stand up to her. He quails under the thread and begins crying. The Sister tenderly places an armored finger on his lips, shushing him as she lowers herself to his level. "You need not be afraid of me. I am a servant of the Emperor, and by cooperating with me, we will both be purified!"
As she had the boy cornered, Olivia could only celebrate in her thoughts, reveling in the opportunity to partake in the carnal pleasures with a xeno. Was it heretical? Most certainly, but when she was forced to bottle up her sexual desires while in the convent, having the opportunity to vent all these frustrations on a young, defenseless xeno was considered (to her) a perfect excuse.
Perhaps some of those instincts showed through her eyes, as the boy tries to scurry away some more, but the threat of a bolt through his head was more than sufficient incentive to stay put. Thus silenced. the Sister finally grabs him by his collar. With a sharp tug, he is brought right up to her armored chest. The boy struggles to adjust, but he is again interrupted as she lifts him and forces her tongue down his mouth, exploring the delicate features of the Eldar. All the while, the child is helpless, a prisoner to both a murderous barbarian, but a pedophile.
Their lips part, the boy gasps for breath while the Sister chuckles."Oh, you will be perfect!" She claws at her victim and rips off his clothing with power-armored ease. She pauses to admire the frail, almost feminine figure he has before looking to her own clothing.
>>48138905
Power armor was going to make the entire affair more difficult, so she starts with removing that. Conveniently, Sororitas-Pattern power armor is light enough that she could start dismantling it herself, though it would take a while longer. Lucky for her then that her hostage was too terrified to try running again.
The robes beneath Olivia's armor were in hues of white, making her ironically look more like an angel once her armor was removed. The alien boy notices this too, as he stops trying to run and begins drawing closer. "That's right," she gently coos, "come to me. Together, we will find salvation." The boy falls into her arms, where she strokes his head while burying his head in her bosom. "Yes, like that. I won't hurt you if you just do as I tell you."
She stands up, loosening the boy's grip. Her gentle mask was starting to crack, she was this close to the flesh she craved. "Alright now. We need to start the ritual. First...first..."
"HOW ABOUT YA HAZ A SEAT?"
The sister's heart stops. Nobody was supposed to know she was here! Her eyes frantically dart around to find the source of the voice, keeping her hostage in front of her at all times. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.
"I AXED IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO HAZ A SEAT."
Olivia's eyes spot an inconspicuous wooden chair. Slowly, she approaches it and then sits down on it. Nothing happens. She sighs. "This...this is a misunderstanding! See, I was only going to interrogate the xeno fiend!" Her eyes keep shifting, surveying the small shack for anything that looks out of place. "I was going to teach him the glory of mankind, the power of the Emperor, so that we might possibly cleanse his soul of taint!" Still nothing moves. "I...I am a member of the Adepta Sororitas! I have the support of the Ecclesiarchy behind me! I am protected by the Emperor, so your influence will not corrupt me!" She starts laughing nervously. "B-but you knew that, right? I mean, I'm no heretic!"
>>48142901
The silence only serves to add to the tension.
"Y-you can come out now!" She keeps her tone. "If we're both servants of the Emperor, then surely you understand what I'm doing? Right?" Again, there was nothing. "Come out now! Please come out!" Her confidence was draining fast. "Now! Please?"
After what felt like a minute, there was finally a noise. A heavy tread emerges from the doorway. The fact that something was actually coming out was so frightening to her that she never notices the boy she took so much trouble kidnapping flee, and from in that same doorway, a giant Ork in a business suit enter.
"MAH NAME IS CHRIS ORKSEN," the Ork announces with no subltety, "AND I WOULD LIKE YA TA ANSWER SOME KWESTINZ."
Olivia notices the boy gone at last. Any wail of frustration is halted when she also notices how far she is from her equipment.
The poor Sororitas notices at that moment that she was going to die. Not by the hand of an enemy in glorious battle, but by the choppa of a galactic hunter of sexual predators. Perhaps this was the Emperor's justice, as retribution for her impure motives. Even if it was not, there would be no escape for her.
>>48142901
>>48143263
Oh /tg/, never change.
Well, got a rejection on Julia
Now to send it out again.
>>48144502
I don't know how similar it is to the version on the wiki, but I don't think you really justify the relationship between the narrator and Julia very well. He just spends a month putting her together - you don't even really describe it for the reader, you just state that it happened - and then for some reason the two of them are obsessed with each other for the rest of time. The story is called Julia, but she doesn't say anything and you never get much of an idea of what she's thinking. Definitely needs more personal interactions.
Also, the pacing is a bit odd. they go on a thirty year mission, discover alien life, and then get back home and move onto something else all the space of a few paragraphs. Maybe cut down the number of things that happen and expand the bits you keep.
>>48146240
Chronicler was meant to take that down for the record.
But I rewrote it a few times expressly to fix that problem. The wiki has my stream of conscious not my edits.
>page 9
>no new posts as of late
Shieeeit, better bump with image to motivate someone to write up a tale.
>>48155061
sometimes people are just busy man, it's all good
>>48156214
I know some peeps are busy and have lives outside of the net. Not that I'm mad an all, just decided to bump the thread before being prematurely archived. No hard feelings.
Bumpsï
>page 9
NOOOOOO... Bump
The noise was deafening. Even from the Assembly Plaza halfway across the city, the roar of the crowd had been louder even than the tumultuous clamour of Traders' Square on high-market day, or the hysterical chorus from Great Temple during the rites of the Risen Sun. Now, as the jubilant procession passed through the street directly below me, the noise was almost like a physical force, washing through the streets like the tidal bores that sweep up the Red River every spring.
I watched from the balcony of the Wine Merchants Exchange, where I did much of my business, as the celebrants danced and sang and the mass of people became so dense that it spilled off the road onto the porticoes of the banks and record houses and business halls of the city's financial district. The Sacred Guard was out in force, however, lining the route of the procession in their sculpted armour and chalk-white cloaks. It surprised me not a bit that someone had foreseen this spontaneous outburst well enough in advance to station them there.
As some revellers began to climb the stepped bases of the columns, soldiers marched forward to pull them down and shove them back into the crowd. The buildings here had columns plated with copper, great shining pillars that, while perhaps more restrained than gold, still served to advertise the wealth of those who worked within the the great halls of granite and marble (and underneath that, brick) that were the beating hearts that kept commerce alive within the city. The owners of these buildings would hardly appreciate scrapes and smudges on the shining facades of their establishments, and the Sacred Guard - or more precisely, the Assembly which gave them their orders - were ever obliging to those of respectable prosperity.
>>48171767
I looked over at the Merchant's Library, a little way down the street, where a record of every commercial transaction made in the city was kept, and saw the verdigris of its ancient pillars. Every so often the men of business who owned the library's neighbours put together a new petition to demand that the old, green plating be replaced with fresh copper, to create a more uniform and respectable aesthetic in the district. The librarians always refused on some obscure point of legalese relating to the original bequest of the materials, but everyone suspected that they were simple fond of the old things. I myself had always liked them, that row of mossy tree trunks in the heart of the city - a symbol that the city was still prepared to tolerate the eccentricities of scholars.
The atmosphere was so exuberant, however, and the press of the crowd so heavy, that despite the soldiers the shaded porticoes were soon almost as covered in cavorting in the sunlit street. The Guards started becoming more insistent, with the haft or the butt of their spear if need be. There were shouted complaints and drunken slurs from a few, but no one was going to retaliate against the soldiers today, and the mood of the crowd was so buoyant that many people spontaneously saluted the Guards as they passed.
Indeed, the Guards looked so fine in their armour and regalia, wearing the open-faced helms that they used within the city (as opposed to their masked battle-helms), that I almost couldn't help but feel my heart swell at the sight of them. Their spear points glinted in the sun, and together with the reflections from the polished copper columns it almost seemed as if the sun itself had descended to join the celebrations.
>>48171801
And then I saw it, the first blue-white licks of flame, running across the black granite paving of the portico opposite my balcony. Like mist rolling down off the hills, expect that it danced and leaped as vigorously as any of the festive citizenry passing below. I might have been the first to see it, for no one else had my vantage point, and in any case were mostly too caught up to notice. There - sliding round the hem of a soldiers cloak, a flame, flickering almost playfully as the wind whipped the cloak around. The sheet of flame rushing over the paving broke against the pillars like the oceans against high cliffs - but the spray that rose up did not fall back down, but instead clung to the columns and wove around them, dancing ever higher.
The people in the street below started to notice the fire, and although I scarcely believed it possible the noise of the crowd expanded even further into a thunderous cheer of excitement. The multitude of drums, tambourines and trumpets were almost drowned out for a moment in the explosion, and the musicians worked to reassert themselves over the commotion. All manner of streamers, banners and flags waved through the air above the procession - sky blues mixing with glorious golds and silvers and blood reds. They began to catch the flames, which were growing and deepening into reds and oranges, and wove trails of fire through the air.
And nothing and no one burned. Where the fire touched there were not even so much as scorch marks.
>>48171808
This was not the fire of the hearth or the forge - this was the passion of the city made manifest. This was emotion taking a physical form, the collective spirit of the city overflowing from the hearts of its citizens to course through the streets as passion coursed through the veins of the people. Only in those rare times when the collective will was so united and so strong did this occur, when all the people were of one mind and one soul, and their bodies alone could not contain the incredible force of their ardour. But although it danced and sparked like fire, neither those who made it nor the city that they loved would be harmed by it.
It was a different story, however, for those who didn't share their fellow citizens enthusiasm. Hence, I watched the celebrations from that high balcony. If I had been down in the streets with what seemed like the entire rest of the city - though I knew that there were some at least who shared my feelings - I would be burned. Perhaps only badly scorched, or perhaps burned right down to ash. The flames were unpredictable in how they punished traitors - and that was how it was seen. If the flames burned you then you were not, at heart, a true citizen.
The street below me had ignited into a firestorm, the intensity of which I had never seen, and I suddenly started to wonder whether I was safe on the balcony. I had seen the city set aflame many times over the years, and watched it both from down in the blazing streets and from the outside. More and more often from the outside, I have found, as my hair grows steadily more grey and the lines on my face deepen, and the wisdom of age settles on me like unsightly verdigris. And I had never seen anything so fierce. The street below me was a roiling, churning river of flame, so think that I could scarcely see the people still dancing joyfully below.
>>48172067
A river flowing in one direction. In fact, a mere tributary - I knew that all the streets around me were filled with fire too, and in the distance I could see them all flooding inexorably onto the Great Concourse. Finally, the mass in the street directly below me began to thin as the throng emptied out onto the concourse further on, and as the crowd below petered out and the remaining stragglers ran to catch up, the flames died down to a trickle. The last few wisps cavorted over the cobble stones and crept along the curbs, forming miniature tornadoes, darting around, dancing to the beat of music I couldn't hear.
As the road cleared I could see that it was littered with dropped banners and other debris. Here and there, there were the charred remains of the occasional flag or streamer: it wasn't entirely true to say that the fire didn't burn. For the most part, perhaps, but the places it passed over were never left entirely untouched. Passion can be a dangerous thing, even - especially - to its source. Never quite under control, unreasonable by its very nature. More than a few of the revellers would be bandaging burns tomorrow morning. They wouldn't mention them, and no one else would notice - when people take to the streets in mass there are always injuries.
The sun was fading as afternoon became evening, and I had no trouble seeing the luminescent band in the distance. The fires flowed onwards, unstoppable, advancing the length of the concourse. They reached the base of the Silver Cliffs and began to snake their way upwards, upwards on the road towards the citadel. The sun had all but set by the time the forefront of the procession reached the top, and the river kept flowing still. I could see the reflections given by the pillars of the Citadel - plated in steel, not copper, and polished every day until they were mirror-bright - which made them look like they were glowing irons fresh from the forge, ready to be beaten into swords.
>>48172143
It was night by the time enough people had reached the Citadel. The flaming procession still stretched all the way down the road to the base of the cliffs, and along the concourse, but everybody could feel that it was time. For an instant, it was as if the entire city held its breath.
And then the great signal fire atop the Citadel's main tower ignited, with a burst of light so great that it seemed for a moment that the sun had returned to the sky. There was a second of unnerving silence, as the brilliant white hole into the sky settled down into a vast bonfire atop the Citadel, and then the roar of the crowd rose again with thunderous approval. Here it was, for better or for worse - and I feared it would be for worse:
The City was going to war.
How do I write comedy/humor/shenanigans?
Shuld I read A Confederacy of Dunces to learn how?
>>48172171
>How do I write comedy/humor/shenanigans?
if there were rules to being funny that you could simply sit down and memorise, everyone would be a comedian. You either are funny or you aren't, and if you want to change from the latter to the former the best way to do it is probably just to read/watch as much comedy as possible and hope you absorb some comedy skills into your subconscious by general osmosis.
>Shuld I read A Confederacy of Dunces to learn how?
yes, and anything else you can get your hands on
>>48138111
>dirty Harry Potter
well I'm sold
Goodnight, beautiful storyfags.
wow, slow week.
Hopefully all the writefags are working on their novels or something
>>48137678
>>48138905
>>48142901
>>48143263
such a silly idea, and yet such a funny one. Although I liked https://1d4chan.org/images/3/3e/FarseerAndBoy.png slightly better for keeping the surprise until the very end.
>>48178377
>Hopefully all the writefags are working on their novels or something
Czechfag here, I'd love to say I am but aside from doing a little research on my down time, I've been just working my ass off for the last few weeks in regular, plain old boring work.
This: >>48122457 is all I've done in english lately. I have to admit, even know it's not really worth talking about, I'm still heartbroken nobody commented on it.
That and a few snippets of fictional travel diaries (one for my world-building side project and one for a less consistent and more fairytale-esque concept) plus a lot of reading on late hellenic heresies for a wild card novel concept is all I've managed to squeeze out. Shame, as I enjoyed participating regularly.
>>48178827
> I have to admit, even know it's not really worth talking about, I'm still heartbroken nobody commented on it.
I know what you mean. I did these two
>>48132824
>>48171767
and while I'm actually quite satisfied that I just managed to sit down and write something for a change, it would have been nice if someone actually read them.
I think that's the biggest problem these threads have - like it says in the OP, what writers really want is acknowledgement that people are reading their work (and enjoying it, for preference), and hopefully some feedback to go with it. If people post stories and no one comments on them, then you get fewer stories. Which in turn leads to fewer people around to comment. The whole thing enters a sort of death spiral.
Not that I don't understand why readers have trouble making comments. I mean, I read >>48122457 just now, and I liked it, but I can't really think of anything to say about it beyond that - except that I'm impressed by your level of English. (You might have got more responses though if you'd posted the whole thing in the thread rather than just the link.)
I guess we all just need to make more effort to get conversations going.
>>48178377
>Hopefully all the writefags are working on their novels or something
Nope. Just too lazy and unskilled.
And honestly some of the ideas these pictures give me are way too long.
>>48178377
>Hopefully all the writefags are working on their novels or something
More like getting some modicum of goddamn motivation. You'd be surprised how easily you can burn yourself out when you're writing for the sake of keeping this afloat.
>>48180739
I'll admit that I've been spending my free time painting miniatures rather than writing. I don't want to see this thread die though.
>>48181588
Storythread always has its ups and downs. Hopefully things will pick up again at some point.
And there's no need to feel guilty if you don't get anything written - writing take up a lot of time, and everyone has other stuff to do. But if you only have a couple of minutes to spare and want to help keep the thread going, just read someone else's work and leave a comment.
>>48105163
>>48182632
She is gone. Dead. Do not fool yourself, boy. That thing wears her face, just as you wear that false eye when your wanderings take you into the cities of man. But mark, as the perceptive may mark the subtle drifting of that glass replacement, the lengthening of her arms and legs. It may save your life. The thing that forced itself into her body could not fit without a few adjustments, you see, and perhaps this will be enough to keep your mind on the monster that she has become, nay, that has become her. I know well that you will not be able keep your eyes from her face, but if you can keep your mind on those arms, then you may yet live. It will be a hard fight no matter what, but your hesitation before that face is all she will need to tear you apart and feed your young organs to that warhound of hers. So dull yourself to the fact that you will have to watch that face die once more, and this time by your hand. Kill the part of you who loved her enough to do as you have done. Put to rest the part of yourself that I see screaming in anguish behind that eye, who curses the gods who took your eye in return for the knowledge you can no longer use save her. There will be time enough during the digging of her last grave to wake that part again, and to scream all you want at those who made you kneel for naught, though I doubt they will hear you. Now is the time for dissociation, so focus on those arms.
>>48074102
Death
War
Famine
Pestilence
These are the faces they always say will herald the end of the world, but that's just a bunch of lies. They've been among mankind the entire time, gauging their worth. They may end the world, but by that point, they would have had no chance against one of them, let alone all four.
Of course, the irony was lost upon the short-sighted mortals. Their immediate concern has always been upon their lives, their struggles, their legacies. It's a strange deal for them, but they never seem satisfied with their achievements. Of course, this is admirable in granting them a tireless a sense of self-improvement, but it also leads to this annoying compulsion to deface the very planet they stand on just to ensure that nobody forgets them. However, one does have to ask why they are so determined when, thousands of years down the line, nobody will remember a thing about them.
>>48067427
Which makes it all the more disturbing that man somehow made these horsemen fall to their heel. Perhaps it was that same spirit of self-improvement driving them to understand the primal forces they once feared. Perhaps it was a twist of luck they have yet to truly understand. In either case, their true power may only finally be understood in that one moment where they abandon all pretense of understanding, forsake their caution and dare to face this one factor of anger the very gods they once feared. It would perhaps be the greatest irony that the earth would ever know.
Perhaps some of this results from their names. Despite being forces far more than simple people, humanity has a compulsion to make describe things in the fewest words possible even if they miss some of the details.
After all, Death is not simply the cessation of life, War not only the act of violence upon another sapient being. Famine does not deprive a civilization of just food, and Pestilence is not just a disease.
>>48183785
The great weapons of men, those implements able of simply ending human life as we know it, are but another aspect of the horsemen.
After all, Death comes in many shapes. Sometimes, these are violent, like the swing of a scythe as it tears a head free of its neck-stem (as in the case when cooperating with War). But other times, they can be of more subtle means, like introducing a lethal poison to a local water supply to see the populace suffocate as their esophagi dissolve. Though both reach the ultimate goal of the ending of life, the methodology makes as much an impact as much as the timing does, like a gruesome murder in a peaceful suburb.
War, on the other hand, is a seemingly simple beast. It cares only about battle, but what few understand is that there are many aspects to war. Not only does war focus upon the battles of those tiny army men in the battlefield, but he also pays attention to those aspects not on the field. His hand is just as present in the development of those weapons as it is in their use. His is the power to continue it, but also to end it - after developing a weapon to sufficiently terrify one side. Though many weapons have come close, nothing has ever come quite close to dethroning chemical warfare as the king in War's eyes in this regard.
Pestilence comes not only by acts of god, but also by acts of man. Man was no more sure of this than they were once the fallout of that World War came about. Those that survived the newborn atomic weapons were afflicted by something never-before seen, something man-made. They were dying all the same, but now they were able to do so without God's intervention. To Pestilence, that sounded like the greatest irony.
This leaves Famine with the biological weapons, those things that were made by nature that kill nature. Viruses and Disease may be the domain of pestilence, but when those weapons are turned to the environment, they fall from that plague's prurview.
Just curious, has anyone else seen one of these before?
Hi,
Thank you for your application.
We are pleased to inform you that we are taking your pitch to the next stage.
Please be aware though, that you may yet hear a 'no' from us, and that there will not likely be any specific feedback if that is the case, due to the volume of applications we have received. Please be assured though, that no matter the outcome, you will hear from us (we do endeavour to respond to every applicant to ensure they know what the results are either way).
As we are extremely busy, it may be some time before we can get back to you with the next steps, we thank you for your patience!
Kind Regards,
The Black Library Author Team
>>48184500
Though the other forces focus on the intervention of nature or men to accomplish their goals, Famine prides itself upon only using those weapons made by nature to kill its own kind. Though any sort of disease would do so, Famine focuses attention on those epidemics that create massive swaths. Insects that devour entire crops, viruses that erase cities, these sorts of bizarre occurrences are what please it so much. In a way, it enjoys creating holes, needs to which there are no solutions to.
Despite this, though, the Horsemen view humanity with a degree of respect. They have reached levels unsought for in millennia and keep exceeding the records set by their forefathers years before. If one were to look at it under the right light, one could even envision the Horsemen almost as mentors. Though their methods involve only enforcing the negative aspects of life, the fear instilled happens to provide mankind a sense of appreciation for life. Despite the terrifying potential, they have not wiped themselves out in an instant and have tried (in a heavyhanded sort of way) to prevent this from happening.
The Horsemen may admire this resolve, they do so with masks of anticipation. They await for that singular mistake, that one deployed warhead that sends the dominoes tumbling down and bring the human empire to its final, inevitable end.
>>48185402
nope. It's more than I got (which was a flat out rejection)
well done, anon
>>48186760
Thank you anon.
I still don't really know what to make of it though.
If it helps it was something that the Storythreads has read.
Keep at it and be not disheartened. It seems continued story-threading gets you at least a maybe.
>>48187264
Fuck. Pretend my namefag does not exist please
>>48178827
Guy who posted and talked about this: >>48100956
Really Czechfag, you really made this too >>48122457 ?
Eyy man what ever works you're probably working on. I wish you luck and many thanks again for trying to do what I posted about.
>>48188464
taking this.
>>48189048
nvm, continuing the battle of quenelles.
>>48179345
>I guess we all just need to make more effort to get conversations going.
To be perfectly honest, I'm actually still really impressed with how functional these threads are. I won't deny that I'm nothing that a massively vain attention whore and that I feel hurt when nobody comments on my works, but then again I'm not dumb enough to realize when it's irrational on my side.
I can compare these threads to world building threads that I used to frequent very commonly. Here, you'll almost always get some acknowledgement, some discussion - even if it takes sometimes days for people to get back to you. In Worldbuilding threads, I pretty much gave up on posting, because I got maybe one reply per six or seven attempts. Unlike here, having more than one post actually means zero chance for feedback, which makes things even harder (especially since I'm not exactly good at being brief).
Thanks for the feedback, by the way. I'm exaggerating (a little) when I say I'm heartbroken: really it's just vanity speaking. I'm happy to hear my english is functional, since I might be entering a deal with some people writing english gamebook-esque writing project, I need my english to be on par.
I also really damn need to finish the draft I started for that Bard thing. I'm happily ripping off Kafka in a sci-fi setting...
I've quickly read through
>>48132824
>>48171767 and onwards and I have to say I really like it. As a person with passion for world building and lack of talent or indeed interest in character and action-driven tales, this fits right up my alley. I like the vignette format too, I think it would be well suited to a collection of loosely related similar vignettes as part of a greater "mosaic" of some strange, fictional world. I've been attempting something similar with my fictional traveler diaries...
(cont. in next post).
>>48189274
That said, I sometimes found the language to be slightly obtuse and overbearing. But that might be me having imperfect grasp on the language, and also me after nearly 60 hours of work nearly straight, my comprehension levels significantly diminished.
Still, I find the idea of a city literally lighting itself on fire with passion remarkable and the language for the absolute majority of the time works and fits the tone.
I'd like to hear more about the world. Not in exhausting detail, but rather more snippets, perspectives, oddities loosely connected to each other, perhaps just be references.
>>48188576
>Really Czechfag, you really made this too
Yep, you can find all my trademarks (vain talking about philosophy, cigarettes, nearly no dialogue and nothing really happening what so ever) in there.
Not much more though. I pretty much spent time excusing why I'm not going to address the obvious themes, but could not for the love of God figure out an entertaining direction to take it to. I may revisit it some day, but in the off chance anyone else wants to pick it up and continue it, I won't object. Much like other literally exercises (like the one with the mermaid earlier), I don't really plan on utilizing it anywhere outside of these threads, so if anyone can make use of it, I'll be glad to see it done.
>>48189321
>That said, I sometimes found the language to be slightly obtuse and overbearing
I actually intended the language in this
>>48132824 >>48132850 >>48132863 >>48132886 >>48132902 >>48132918 >>48132958 >>48132975 >>48132997 >>48133015 >>48133035 >>48133049 >>48133068 >>48133082
to be somewhat overly formal to give it an archaic feel, and additional I wrote it with an almost lyrical quality.
Some sentences rhyme, either internally or with the next sentence
>I would never know, and all I'd find by walking would be shadow after shadow.
>And yet - what unimaginable wonders might still be revealed. What truths were there to learn that had until now been concealed?
while elsewhere I use a certain amount of alliteration
>As I walked along the stacks, my glance slid over the slumbering serried ranks of books arrayed along the shelves
I can see how a non-native speaker wouldn't pick up on it. Frankly, it was extremely tiresome to write and I don't think I'll try it again.
>>48190114
>I can see how a non-native speaker wouldn't pick up on it.
I actually blame more myself and my inattentive reading - I'm basically a caffeine-fueled zombie at the moment. I'll give it a second read once I'll get some rest and sleep and (if the thread is still going to be up) try to give more detailed feedback, and take a look at some other things in the tread as well... Maybe I'll even translate something of mine. And maybe I'll just drop dead before that happens. At this point I can't tell.
>>48176743
On eithier side of them men and orc clashed but near their captains. A circle had been drawn by the combatants, albeit unofficially and no man dared crossed it.
Rork dwarfed the little human by several feet but staring into his eyes was like staring into a funhouse mirror all the same. Rork had seen members of his order fight bigger creatures than himself. Appearne didn't matter so much as what was in the eyes, and the man in front of him had the eyes of a dragon.
"If you call your men off now," the human said "you could save them."
"Not going to happen."
"Why?"
"Because I like killing."Rork lied.
"You're dying. Your men are dying." The human replied. "Do you think this little circle in the sand is being mainted by both sides? Look!"
The human pointed off to the side. A boy Rork recongized as one of his students charged the circle, probably to help his teacher. A human spear went through his midsection, another in his neck and he went tumbling down.
Rork took care to school his features so he wouldn't flinch when a knight fell on the boy with a knife drawn.
"You're not winning this."The human said. "Barring an act of god you're not winning and I'd say ours have more of a hold here."
"We'll fight on."
"Fight on?"The human said."This isn't a fight it's a slaughter. My men are soldiers. Have any yours ever picked up a weapon before today? You're all going to die!"
Rork said nothing and closed his hands into fists.
Sadness washed over the humans face, the pointlessness of what was about to happen weighing down on him. He drew his blade from its sheathe and looked up at Rork.
"So be it." He said.
The human raised his fist and the circle collapsed. The mass of bodies swallowed the two and they were in the chaos.
>>48196934
Rork stumbled as the mass hit. He lost sight of the human and found himself contending with others. He swung his fist in a wild arc and hit one of his own. Pinpricks ran up and down his legs and suddenly there were holes in his chest and men all over him making more.
Rork drowned. He fell and the last thing he saw was the man approach blade drawn.
>>48196934
>>48196961
nice story
>>48197046
It's actually supposed to be longer and be proofread and have more details but I have to go and do stuff.
Better than nothing right?
>>48197070
more than I've managed today, that's for sure. But for something only just over a post long, it works pretty well
>>48196961
They brought Sandor a horse after the fighting was done and all that was left was to take a toll of the damage.
Ork bodies littered the sand, some buried, others propped up on piles of their brethren's corpses. The humans that had died had taken away for proper burial and the orcs were all that. Sandor didn't know what they were going to do with them.
His horse took him over to the body of the leader and he pulled it to a stop.
He had died alone separated from his men. Sandor's troops had been zealous in their killing and the large orc was little more than several slabs of meat kept together by strings. He tried to recall if he had asked for Orks name and with a stab of shame realized he hadn't. If he would be buried there would be no name on his marker.
Trapped in his thoughts he didn't notice the scout approach until he was right next to him.
"Sir," the man said "here to report."
The scout snapped of a salute. It was in the wrong order but Sandor was willing to over look it.
"What did you find?" He said.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
The scout looked away nervously. "Well we found evidences of encampants. Brush that had been cut away, animal burrows that had been dug up but nothing else. No women or children. Nothing within a days ride or otherwise. We found graves however."
"Graves?" Sandor said.
"Yes sir, here and there in the desert. We didn't know what they were until the dogs dug them up."
"But nothing else?"
"No sir."
"So you're telling me," Sandor said "that a force of a thousand strong just appered here."
The boy if possible looked even more nervous." No. It's just that their trail doesn't have anything on it sir. At least as far we have followed it."
"So keep following it." Sandor said. "Men don't march to their death for no reason. Orks are no exception."
The scout nodded but didn't move.
"Go!" Sandor screamed.
The scout jumped in his saddle and took off, horse and man almost falling as they went.
>>48197833
The scout jumped in his saddle and took off, horse and man almost falling as they went.
Sandor turned to look at the leader again. No women or children. No real camps or provisions. Graves along the trail. Nothing to return to. No reason to live. They were on a death march.
Sandor looked out to the north where they had come from and peered into the distance. He saw nothing but was struck by a sense of foreboding. He should send more men out there he thought. Enough for an army.
But just as quickly as the thought came it disappeared, replaced by that his family.He wanted to go home and not think about what would make men march to their death.
He took one last look at the leader and without another word turned around and rode away.
>>48183785
>>48184500
>>48185505
interesting take on a tradition theme (although I have to say I found it a little confusing). Very good use of the pictures, though
>>48197833
>>48196934
I mean this in the nicest way because I did like your writing.
>Sandor
>Rork the orc.
>>48206197
l-lewd
so I'm writing alewdstory about an invisible girl stalking and molesting her crushhttp://pastebin.com/E6u076QD
>>48192576
Two scientists, Don and Pete, stare perplexed at the stage as a capuchin dressed in uniform was carrying a skull. Despite the fact that nobody could understand what it was squeaking at all, some of the crowd watching this same performance were crying.
Don of them asks, "Pete? How...did this happen?"
"You know that one example they give for statistics that if you gave a monkey a typewriter that he pushed the keys of at random that he'd eventually rewrite the works of Shakespeare?" Pete, seated to the right, replies. Don nods. "Well, some guy at across the hall decided to apply that to making monkeys act, and after a couple thousand rehearsals, he finally managed to make the monkey recite Hamlet."
"But...isn't he rigging the odds in his favor by teaching him how to recite Hamlet?"
Pete nods. "Yeah, he's not exactly the most sensible idiot in the lab. He took that theorem as a legitimate challenge."
"Do you think we should tell him?"
"What, and ruin the only accomplishment he's done since he got here?" Pete grinned. "You had to see how excited he was that he did this, it was like a kid showing off a report card."
Don then wonders, "Why doesn't he just go to a circus or a zoo with this act? People would eat this stuff up!"
Pete jerks his head. "Really? I can't find a place that'd appreciate animals doing Shakespeare."
Don continues, "Nah, man! Make it a little show for the kids! Or the kid-like. It'd at least do better there than in an animal psychology lab."
The capuchin finishes, and as it bows, people applaud and throw mangoes and roses on the stage. As the monkey throws the prop skull away and leaps into the mound of fruit and flowers, Don and Pete assure themselves that this needs to become an act.
>>48207522Finally, smut. Not because I want more but because it's a nice change of pace.
I like it so far.
I have not seen this posted in a long time.
>>48207522
All I can say about this is that it's kinky.
Continue.
>>48059536
you know, i see this thread up daily, and daily, i see that OP picture. it was only today that i looked into it, to see that the woman is holding a diamond, and her hair is not melting.
I am unsure how i feel about this.
>>48214027
you think that's trippy, just wait until you see the words
yes, they have been there the whole time
>>48134037
wait - pointy ears AND a tail. Is that an elf werewolf?
or werewelf
Do we keep bumping until reply limit?
>>48060125"Fuck water, give me wine."
>>48218987
>werewelf
The "were" part of the word "werewolf" actually stands for "man" (from old english "wer", a man, male, hero).
So it should be elfewolf. Or elvewolf
>>48220848
I guess
come on people, we still have 50 more posts to fill
Make a short story based on your breakfast.
>>48207522
well that was interesting.
The writing's actually pretty good, but the one comment I would make is that the narrator's tone isn't very consistent. At some points he sound like a teenage boy talking casually, at others it's just ordinary prose.
Situated as they were on the edge of the battle, Kolt's band of mercenaries spent a long time watching the artillery fly over their heads and hit at the formations of chaos forces.
Formation would be a polite word to describe the forces arrayed opposite to him. Savages in leather and furs, they always came in loosely aligned formations. Individually, they were fierce warriors, but battles were not decided by single combat. It didn't matter either way. The dragon ogres were rampaging and stomping their own soldiers. Kolt had heard fearful things about them from yesterday's briefing and had suspected that the reiksmarshall had put them there to soak up the brunt of the monster's charge. After all, dead mercenaries require no payment.
"Gunners to your positions!" He wondered if he needed to say that any more. Years of campaigning had made his mercenary band as disciplined as any knightly order. Cheap and reliable was the motto of the Badlander Third, and they strove to live on that ideal.
However, he wondered how soon his men would break against the tide of the monsters that were moving across them. They had fought orcs, men and even beastmen before and held their ground against them. These dragon ogres were a different cup of tea.
>>48226851
admittedly that could use some effort on my part, sadly the only way to GET consistent tone like that is constant revisions and practice and...well that's what I'm doing right now.
thank you for your critique!
>>48211679
sure thing fampai
