No futher part of my story yet, so for now I'll just comment.
I have to agree with Happy and Orchestra. Referneces are good, but oversaturation isn't.Marciano Louv're
Keep your wits about you....and you'll stand on top.
SpoilerShowMarciano was born in Cylar. He was born to an incredibly poor family...He had two siblings, his sister, Ariele, and his brother, Bastion. Sadly, Ariele died of a deadly disease at the age of twelve. Marciano was the youngest and was usually a very good boy. He did his chores, cleaned the house every once in a while, and getting a less than average education from his mother. Marciano was always rather scrawny. Thin, and not too handsome either. He was a good boy. Soon, a thief in rags, merely a thug, killed his father and Bastion one night. Marciano was left only with a poor mother who's health was fading.
Marciano eventually was forced to become a petty thief. He did his best to keep his family alive until he could get a job. His mother died of hypothermia in the cold slums of Cylar...Marciano was utterly devastated. His whole family...destroyed. Killed off by disease and mugged by a thief. Marciano couldn't give up however. He had to feed himself.
Years ago, the first revolution of Cylar occurred. Marciano was drafted into the army. Marciano was no kind of warrior...He hid away on the battlefield. Armed with a pistol. He sneaked out of the imperial's makeshift bunker one night. He waited for a while. Soon the battle had resumed. Marciano crept down out of the cave he was hid up in. He scavenged the battlefield in the dark of night. He hunted for any sort of currency. He robbed corpses. Soon, he had gathered many a gold. He was moderately disgusted at what he'd done. He gathered a small amount of profit. Then he found the Imperial General. The General was wounded on the battlefield. Marciano was supposed to be on his side...Marciano slit the man's throat and stole the man's clothes, hat, and a very large diamond. Marciano soon bumped into Grantaire. Who was on the rebel side. Grantaire told Marciano that he just wanted to be alive. Marciano and Grantaire fled Cylar. They traveled for weeks, that came to months, that came to years. Three to be exact.
Then they found a magical item, robbed off of a priest of Pelor, who was on a pilgrimage. The pair of thieves were teleported into the Nexus. They needed to keep themselves alive. Soon they heard that Remnant had a bounty on a "Marty Aceford" Marciano was planning to kidnap him and retrieve the bounty. Then he was contacted by a mysterious man who wanted Marty dead. Marciano double crossed the mystery man and lied to the man that he killed Marty. He even had "proof". Marciano then made another half a million profit off of Marty's ransom. He managed to leave with a large fortune. He had to double cross one of NO's bounty hunters, Marty's friends, an employee of Sleeping Goblin, an insane wolf hybrid, and a pair of wizards. Yet he was unscathed and much, much richer. Now he heads to AMEN. He has a plan.
I think it's good. Vagueness is effective for conveying the kind of fleeting, half-remembered sadness.Shadows of memories - Almost an Annabelle backstory!
She may be a bit of a goofy character, but she has some genuinely sad stuff in her backstory that will probably never come up without this thread. Hell, it probably won't even be established much more than this in-thread, this is just a nice excuse to write this.SpoilerShowAnnabelle lay in thought. She had often had time to think since re-animation, trapped in this hole underground that no light ever touched. She barely had memories of light anymore – only memories of memories. There was nothing in the tight space of this coffin save for darkness, and the distant muffled noises above. What was up there? How long had it been since she first lay dead?
Ever since death, the ghoul's memories had become... fractured. Gaps were missing that shouldn't be; holes that only seemed to become wider with time. So much of her history was gone. Who she was, what she did, who her friends were... how did she live? How did she die? The memories might never return, and those few things she remembered had become hazier the longer she spent locked away down here. Not even her own name could escape those all-consuming holes in her memory.
But sometimes, if she closed her eyes, memories did come. Strange memories. Solemn memories. Things she couldn't understand how she could remember. Lying in an open casket in the rain. Figures in robes standing near, speaking to one another as they encircled her. It seemed to blur, these strange figures standing over her, as if her mind had sped up the memories to cover the gaps. They would stare down at her for a time and glance at each other, words leaving their lips that hung back just beyond her recollection, and they would move on. But soon the memories would slow. A solitary figure would come long after the others had gone and lay a rose down with her. His form was not cloaked, though he seemed nothing but a shadow in her mind. He would lean down and close her eyes with a hand and whisper something – what was it? She could remember nothing but that quiet murmur before the feeling of the casket lowering and sending her into this dark place.
It had always felt sad. Not ominous, nor malicious... truly sad. It was one of the only memories she had left that was more than a shard of a greater memory, but without the whole it was nothing.
Nothing but the shadow of a memory.
Hopefully the almost-backstory thing is okay?
Pretty funny, if that's what you were going for. Kind of Pratchettian in style. I like stories written from the perspective of minions.Alright, so, my turn! The beginning of the backstory for my Skeletal minion character Sevet.
The Day I Was Born
SpoilerShowSuddenly Consciousness! Anticlimactic? Maybe, but I challenge you to describe a sudden burst of self awareness as anything else. Most people can’t remember the first few years of their life, so they have no idea what it’s like to just POOF exist.
The world was an immediate overload of sensory information. My sight was entirely blinded by white and I was deafened by noise. Eventually it calmed down, and I was able to make out what was around me. I was in some sort of laboratory. A magician’s lab lit up by a river of magma flowing through the ceiling. I was standing up, leaning against a hard metal surface. Standing in front of me was an old man, bald, mutton chops, and a wrinkled old face full of boredom. As my first act, I reached out my hand, which I discover is skinless, to make contact with him. He proceeded to beat my hand away with a thick, hardcover book.
“Don’t you touch me, cretin!” he said, swinging at my head.
“Hey!” I yelled, covering my head in defense. “What did I even do?”
“You stuck out that filthy, cold, bony, hand. That’s what you did! Don’t think you can ever touch me, filth!”
“Wait! Wait.” I said as his blows stop. “Filth? I thought my name was Cretin.” That sent him into something of a swinging frenzy for a few seconds.
“Of all the stupid- To even- ARGGH!” When he gave up, he opened the book, and I saw him scroll down the page with his finger. “You are designated Number Seventeen. Janitorial duty.” He waved his hand and a mop flew from a corner in the room to his hand. “Here. You’ll find some robes outside the door. I put a rune of fire on you so I wouldn’t have to waste the effort to replace you if you fell in. I did not for the mop. Lose or destroy it and you will be punished severely. Understand?”
“Yes sir!” I said, taking the mop without thinking. I stood for a few seconds, waiting to see if he would continue speaking.
“What are you waiting for?!” he started screaming. “I have dozens of others to do today! Do you think I have all day to waste on you?! Get out and get to work!” He started swing his book at me, and I discovered just how quickly my new legs could move.