I wrote this little short story for school. I had to make some changes I didn't like in order to meet my teacher's guidelines, but I still think that it turned out alright all right. I don't have anywhere to link to, so, spoiler tag.
The sun sleepily crawled into the London sky. A cold wind blew over the dew-spotted grass of Sebastian Robert’s spacious estate. His luxurious mansion contemptuously looked down on the surrounding city from atop its hill. Towering columns framed its magnificent, black doorway. Fallen leaves littered the ground, heralding the approach of winter.
Even more regal and arrogant than the house was its owner, Sebastian Robert. He was notorious around London for his near-legendary greed and pennypinching. Sebastian stepped out the door, the wind blowing through his bushy mustache and short, brown hair. He gathered his fur coat around himself to shield himself from the biting chill of the autumn wind as he walked out to retrieve his newspaper. Much to his chagrin, Harold was camped in his usual place outside of Sebastian’s elegantly crafted gate. “Spare change, mister?” begged Harold, his hoarse speech riddled with hacking coughs. Harold was good at heart, but this quality was lost on Sebastian, due to the tattered state of his clothing. Sebastian grimaced at the beggar’s unwashed stench. Sebastian indifferently picked up his newspaper and glared at Harold in disgusted silence. He pivoted on the spot and imperiously strutted back to his house, Harold’s hacking coughs punctuating the steady noise of the breeze like an irregular drumbeat.
Sebastian made his way inside and sat down in his study, looking out the vast windows at the town of London like a man looking upon a pile of garbage. He heard a knock at the door. “Come in, William,” he replied. The butler strode across the room and placed a plate holding a breakfast of toast and eggs on his desk. William had served Sebastian for many years now, and he was one of the few people that Sebastian actually had a fondness for. He was knowledgeable, had well-groomed white hair and a short goatee, and carried himself with the dignity that one might expect from the upper classes. Most people would say that William was a living statue. Sebastian gave a quick gesture of gratitude and waved William away. Sebastian quickly finished his breakfast and continued to gaze out of the massive windows in front of him. He looked at the edge of his estate, and scowled upon sighting Harold. The beggar was shivering and clutching his tattered, black cloak to his body, giving him the appearance of the specter of death. However, Sebastian felt no sympathy for him, his attention diverted by the desk full of financial reports that Sebastian would spend the rest of his day reviewing.
The next morning, Sebastian walked out for his paper as he always did. When he reached the gate, he glared at Harold and picked up his paper. “Please be generous, kind sir,” pleaded Harold. The beggar pulled his cloak tightly around himself as the wind ran its icy fingers through his hair. Sebastian gave no response and proceeded back up the hill. As he trudged up the steps to his door, however, he realized that he had forgotten his key. He seized the smooth, icy brass gargoyle that served as a door knocker and repeatedly slammed it against the door, the booming noises issuing down the hill. He knew, however, that William was not a fast fellow. Sebastian cursed his luck and began to shiver. The wind was a steady hail of cold blades, and he was caught in the open. Finally, William opened the door. Sebastian quickly rushed through the door, his silence indicating his displeasure. He spent the remainder of the day behind the locked doors of his study, seeking solace in his comfortingly repetitive paperwork like a child might retreat to a stuffed animal.
Sebastian slept extremely poorly that night. He tossed and turned, thinking about how he had felt when the grasp of winter enveloped him. What would it be like, he thought, to face that every day? He tried to banish these thoughts from his mind, but they continued to tug at the edges of his consciousness. Finally, he drifted off into sleep, only to be confronted with nightmares of freezing and death. These dreams repeated again and again, throwing him into a sort of madness. When he awoke, he quickly dressed and stormed out of the door of his house. He sprinted down the steep walkway, clumsily stumbling and nearly tripping several times. Sebastian’s eyes were afire with the glow of a madman as he frantically opened the gate. His hands fumbled with the key in his craze. He managed to open the gate. He flew around the corner, eyes locked on Harold’s usual place. A wave of relief washed over him as he saw the beggar. At that moment, Harold was made of pure gold in Sebastian’s eyes. He composed himself and strolled over, whistling as he went. “Come on then, Harold, let’s get you someplace warm,” said Sebastian. He grabbed Harold by the arms and pulled him to his feet. Just as Sebastian felt that he had finally found out what it meant to do good, Harold’s lifeless body fell to the ground. William, who had been following closely behind, impassively commented, “I suppose that late is not better than never.”
__________________ Beautiful avatar of peerless beauty by Kasanip!
Sigatars by Prime32 and Kasanip/me. High School Harem Comedy, my original game system!
Originally Posted by Blue Ghost
Dangit Rainy, why must you be so smart?
Last edited by A Rainy Knight : 10-29-2007 at 03:17 PM.
Well, I've written a little something called Monkey Business. It's a comedy, of sorts. I never originally meant it to be one, but it sort of turned out that way. It features pirates, pop culture references, running jokes, an epic plot and a talking monkey, so be sure to check it out!
Oh, and you might want to print it out, it's more pleasant to read that way, since it wasn't written to be read in a browser window.
Avatar by the illustrious Dr. Bath.
The essence of a riddle is that it states facts by means of a combination of impossibilities~Aristoteles
I don't know how to spoiler, so I'll just put the beginning up. I would like to know if you can follow the story.
One hundred swords of fire darted over the village of Sh’rnta and settled in the outer oak trees of the forest, burning with phoenix-glow like festival lamps. Mothers ushered their children out to see the yearly phoenix crossing. Far up on a hillside, I passed a hand over my eyes as I watched the spectacle and my vision magnified and focused on the phoenixes falling asleep in the trees. After observing them for some time, I sighed and muttered, “Every year I cannot stay. Every year….” I got up and my sight returned to normal. I had to help my family prepare for winter, and I could already look forward to the inevitable argument for not completely covering my arms and legs, not to mention wearing only a half face veil. “I need to leave this place,” I whispered to myself. I arrived at my thatch-roofed hut, swung myself up a tree and jumped into the room shared with my twin brother, Agwim. Agwim understood me, and sympathised with me. He was also the only other human who knew about my powers. Agwim knew full well that I was no demoness, even if I could do things no other could do. I heard my father’s gruff voice, my mother’s harsh voice, and Agwim’s calm voice. Agwim was always the level-headed one. My mother and father sat down in the kitchen to discuss village news, and Agwim entered our room. He took one look at my pained face and said gravely, “You plan to run tonight, don’t you, Siran?” I nodded and replied, just as solemnly, “I found a village orphan who’s enough like me to pass off, if I change her appearance a bit. She’s coming at sundown, and won’t be missed in the village.” Agwim was silent for a moment, then said briskly, “Well, you must prepare. You can’t go as a girl, so change your face to male features. We’re the same size, so I’ll give you some of my clothes.” We had gone over this plan many times before, yet putting it into action was far more difficult than I had hoped. I lifted my rucksack and looked at Agwim. My eyes lingered on him, and my mind was a perplexing muddle of emotions. He was my twin, and I still to this day consider this the most gruelling challenge of my journey.
Thank you Tiffanie Lirle for the totally awesome avatar!
Originally Posted by Mee
So? This is the town. We don't listen to the laws of reality.
We rewrote it for our own convenience.
I wrote this in high school, so a good... 5 or 6 years ago now (has it really been so long?! ). I haven't edited it since then, so be kind. I deliberately stayed up late to write it so it'd be nice and weird.
To be infinite is merely to exist. To be. A moment; nothing more, nothing less. That is all there is. There is no future, no past. How can anything be that is not now?
Have you ever returned the stare of a cat? Ever focused all your attention on that intense, yellow gaze? Follow his lines, from the quivering tips of his whiskers, along the delicately angled head, down the sinuous back and tail. Return your eyes to his, and share a slow, feline blink.
Open your eyes, look up to the sky and see the lonely emptiness. Barren, nothing but space, into the incomprehensible infinite, occasionally marred by a ball of gas, of rock, or of fire. Impossible explosions rock the desolation from time to time, but there is little out here to hear the deafening bellow of a star in its death-throes. Follow the light cast off by the dying monolith back to the beginning. See it again; see the glow of a star, dead a thousand years, still to burn on for a thousand more – in our heavens, at least.
A shooting star streaks across the dark, perhaps some small fragment from the ruined solar system, hurtled through the empty nothingness. There is an instantaneous flare as the leftover morsel of planet is consumed by the heat of its own entry into the atmosphere of our own pathetic little pebble.
Skim one with me now; flick your wrist and send a smooth, flat stone bounding over the shaded crystal waters. The scent of daffodils whispers past your nose, accompanied by the cautious chatters of small beasts hidden in the thriving undergrowth. Isolate a sound; follow it to its source. Push aside the slippery-smooth waxy leaves, away from the crunching just died away. There is a dead thing there, a rotting mass of half-chewed bones and putrid flesh loosely covered with a scattering of fur. Prod it with your finger, feel the soft fuzz disintegrate at your touch to release a stinking cloud of gas and flies. Follow their flight up, out of the undergrowth to be snatched up by a darting willy-wag-tail. He perches on a little twig, some distance above and away from you. He wags his black tail, turns his bright black eye to yours and gives an odd little bow, then flits off after some more of your flies.
An eagle hangs stationary in the cloudless blue, scowling at you with her fierce golden glare. With a slight twist to her feathers, she veers away. Soar with her, feel the wind over your wings and listen to it whistle past your ears. Stoop and wheel and dive in the sheer joy of existence. Peek into the distant windows of a towering city as though you were sitting on the windowsill.
There is a girl in one of them, on the cusp of womanhood. She stands before of a full-length mirror, staring at the shrivelled sacks of her breasts, the xylophone ribcage. She has eaten three bites of pasta tonight. She only ate that much because her parents had been staring at her while she did it. Turning her back on the wraith in the glass, she drifts into her ensuite. She crouches over the toilet, the porcelain icy beneath her gaunt fingers. As she forces the three bites out of her guts, into her mouth, she feels something tear deep inside of her. She gags, choking on the meagre contents of her stomach. Feel her panic. Experience the enveloping calmness, the stabbing pain as her heart stops. Look into her eyes as she slips onto the tiled floor. See, they are quiet now. No more pain. No more hate. No more. It is a consummation devoutly to be wished.
Glass smashes, outside, on the street. A car alarm sounds, ripping through the tranquillity with its monotone wailing. A prostitute greets us, a crimson gash against the dead grey stone. A warm, empty leer is frozen to her face, even before she looks into our eyes. Give her a wink and twenty dollars to buy some McDonalds for her son. He is at home, getting babysat by his aunt. She doesn’t know what her sister does. Neither does the scarlet whore.
A dirty brown alley cat heaves herself out of a dumpster. She scuttles away as you approach, but pauses, mid-flight, to turn back to you, to meet your eyes with her own yellow orbs. With a flick of her scrawny tail, she indicates to you to follow. Shadows stir and murmur as you pass, but none approach. They lie, lingering gloom in the acrid stink of rubbish, waiting for different prey to go by.
You turn your head to follow the passage of a pretty little girl in a ruby frock, out of place amongst all this dismal grey stone. With a darting glance back at you and a familiar tepid leer, she dissolves into shadow and mist. Swing your eyes back to the cat. She has gone, disappeared into the night. Just like everything else. You are alone. Empty as the void around you. Not even darkness surrounds you. This must be what the blind see.
Turn around. I am here. I am all you need to see. Look into my eyes, gaze into my abyss, and allow me to gaze into yours. Sink into the depths of my insanity.
I am here.
Our infinite moment.
Can you tell I'd been reading Hamlet and listening to Queen?
I posted this in its own thread before I noticed this one, so I'm reposting here.
I'm here to get some exposure for my blog, Tremorville stories. Basically, I post my stories there a chapter at a time in hopes of getting something of a following, because I can't decide on a publisher to send them off to.
This is an example if I were to start/continue the story base of Crazyfatgoblin! So the story idea.
After the Grand War, which was between the "savage" and "civilized" races, ended in the savage ones defeat, the civilized armies (the humans, elves, halfings, and gnomes but not so much dwarves) captured and enslaved most of the goblins, orcs, and other "savage" races. Only a few were put to the sword, the rest were put to enslavement and gladiatorial arenas, as the winners of the war did not consider the savage races "people" or truly sentient.
Enter Srenok, a kobold hatched after the war, and raised in the arenas. Srenok fights to live, and lives to fight, eat to sustain himself for the next battle, then fight some more. However, Srenok is not just a kobold pit fighter destined to die. He is a Nexus, a rare being who is the focal point for an immense amount of magical power. In a fight intended to kill him off (like all of Srenok's other fights) Srenok unleashes this power, and in the confusion, escapes. Can he survive the civilized races ire at this fact, and the fact that he has become a wanted murderer(gets a price put on his head, therefore deadly bounty hunters want to kill or capture him)? Or will he die, as most of his kind do?
which you can see practically nothing of in this beginning, is his. So I´m probably not able to make money of it, not that I´d be able to with my amateurish writing.
Comments and criticism welcome! But please be gentile, this is my first ever real writing story, thingey, I think its to short for an actual story, if replies are positive and CrazyFatGoblins´ reply is also positive, I´l most likely continue with it.
He couldn’t look over his shoulder to check if the guards were still behind him, that would take to much precious time, and he knew that he should be looking ahead, for a way out.
Quick, around that vendor and into that busy street, and then into that small alley it was an opportunity, they wouldn’t see him in the crowd.
There he could run up those stairs and hide in the doorway, it was lucky that he did that as quickly as he did because on the other side of the alley a group of bounty hunters stood, their scout probably had seen the chase and told them I was coming in this direction. And there was the guard, running quickly while checking doorways. The group of bounty hunters advanced also checking doorways. They were closing in on the middle of the street, they were just below him, he could almost here them talk. It was now, run or keep hiding, but as they got even closer to his location, the middle of the alley, he could hear them talking.
‘Where’s he gone of to?
‘The only way he could get away was by the sewers’
His curiosity had gone up and risked a peek, what he hadn’t seen in his quick flight was that there was an entrance to the sewers…. But even he wasn’t that crazy to go in there…. He decided to try and listen for some more, hoping that they atleast would go away.
‘Look, we checked the whole alley, this is the only way he could escape!’
‘ Boss, I I don’tt wanttt t-to go inttto th-the sewwers’
‘You shut up and follow me’
With that, ‘the boss’ ordered his soldiers, as they were called to go in first, the paranoid bastard’. With him shouting after them ‘I’ll go do the paper work!’ And with a quick sprint he was away, afraid and scared he would probably would drink himself drunk again because he didn’t catch me…
The bounty hunters were looking down the sewer entrance and they’re conversation got a bit louder, allowing him to overhear parts of it.
‘Fools, nobody ever comes out of those sewers, they were build thousands of years ago by the dwarf workers of Dreg-gar, nobody knows how they still work but they do, they do don’t stink and lets leave it at that, leave them in peace I say’
‘ I agree there, lets comb the alley once more and call it a day, we have to catch the scum later.’
S ***? Scum? You filthy humans are the scum here, treating us Kobolds, who let them live when they arrived on these lands, pfft, the humans live to short and forget easily, they don’t write anything down either…
‘Well I’m off, I’d be at Madame Trespe’s place if I’m not at my place’. And the group disbanded, having agreed at the times and starting place of their next hunt of tomorrow. So he had got the last line of their conversation, not that it mattered anyway.
What was important is why they hadn’t noticed him, or the stairs and the doorway for that matter!
YARG! WITH COOKIES, A BOTTLE OF RUM AND A YOHOHOHO!
Spoiler: Playgrounders about me
Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost
DD: .... DEM HIPS.
Originally Posted by faerwain
Why do I have the feeling that you actually really grind Smurfs to make your ice cream?
Originally Posted by banjo1985
My wedding underwear has a picture of Dallas Dakota's face on them.
Last edited by Dallas-Dakota : 03-14-2008 at 05:34 PM.
Hello to all you fellow OOTS fans! I've been a long time fan of the comic, but am new to the forums. I also happen to be a fantasy author and thought this particular thread would be a great way to share my work with like-minded fantasy fans.
"The Forging of Hrongar" is currently published by VirtualTales.com, and the first four chapters can be received for free at the following link. It is a coming of age story, following a traditional Nordic setting in a brand new fantasy realm, and set against the backdrop of a full-scale war of conquest between the dwarves of Hargorod and the demonkin of Hell.
I would love to hear from any of you regarding my work. Feel free to visit my personal site at JamesAHamilton.com and e-mail me, or PM from the OOTS forums.
A shameless plug (and crossposting) of a short story set in the world of Legend of the five rings, Rokugan. A short story of heroes, their departure and the consequences.....not much I can say without spoiling, I´m afraid.
here's some of mine. now, go ahead and get the groaning out of the way now--this is fanfic. forgotten realms specifically. the story (not counting the prologue) begins in menzoberranzan, about 20-40 years before the famous drizzt is born to the do'urdans.
i welcome critique. eventually i would like to support myself with my writings and my illustrations, so the more help i get now, the better off i will be. gimme the good, the bad, and the ugly--and anything in between.
Announcer— “Your cable television is experiencing difficulties. Please do not panic. Resist the temptation to read or talk to loved ones. Do not attempt sexual relations, as years of TV radiation have left your genitals withered and useless.”
At my WoWWiki homepage I have written some pieces of Warcraft fanfiction. The Shadow Heritage is a multi-part story I've begun to write, the first part (the Death in Ice) is complete. My first Warcraft tale is a gloomy "what if" kind of story named This Clockwork Universe. Knowledge of Warcraft lore is useful for understanding my works. Please give me constructive criticism whenever you can come up with any. If any comic artist likes my stories... nah, that's too much to ask for, nevermind...