RockmanPM Forums
Rockman & Community => Fan Creations => Topic started by: Alice in Entropy on November 12, 2008, 08:38:58 PM
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Well, since the old thread was lost when the forum crashed, I'mma repost the stuff I had there. This thread is, of course, just for some of the creative stuff I work on -drawings, sprites, prose, or whatever else. Comments are appreciated, critique is allowed but not necessarily encouraged, but please, nothing mean or nasty. ^^;
First up, some examples of my artwork. I won't post descriptions; I think most of it speaks for itself.
Yamato and Mei-Ling (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/ChibiYamatoMeiLing.jpg)
Avalanche Yeti V2 (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/AvalancheYeti.jpg)
Black Hole RMs - Metal (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/BlackHoleMetal.jpg)
Black Hole RMs - Bubble (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/BlackHoleBubble.jpg)
Black Hole RMs - Gyro (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/BlackHoleGyro.jpg)
Black Hole RMs - Gravity (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/BlackHoleGravit.jpg)
Black Hole RMs - Pirate (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/BlackHolePirate.jpg)
Kitty "Harley" Harlequin (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/harleyupdate.png)
Mei-Ling (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/meilingcolour.png)
Mei-Ling (Colourless) (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/meiling.jpg)
Tabby in a Bind (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/Tabby_in_a_Bind.jpg)
Amphitrite (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/Amphitrite.jpg)
Vanguarde (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/Vanguarde.jpg)
Mercury (Neo Armour) (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/MercuryIzuki.jpg)
Jack Dandy (Castlevania OC) (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/JackDandy.jpg)
Enjoy. =3
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nya your art is still cute~ ^^
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I remember your stuff. Even though I just rushed through it.
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The way you draw eyes is very Katy Coope. :3
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The way you draw eyes is very Katy Coope. :3
Aw, now isn't that just a nice little coincidence? I just found a book of hers I purchased a few years ago gathering dust in my basement. XD I'm hoping to use it to better my art, since I have trouble with some parts (eyes, bodies and hands, mainly).
Posted on: November 13, 2008, 20:03:13
Ha! Bet you didn't think this'd be returning. Well, it's back, since I finally decided to get off my ass and get some more stuff done.
Since I'm currently writing a story - which I hope to finish and perhaps get published - I'd like to post it here and get some feedback on it. Still no title. I won't spoil the plot, but here's the intro chapter to whet your appetite.
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[spoiler]Eli was beginning to get very tired of sitting by his client on the bank and of having nothing to do: once or twice he peeped down the barrel of the revolver he was polishing, but it had no ammunition or rounds in it. "And what use is a gun," thought Eli, "Without ammunition or rounds?"
"I'm really not sure this is the best place to hide, Mr. Faust."
"Eli. Just call me Eli."
"Yes, of course, Mr. Fau-...Eli," the client corrected himself. He was a narrow man, hair grey and thinning, face coated in bristly stubble. His deep-set eyes were baggy and had a number of dark rings beneath them. The light-grey waistcoat he was wearing suggested he was a man of status, but the fact that he was hiring somebody like Eli struck that notion down. Of course, he may just have been a very unpopular fellow that people wanted dead. So long as he got paid, Eli didn't care much.
"So, what's wrong with here?" Eli asked, still cleaning his gun with a silken handkerchief that had the initials "EF" on them in gold.
"Well...are we not...hiding from them?"
"First," Eli said in his usual tone that was both smooth and yet sharp, flicking his gaze to meet the client's, "We ain't hiding. I call it 'tactical self-placement'. Second, who're 'them', anyway?"
"Who are they," corrected Mr. Client, sighing. "They are...well, it's not really any of your business, is it?"
"To the contrary, it's everything of my business," Eli parried, "Howzabout I just leave ya here an' let 'em toss ya into the river? Howzat sound?"
Mr. Client froze and made a mental note to not say anything more that might annoy his hired aid. "I'd prefer not to say who they are, if it's all the same to you..."
Eli shrugged. "Fair enough. I'm not one for small talk, anyhow."
There was a bang like a firework. Mr. Client immediately threw himself to the ground, nearly tumbling down the gently-sloping riverbank in the process. "Good God, they've come for me!"
Eli placed the handkerchief into his pocket and casually got to his feet. There was another firework-bang, prompting Eli to produce a small amount of ammunition from his other pocket and stick it into the gun's chamber. By now, they were starting to make themselves known: three men, all of a similar build and outlaw-style image, had come over the grassy mound behind Eli and Mr. Client. The central figure had a shotgun of sorts mounted onto his right arm (though, really, it was more of a double-barelled bazooka). Their rage reached frenzy point when they noticed Mr. Client cowering at the stream's bank.
"There's the bastard!" the central figure, who seemed to be the leader, ordered, "Get 'im!"
"Don't just stand there, do something!" Mr. Client yelled at his hired aid. Eli cocked an eyebrow and raised his pistol.
"You're the boss."
Three clean shots was all it took to take down the assailants. Their bodies, which now had one extra bullet in the chest, collapsed and rolled clumsily down the hill. The leader stopped at Eli's feet, and Eli just smirked and said, "Hi, Crowley."
Crowley snarled, clutching his heart area, which was now bleeding steadily. "You son-of-a-[sonic slicer], Eli!"
"Hey, don't be like that, my mom always liked you," Eli said, nonchalantly sticking the revolver into its holster on his belt. Mr. Client staggered over to Eli and looked at the bodies on the ground.
"Are they...dead?"
"Dunno. Armour wasn't too thick."
The client was shocked and disgusted, but mostly puzzled. "Is that all you have to say? You just killed three men!"
"Isn't that what ya wanted? S'either them or you."
The client didn't say anything. He just left Eli turn on his heel and begin to stroll off.
"I'll be takin' a nap under the trees. Just leave the fifty smackers in my pocket, 'kay?"[/spoiler]
[Cookies to anybody who tells me what the opening line parodies.]
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Since I'd like to sharpen my writing skills and get into the habit of writing more, I'll also be taking story requests. So, if you'd like me to write something for you, about your characters or anything you'd like, I'll give it a go. Nothing over short story length, though. I will also be taking art requests.
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That was an interesting read...
Can't wait for more.
And shouldn't you change your thread name? 8D
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Once again, I break up my art drought with delicious works of...graphite. Graphite on paper. Mmmmmmm.
So, er, here's a few characters I came up with for a cartoon/comic series I probably won't pursue but like to work on anyway. Enjoy. =3
Mimi (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/Mimi-1.png)
Mimi's a catgirl maid who works in the same town that the other characters reside in. At 16 years of age, she's pretty naive, friendly and good-natured, though she's also the voice of reason and one of the more intelligent members of the cast. She's feisty when she gets angry, though, and the others have come to dread her mighty sweeping brush. She's also a bit of a parody of Japanese anime culture.
Lily the Devil Girl (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/DevilGirl-1.png)
I'm pretty sure this one might be the most popular of the bunch, knowing RPM. =P Lily and her associate, Mike the Angel Guy, appear as manifestations of one of the characters' desires. Lily represents kinkiness and bondage, and is often shown carrying a whip. She's a sultry, sexy succubus who can show anybody a good time~ Oh, and she's also a lesbian. Hence why she and Mike aren't all over eachother.
N.B. I have nothing against lesbians or people who like bondage and that sort of thing. Don't eat me.
Mike the Angel Guy (http://s27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/?action=view¤t=AngelGuy-1.png)
Mike the Angel Guy, like his associate Lily, is a manifestation one of the characters' desires. In this case, he represents the character's latent homosexuality. He's constantly optimistic and loves to party.
Cookies if you can tell me why he's named Mike.
N.B. Like I said above, I have nothing against gay people. M'kay?
Random doodles (http://s27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/?action=view¤t=Toons-1.png)
And some random doodles of other characters. At the top-left is Vingo, a cynical chap who's always on the bottom of the heap and is full of get-rich-quick schemes. He's usually paired with his best friend/constant source of annoyance, Flipsy (not pictured; he looks like Vingo, but happier, and has an F on his shirt). Next to him is a picture of another character I haven't drawn yet, a pumpkin-headed attourney. He doesn't usually look that gleeful. That's another doodle of his face below, looking rather more miffed. At the bottom-left is Vingo again, this time in a Dio Brando-style pose. To the right of him is a "character" named Harry the Happy Toast. And beside the toast is Heinrich Hasanose, an evil aristocrat with a huge nose and BoBoBo-style nasal hair.
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Cute characters you have done Groovy.
And yummy graphite on paper is yummy... :P
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That's some cute drawings and characters! ^^ :cookie:
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Heinrich Hasanose is instant fave from me!
The other drawings are also cute. :3
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All of your stuff is awesome.
Can't wait for more.
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The next part of the story is done. Enjoy.
N.B. Please, don't get offended by the character in the following chapter. He is Irish and he likes to drink and fight, but he is not intended to insult people from Ireland; I'm Irish myself, after all. I'm just putting this here so nobody will berate me and say I'm trying to be prejudiced, because I'm not. Don't get offended.
Okay, that aside...enoy.
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[spoiler]The village was a quaint little one, the kind of town you might see on a postcard. The dry roads of cobbled stone, abundance of mature oak trees and streets of humble stone-and-wood buildings (complete with chimney and signs hanging above the doorway) lent it a certain homely feel. Eli would probably have felt the urge to sit down and drink some home-made apple cider, had he not a job to do. He could get to the cider-drinking afterwards.
Eli glanced up at the sign hanging from the building he was standing by. Written on it, in bold black letters, was: BLACK ROSE BAR.
"This's the place, alright," he mused, and pushed the door open.
The inside of the pub was a cacophony of noise, shouting, cheering and jeering, belching, even the sound of the odd fist smashing the odd nose. Drinks were being served heartily by the bartender, a rotund man with a scruffy beard and suspender trousers, and the patrons gratiously accepted them. Off-key tunes were being chanted enthusiastically, and when somebody got their face hammered in by another fellow's beefy knuckle, the two would quickly laugh and share a pint of stout.
Eli had been to bars before, but none like this one: the ones he was accustomed to were the kind of smoky joints where the bartender was slender, cocktails were served, and nobody said anything for fear of getting a blade held against their ribs. This place was different. There was a sense of cameraderie here, almost a familial relationship. Eli could tell that if somebody outside of this unique clique was to have a go at one of "the lads", one of "the other lads" would be all over him like a pack of angry dogs. Unfortunately, his job said that he had to take one of them down, and that was what he aimed to do.
"What'll it be, stranger?" the fat publican asked as Eli took his seat at the bartable. It was clear from his gaze that the barman didn't trust Eli; that was something Eli had picked up from experience. But he could also tell that the barman wasn't the kind of person who would start a brawl for no good reason.
"Just gimme a Manhattan," Eli stated, avoiding the barman's glance.
"Stout it is." The barman turned to the fellow next to Eli, and Eli's gaze discreetly followed him.
The figure next to him was...well, he was hefty. He was wearing a slightly tattered suit of a muddy-grey colour, pinstripe trousers, hiking boots stained by muck and grass, and a rumpled old fedora on his head that had a shamrock in the band. The hat was pulled well down over his face, obscuring his features. Not that it mattered much, because Eli was too busy studying the man's broad shoulders and tree-trunk arms.
"What'll it be?" the barman asked.
"Pint o' Guinness," the man asked, his voice hollow and coarse. There was something not quite right about the voice, perhaps something inhuman, and it sent a slight chill down even Eli's spine.
While the barman went to fetch the drinks, Eli was idly examining the coaster on the bartable, which had a lovely black rose printed on it, and hoping the big lad would fall for his ploy.
"And who're you, then?" the big lad asked, leaning a tad towards Eli. He had fallen for the old 'feign-no-interest' ruse. Now all Eli had to do was answer him, but be vague enough to keep the big guy asking questions. If you're gonna invite trouble, Eli reasoned, best do it at your own pace.
"Eli Faust," Eli answered. He waited for the big guy to register this and say something.
"An' what's a runt like you doin' in a big boy's pub?"
How charming.
"I'm lookin' for a fella, goes by the name of...Black Murphy. You know 'em?"
There followed a chilling, deathly silence, as though all sense of life had been drained from the room. When at last the ominous feeling came to pass, Eli felt a hand on his shoulder. His head turned cautiously to face the fellow next to him - what Eli didn't expect was the fist that slammed right into his face, knocking him off his seat and causing his cheek to bleed something awful. To an outsider, the fact that nobody noticed would have been strange. The barman returned, leaving both drinks down, not even taking a glance at Eli on the floor.
"Cheeky little bastard," the burly man spat, getting to his feet and taking a gulp of Guinness. He was terrifying to behold, easily six feet and built with the stature of a brick shed. What was most unusual, though, was his face: it was that of a tough-jawed skull, a fiery red pupil burning in the left eye socket (the right was covered by an eyepatch). "I be Black Murphy!"
"Y'don't say," Eli muttered, wiping the blood from his cheek.
"You're in The Game, then, aren'tcha?" Black Murphy queried, staring down at Eli like the latter was but a stray dog.
"And if I am?" Eli asked, ignoring how it was bad manners to answer a question with a question. His response came in the form of thick bones serving for fingers wrapping around his throat, pulling him up off the sticky floor and dropping him back on his feet.
"Then I jam me fist in yer throat, stick it down yer gullet and rip yer pansy-arse spleen out," Murphy grinned, delighting in the thought of mauling his opponent. Despite being notably brusied, Eli was quick to get back on his feet.
Gun ain't gonna do me much good, he thought to himself. He stood still, waiting until Murphy threw his fist out again - and blocked it with his own hand.
"Huh?" Murphy grunted, unsure of how Eli just did that. His opponent lashed out, cracking the Irishman one in the jaw. Murphy howled and clutched his chin, glaring daggers at Eli. "Oh, that tears it. I'm gonna kill ya!"
"Come get some," Eli coaxed, adopting a combat stance.
Murphy threw a punch, but Eli simply blocked it and, mimicking his previous move, cracked Murphy in the chest. Murphy went for a right-hook, which Eli ducked under. He took a roll to the left and leapt to his feet. Murphy swung his great fist around, bashing Eli to the floor. Eli flipped upwards and kicked Murphy in the face. Murphy snatched at Eli's legs and threw him at the bartable. Bottles fell and crashed. Eli rolled, gripping the edge of the table to he wouldn't fall off. He wiped his mouth and pulled his gun out. With a pull of the trigger, Murphy found a bullet in his shoulder.
"[parasitic bomb]!" Murphy cursed, holding his shoulder; he was undead, so there was no blood. It still hurt like hell. "You cheating git!"
"Sorry, I didn't think we had rules," Eli said dryly. He pulled the trigger again, but Murphy caught on this time - he raised his hand, and let the bullet bounce off one of his knuckledusters. The bullet ricocheted and shot a bar patron in the backside, causing him to leap off his chair. Eli loaded more ammo into his revolver. "I'll pay for that, buddy."
Murphy took advantage of Eli's distraction. He grabbed an empty bottle from a table, lunged at Eli and smashed the bottle over his head. Eli grunted and his finger slipped; the resulting bullet went straight into Murphy's eye cavity.
The blood-curdling howl nearly deafened the bar. Murphy was now holding his "good eye", staggering around like a man possessed, haphazardly sweeping glasses from tables.
"How did that hurt?" asked Eli, hopping off of the bartable, "You don't even have an eye!"
Murphy snarled and grabbed an empty chair. Eli grit his teeth as the chair was cracked over him, shattering into sharrp splinters and jagged pieces of broken wood. The enraged Irishman showed no mercy, continuing to batter his foe with what was left of the chair. Trying his hardest to stay concious, Eli squeezed the trigger on his gun five times. Three shots went astray, but the other two of them managed to shoot Murphy in the foot. He relinquished control of the chair immediately.
Eli pulled the trigger once more, but it just clicked. Damn.
Trying to ignore the severe pain in his chest and shoulders, he held his arms out and struck his wounded opponent with an open palm. Murphy's head was thrown back in a manner that should have snapped his neck. All was still while Murphy, head bent backwards, stared at the ceiling. He seemed to be unable to fight.
That wasn't the case for him. He simply grasped the sides of his jaw - with a sickening, crunching crack, he fixed his head's position. The onlooking patrons groaned, and even Eli frowned. This guy was clearly inhuman.
"Thanks, I needed that," grinned Murphy.
Eli frowned. "What the hell are you?"
"Bloody pissed." Murphy rolled his neck around and cracked his knuckles. "Y'know how I got this eyepatch? Me scar?"
Eli lowered his guard slightly. "I'm listening."
"I was in the Irish Civil War, lad. I was fightin' to free Ireland from the British. An' those Orange bastards...they shot me for it. In the eye! I was killed 'cos I loved me country! That was all over a hundr'd years ago. I'm older 'n your grandpappy, lad."
"So, what's with the...bones?"
"Oh, some bunch o' cultist ponces rose me from the grave. Bastards said I couldn't rest 'cos I was "filled with hatred" an' all that...like I couldn't tell 'em that."
"And?"
"I killed 'em. Snapped their backs, necks, whatever. After that, I came out here, and before I knew it, I was in The Game."
"And that's where I come in," Eli finished, satisfied with the story. He watched Murphy turn around and head for the door. "Where're you goin'?"
"Come with me, lad. Got somethin' I wanna show ya."
Eli hesitated, but decided to follow his enemy. The bar was wrecked, and it didn't seem like anybody cared. The bartender sighed, wondering whether it was good for business to let Murphy keep coming in.[/spoiler]
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Woa, I really liked how you write out the fighting, very detailed.
And this Game, I'm interested...
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More story. Optional background music provided. Enjoy.
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[spoiler]"This is her," (http://www.esnips.com/doc/dac655c4-84c7-4194-a8b6-a8991fb3e828/12.-Flogging-Molly---If-I-Ever-Leave-This-World-Alive) Murphy said, gesturing to the grey slab of stone that served as a grave. Delicate white flowers were laid on the soil, but they were withering and old, as though they had been laying there for years.
Eli was at a loss for words; he was never good around dead people. After all, the ones he usually dealt with tended to be carried away in body-bags. Often he was the one who shot them.
"This is your wife, huh?"
"Yup. Eileen O'Connel, the love o' me life. She passed away before I was arrested, so it's been a while."
Eli felt uneasy, but decided to sate his curiosity anyway. "Why are the flowers so nasty-lookin'?"
Murphy explained through action, plucking a fresh rose from the bush beside them and holding it in front of Eli: within seconds, the once-lovely flower began to decay and lose colour, until it was black and withered.
"I bring death with me, lad," Murphy explained, "Whenever I touch a flower, it dies. I can't handle animals without hurtin' 'em. An' everybody that tries to beat me, well...you know."
Eli nodded. They both dealt in the same business. And yet, here they were, two professional killers, engaging in civilised conversation. Something didn't add up.
"Why aren't you tryin' to kill me?"
Murphy glanced at Eli. "Eh?"
"We're enemies, ain't we? I shot you in the eye, and you nearly broke every damn bone in my body. Ten minutes ago, we were tryin' our best to make sure the other guy didn't walk out in one piece; now, we're talkin' about your dead wife. What gives?"
Murphy paused, and Eli braced himself for a sock to the nose. Instead, Murphy just sighed harshly.
"Back in the bar, you almost got me. If I wasn't an undead bastard, you'd've broken me neck just like that. That made me realise somethin'. I've been in this fightin' an' beatin' crap for years, an' I used to love it. But now...nah. If that's I'm s'posed to do fer the rest o' me life...er, undeath, I'd kill meself. Wait, that doesn't make sense...point is, I'm sick o' singin' these drunken lullabies. I had a...bugger, whatcha call it?"
"An epiphany?"
"Yeah, one o' them. My epi-whatever made me think that you're not like those other gits that come bargin' in, lookin' to empty me boots an' get himself in The Game. Nah, there's somethin' about you that's different."
"Like what?"
"Well, you don't take [parasitic bomb] from no-one," Murphy said, half-chuckling. "Aye. Yer a right oul' prick, but yer the damn finest oul' prick I've ever laid me hollow peepers on."
Eli, for once, was unsure of himself. Was that even a compliment?
"Now, lad. Havin' said that, there's somethin' I want ya to do fer me," said Murphy, grasping his grubby jacket and tearing it wide open. Eli stared at his armourous chest and mentally thanked his lucky stars he didn't accidentally punch that. Murphy looked down at his foe-turned-friend. "I want ya to kill me."
Eli was taken aback, which in his style meant the sides of his frown widened. "Say that again?"
"Kill me, lad. Get me to kick the bucket, push up the daisies, meet me maker, go six feet under...I can go on all day, lad."
"That's crazy," Eli snarled, hand held idly onto his gun, "From what I gathered, you can't be killed. Or did me bustin' your neck make you lose your pot o' faerie gold?"
Murphy ignored Eli's cultural stab and got down on one knee. He uttered a quick "Our Father" - being a strict Catholic - and gently scooped up a handful of soil from his wife's grave. He then raised his fist and threw the dirt into the air, letting it sprinkle down onto him.
"Me one weakness, lad," Murphy explained, little specks of dry mud on his sinister face. "The only thing that'll weaken me enough to let meself get killed: soil from the grave of someone who's pure at heart. Ain't no-one purer 'n me lovin' wife."
"Sounds like an old wive's tale," Eli muttered, pulling out his revolver, "You Irish love your folklore, don'tcha?"
"Aye." Murphy stood tall and proud, head held high, skeletal chest bared for all to see. "Finish the job fer me, lad. Let me go home to me wife. She'll be waitin' fer me."
"You sure you're goin' up there?" Eli asked, almost joking.
"I can hope, lad."
Eli aimed his gun at Murphy's chest and looked at the dirt scattered around him. Knowing it to be Murphy's will, Eli pulled the trigger...
Black Murphy's good eye dilated once the bullet struck; but he was happy. He placed his hand on his heart and smiled, a warm smile that broke past the skeletal grin he was forced to wear.
"Thanks, lad. Thanks..."
Patrick Murphy fell to the ground, laying on his wife's grave, and died happy. Whether to insult him or respect him, Eli knelt into a genuflecting position and performed the sign of the cross on himself.
One down, he thought, A lot more to go.[/spoiler]
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Wow...
Epiphany sure works in strange ways...
At least Murphy went happy, and could finally see his wife... *salutes*
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Oh, hey, guess what? Yeah, that's right. Art. Breaking an almost five month hiatus on drawing. You lucky people.
Doodles (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/Doodles1.png)
More Doodles (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/Doodles2.png)
36 (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/36.png)
System of a Down - "36".
Lafawna (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/Lafawna.png)
She belongs to a friend of mine. This was a gift.
Stardust (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/Stardust.png)
Another gift for the same friend.
Demon Girl (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/DemonGirl.jpg)
Aeon (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/Aeon.png)
The baddie from my Enigmaverse series. Looks a little like Dio Brando.
Yuki Yurei (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/YukiYurei.png)
An Enigmaverse character - the cute ghostly maid.
Skullivan (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/Skullivan.png)
An Enigmaverse character - the pompous skeleton.
Dr. von Psycho (http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/DrvonPsycho.png)
An Enigmaverse character - the crazy doctor.
That's it. Not much, but there you go.
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OHMYGOD YOU ARE ALIVE!
It sure has been a while, and great to see these pics here. :3
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OHMYGOD YOU ARE ALIVE!
I was just as surprised.
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I was looking through some of my stuff when I came across some poetry I wrote. And now you all get to read it. Lucky you.
The Heron In The Tree
[spoiler]There's a tree in my back garden,
It's just atop the hill,
And whenever I'm feeling curious,
Then visit it I will.
Inside this tree, you see,
There lives a heron wise.
He has a crooked golden beak,
And shiny silver eyes.
This heron's not afraid to tell me things
That others would forbid,
I've come to him to seek advice
Ever since I was a kid.
So one day I pine for knowledge,
And I trudge up my back yard.
The heron is there, but he's quite sad,
He'd lost his Dixons card.
"Oh my," said I,
How terrifyingly foul."
"Indeed," said he,
"It was taken by the owl!"
"The owl?" I asked, amazed,
"But he's such a lovely chap!"
"Oh don't buy that, you fool,
He's completely full of crap!
The bastard stole my card,
And the price for it he'll pay:
Ten thousand euroes, cash,
Now what have you to say?"
Long and hard I pondered this,
I thought of Mr. Owl...
Perhaps it was in fact Mr. Duck,
The greedy waterfowl?
"If to pay me back he fails,"
The bitter heron said,
"Then by all that's good and fair,
You will pay me back instead!"
At this comment I was shocked,
And quite rightly, too.
What would you have done
If a bird said that to you?
"Right, you prick," I snapped,
And grabbed him by the neck,
"I'll just have to cook your goose,
You sorry little wreck!"
In the tree in my back garden,
The heron spoke to me.
Until I took him out and roast his arse,
And had him for my tea. [/spoiler]
Gangsta Seal
[spoiler]My little town's a lovely place,
And everyone's so kind,
They're the nicest folks in all the land,
I think that you will find.
All except for Gangsta Seal,
He's not too nice at all,
He swears and spits and always makes
Prank long-distance calls.
His list of offences is long,
And quite offensive, too,
But nontheless I'll read the list,
In case he tries to get you too.
He threw an orange at a lady
Who had shopping bags to carry,
Then legally changed her name to Frank,
And her husband's name to Larry.
He made love to a fire hydrant,
Just to have a joke,
He dropped a cigarette in someone's pint,
And said he didn't smoke.
He once made fun of a Cockney man,
Which I think is terribly rude,
He ran through town once on a dare,
Whilst he was completely nude.
He stole a fellow's well-trimmed hat,
The filthy little creep,
Then drew a [ray splasher] on an old man's face,
While the old man was asleep.
He stuck gum under someone's chair,
He kicked a fluffy cat,
He then fell down a narrow hole...
And that's the end of that. [/spoiler]
Seven Deadly Sins
[spoiler]Let the Greedy covet their wares
And heed their possessions,
Their gilded souls, tainted by riches
Shall turn to rust;
Let the Gluttonous have their feast
Upon the table of avarice,
Whereupon they shall consume
And become bloated by sin;
Let the Lustful crave their pleasure
Desiring the love of the flesh,
They shall give into temptation
Their purity will fade;
Let the Slothful rest in silence
Where they speak not the word of truth,
Watch as they mourn for their spirits
Decaying over wasted time;
Let the Envious breed their spite
Upon others more endowed,
Wicked slander dancing on the tongue
Of those never truly satisfied;
Let the Wrathful feel their fury
Defiling that which is precious,
For their hands, stained by blood
Will pierce their own heart;
Let the Prideful wallow in vanity
Immersed in the tainted waters,
Drowning beneath the cackling mirror
That spoke of false glory;
Let the Sinful indulge in vice
Straying from the path of virtue,
Corrupt souls writhing in misfortune
Never knowing what it is to be loved.[/spoiler]
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Yea, lucky me~
Ahem, those are really nice pieces of poetry there.
The heron got cooked, the seal fell to his demise, the 7 sins...
I see a trend here.
-
I see a trend here.
It means I'm a latent sociopath, doesn't it?
-
Nah, I put it as plain coincidence. >0<
-
Oh, hey, more writing.
The Rose
[spoiler]I was walking through a field one day,
When I came across a rose.
A rose? I thought. It was very out of place
Amongst the rest of the flowers:
Dandelions, daisies, buttercups and snowdrops,
But there were others, too.
So I knelt down and looked at the rose.
How red it was! Like the crimson tears
Of a scorned lover, cascading around in a swirl,
A ruby spiral, much like a delicious cranberry whirlpool,
Or perhaps a splendid scarlet gown
Draped over this, the queen of flowers!
This voratious vexation of vermillion vanity!
Enthralled, I leaned forward to partake in its elegant fragrance.
And then I stamped on it because I hate flowers.[/spoiler]
Love
[spoiler]Do you love me? She asked.
Of course I love you, I replied,
You mean everything to me.
I love your soft, round face,
Like a gallery of the finest art:
It displays your splendid cobalt eyes,
Like two pools of sparkling sapphire,
If you will excuse the cliche;
Oh, your mouth, how your lips part
When you smile, and I know
All is well, for it brings joy to my day!
Your hair - has it been caressed
By good King Midas himself?
For even the most wondrous gold
Could not compare to your brilliant locks.
I love all the little things about you,
My dear,
Even the things you don't:
Like how you sleep slightly on your side,
Or how you can't sleep with the lamp on;
The way you stretch your arms when you yawn,
Or how you flick your hair when you're amused.
You are the last thing I think of before drifting to sleep,
And the first I think of when I awake.
Why, even now, sitting beside you,
Listening to a sharp comedian deliver his witty lines,
I take solace in the fact that you are at my side.
So, in a word, yes, I do love you.
And I will always love you.
Oh, good, she said,
Because I crashed your car.[/spoiler]
Writing a Poem
I'm supposed to write a poem,
But I don't know what about.
So I'm going to go watch TV instead.
A Short Poem
Do you ever wonder why people write short poems?
Frankly, it makes me sick.
A Day in the Life of Skullivan
[spoiler]"Curses! Curses, I say! A thousand curses, and then another one for good measure!"
These were the words exclaimed by Sir Edward O. Skullivan as he vehemently stormed down the hallway of his pristine mansion. The corridor ran on for about a hundred and fifty feet, with ornate marble tiles - checkered black and white and polished until they shone, no less - and a veritable gallery of portraits along the walls, all depicted Skullivan himself in a variety of exaggerated poses. The simple reason for his anger was the recurring fact that, no matter how much effort he put into making his schemes fool-proof, idiot-proof and yes, even imbecile-proof, something invariably went wrong that sent his entire elaborate plot collapsing around his feet. To be perfectly honest, there was no real reason for his general villainy: he had simply been raised to believe that people of his social status were above everyone else. In truth, he had twisted this notion to suit his own selfish desires, but that was a fact he was quite willing to overlook.
"Don't be too hard on yourself, sir," said a ghostly butler with a neatly-trimmed moustache and skull for a head, who was trailing closely behind, "I'm sure that you'll triumph some time."
In the blink of an eye, Skullivan had whirled around and was glaring the sharpest of daggers at his butler. "You've said that every week for the past six months, Bubbles!"
The butler timidly interjected, "My name isn't Bubbles, sir..."
"I don't care!" cried Skullivan, on the verge of snapping his own head off in frustration, "I'm in charge of this mansion, and I'll bloody well call you whatever the bloody hell I bloody well feel like! Do you bloody well understand?"
"Yes, I bloody well...I mean, yes, sir."
"Good." Skullivan turned back on his heel and continued his irate march down the hallway, all the while cursing under his breath. "I tell you, Bubbles, it isn't easy being a villain around here. Especially with all that blasted competition."
"Competition, sir?"
"You know! What about Davy Jones, my "beloved" archrival? And that blonde buffoon...the one that throws the knives? Oh, and let's not forget Lord Blackmore." He forced out the name, speaking as if it was a dirty word. "That wretched bastard thinks he's better than all of us!"
"Well, he does have the most successful record out of all of us..."
"Shut up! I don't give two hoots if he's from the chaos realm or whatever the hell it is, he's still just a Chaotic Evil wannabe!"
The butler was going to say something, but thought better of it and decided to change the subject. "I don't really understand why being a villain is so important to you, sir. It's not like you don't have an obscene amount of wealth and a position at the peak of the social hierarchy."
"It's not the villain status that bothers me, Bubbles. It's the manner in which my schemes constantly crumble! No matter how well planned they are, it seems, those twice-damned goody-two-shoes goodies find some way to overcome it!"
Upon reaching a door two-thirds of the way down the hall, Skullivan proceeded to bitterly shove it open and enter. This room was his private study, an old-timey spectacle of a room, complete with wooden walls, a fancy rug on the floor, shelves of intellectual books and tomes and his personal desk, upon which sat all forms of knick-knacks: from pens to paper to assorted miscellanea that had no discernable place elsewhere. Skullivan sauntered over to his desk, kicked the chair out from under it and seated himself on it. He leaned forward on the table, steepling his long, narrow fingers contemplatively.
The butler, who had followed him in, spoke up. "Perhaps, sir, it is not their clever tricks that allow them to defeat you. Perhaps, somewhere in your mind, you hold a secret respect for those good fellows. Perhaps you subconciously want them to win, and so you unknowingly leave a chink in your armour for them to exploit."
Skullivan gave his butler a filthy look that suggested what he had said was the verbal equivalent of spitting on his master's shoes. "And why in the hell would I let them defeat me, Bubbles?"
"Well, perhaps you secretly know that, if they were to fall prey to one of your elaborate schemes to rid yourselves of them, you would have nothing left to do. With them out of the scene, global conquest would be a piece of the proverbial cake for you. Perhaps, somehow, you are aware that they give you a purpose in life, a goal to achieve, and so you always give them a sporting chance. Isn't that what your father taught you?"
Skullivan's look went from filthy to murderous. "That's the most ridiculous pile of tripe I've heard in years! I pay you to serve me, Bubbles, not give me an unrequested psychoanalasys!"
"But you don't pay me."
"Details, details," Skullivan dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. "Now bugger off and fetch me my tea!"
The ghostly butler recoiled and nodded feverishly. "Y-yes, sir," he stuttered, and floated off to get the tea. With an idle murmur, Skullivan spun his chair around and fell to staring intently at his book-shelves.
"Some day, I will succeed," he said to himself. He plucked a small model globe from his desk and held it tightly in his bony fingers. "And then, everything will be mine!"
His wicked cackle rang all throughout the entire mansion.[/spoiler]
The Cutting Genius
[spoiler]Dr. Ivan Salvadore was once the top surgeon in St. Alban's Hospital. His surgical skills, charismatic charm, handsome looks and whimsical intellect made him the proverbial toast of the town: admired by women, respected by men, and confident enough to impress those higher than him. When he was in the operating theatre, everyone followed his command. He was strong enough to give orders to others, but gentle enough that they wouldn't feel forced. The theatre was the kingdom, and he was the king.
As he stepped out of the operating theatre, having successfullly performed a kidney transplant on a patient, he was immediately approached by throngs of his friends and co-workers. They were the ones who had given him the title of "The Cutting Genius", a moniker Salvadore held with great pride.
"Morning, Dr. Salvadore," an intern said as he passed, even though Salvadore had never spoken to him prior; his reputation was widespread throughout the hospital, and to not know him was to be an ignorant buffoon.
"Good morning," Salvadore replied in a manner most friendly. One of his close friends, a one Dr. McMannis, came over and gave his buddy a pat on the back.
"Hey, Ivan! How goes it in Surgeonland?"
"Hello to you too, Bill," smiled the surgeon, "Things are going fine, thanks for asking." He spoke in an exotic Eastern European accent, with a deep voice that was brusque yet warm, mysterious yet inviting.
"Cool, cool." McMannis was quiet for a moment as the two doctors strolled down the halls of St. Alban's. "Hey, you heard Tony's birthday's coming up in a few days?"
"Oh, really?" said Salvadore, deciding to humour his friend, though he had no intention of going.
"Yeah, this Wednesday. He's turning 28. He's inviting a bunch of the guys from work over to the bar for a party. It's gonna be wicked!"
Salvadore nodded. "I can bet it will be."
"So," Bill continued, moving slightly closer to Ivan's shoulders, "You thinking of coming?"
"I'm afraid I can't," replied Salvadore, perhaps a little too quickly. He quickly resumed his normal pace of speech and said, "It's just that my wife is going to a wine-tasting seminar with her friends that night, and I need to be at home to look after little Ivana."
"Oh, yeah, I forgot you have a daughter. So how old is she now?"
"She will be 6 in three months," Salvadore stated proudly, "To think it's been that long since she entered this world...it brings a tear to the eye."
"Mmm, I bet it does," murmured Bill, slightly dismissively. "So I'll just tell Tony you're not able to come?"
"If you would please," said Salvadore, "I would appreciate it."
"No problem, Ivan. Consider him told."
As Bill turned into a patient's room, he gave Ivan a high-five and wink. Salvadore just sighed and walked on.
"I think I'd go insane without people like him."
---
"Natasha, dear, I'm home!"
Ivan Salvadore stepped into the hall of his quaint surburban home, hung up his coat, loosened his belt and undid his top button. His wife, a Slovenian midwife by profession and loving mother-of-one, came to her husband and embraced him.
"How was work, Ivan?"
"I performed a kidney transplant earlier. Nothing difficult at all."
Salvadore looked down the hall and smiled when he saw his little daughter running towards him, beaming.
"Daddy! Daddy! You're home!" She threw her arms around her father, who chuckled and picked her up.
"My, Ivana, you're getting so big! Soon enough, you'll have to lift me up!"
Ivana giggled as her father let her back down. "I wanna be a doctor just like you, Daddy! I'll make people feel all better, just like you do!"
'Daddy' chuckled again and ruffled Ivana's hair. "And what a fine doctot you'll make someday! Now run along, your Mommy and I want to talk."
The little girl nodded and quickly scuttled off to watch television. Natasha glanced at her husband with a look somewhere between curiosity and suspicion. "Would Mommy and Daddy like to talk? About what?"
"Oh, nothing serious," Ivan assured his wife, leaning against the coatrack, "It's just that, Bill asked me if I'd like to come with him to Tony Guilder's birthday party this Wednesday."
Natasha cocked an eyebrow, her arms folded. "What did you tell him?"
"I said I couldn't. You have that, er, wine-tasting seminar, right?"
Mrs. Salvadore shook her head. "I'm afraid not. Sally and Judie had to cancel. Something came up."
To the trained eye, which Mrs. Salvadore indeed possessed, it could be observed that Salvadore's eyes lit up a little. "Oh! So...you will be able to look after Ivana, then?"
Natasha blinked. "Of course, dear. But...I know that crowd you hang out with all too well. They'll probably end up getting drunk, and you'll either join them, or have to drive them home. You'll be up all night, and lord knows what assignment might crop up the next morning."
"I can assure you, I will remain as sober as a statue," Ivan declared, as though his honour had been wounded, "And I'll come home early. Let someone else be designated driver for once."
His wife stared at him hesitantly, then at last sighed and shook her head slightly. "Alright, I suppose I don't mind." Her gaze took a sharper, sterner look. "But I'll take your word as a promise. Please, don't disappoint me."
Salvadore nodded. "I promise." His wife smiled, and the two shared a hug.
---
Tony Guilder's party, held at Finnigan's Bar & Grill, was a resounding success. Most of the male hospital staff had turned up, it seemed, and many had abandoned their worry regarding work and decided to live it up a little. In fact, it was Salvadore alone who kept his alcohol intake to the bare minimum; this was to the chagrin of his friends and co-workers, the man of the night in particular.
"C'mon, Salvie," Tony chirped joviously, struggling to keep his speech interpretable, "Lighten up! It's a party, after all."
"I assure you, I'm fine," 'Salvie' protested, taking a sip of his Manhattan cocktail.
"Suit yourself," Tony replied with a shrug, and downed the rest of his beer. The crowd cheered and another round was immediately ordered. Salvadore sighed and idly stirred his drink.
He glanced around at the other party-goers. They seemed to be having a grand old time...perhaps one beer? Yes, that would be fine. Surely one beer would do him no harm. And so he ordered a glass of premium Dutch lager, at a volume high enough to ensure the others heard. A few of them cheered in jest, taking Salvadore's order as a message saying: "I'm having a good time."
Salvadore shrugged and took a swig of his drink. With a smile, he raised his glass. The others followed suit, and they all clinked and took a drink.
And for Salvadore, something remarkable happened: he finally felt like he fit in. He was so often praised and admired at work that he almost forgot how to socialise, like he was on a pedestal far elevated above his co-workers. It felt good to be like this, to just be "one of the guys". It felt right.
Ivan Salvadore went home that night sober, as he had promised his wife. And yet, there was a certain tinge of melancholy to him: he knew that, tomorrow morning, he would go back to being "The Cutting Genius" again, and the night would just be a memory.
---
As it happened, the night before was something less than a memory. Salvadore awoke, dazed and confused, with little to no recollection of the party. He wearily gazed at his alarm clock. 6:30 AM. He had plenty of time to get to work. But as he got up and put on his work clothes, the question that lurked in the recesses of his mind was simply, "What did I do last night?" He remembered going to Tony Guilder's birthday party and ordering a drink. He was sober when he returned, he knew that much. But for whatever reason, he didn't feel great this morning. Maybe he was just what his colleagues might term a "lightweight"?
He entered St. Alban's Hospital, feeling slightly unwell, but nothing severe. The first thing he saw was Bill McMannis and a number of other medical staff rushing down the hallway, pushing a stretcher.
"There he is," McMannis called, detaching from the group pushing the stretcher and running over to Salvadore. "Ivan, get over here! This girl needs your help!"
This was one of the few moments McMannis called him by his first name. Perhaps there was a serious problem with this patient?
"I'm on it," Salvadore declared, hurriedly following McMannis and the other doctors into the operating theatre. There, the doctors threw the sheet off the stretcher and helped the patient onto the operating table: it was a little girl, no older than five. Her breath came in short, harsh wheezes, and she struggled to keep her eyes open.
"She has a severe lung infection," McMannis explained, "It's eating away at her lung, hampering her breathing. If we don't get that organ out and transplanted right away, she could asphyxiate." He looked at Salvadore, his face stern as stone. "Can you handle it?"
Salvadore hesitated, but nodded. "I'll do what I can, Bill." As he gathered his tools and donned his surgical mask, the other doctors stepped back, allowing he and his fellow surgeons to examine the little girl. She took a painful breath and looked up at Salvadore.
"Am I gonna be okay, Mister Doctor?"
Salvadore managed a small smile, brushing the girl's hair gently. "You'll be fine, my dear. Just fine."
"Doctor, we need to start the operation," another surgeon stated. Salvadore nodded. The surgeon placed the mask over the girl's mouth and administered the anaesthetic. The girl smiled weakly at Salvadore.
"Thank you," she wheezed, giving a little wave. Salvadore waved back, and she fell asleep. He took a deep breath and looked at the scalpel between his fingers. Once he had mustered up his courage, he started the operation to remove the infected lung.
As the operation dragged on, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Seconds seemed like minutes; minutes seemed like hours. Salvadore began to lose his nerve. Sweat dripped down his brow, his scalpel-holding hand shaking visibly. He didn't feel well; perhaps it was the alcohol kicking in. Whatever it was, he seemed to be losing his confidence. His usual deadpan determination was fading, to be replaced with the uneasy sluggishness of a young intern.
"Doctor," one of the surgeons said, "We need you to make the incision!"
Salvadore nodded. This was a delicate incision; one false twitch, and it could sever the child's windpipe. Unfortunately, that's just what happened: for Salvadore had made an uneasy jerk of his wrist, and the child's air supply was immediately cut off.
Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeep...
Her heartbeat flatlined. She was dead. Salvadore stood deathly still for a moment, then looked at the scalpel in his hand. He pulled his surgical mask down. In front of all the other doctors, he broke down and began to weep on the operating table. The Cutting Genius had made the fatal cut. McMannis hesitantly took a step towards him.
"Ivan?"
And Salvadore sobbed, "She looked like my daughter..."
---
Dr. Salvadore was unconsolable. He had to break the news to the parents that their precious little daughter had died on the operating table.
"You did what you could," the mother said, choking back tears. But it wasn't good enough. He had failed to help the little girl, and now she was dead. It was all his fault, or so he kept telling himself. Even his closest friend, Bill McMannis, couldn't make him feel any better.
"It's my fault," he kept saying, "Her life was in my hands, and I let her down! I'm not fit to call myself a doctor..."
"Ivan, we all make mistakes," McMannis assured him, "It's just part of being a doctor."
"She was only five years old, Bill! Just like...just like my little girl...if you were a father, Bill, maybe you'd understand."
And Ivan Salvadore left the building, never to be seen again. The Cutting Genius was gone.
---
After that incident, and despite constant reassurance that it happened to the best of them, Ivan Salvadore was overcome with crushing despair and sank into a deep depression. He refused to come to work, didn't eat, shave or sleep; he just sat on the couch all day, attempting to drown his sorrows with alcohol. He had gone from being a handsome, well-toned gentleman to a scrawny, dishevelled vagabond, his eyes bloodshot and sullen, his firm physique reduced to an emaciated mess. He couldn't muster the energy to move. The guilt was too much for him to bear. Once or twice, he had contemplated suicide, but he couldn't even bring himself to do it. There was the scalpel on the table beside him, but he ignored it. Instead, he decided to waste himself away, until he was nothing but a crushed heap that was once a man.
His wife had left him. She took his daughter with her. "A bad influence," she called him. "You're overreacting. You've gone insane, Ivan." Insane. That word kept pounding away in the dark corners of his shattered psyche, refusing to leave.
Insane.
Insane.
You've gone insane, Ivan.
He took a look at the picture on the table next to the couch. It showed himself, in his glory days, with his beloved wife and daughter. They had gone. His little daughter wouldn't see her daddy. Mommy took her away.
"Ivana," Salvadore wept, thinking of his precious little girl. She was named after him. He just wanted to hold her in his arms...but he couldn't. His wife would never think of coming back to him. He was barely human anymore. Cold, bitter tears trickling down his narrow face, he hung his head over, letting his greasy hair hang loosely; it used to be tidy and well-kept, but now it was dishevelled and unkempt. Just as he had become. All because of one little accident on the operating table.
But then he stopped weeping. He raised his head and glanced about. Was he hearing voices? There was definitely something there; something saying his name. "Ivan Salvadore..."
He swallowed a gulp and nervously spoke up. "Wh-who's there? How do you know my name?" He was surprised to see there was another person next to him: a tall, thin man, dressed entirely in black, with a wide-brimmed hat hiding his face. He sat smugly at the other side of the couch, head tipped forward.
"Hello, Ivan. Nice to see you."
Salvadore tried to speak, but no words came out. But for some reason, he wasn't afraid. He felt strangely comfortable around this mysterious man. He managed to whisper, "Who are you?"
"Who am I?" The man in the hat tipped the brim of his headwear down slightly. "Let's just say I'm a friend. I'm here to help you, Ivan."
"Help me?" Salvadore closed his sunken eyes, bending his parched lips into a frown. "I am beyond help. Please, leave me here so I may rot..."
The doctor slowly opened his eyes again, and saw the phantom figure raise the brim of his hat upwards: he revealed to him his face, a hideous, ivory-white mask that was somewhere between a skull and a demon's face. Pupils dilated in fear, Salvadore edged back and grabbed the scalpel next to him.
"Oh, put your little toy away," the phantom said in his hollow, devilish voice, "And listen to me. Your wife and daughter have left you, and your friends will think you're just a sick waste of a human being in this state. You know what you should do?"
The doctor lowered his scalpel and stared in awe at the phantom. "What should I do?"
Though he was wearing a mask, one could tell the phantom was smiling. "Kill them."
"Kill them?" Salvadore repeated in a hushed breath. Ordinarily, he would have deplored the idea of taking someone's life - but in his weary, addled state of mind, the thought of murder didn't seem like such a bad thing. "Kill them..."
"Exactly. Kill the ones who made you suffer."
"Made me suffer," he whispered. Who had made him suffer? It was the patients. If not for that little girl, he would never have lost his confidence. He had devoted his life to helping them. But why? What did they ever do for him? Nothing. They deserved to feel his pain. They were already ill - he would just be doing them a favour. He would kill the patients.
With his goal carved firmly into his debilitated mind, he painfully raised himself from the couch and lurched his way into the bathroom. He took a look at himself in the mirror, and was ashamed at what he saw. He looked at the scalpel in his hand. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he shakily managed to pull his mouth into a deranged, sinister grin. He looked at himself in the mirror again, raised the blade, and swiped it across his face. He fought back the urge to scream; the pain was now his friend. The thin blade had left a long gash across his face, though it wasn't deep enough for their to be any blood. Raising the scalpel again, he continued to etch the gruesome pattern into his tormented face, until he was scarcely recognisable anymore. But even so, that would not do. He would need a proper disguise.
When Salvadore returned to his living room, the phantom man was gone. The man who had saved him from the depths of sorrow and personal oblivion; the man to whom he owed his very life. But he could be thanked later. There was business to attend to.
---
St. Alban's Hospital had to be closed down for good. A number of patients had been found dead, and their families sued for malpractice. None of the doctors had even treated them; but they all shared similar wounds, like that of a blade. It was a mystery.
"One of the surgeons must have gone mad and stabbed 'em," Bill McMannis said to Tony Guilder. Tony nodded in agreement.
"It's sad when someone just loses it like that. They call it 'going postal', I think," he said. "It's a pity ol' Salvadore isn't around anymore. Whatever happened to him?"
"Beats me," Bill said with a shrug, "I heard he went nuts and jumped off a bridge. They never found his body."
"Wow. Some folks, eh? It's a pity. He was a cool guy."
"You said it. C'mon, Tony, I'll buy you a drink."
Nobody ever knew what really happened. Nobody would have suspected that the one responsible for the murders was Ivan Salvadore himself: now wearing a crudely-stitched sack over his face, and kitchen knife in his hand, he had become a new person. Killing became his passion. He was no longer Ivan Salvadore, the renowned surgeon; he was Dr. Scarface, the St. Alban's Killer.
And they say that you should never go to St. Alban's Hospital. For they say, amongst its abandoned hallways, Dr. Scarface still lurks, waiting for his next victim...[/spoiler]
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Hehe, nice to see your 2 stories at the bottom there.
As for the poems, lawl at Rose and Love endings, you seem to always be able to turn a happy main, into an unhappy ending. >0<
Also, huge LAWL at Writing and Short. XD
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Woah. I'm impressed.
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Love is very beautiful, except the last line.
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Love is very beautiful, except the last line.
Take nothing seriously.
Alrighty, those of you who read "The Cutting Genius" and remember Black Murphy from something I posted here a while ago should know that both of the characters (Dr. Scarface and Black Murphy) were supposed to be in a story I was writing. It's kind of floating in limbo, but I decided to write this poem to briefly sum up the other characters in the story. There's no beat and the rhyming isn't great, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
The Killers
[spoiler]Black Murphy was a rebel,
He was arrested by the Brits.
His heart turned to stone,
His flesh turned to bone,
And his rage never quits.
Motorhead, oh Motorhead,
He used to be happy all the time.
Except for his drunken father,
Who beat him for rum and lager,
Which made him into the king of crime.
Sawmill Pierrot
Was a jolly, jolly sort.
Behind the doors
On his factory floors,
He'd kill people for sport.
Iron Maiden was a lovely girl,
The fairest in all the land.
But her suitors, once her friends,
All met with their gruesome ends,
At her bloody, sword-wielding hand.
Scarface was a doctor,
He worked and worked all day.
But so goes the fable, there was
The slip on the operating table,
And now his patients are his prey.
Von Blaze was in the army,
Serving his Russian brothers well.
But his latent obsession with fire
Made the barracks a funeral pyre,
He laughed as they burned in Hell.
Schadenfreude was a man of science,
But torture and suffering was his game.
The evils which he commited,
The armour in which he's fitted,
Are all products of his fear-inspiring name.[/spoiler]
Oh, I'll also take requests, if anyone has any. Drawings might take a while, but if you want to request a poem (about just about anything, even your own characters), I'll gladly see what I can work up.
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Interesting poem, giving us a general jist of each of them.
As for requests... Needs more DWII. 8D
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Take nothing seriously.
Nah, I just lazy to put smiley there.
But I like your poetry. Or else, why would I posted a comment in your thread after all?
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As for requests... Needs more DWII. 8D
Dr. Wily
[spoiler]Dr. Wily, Dr. Wily,
Sitting in your lab all day.
I think you're missing a screw
Trying to kill the boy in blue,
Why don't you just go out and play?
Sure, your Robot Masters are
Loyal (and rather shiny, too!),
But they invariably fail
And you're thrown into jail,
Don't you have something better to do?
With your sinister wiggly eyebrows
And your flapping wing-like hair,
You've got the looks to be bad,
And your cackling's pretty mad,
The way you keep losing, it just isn't fair.
Face it, Dr. Wily, you're old hat,
It's just not worth it anymore.
If you're not in the next sequel,
You'll have to make do with a prequel,
I guess Capcom thinks you're a bore.
Pack your bags, Dr. Wily,
Get out and make way for the new.
With his wit and his flair,
His cunning debonaire,
The new villain in town, it's Dr. Wily II.[/spoiler]
Yes, I pronounce it "Dr. Wily Two" instead of "Dr. Wily the Second". What of it?
-
Yes, I pronounce it "Dr. Wily Two" instead of "Dr. Wily the Second". What of it?
Nothing, I use 2 myself. 8D
And that was great. :3
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And that was great. :3
I threw it together in about five minutes...
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^
^
A real talent *two thumbs up*
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I threw it together in about five minutes...
Then you have a knack for poetry!
-
I am impressed. Again.
-
Dr. Wily
[spoiler]Dr. Wily, Dr. Wily,
Sitting in your lab all day.
I think you're missing a screw
Trying to kill the boy in blue,
Why don't you just go out and play?
Sure, your Robot Masters are
Loyal (and rather shiny, too!),
But they invariably fail
And you're thrown into jail,
Don't you have something better to do?
With your sinister wiggly eyebrows
And your flapping wing-like hair,
You've got the looks to be bad,
And your cackling's pretty mad,
The way you keep losing, it just isn't fair.
Face it, Dr. Wily, you're old hat,
It's just not worth it anymore.
If you're not in the next sequel,
You'll have to make do with a prequel,
I guess Capcom thinks you're a bore.
Pack your bags, Dr. Wily,
Get out and make way for the new.
With his wit and his flair,
His cunning debonaire,
The new villain in town, it's Dr. Wily II.[/spoiler]
Very nice, I'm amazed it only took you five minutes. It almost seems like the lyrics to a song though, so I gotta wonder, would it work if it was sung to MM2 Wily Stage 1? 8D
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I'm not big on poetry but that Dr Wily poem sure is cool!
and love caught me off guard.
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would it work if it was sung to MM2 Wily Stage 1? 8D
A shilling to the man and/or woman who can record this for my amusement!
I jest. But thanks to everyone who's commented. Your kind words keep me writing.
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^
^
You write good stuffs, I'm sure that will draw a lot of ppl into your thread soon.
And keep writing, you're good at it. Show us more of your talent.
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A shilling to the man and/or woman who can record this for my amusement!
Time for me to get a mic!
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Now this I have to hear! XD
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There once was a man named Nick,
he most certainly was not a dick.
His stuff was a killer hit,
it was the [parasitic bomb].
I know this poem sucks,
but bear with me,
because this maybe the key,
to the secret of the ducks.
This nothing but a tribute,
something I wished to contribute.
Perhaps I should stop here,
before you all run in fear.
This the end,
I hope your brain is on the mend.
Farewell to you,
make sure the cows go 'Moo!'
-
That's the best reply I've seen today. >0<
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Bravo! Bravo! Encore! *Applauds and throws a rose*
O^O -Sniff- A masterpiece for the ages!
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There once was a man named Nick,
he most certainly was not a dick.
His stuff was killer hit,
it was the [parasitic bomb].
I know this poem sucks,
but bear with me,
because this maybe the key,
to the secret of the ducks.
This nothing but a tribute,
something I wished to contribute.
Perhaps I should stop here,
before you all run in fear.
This the end,
I hope your brain is on the mend.
Farewell to you,
make sure the cows go 'Moo!'
Well, this just made my day 8) but I want to know, what's the secret of ducks you mentioned? 8D
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^
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They don't wear pants >0<
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Ducks kill thing.
Especially mouse.
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... *standing ovation*
Bravo... Bravo...
Now this I have to hear! XD
Then donate!
To the bank account number you see here! *shows number*
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The Secret of Ducks
[spoiler]Do you want to know the secret,
The secret of ducks?
The secret goes
That ducks are not to be trusted.
I knew a duck once.
The foulest fowl to be found.
Ducks kill things, you see.
Especially mice.
They don't wear pants.
They never wash up after eating.
Ducks are the spawn of the devil;
The almighty monster Quackmodeus!
Run, my boy! The ducks are here!
The bills, the bills!
Filled with the fangs of hatred!
Their secret is out!
The secret of the ducks!
They will eat your soul!
Never trust the ducks![/spoiler]
I've created a monster.
-
...I love you.
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Let's get dangerous óVó
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Beautiful...
I got tears on me eyes.
BRAVO!
-
The Secret of Ducks
[spoiler]Do you want to know the secret,
The secret of ducks?
The secret goes
That ducks are not to be trusted.
I knew a duck once.
The foulest fowl to be found.
Ducks kill things, you see.
Especially mice.
They don't wear pants.
They never wash up after eating.
Ducks are the spawn of the devil;
The almighty monster Quackmodeus!
Run, my boy! The ducks are here!
The bills, the bills!
Filled with the fangs of hatred!
Their secret is out!
The secret of the ducks!
They will eat your soul!
Never trust the ducks![/spoiler]
They truly are the evilest things in existence 8)
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What did I Just walk in on?
-
I don't know. But I'd turn around and leave if I were you.
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Wow...
...
...
WHO WANTS PEKING DUCK AS REVENGE!?
-
I don't know. But I'd turn around and leave if I were you.
I can't. I'm compelled by the words make the funny sounds
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Grodgudinnan/Patch isn't feeling great right now, and since I have to go away for a week, she's going to be feeling very lonely and depressed. So I wrote this to make her feel better.
By Your Side
[spoiler]When you're feeling grim
And the lights are dim
And you don't feel well
I'll be with you.
When you stray off the path
And wander into darkness
And become lost in doubt
I'll guide you.
When you've lost your spirit
And things seem bleak
And you've lost your smile
I'll give you mine.
I'll protect you when you're in trouble.
I'll pick you up when you fall.
I'll always be standing by your side.
I'll love you through it all.[/spoiler]
Sorry for the lack of humour. If anybody wants, I can write something funny to make up for it.
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No need, that's just very sweet of you. :3
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Nick, you know I loved it. Thank you so much for not getting tired of me and my constant whining all the time... I appreciate it.
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Don't sweat it, Patch. And thanks, Doc.
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Grodgudinnan/Patch isn't feeling great right now, and since I have to go away for a week, she's going to be feeling very lonely and depressed. So I wrote this to make her feel better.
By Your Side
[spoiler]When you're feeling grim
And the lights are dim
And you don't feel well
I'll be with you.
When you stray off the path
And wander into darkness
And become lost in doubt
I'll guide you.
When you've lost your spirit
And things seem bleak
And you've lost your smile
I'll give you mine.
I'll protect you when you're in trouble.
I'll pick you up when you fall.
I'll always be standing by your side.
I'll love you through it all.[/spoiler]
Sorry for the lack of humour. If anybody wants, I can write something funny to make up for it.
Beautifully done
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So, after a good deal of reading over my vacation, I've been inspired to write. Here's the introduction for an idea I have for a story. I may write more, especially if the feedback is good. May be slightly NSFW, please tell me if it is.
--------------------------
[spoiler]It was early morning on a pleasant April day when Patricia Morgan was born. Her parents couldn't have been happier. Her father was Sir Rupert Morgan, heir to the Morgan family fortune, and a man of great social acclaim. His wife, Lady Olivia Morgan - nee Eaton - had married Sir Rupert only partially for his wealth: she was an avid believer in the power of love, and as such wanted her daughter to grow up with the same notions.
"I'll not have my precious child tarnished by the ugly concept of a false marriage," she told her husband mere days after the wedding, making it very clear that she wanted a child. Always one to oblige, Sir Rupert let his baser instincts take brief control of himself and...well, you know. A little over nine months later, Lady Olivia gave birth to a healthy baby girl, whom she and her eager husband named Patricia, after the Lady's late mother. The first time Lady Olivia, now a mother, held her infant child in her hands, she felt a rush of warmth overwhelm her, a cascade of emotions she hadn't felt since her marriage. With a tender smile, she cradled baby Patricia in her arms.
"You're going to make somebody very happy some day," she whispered in her daughter's ear. Sir Rupert could not have been more proud.
-----
Evan Butler, on the other hand, had a rather different introduction to his life. He was born to Jack and Louise Butler, both members of equally desolate working-class families, and their initial reactions to the wondrous discovery that they were to be the proud parents of a child were not quite as enthusiastic as that of the Morgans.
"What, are you sure it's mine?"
"'Fraid so, luv."
"Ah, bollocks."
To be fair, Evan's parents, given the chance, would have showered their son with love and affection. The simple fact was, they were impeded by a love that they had already possessed for several years before they were even married: Jack was a fiend for gambling, while Louise had more of a penchant for tobacco. It was partially due to these unhealthy obsessions that they had met in the first place, both in a state of inhibiting inebriation at a bar some years beforehand. Had it not been for Louise Taylor's drunken intervention with Jack Butler's equally drunk efforts to score the jackpot on the tavern's fruit machine, the two may never have met and have borne their son.
To Evan, this notion of never having been born occasionally surfaced to taunt him. It wasn't that he was clinically depressed, per se, but he was of the opinion that his existence was taking up room that could have been put to much better use on someone else, someone who may have the chance to amount to something. Despite their glaring drawbacks, Evan was still fond of his parents. Had he been a more religious young man, he would most likely have chastised them for their indulgence in petty vice; alas, he had no interest in spiritual matters, and he viewed his parents' individual vices as little more than stark realities of urban life as opposed to defining flaws in character. Young Evan was the kind of person with little to no imagination whatsoever, whose most exciting thoughts rivalled that of a wooden plank's. Though by no means an unintelligent fellow, Evan had resigned his manner of thinking to a simple level - he only allowed his brain think of things relevant to the situation at hand, and exerted just enough effort to get by with his daily business. No more, no less. It was a sad, lonely existence, but one Evan intended to eke out until he finally passed away, alone and unloved, with only his faithful canine companion Reilly by his side. He already had his life planned out. His plans seemed to be going well. His life showed no signs of excitement or adventure in the near future, at any rate, and that suited him just fine.
He entered the kitchen one morning to find his parents going about their morning routine: mother with a cigarette in her hand, fathe trying to sort out his numerous gambling losses.
"I wish you wouldn't smoke in the house," Evan muttered to his mother, more out of obligation to say something than any personal opinion.
"I'll have you know I'm making a concious effort to cut back," his mother replied, taking a drag of her cigarette, "I reckon I can go by twenty a day now. No more smoking willy-nilly for me."
Evan nodded automatically, more concerned about excavating a carton of orange juice from the back of the fridge than whatever his mother had to say. She had said the same thing a month ago, and he was the one who had to put the fire out after she fell asleep with a lighter in her hand. He eventually retrieved the carton and sat down to breakfast. Cold muesli and orange juice. No surprises or funny stuff there.
"I was just telling your mother you ought to get a job," his father said, peering over his reading glasses. Evan gave him a look that was somewhere between frustrated and bemused.
"I have a job."
"I mean a real job. Can't spend the rest of your life d'liverin' them boxes, so you can't. Gotta make a name for yourself, son."
Evan simply frowned and examined the cold, grey sludge on the concave of his spoon. He had more or less intended to remain as a courier - it may have earned him minimum wage, but it was more than his deadbeat parents ever earned. Not that he ever actually thought such things; that would imply forming an opinion, and Evan's mind was too terrified to get off the fence. It had essentially become an extention of the fence it so nervously sat on. He finished his breakfast, got up and headed for the door.
"Where're you going?" asked his father.
"Out."[/spoiler]
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Seems just fine to me.
And it was a really nice read, so what's the premise of this series?
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Surreal love story of sorts. Though maybe "love story" isn't the best phrase.
[spoiler]Patricia Morgan had grown into a fine young woman. By the age of twenty, she had become well-known for her equestrian talent, having won seven national horseriding championships and at least seventeen lesser challenges. Indeed, horses and their ilk held a special place in her heart. Fame was not something she relished, though, and tried to keep a low profile as a very minor celebrity. Even so, she had regularly appeared on the covers of magazines and had also made a number of television appearances, often being interviewed about her life, family and career. She would gladly divulge information on these topics, yet there was still one subject she was a little less open on:
"Is there a special boy in your life?"
Patricia was consistently hesitant to speak about such matters. Her mother had raised her to believe that only true love was worth her effort, yet she had never actually attempted to seek it anywhere. She believed it would turn up when it wanted to, and she would be swept off her feet by a charming hero, reside a fairy-tale life in a faraway castle and overall live happily ever after. She herself had doubts about such things, but never actually said so. Interviewers had come to be familiar with the deep crimson blush and timid flicking of her bangs that appeared whenever she was questioned on the opposite gender, as well as the slight stutter and nervous squeak in her throat. These had become almost characteristic traits of hers, somewhat to her embarassment.
"I...I d-don't feel the n-need t-to *squeak* discuss...th-th-that..."
The interviews tended to finish shortly after that, so as not to upset the girl too much. And yet, whenever she left the studio, she would look up to the sky and wonder if her love really was out there, waiting for her.
-----
Evan hated his job. It was something he wouldn't actually like to say out loud, but in the recesses of his mind, he knew it was a waste of his time. Every morning he'd arrive at the building, somebody would hand him a box, he would tie the box to his bicycle and he would deliver the package to its recipient. This was his lot in life, day in, day out. He had resigned himself to this duty for the rest of his life. At least it put bread on the table.
This day, however, he was summoned by the man in charge of the delivery company, a one Edgar Johnson. Many of the workers held their boss in contempt, but the truth was, he was a very generous man. It was just that his generosity was invariably inwardly focused. He could have won a medal for his charity towards himself. He was seated at his desk when Evan arrived in, fingers already steepled and eyes already focused on the young man.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Ah, Evan, good to see you. Sit down."
Evan obliged and procured a seat from the corner of the room. He sat himself down on the opposite side of his boss's desk, feeling small and insignificant against Mr. Johnson's cold stare.
"I have a package for you to deliver," said Mr. Johnson.
Evan looked about the room, checking for any hidden cameras. At last, when he deemed the room safe, he turned back to his boss. "Er, yeah. That's what I do. That's what I've been doing for two years now, sir."
"I'm quite aware of that. However, I have a very special package for you to deliver."
Evan frowned. "Special?"
"Oh, yes." Mr. Johnson leaned back in his chair and picked up a box that lay behind his desk. He dropped the box on the table and pointed a finger at the name written on the side:
PATRICIA MORGAN
Evan blinked. He led a life ignorant of who's-who and what's-what, and as such had no idea who Patricia Morgan was. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Mr. Johnson, who knew what he was going to ask.
"Patricia Morgan is the daughter of the wealthy Morgan family and the heir to their fortune," Mr. Johnson explained, "She's also a renowned horserider. Don't understand why, I never saw the appeal in those four-legged fiends." He stopped himself, lest he embark on a rant, and returned to the subject. "At any rate, you're going to deliver this package to the Morgan estate and you're going to do it with all the speed you can muster with those scrawny legs of yours."
Evan shrank into his seat as his boss's tone took on a form similar to that of a drill sergeant barking orders. "Yes sir. But, er...why me, sir?"
"Because, Butler, you're the fastest courier in this company! If we can please the Morgans with our delivery, there's a chance they'll give us some...you know, help with the money."
"Financial aid?" Evan suggested meekly. His boss snapped his fingers.
"Yeah, that's it! Hell knows we need the money."
Evan nodded, his gaze constantly shifting to the door. The sooner he could leave, the better. Without a word, Mr. Johson dumped the box into Evan's hands.
"Alright, get to deliverin'. And remember, we need that money!"
Evan nodded once again and, holding the package close to his chest, scurried out the door like a frightened mouse. Mr. Johson watched him go, and once he had left, set about polishing a gold trophy he kept beneath his desk.[/spoiler]
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^
^
Good writings.
Wonder how the story goes (I sense a plot twisted)
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I see, and hehe...
It's coming... The fated meeting...
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Have some more. Short, but I figured I'd write something.
[spoiler]It was a splendid April morning, less than a week from the birthday of the Morgan family air, and Patricia was seated on the balcony, sipping ice-cold lemonade that had been freshly squeezed for her to enjoy. She had everything she could want in life: good health, a loving family, financial security and many good friends. Alas, she was still missing one thing: somebody she could love and cherish as a significant other. Her parents had arranged countless suitors to court her, but none of them had met her - or, heaven forbid, her mother's - expectations, and they were quickly shooed away. Her mother always stressed that money was not important, that love was all that counted. She didn't love any of them. A few of them were nice, handsome and gentlemanly, but the rest were either pompous, vain, shallow, greedy or just plain ignorant. She could feel no amorous attraction for any of them, but her parents maintained that patience was a virtue, and that she would have to wait for the perfect fellow to arrive.
In her mind, she checked off all the features she thought her perfect man would have: tall, well-built but not muscular; neat, tidy and respectable; a good sense of humour; loyal and protective; kind, gentle and caring; able to walk, talk and act like a gentleman; a true knight from the fairy tales of lore. And a white horse to sweep her onto and ride away on wouldn't hurt either.
The doorbell rang. Patricia put down her glass and went back inside, down the stairs and into the main hall, where the head butler Winston had arrived to open the door.
"Don't trouble yourself, Winston," said Patricia with a smile, striding over to open the door herself.
-----
It had taken all day, but at last, Evan arrived at the Morgan estate. As soon as he reached the gates and saw the house, surrounded on all sides by well-trimmed and perfectly green hedges, he was taken aback. Having resided in a cheap flat all his life, seeing this marvel of architecture was an incredible sight. The grandiose, majestic building, with its five tiers of flooring, polished alabaster walls and magnificently arched roof, had left the poor lad speechless. After the gates had been opened, he strolled down the driveway, which seemed to stretch onwards for miles to him. Trailing his bicycle beside him, he glanced in amazement at the garden - everything was so neat and tidy, each plot of grass its own unique kingdom, thriving with wondrous flora he had never even seen before.
He came to the front door, left his bicycle in front of the house, stepped onto the porch and, with a nervous cough to clear his throat, rang the doorbell. The package was in his hands. He heard footsteps, and the faint voice of a girl telling somebody named Winston not to trouble himself. Must be the maid, he figured, come to open the door. He put on a polite smile, hoping to at least walk away with a tip.
Instead, when the door opened, he was confronted by the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Long, blonde hair; shimmering sapphire eyes; a pretty little smile; wearing a dainty Summer camisole and frilly little skirt. He was left awestruck in her presence, and when she greeted him, he could only mumble nonsense to himself as his mind tried to overcome her dazzling beauty and find the right words to say.
"I, er...I b-brou...g-got...well, er...er...thingy...thingies..."
The girl tipped her head to the side every so slightly, letting her lovely golden locks spill over a little. "Pardon?"
"Er, p-pardon, well, er...pa...pack..." Evan shut his eyes and tried his best to concentrate, but when he opened them again, he found them betraying him and looking down. No, don't look at her breasts! his mind yelled at his eyes, Ignore them! Forget her cleavage, just give her the fu--
"Package!" he blurted out suddenly, his thoughts snapping back into place almost as quickly as his eyes. "Package, yes! I...I'm here to deliver this package to a one..." He glanced at the label. "Patricia Morgan."
The girl smiled. "That would be me," she said softly, reaching out and taking the package from him. Evan nodded feverishly, wearing a completely unrealistic grin, trying not to peer at the young lady's skirt. Mustn't peer at the young lady's skirt, he thought to himself. Oh, god, I wonder what colour panties she's wearing...
The girl looked at the box, then back at Evan, still smiling warmly. "Is that all?"
Probably white. White and frilly, with lace on them and all...
"Excuse me," said the girl, "Is that all?"
"Panties," declared Evan. "I mean, er, breasts! I mean, er..." He noticed the girl's bemused expression and cleared his throat. "Er, yes. That's all. Of course."
The girl smiled again. "Alright, well, thank you very much."
"Thank you very much for choosing SpeedCo Deliveries," said Evan proudly, momentarily forgetting that customers weren't usually interesting in the delivery company as long as they got their package. With a smile, the girl closed the door.
Evan quickly whirled around and let his legs stumble, his back against the door. He felt something strange, an emotion he hadn't before experienced. He wiped his brow, grinning like an imbecile. "I'm in love!"
-----
Patricia closed the door, holding her package happily.
"Who was it, my dear?" asked Winston.
"Oh, just some delivery boy. Looked rather scruffy."[/spoiler]
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I lawled at Evan's thought of white, frilly panties... XD
Great read as usual, even if it was one-sided for Evan. XD
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Well, then, have some more.
[spoiler]Evan looked up at the sky and, for the first time in a good while, beamed happily. "I'M IN LOVE!" he shouted to no-one in particular, "Today is my lucky day!"
He hopped onto his bicycle and cycled out the front gate, whistling a merry tune to himself. He didn't even see the bus, and by the time he did, he was already on the floor.
-----
Patricia returned to her seat on the balcony and resumed sipping her lemonade. He was quite a nice boy. A little odd, but then, a lot of working class folk were. No harm done. Poor boy, he was probably suffering at home. His parents must have neglected him. Why else would he have such old, rumpled clothinng? Even though he looked to be at least a year older than herself, Patricia couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
Maybe I should go give him some money, she thought to herself, Perhaps I'll invite him in and give him something to eat. Poor fellow's so skinny. He mustn't have eaten in days.
Humming merrily to herself, she made her way to the front door and strolled down along the driveway. It was only when she reached the gates that she saw him. With a shocked gasp, she ran over to him and knelt beside his body. The traffic had ceased to move. People had gathered around to look. The mangled bike, warped and crunched, lay dead on the road. And beside it was the delivery boy. Patricia gazed at his limp body, a steady stream of blod trickling from the gash on his forehead. He was lying deathly still.
And, for reasons she couldn't quite understand, Patricia felt a single teardrop roll down her cheek.
-----
Everything was spinning. It was like one of those carousel rides at the fun fair, except for the throbbing sensation in his head. The shouting was normal, though. People often shouted on the carousel, usually folk who had been drenched in vomit and wanted desperately to get off. Evan wanted to get off.
Please?
It was still spinning. Damn. He tried to make out the figures surrounding him, but his eyes refused to co-operate. Was he even concious anymore? Maybe he was dreaming about something. The many colourful blobs in his vision swirled and expanded, spun and condensed. It was like looking into a kaleidoscope. Except with lots of yelling and mumbling.
He felt something touch his chest. Too light to be somebody's hand. It felt...warm. Warm and comforting. And, because Evan was wearing a single, very thin shirt, he could feel the moisture. It was a droplet. A single droplet.
Evan wondered who was dripping water onto him, and everything went black.
-----
"You sure there's nothin' we c'n do to 'elp 'im, doc?"
"I'm arfraid not, Mrs. Butler. Your son is as good as dead."
"Ah. Terrible shame, that. Right, love?"
"'Tis. Gonna 'ave to pay f'r a fun'ral now an' ev'rythin'."
"Mr. and Mrs. Butler, your son is dying."
"Well, s'not like we asked for 'im. I was too drunk to remember anythin'. Damn fruity machine."
"Dr. Brown, there's a young lady hear to see the patient."
"Send her in, nurse."
"Oi, then, 'oo's this pretty li'l princess?"
"Were you pokin' around our Evan, then? Was it you done this?"
"No, I'm just...I'm just a friend."
"Friend me arse. I betcha you were the one drivin' the truck what done this."
"It was a bus, actually."
"What's that, love?"
"I said it was a bus, you self-absorbed bastard!"
"Hey, don't you go givin' my 'usband that cheek of yours, young lady."
"Mr. and Mrs. Butler, I'm going to have to ask you to leave..."
"What? It's this posh li'l brat what's givin' us trouble!"
"I said leave, please. Now."
"Alright, alright, we're goin'. Useless piece of..."
"Good riddance. Wake up...please, wake up..."
Wake up.[/spoiler]
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... Man, what parents those 2 were...
I seriously wasn't expecting an accident so soon, then again, with the circumstances, it's very likely to happen.
Also, Pat's reaction, does seem like it's starting now.
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Winds
Like the rounded curve amongst the mind
Buzzing with concrete delight
When all is said and things are done
You don't remember anyone
Winds of change sweep over you
Leaving you drifting along a doldrum
Of loneliness, beyond what you are
Or what you should be
A husk
A shell
It's a carnival of ideas
And everybody's dancing
Can't you see?
Lie across the truth
See the lies, spot the clues
Tongue of blood
Dripping into a rusty chalice
Taste of neglect
Love of a fool
Sorrow dances with the moon
Joy flirts with the sky
And it's all gone by, all too soon
Ancient thoughts piece the eye
Hidden amongst a nightmare's edge
Fits the cold like glove or shoe
Break the bitter names over seething sledge
And no-one ever really loved you.
...I don't know what the [tornado fang] this is. I wrote it off the top of my head when I wasn't feeling great, not quite sure what I was even writing. Good lord.
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Holy crap, why haven't I been in this thread before? I love it.
WRITE MOAR.
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Oh, well, thanks a lot. That really means a lot to me!
I will write more, don't worry. Give me time to think.
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Don't worry I'm patient, and as a bit of a writer myself I know things have to come at their own pace. 8)
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Tarot
[spoiler]The fool takes the first step on his journey
He meets the magician
Juggling ideas like fire and ice
"Head yonder," said the mage
And the fool headed forth
Where he meets the priestess
Veiled beneath mystery
To the garden she sends him
And there is the empress
And on his throne of gold
The emperor sits proudly
Body, mind and spirit
Connect to the hierophant
The sacred keeper of secrets
And all is goverened as such
'Til the lovers gaze up to heaven
And they see the glorious chariot
Being drawn by lions of strength
Conquered by a gentle touch
And far below the heavens
The fool rides to the mountain tops
And there sits the hermit
Wise as the day is long
But the wheel of fortune was not kind
To this poor man
Lost and isolated
"Justice has prevailed," he told the fool
"For I hang from the tree of wisdom
And now, death has come to free me."
The angel arrived
And the hermit's blood was tempered
By the noble flames of freedom
And in that moment
The fool glimpsed what comes after
The angels in the heavens
And the devil bound by chains
Tainted by spite
And so the fool continued on his journey
Witnessing the price of sin
That weighs heavy on the heart
And upon reaching the tower
He could feel true sin
A mighty structure of vice
And as he climbed to the top
He felt the thunder of virtue
And lightning from God
Did smite the tower of evil
Thrown from the peak
The fool was cast to the furthest reaches
The edges of the world
But the light of the star
Gentle and kind
A beacon of hope
Guided him to the right path
And then came the night
Hiding the light of the star
Behind a black mist of confusion
Uncertainty paves the road ahead
But the torch of courage
Quenches the sea of doubt
And the fool is guided by the moon
A false light
Until the day comes
And the sun's light warms the land
The fool has felt true love
And with a song in his heart
He passes through the gate of truth
And faces his ultimate judgement
All that he has learned on his journey
Knowledge
Wisdom
Courage
Truth
Love
And above all
He has learned of himself
He is satisfied
And he travels through to the next world
His journey complete
Yet even so
It is never truly over
For the fool has seen eternity
And eternity has seen the fool[/spoiler]
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Oh wow. I really like this one.
-
Both were really deep, and really gets you thinking.
Awesome job.
-
Mr. Happy
[spoiler]What's behind your mask?
Mr. Happy
What's your face like?
Mr. Happy
Don't leave me here
Mr. Happy
Don't close the door
Mr. Happy
I promise I'll be good
Mr. Happy
I know you'll be my friend
Mr. Happy
Why are you sad?
Mr. Happy
Please don't be mad
Mr. Happy
It hurts
Mr. Happy
It stings
Mr. Happy
Can you feel it
Mr. Happy
My tears
Mr. Happy
Why are you hitting me?
Mr. Happy
Please stop hitting me
Mr. Happy
Go away
Mr. Happy
I don't want this
Mr. Happy
You're not very nice
Mr. Happy
Mommy won't come back
Mr. Happy
There's blood on you
Mr. Happy
Why did you hurt me?
Mr. Happy
Say goodbye
Mr. Happy
The nice men are here
Mr. Happy
What's behind your mask?
Mr. Happy
Take off your mask
Mr. Happy
What's behind your mask?
Mr. Happy
I want to see your face
Mr. Happy
Your tears are crimson
Mr. Happy
I see behind the mask
Mr. Happy
I know your face
Mr. Happy
The face of a monster
Mr. Happy
Goodnight
Mr. Happy
The mask is broken
Mr. Happy
I saw your face
Mr. Happy
No more mask
Mr. Happy[/spoiler]
This is another piece I tossed together. It's meant to be about an abusive parent, by the way.
-
Woah, that one was... Intense.
-
Man, that was deep.
Am I a very bad person for reading this to the beat of "Like a Boss" for the first few lines?
-
My Patch
[spoiler]She's lovely and gentle and she's sweet and kind
She's always happy to listen to what's on my mind
She talks to me and listens to what I have to say
She never upsets me, I guess that's just her way
She's sometimes upset, but in the end it's worthwhile
To cheer her up, just to see her wonderful smile
She cuddles me close and and I snuggle her tight
She makes me feel like everything is alright
From the light of the morning to the shadow of night
She is my princess, and I am her knight
Her talent and wit no other person can match
She loves her Pop dearly, and I love my Patch[/spoiler]
A poem for my good friend/cuddle-buddy, Patch/Grodgudinnan, whom I luff to bits~
...What? I can show compassion too. It's not all deep meanings and twisted mind-[tornado fang] with me, y'know.
...Oh, fine. For those of you who weren't satisfied by the above...
Shadow Man
[spoiler]The shadow man drifts across the streets
Veiled in a cloak of shadows
Swimming through a sea of darkness
No one sees the shadow man
Through the back alleys he sneaks
Like veins of the city, blood-stained
He finds his magic crystals
No one hears the shadow man
Shards of a past life
Shattered and scattered
Around the feet of the uncaring
No one feels the shadow man
Beneath the glow of a sorrowful moon
His crimson tears bathe the floors
For after all, he was nothing else
No one cries for the shadow man[/spoiler]
This one is about vangrants.
-
Awww... The first poem is just so sweet... :3
The second, very true, very true.
-
What Does It Matter
[spoiler]What does it matter
To say what you feel
What does it matter
To fall down and kneel
What does it matter
To say that you tried
What does it matter
To say that they cried
What does it matter
To pick up the pieces
What does it matter
For what it releases
What does it matter
When it doesn't go right
What does it matter
To put out the light
What does it matter
To give it a rest
What does it matter
To give it your best
What does it mattter
To step on their prayers
What does it matter
To no-one who cares
It matters to someone
So don't try to hide
It matters to someone
Deep down inside[/spoiler]
No comment on this one. =|
-
No comment on this one. =|
Okay.
-
That felt so true to me...
How life plays you around...
-
I Can't See
[spoiler]I can't see a thing
My eyes are broken
I can't see a thing
I turned the wrong way
I can't see a thing
I fell too high
I can't see a thing
Because it's too dark
I can't see a thing
They come back to me
I've seen too many things
My soul is broken[/spoiler]
Losing It
[spoiler]Blood splattered
Clothes tattered
Blade hits the floor
Dreams shattered
Never mattered
Can't take any more
Falling from grace
Our special place
Things must part
The best way
They always say
Is through her heart
Lost my mind
Love left behind
Thoughts put to rest
That's all for me
It's all that I see
It was for the best[/spoiler]
-
Damn man, those sound particularly rough. Is everything okay? Either way, they're good pieces by themselves.
-
Great stuff, as usual.
-
Yeah, those sounded rather depressing...
-
Oh, I'm fine. Sorry if these poems suggested otherwise. XD
No, it's just that I find darker poetry to be easier to write than cheerful poetry. That's probably because I prefer to have a rhyming scheme with cheerful poems, which I think is often too much hassle when I want to write something. I'm not one for dark and depressing, but I think it's more interesting for writing poems.
Avacado Dreams
[spoiler]Tick tock
Tick tock
Time flows
Like a river
Sweeping
Down your soul
Sweeping brush
Mellow broom
Broomstick man
In his straw hat
In his straw hat
Show me the way
Point out the sign
Signs of our times
The zeitgeist
He's coming for me
Ghosts of the past
Hopes of the future
Have a present
A shiny present
I give you this gift
I don't want it back
Not now
Not ever
Don't give it back
It's yours to keep
Keep under lock
Lock and key
Keep away
Keep away
Hot potato
Spicy tomato
Chili cheese
Avacado dreams
I have
Avacado dreams
They're very tasty
Would you like some?[/spoiler]
My attempt at surreality.
-
That was different. Interesting, though.
-
So I was looking through my good buddy Magnus's art thread, thinking about what I could write, and I suddenly got an idea: write about the characters in his RPM Team Fortress 2 project. The result is this garglemesh. It's not very long and there's very few characters, but I had to work with what I was given. I didn't really have a lot to work with, personality-wise, so I had to improvise.
Oh well, I hope you enjoy it anyway. I might just write more if people like it. Also, props to Magnus for the idea, and to Valve for creating this great game in the first place.
RPM Fortress Episode 1 - Fire
[spoiler]It was dark, because it was the middle of the night. The stars twinkled overhead in the inky sky, while the world below was poisoned with the stench of blood, the sound of explosions and gunfire, and the sight of people being blown to bits and limbs flying everywhere.
BLU Team's base was under siege. Try as they might, they were having great difficulty fending off the marauding RED Team and their viscious ambitions. The remaining BLU Team members were putting up a brave front, though, but it wouldn't be long before they either surrendered or were killed. The former was unthinkable. They had come this far, and they weren't about to give up now.
From behind a row of rusty metal plates, collapsed iron beams and other assorted rubble - the result of a few stray grenades from their long-since-dead Demoman - the BLU Sniper, Nick, was keeping a keen eye on the rival team. And by that, I mean he had that same keen eye peering down the scope on his sniper rifle.
"Got 'em," the Sniper declared proudly, having sniped a RED Team member, "No more head on yer shoulders for you, [dark hold]!"
"How long do you reckon we can hold them off?" asked Engineer Wily from behind a rapidly-firing sentry gun, which he was hastily repairing.
"Can't say for sure," grumbled the Medic, a one Acid. He licked a stay drop of blood from his bonesaw.
"[tornado fang] this, fellas," groaned Nick, ducking down as a bullet whizzed through his hat, "This ain't the piece o' [acid burst] I figured it to be!"
"Quit your whining," said a voice; a calm, smooth voice, though one with an edge sharper than a knife. Incidentally, the owner of the voice had just wiped his own knife on his trouser leg, having resumed visibility.
"Gotham, where were you?" snapped Wily, hiding behind the makeshift barricade, "I thought we told you, no sneaking off without telling us!"
"Yeah, yeah," mumbled the Spy, whipping out a cigarette and lighting it up, "Hey, I think I got someone."
"What do you mean you "think"?" asked Acid, an eyebrow cocked.
"Well, I was just casually strolling through the enemy base, minding my own business, when this gumbie runs straight into my knife! I don't know how it happened, honest," said he, with a sly smirk on his face.
"Anybody notice ya?" asked Nick, taking a few blind potshots.
"Nah. I legged it once that Pyro bastard showed up."
Wily whirled around and glared at Gotham. "A Pyro?"
"Yeah, some scaly green bastard. Told him to screw himself, then got the [tornado fang] outta there."
Wily slapped his palm against his face; he often felt that, as the de-facto brains of the team, he was the only real voice of reason amongst a band of raving lunatics. "Is he still out there?"
"Er, fellas?"
"Not now," said Acid, whipping out his needlegun. An eagre grin spread across his face, and he tugged the peak of his blood-stained cap down over his eyes. "Sounds like fresh meat to me, heheheheheh..."
"Fellas..."
"Can it," grunted Gotham, taking a drag on his cigarette and twirling his switchblade expertly in his hands, "Wily, boot up another of those guns of yours. Daddy here is gonna take a looksie at the situation over there."
"Fellas..."
"WHAT?!" the rest of the team yelled impatiently.
"The [tornado fang]in' Pyro's right in front of us!"
BLU Team watched in horror as the crazed Pyro charged for them, all by himself, waving his flamethrower like an excited child. He cackled maniacally, spewing reams of fire like a man possessed. Anything unlucky enough to be in the path of his homicidal rampage was burned to a crisp.
"BURNINATE, BURNINATE, YAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The cigarette fell straight out of Gotham's lower lip. And then Acid, as the only member of the team with any faculty of cognitive speech left, spoke exactly what was on his teammate's minds: "[tornado fang]."
This wasn't the blaze of glory they expected to go out in.[/spoiler]
-
I APPROVE. I don't care what ANYONE ELSE SAYS, I FREAKING APPROVE. Just pray that's the normal flamethrower in my hands, not the "insta-crits-if-the-flames-hit-your-back" Backburner Flamethrower so i don't make you die all the faster as you FLEE.
Okay, that's it, I'm going to scour through RPM tonight and seek out peoples to fill the remaining spots.
-
*applause*
I loved it as well. XD
And lawl at blaze of glory. 8D
-
Thanks to Magnus drafting a couple more RPMers into BLU Team, I had an excuse/obligation to write more tales of RPM Fortress. So here's the next episode! Enjoy.
RPM Fortress Episode 2 - Recruits
[spoiler]BLU Team was in a mess. Thanks to the efforts of their RED Team rivals - and in no small part, their own recklessness and "fun" games like "Juggle the Live Grenades" - they were down to a measly four members. So, in an attempt to strengthen the BLU Team, and to get the REDs to stop laughing at them, they agreed to hold a secret meeting to discuss a recruitment scheme. Of course, they couldn't afford an actual meeting hall, so they had to make do with the empty rations closet. They began their private meeting, huddled around a little wooden table they stole from the battlefield.
"I hereby call this meeting to order," declared Engineer Wily, being the only truly intelligent team member. He shuffled a bunch of tattered sheets, adjusted his navy spectacles and cleared his throat. "Item number one on the agenda: recruitment. How do we go about it?"
"How about we just grab someone off the street, give 'em a gun and tell 'em they're in?" suggested Spy Gotham, leaning back in his chair, feet up on the table, puffing away on a cigarette.
"I don't think that would work," said Wily.
"'Ow's about we just line the buggers up an' shoot 'em," offered Sniper Nick, grinning eagerly, "An' whichever one of 'em isn't dead gets to be on the team?"
"How about something that doesn't satisfy your craving for sticking bullets where they don't belong?" sneered Medic Acid. Nick shrank in his chair.
"I like bullets..."
"I have a better solution," said Acid, banging his fists against the table, "Why don't we just put out some ads and have them take part in goddamn TRYOUTS?!"
Wily blinked. "I suppose that would be the best option, given our lack of...other ideas," he said, throwing Nick and Gotham a filthy look. "Right, so, onto item number two on the agenda..." He flipped through the sheets, only to find that the rest of them were just doodles and shopping lists. He sighed. "Never mind. Meeting adjourned."
---
Having rounded up a few interested candidates, the BLU Team organised them all in their rations closet/meeting room, where they had fashioned their table into a makeshift desk for the judges' panel.
"First up," declared Wily, pushing his glasses up on his nose and peering at the sheet, "Archer, trying out for the role of the Heavy."
The door at the other side of the room opened up, and a white-haired man wielding an enormous chaingun staggered in, having some trouble holding the massive gun. He dragged himself to the centre of the room in front of the judges and dropped the gun to the ground, giving off a resounding thud.
"Uh...hey there."
"So, Mr. Archer," said Wily, peering at the man over his glasses, "Tell us what you can do."
"Well, I, uh...I can shoot stuff really fast with this baby," he said, smiling and patting his chaingun.
"Mm-hm. Would you like to give us a demonstration?"
Archer's smile warped into a frown. "Uh...okay."
Painfully, he heaved the gun up into his arms and pulled the trigger. The barrels began to revolve, slowly at first, but they soon picked up speed. Within seconds of the monstrous gun's trigger being pulled, a hail of bullets sprayed in every direction imaginable, and some directions only pondered upon. Try as he might, Archer couldn't control the weapon in his hands. It was as though it had taken on a mind of its own. The judges ducked under their desk as the gun veered wildly out of its wielder's control, firing stream after stream of bullets all around the room, while Archer himself was spinning around from the gun's weight like a deranged ballerina. When at last the gun exhausted itself of ammo and thick reams of smoke billowed out of the steaming barrels, the walls, ceiling and even the floor had been peppered by an artistic hail of bullet holes. Archer stepped back, noticing that the BLU judges were glaring daggers at him. He grinned nervously.
"Uh...I take it this means I didn't pass?"
---
The tryouts had been nothing short of a nightmare. The initial insanity unleashed by the wannabe Heavy only became more and more over the top: the weary BLU Team judges had seen an afro-clad Demoman nearly blow the room apart, a hook-handed Scout go mad and try to bludgeon them to death, a fiery-haired Soldier get a bit too excited with his bazooka, a plucky young Pyro whose name they couldn't remember (it began with a T, they were certain of that) set fire to half the base and countless other forms of chaos. They were more than prepared to just give up and leave the team as it was.
"[tornado fang] me," said Nick, clutching onto his singed hat tightly, "What a bloody shower of loonies that crowd was."
"Screw this, I've had enough," said Gotham, holding a cigarette in his shaking hand.
"There's j-just two more c-candidates," stuttered Wily, his hair and moustache standing up like follicle stalagmites.
"NO! For the love of God, NO MORE CANDIDATES!" roared Acid, grabbing Wily and shaking him ferociously.
"N-next c-c-c-c-candidate, p-please!"
The door slowly opened, and a spiky-haired young man with a baseball cap and headphones walked into the room. He was holding a scattergun in his hands, so it was clear he was trying out for the role of the Scout.
"Hi, my name's Nexus, and I'm trying out for the role of the Scout."
"Yeah, that's been established," said Acid, pulling out his needlegun from under the table. "What can you do?"
"Well, I've trained for years to improve my speed, dexterity and reflexes so no-one else can hope to match it. I'm the fastest, quickest, most athletic--"
"Yeah, yeah," interrupted Gotham impatiently, "Just give us a demo and get lost."
The potential Scout looked around, turned on his heel and ran out the door. The rest of BLU Team looked at eachother confusedly.
"Poor bloke must've realised he's a no-hoper and buggered off," said Nick, sticking a toothpick between his teeth. Before he even closed his mouth, Nexus had returned, holding an armful of soda bottles and chocolate bars.
"Six point eight seconds," exclaimed Wily, a stopwatch conveniently in his hands, "That's a new record!"
"So, am I on the team?" asked Nexus hopefully.
"That depends," asked Nick, leering at him, "Is this root beer?"
"Yes."
"Awright, yer in."
The new BLU Scout punched the air and triumphantly left the room. Acid sighed with relief. "We got off lucky there...who's next?"
"Just one more," said Wily, his nerves calmed. Nick glanced over his shoulder at the list, with all but one crossed off, and a little tick beside Nexus' name. He cocked an eyebrow at the name at the very bottom of the sheet.
"Million? Milon? Malzard? Malfos? Mordor?"
"Milen," corrected Wily sharply, "Milen Anessar, please come in."
The rusty door at the far side of the room creaked open, and a petite figure walked in. The BLU judges saw the army helmet and immediately hid behind their chairs.
"No! Go away! No more Soldiers!" hissed Acid, waving his bonesaw at the newcomer. The Soldier's helmet was lifted slightly, revealing a pretty young woman with short blonde hair and a friendly smile.
"Hello," she said sweetly, bowing slightly. Nick's jaw dropped.
"Is that...is that one of those..."
"Yes," breathed Gotham, "It's a woman!"
The BLU Team stared in abject fascination at this strange new character. They had heard of women before, of course, but they didn't think they would actually be granted the pleasure of seeing one in person. A woman! An actual woman! With boobs and everything!
"So, uh, M-Milen," muttered Wily, sweat pouring down his brow, "C-can you give us a sample of your boobs...I mean, s-skills?"
Milen nodded and hoisted her bazooka over her shoulder. She took aim at an empty food locker in the corner and shot a rocket at it, blowing the locker to smithereens. The judges applauded loudly, and she bowed.
"Thank you, thank you very much!"
"Well, uh, Milen," said Wily, wiping the steam off of his glasses, "It looks like you're hired."
Milen tipped her head to the left slightly. "Oh? But I only show you little demonstration...I have much more to show you." Nick practically fell off his chair.
"That won't be necessary," Wily intervened, "You're hired. Welcome to the team, et cetera, et cetera, have a nice day!"
Milen smiled, bowed and casually exited the room. Nick climbed back onto his chair, while the rest of BLU Team smiled like dunces.
"Bloody hell, fellas! An actual girl. Who'd-a thunk it?"
"At last this team won't be a sausage-fest anymore," said Gotham with a sly grin, lighting up another cigarette. Acid put on his usual manic grin and steepled his fingers gleefully.
"BLU Team rules."[/spoiler]
Also, if anybody wants to get involved in the RPM Fortress project, head over to Magnus' thread and sign up [/shameless plug]. There's still a few spots left. http://forum.rockmanpm.com/index.php?topic=2154.0
-
Ahahaha, thoroughly enjoyed! Wonderful work, Nick. Gonna say, I love the characterisation for myself, such a dick :P "A woman!"
-
Gotham & Acid are easily the best characterizations in this story. Bravo Nick. XD
-
Thanks a bunch, everybody! Your kind words mean a lot to me.
Anyway, enjoy the next episode~
RPM Fortress Episode 3 - Wall
[spoiler]BLU Team, having hired a brand new Scout and Solider, decided they were ready to storm the RED Team's base and give them a bit of what-for. They had left their base and happily crossed the battlefield in between - which was actually quiet for once - and made their way to the RED base. There was just one problem...
There was a giant wall outside the RED Team's base.
"Ah, bugger it anyway," cursed Sniper Nick, stamping his heel into the dirt, "Who the hell thought it was a good idea to put a goddamn WALL in our way?"
"I must admit, I didn't consider there being any...obstacles," murmured Engineer Wily. He produced a scanning device from his pocket and waved it across a section of the wall. "According to the device, this wall is approximately two feet thick and twenty feet high, constructed from solid concrete and held in place by cast-iron girders."
"So, can't we just break through?" asked Spy Gotham, smoking as usual.
"Not unless you'd like a fractured skull and a lot of missing teeth," replied Wily. Upon hearing this, Medic Acid grinned gleefully.
"Does that mean I can use of you guys as a battering ram?"
Wily frowned. "I would...prefer if you didn't."
"Awwwwww," grumbled Acid, scuffing the dirt with his shoe, "Spoil-sport..."
"Tell you what, fellas," said Nick, leaning against the wall, "I've come across a fair few walls in my time, an' I can safely say the best way to get the bastard's down is to just tear 'em down by force."
"And how do you propose we do that?" asked Gotham. Nick blinked.
"Isn't that why we 'ave Demomen? Whatever 'appened to our guy, anyway?"
Acid thought about this. "He blew himself up after he dropped that grenade, remember?" He chuckled. "Yeah, bits of him everywhere! Funny stuff."
"Oh yeah," replied Nick, reminiscing fondly, "Yeah, good times."
"Maybe I can take it down with a sentry," mused Wily, and quickly began to build one from scratch.
"How about we see what these two newbies have in mind? See if they're worthy of being part of BLU Team."
"BLU Team rules," mumbled Nick, his mind conditioned by so much pro-BLU propaganda. Nexus stepped forward and cracked his knuckles.
"Leave it to me, guys," the cocky young lad exclaimed, grabbing a bottle of his favourite beverage out of his trouser pocket: "Bonk! Atomic Punch", the only energy drink worthy of being consumed by a true Scout. After cracking the lid off and downing it in a couple of gulps, he whipped out his baseball bat and went to town on the wall.
Imagine it, if you will. The average bottle of this energy drink contains enough additives to turn the average middle-aged office worker into a hyperactive 5-year-old hopped up on sugar and coffee, and given that Scouts are known for their speed and talent at whacking things until they stop breathing, Nexus was doing quite a number on the wall. His arms moved at a speed normally reserved for hummingbirds, moving so fast that he had passed the "BLU blur" stage and skipped straight to the "time has no meaning" stage. Had their eyes been able to keep up with it, the other BLU teamers would have been fascinated. But they couldn't, so they weren't.
After ten solid minutes of battering - which seemed like ten seconds to the others - the wall showed abolutely no signs of damage. Not even a single crack or dent. Fortunately, Wily had his sentry ready. He activated it and the machine roared to life, releasing an angry cascade of bullets into the wall. When it at last ran out of juice and the barrels steamed with exhaustion, the wall...still wasn't broken.
"Bastards," spat Nick, kicking the wall in frustration, "Let us in, ya dog-[tornado fang]ing [acid burst]-lickers!"
"Language," muttered Gotham sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He looked down as the pint-sized Solider Milen tapped him on the waist.
"Excuse me, may I try?"
"Go for it," he said, smiling lecherously. All eyes focused on Milen as she sauntered over to the wall - not least because they could gaze at her backside as she went over. Bazooka held over her shoulder, the preppy little Soldier aimed her bazooka at the large stone barricade impeding the BLU Team. The male members of the team, being slightly ignorant and just a tad mysognistic, had to restrain themselves from laughing at her. If a hyperactive Scout hammering it at the speed of sound and a fully-powered Sentry gun couldn't even dent it, there was no chance a measly rocket launcher could take it down. The BLU mens' collective curiosity was piqued, though, when the petite Soldier pointed her bazooka at her feet instead.
And Milen, being a tad cleverer than her BLU allies, simply used the propulsion from her rocket to leap over the wall.
"It's easy," she exclaimed cheerily from the other side of the wall. Nick, with a sunken look on his face, slammed his head against the wall.
"I hate women..."[/spoiler]
-
..Yeah.. Well..
Damn newbies. Showing off in front of us vets :(
-
Not like a BONK!-ing Scout could break a wall anyways. still funny.
You probably should've added a bit where the team gets some of the Unlocks in via Mail-order. Pretty sure Nick would love to get his hands on one of those Razorback Anti-Backstab (http://tf2wiki.net/wiki/Razorback) shields. Gotham might enjoy the Dead Ringer (http://tf2wiki.net/wiki/Dead_Ringer) or Cloak and Dagger (http://tf2wiki.net/wiki/Cloak_and_Dagger) spy watches.
In all, story ish teh awsome. WRITE MOAR.
-
2 story updates? Awesome.
The male members of BLU going gaga over Soldier Milen? Priceless. XD
Wonderfully done Nick, wondefully done.
-
But then again, Milen did take bits of damage due to rebounding. First thing Soldiers should know by now.. but Milen in a soldier suit gives a nice image 'tho. >w<
-
Closed Doors
[spoiler]A gift from God, the sweetest apple on the tree
A golden flower, grown for all to see
Fell from the bough into the sea of thorns
An uncaring truth upon beauty newborn
Searing wrath from a monster uncaring
Crushing, consuming, lamenting, despairing
Why is it always the innocent?
As we turn a blind eye to her suffering
Why is it always the innocent?
What we never see behind closed doors
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger
Finding it hard to fight any longer
An unwanted burden, a shattered doll
Held up by none, never knowing of the fall
Temptations and torment, nothing for the best
Put me out of my misery and lay me to rest
Why is it always the innocent?
As we turn a blind eye to her suffering
Why is it always the innocent?
What we never see behind closed doors
If I shed these tears, who would wipe them away?
If I go down tonight, will I ever see the day?
If I break my spirit, unmended, who would know why?
If I die and spill this virgin blood, who would cry?
If I share my dreams, would they meet a brutal end?
If I open my heart, who would be my friend?
Why is it always the innocent?
As we turn a blind eye to her suffering
Why is it always the innocent?
What we never see behind closed doors
Sweet is the taste of this bitter life
Bloodied by hatred, scorned by strife
The demon, the monster, who broke this young heart
Fallen to oblivion, so there is a fresh start
The most beautiful flower, so many tears she cries
Her spirit is strongest, this flower never dies
Why is it always the innocent?
As we open our eyes to her suffering
Why is it always the innocent?
What we see when we open closed doors[/spoiler]
This poem is dedicated to a friend of mine - or, more aptly, a friend of a friend - who has been through a few hardships in her life. She was tragically abused by her father as a child, but she overcame that trauma to become a strong and healthy young woman. She's a very nice person, and I think she deserves a lot more than just this poem.
No, I'm not making this up.
RPM Fotress will be back...whenever I feel like it. =P
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Wow. I'm not usually one for poetry, but wow. I'm sure your friend will love it.
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Closed Doors
[spoiler]A gift from God, the sweetest apple on the tree
A golden flower, grown for all to see
Fell from the bough into the sea of thorns
An uncaring truth upon beauty newborn
Searing wrath from a monster uncaring
Crushing, consuming, lamenting, despairing
Why is it always the innocent?
As we turn a blind eye to her suffering
Why is it always the innocent?
What we never see behind closed doors
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger
Finding it hard to fight any longer
An unwanted burden, a shattered doll
Held up by none, never knowing of the fall
Temptations and torment, nothing for the best
Put me out of my misery and lay me to rest
Why is it always the innocent?
As we turn a blind eye to her suffering
Why is it always the innocent?
What we never see behind closed doors
If I shed these tears, who would wipe them away?
If I go down tonight, will I ever see the day?
If I break my spirit, unmended, who would know why?
If I die and spill this virgin blood, who would cry?
If I share my dreams, would they meet a brutal end?
If I open my heart, who would be my friend?
Why is it always the innocent?
As we turn a blind eye to her suffering
Why is it always the innocent?
What we never see behind closed doors
Sweet is the taste of this bitter life
Bloodied by hatred, scorned by strife
The demon, the monster, who broke this young heart
Fallen to oblivion, so there is a fresh start
The most beautiful flower, so many tears she cries
Her spirit is strongest, this flower never dies
Why is it always the innocent?
As we open our eyes to her suffering
Why is it always the innocent?
What we see when we open closed doors[/spoiler]
I'm a bit lost for words, but, I have admit, I tried to hold back a tear there.
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...That was brilliant.
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That was really nicely written Nick, she would be happy.
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This is just something I wrote for no apparent reason besides boredom and too much TVTropes. It's essentially just a very short story featuring my archvillain character, Lord Blackmore, or how he would appear in a "darker" setting. The aim here is to give a feel for the character, without cramming anything down your throat. Is he a heartless monster? A well-intentioned extremist? A psychopathic sadist? A tragic player forced onto an uncaring stage? Or something else entirely? I'll let you decide for yourselves.
Enjoy.
[spoiler]I remember it clearly, all so very clearly. There he was, sitting in front of me; or more aptly, kneeling in front of me. Kneeling, yessir. On his hands and knees, staring up at me with those big, pitable eyes humans think are so endearing. I have grown to despise them. To me, they are a sign of weakness. Weakness, yessir. He was shaking. Shaking, would you believe? He could hardly control himself. He wanted to go. He wanted to leave and never come back. Never, yessir.
But that wasn't what I wanted, oh no. I swished my cape a little to the side, as I often do, then I took a step or two forward until I was standing right before him. I was very close to his face, yessir. I could smell the fear, smell it, I could. So very delicious, it was. That delightfully fragrant scent, with just a hint of spice. If I could bottle that scent, that primordial essence of sheer horror, I would wear it every day as a cologne. But I digress. He was looking up at me, yessir, and I could see tears welling up in his eyes. Disgusting things, emotions are.
"Do you want to go?" I asked, feigning charity. He paused, carefully analysing the question for hidden meanings, and then nodded. Nodded, yessir. I just smiled. "You have nowhere to go," I told him, "Nowhere at all, not anymore. Look around you. You see all this? Tell me what you see."
He tried to answer, but nothing came. Just a sickly, guttural gulp escaped his trembling, pale lips. I smiled even more. "That's right, nothing. Nothing, yessir." I crouched down slightly, so I could see into his eyes. I looked at him, yessir, and he looked back at me. And I knew what he was seeing. I would tell him what he was seeing, yessir. "This is fear, my boy. True fear. That hideous tingling sensation, the kind that makes your hairs stand on end. You hear a noise in the corner, but when you look, there's nothing there. There never was anything there to start with, of course, but your mind won't accept that. This is what you're seeing, yessir. Fear. Raw, uninhibited fear. I am fear. Remember, as a child, when your father would tell you stories about the boogeyman? Go to bed, he would say; or, eat your greens, he would say. Or the boogeyman will come and eat you up, he would say. Remember that, my boy?"
He choked, and I could tell he remembered all too well. "I am that boogeyman. You were always a good boy, I'm sure. You more than likely went to bed, yessir, and ate your greens, and did as Daddy told you to. But Daddy isn't here now. Daddy tried to lock up the boogeyman; make it go away, yessir, like he would do for you as a child. But this time, the boogeyman didn't want to be locked up. No, not this time. This time, there is no closet to hide the boogeyman in, no empty corner of your mind where you can send the boogeyman so he wouldn't haunt you any longer. Why, though? Why can't you lock him up in the closet and throw away the key?"
He shook his head. "Because nothing is fair. Because the truth is, everything...everything is just a joke. Just a sick, brutal, miserable joke. And guess what? We're all the players, yessir; just actors, cast in a role we never knew of nor wanted, just characters in this monstrous farce. Oh, it may seem tragic, but you can be certain that some vile higher power is watching this joke unfold before him, laughing like the sick madman he is. I am all too aware of this, yessir, and I aim to destroy this cruel jest once and for all. A better world, a world where there is no sick joke, a world where people can appreciate who they really are. A world of fear, chaos, madness. You can only appreciate who you are, yessir, when you truly remove the shackles of order, the chains that tether you to some false ideal. Sickening. Utterly so, yessir."
He could take no more. Grinning gleefully, I placed my hand against his forehead. "Your misery ends here, my boy, yessir. Consider this a mercy killing." And with that line uttered, I blew the poor fellow's mind to pieces. There was no blood or gore; but his mind was shattered now, and without that, his body could no longer function. He collapsed to the floor in a crumpled heap, surrounded by the stained remains of his revolting relatives. There was simply no place for them in this cruel world.
Never let it be said I am inconsiderate of others, yessir. Hyeheheheheheh...[/spoiler]
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Wow... That was a great read... It kept me on the edge of my seat... Thinking what Blackmore would do in the end.
Very good job.
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The Path On Which We Tread
[spoiler]I tread upon a tender fascimile
Looking both ways
Hoping I never fall
I'll be walking this way for a while
Counting the days
I'll get through it all[/spoiler]
Manly Tears
[spoiler]I will overcome all my fears
I will remain strong for years
I will stand tall amongst jeers
I will respect my friends' cheers
I will know when emotion nears
Because I can cry manly tears![/spoiler]
I have no idea.
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MANLY TEARS!
Hehe, great poems as always. :3
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[spoiler]I will overcome all my fears
I will remain strong for years
I will stand tall amongst jeers
I will respect my friends' cheers
I will know when emotion nears
Because I can cry manly tears![/spoiler]
(http://i160.photobucket.com/albums/t184/Memebucket/DO%20NOT%20WANT/ManlyTears.jpg)
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The Gardener
[spoiler]Daddy
Where do babies come from?
Well son
A long time
Before you were even born
Your Mommy and I
Loved eachother
Very much
And decided to have a baby
So Mommy and I
Sat down and looked up
And we said
God
Please grant us
A beautiful child
And God planted
A little seed
In the soil
And it grew
And grew
And grew
And grew
And grew
And your Daddy
Watered the seed
And it grew
And your Mommy
Kept it warm
And it grew
And grew
And grew
And grew
And grew
Until it was
Fully grown
Your eyes
Mouth
Nose
Ears
Hands
Feet
All grew from
That little seed
And your Mommy
And your Daddy
Plucked you from the flower
That grew from the little seed
And that's
Where babies come from
Daddy
Yes son?
Is God
A gardener?
Yes son
I suppose
God is
Sort of like
A gardener
The world is
His garden
And we are
His flowers
And God
Is our gardener[/spoiler]
I'm not religious, just for the record. I just thought God sounded nice instead of "the big guy up there". I was going to finish this with a sarcastic, snappy ending like "Love", but I didn't think it felt right.
Tel-E-Vision
[spoiler]I have a vision
A tele
Tele
Television
I see things
I see things
On my vision
My tele
Tele
Television
I hear things
I hear things
On this vision
This tele
Tele
Television
Do you see them too?[/spoiler]
It's about television. Bet you didn't figure that out.
An, er, word of warning about this next one. It may seem a tad unsavoury, at least to those who know what "buggery" is. It's also a little political. I don't know what it's supposed to be. I started humming it as an old-fashioned marching anthem and...well, this is the result. Enjoy, I think
Our Fair Nation
[spoiler]Buggeration
Buggeration
Buggeration of our fair nation!
The young folk of today
Only see things their own way
They don't know the glories of the past
I should know, and I've even asked
Buggeration
Buggeration
Buggeration of our fair nation!
Of course we spend our money here
To keep our good country dear
Never mind if the young ones are losing out
It's their own fault, without a doubt
Buggeration
Buggeration
Buggeration of our fair nation!
Dear me, dear me
What is it you see?
Poverty, suffering, hunger
Well, my dear
We're certainly not getting
Any younger!
Buggeration
Buggeration
Buggeration of our fair nation!
Buggeration
Pa-rum-pa-pa-rum-pum
Rum-pa-pa-rum-pum
Rum-pa-pa-rum-pum
Buggeration
Pa-rum-pa-pa-rum-pum
Rum-pa-pa-rum-pum
Rum-pa-pa-rum-pum
God save the Queen
What does "uber alles" mean?
Oh say can you see
For soldiers are we
My, what a frightful thought
I think
We ought
To boot
These law-makers
Tax-breakers
Up their well-polished
Arse!
And stop this madness
This crassful badness
And put an end to this
Buggeration
Buggeration
Buggeration
Buggeration of our fair nation!
Buggeration
Pa-rum-pa-pa-rum-pum
Rum-pa-pa-rum-pum
Rum-pa-pa-rum-pum
Buggeration
Pa-rum-pa-pa-rum-pum
Rum-pa-pa-rum-pum
Rum-pa-pa-rum-pum
Buggeration
Buggeration
Buggeration of our fair nation!
Buggeration![/spoiler]
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The Gardener
[spoiler]Daddy
Where do babies come from?
Well son
A long time
Before you were even born
Your Mommy and I
Loved eachother
Very much
And decided to have a baby
So Mommy and I
Sat down and looked up
And we said
God
Please grant us
A beautiful child
And God planted
A little seed
In the soil
And it grew
And grew
And grew
And grew
And grew
And your Daddy
Watered the seed
And it grew
And your Mommy
Kept it warm
And it grew
And grew
And grew
And grew
And grew
Until it was
Fully grown
Your eyes
Mouth
Nose
Ears
Hands
Feet
All grew from
That little seed
And your Mommy
And your Daddy
Plucked you from the flower
That grew from the little seed
And that's
Where babies come from
Daddy
Yes son?
Is God
A gardener?
Yes son
I suppose
God is
Sort of like
A gardener
The world is
His garden
And we are
His flowers
And God
Is our gardener[/spoiler]
I'm not religious, just for the record.
I'm not either, but, that was beautiful
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Those are very interesting as always. :3
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This is an essay I wrote for Religious Studies class. Make of it what you will.
[spoiler]The song I have chosen to write about is "Innervision" by System of a Down. The song, like many of the band's, has no definite meaning; instead, the listener is encouraged to decide upon the meaning for themselves. Hence, this is how I percieve the song, and how its lyrics search for meaning.
Personally, I imagine it to be about a man who seeks a woman whom he once loved, but left behind. Then one day, he is plagued by a desire to know the answer to something. A deep question that haunts him. Hence, he goes to seek her ("I need your guidance"), but she won't tell him the answers ("your sacred silence"), and says he must look within his own soul for the answers. Allow me to go into greater detail.
The song discusses how the singer is searching for an answer to a question that is haunting him; he desperately seeks the truth, but doesn't know how or where it can be found. The song opens with the singer proclaiming: "I have a home, longing to roam." He has left his home and gone roaming in search of the answers; however, I interpret this as a metaphorical home that he has left. He has left the safety and comfort of ignorance and is examining deeper philosophies, which he may not be used to. He goes on to say, "I have to find you, I have to meet you" - this may be him referring to a woman he is in love with or, possibly, a woman that he left long ago. He feels that only she can help him find the answer, and so he wants to meet her again. He tells her that he "needs [her] guidance", and that he needs to seek his "inner vision".
In the next verse, he says that his "pupils dance, lost in a trance"; this could mean that the widsom he has been seeking has had a profound, mesmerising effect on him. "Your sacred silence," he says, "losing all violence" - he has abandoned violence in favour of tranquility, hoping it will bring him internal peace, and the silence he is referring to could be the woman he seeks; she will not tell him the answer, for it is sacred. He maintains that he has to find her and get the answer from her, but she still refuses.
And then he figures it out. His search to find the woman he once loved may not have given him the answers he wanted, but it was not a journey that was for nothing: he has realised that he cannot rely on others to give him the answers, but must instead seek them for himself, from within his own mind and soul. This is the elusive "Inner Vision" which he mentions and has sought for so long.
The next verse is rather different from the rest, as the man - who is well on his way to completing the journey and finding "the truth" - declares that "it's never too late to re-invent the bicycle, a smile brings forth energy of life, giving you force". I interpret this as himself referring to his fated meeting with the wise woman. "It's never too late to re-invent the bicycle" means that there is always a chance to seek your "inner vision" - using the image of a bicycle as a metaphor - while the "smile" image refers to his meeting with the woman, who, with a simple yet knowing smile, opened up the proverbial door within his mind and gave him access to the answers he always wanted.
The man then muses that there is "only one true path in life" and that "the road that leads to all is to one". By this, he means that the only "true path" is the same as the road "that leads to all": the path or road that we must all take in order to find the answers to the great mysteries of life. However, we cannot allow others give us the answers; we must seek them for ourselves. In this way, I feel that the message of this songs become parallel with another form of hidden philosophical wisdom: that of the Tarot. In the Tarot, the Fool (who represents our own selves; or in this case, the man who wants the answers) sets off on a journey to find the answers to the questions that haunt his mind and soul. He meets many strange and interesting characters, all of whom represent a part of ourselves or an aspect of the world which surrounds us, and eventually arrives at his destination: the World, otherwise known as "infinity", representing completion and endlessness; for once we achieve true enlightenment, the possibilities are truly endless. We may have reached the end of this journey, but there is always more to do afterwards. The man in the song, who is the Fool, has found enlightenment from within himself, and so has achieved his true potential - and yet, there is still much more he can do.
This song, amongst other things, has one very important question at its core: "Who are we?" There is an old story which tells of an elderly man who wanders into a little village one day; a passer-by notices he is carrying a lantern in his hand. He asks why, and the elderly man replies, "I am searching for an honest man." An honest man may just be a man who is wholly truthful, but it can also refer to a man who has found the truth and achieved true enlightenment. Likewise, there is a story which tells of a wise man who was said to know everything - he was asked one day by an inquisitive young man, "What is the ultimate question?" The wise old man's response was simple: "To know oneself." The song tells of a man who, after many trials and hardships, came to the conclusion that the answers he sought were always known to him, deep inside - he just had to find the way to reach them.
Perhaps one of the reasons we, as human beings, have not yet discovered the meaning of life is because we are too outwardly focused, and we are constantly looking for the truth in other places. Only the wisest thinkers can come to realise that we must find the answers by ourselves, through our own hard work and dedication, and that, ultimately, the answer lies in only one place:
Your own self.[/spoiler]
Also, something I did a little while ago. It's a sprite of my brother's JoJo Stand, Pretty Fly For A White Guy (he's an Offspring uber-fan).
(http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/Standsprites.png)
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That's a pretty cool-looking sprite.
As for the essay... Hmm... It does get you thinking...
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I don't know how many people are actually going to bother reading this, but I'm gonna post it anyway to get opinions on it. This is the story I believe I've mentioned before, which I've had on the backburner for a while. I hope to actually complete this and, if possible, have it be a novel-length story.
The very, very basic summary of the plot: it's an adventure/Western set in a fantasy world that's very similar to the Old West, following Eli Faust, a gunslinger who's searching for a stranger he has a violent vengeance against. He's joined by a mechanic-savvy teenage girl and a badass priest with a big gun, on his quest to slay the remaining members of a corrupt Sacred Order and take his revenge. Religious symbolism, bloody gunfights, Knight Templar-esque mysteries, what it is to be an outsider and the ethics of killing for a purpose are all central themes.
But you get to read chapter two. Why? I don't really know. It's just a random taster.
Also: if you're reading this, PLEASE post your opinion or any comments you may have. I'd love to hear what you think.
Enjoy.
[spoiler]Belief and spirituality were essential to the Gunman order. Almost every Gunman, it seemed, held belief in God; and those that did not hold such beliefs at least kept their tongues still. The people who lived in Alveria believed in a monotheistic religion, where there was only one God. Nobody knew of His name, but nevertheless, it was preached by priests and cardinals the land over that He was watching over them all and that He was a benevolent deity who would ensure prosperity befell those that worshippd him. The "work of God" was very important to the order, who believed they recieved their titles and abilities from some form of divine Greater Being.
But religion is a fickle thing, and not everybody believed in it in the same way as the order did. Sometimes, it seemed, God liked to play with the affairs of mortal men.
---
It was the dead of night, mere moments after the clocks chimed midnight. The sky, a dark ink-blue ocean, was speckled with thousands of tiny white stars; and the moon, a glistening silver crescent, hung serenely above the town. Ordinarily, it would have been a splendid image.
But not tonight. For tonight, the entire town was blazing.
Buildings, once tall and proud, were engulfed in a sea of crimson flames. Thick plumes of coal-grey smoke rose from the burning buildings, choking the night sky. The great blaze consumed anything it touched, razing entire settlements to the ground. It was a terrifiying sight to behold, the town bathed in a terrible - yet somehow maliciously glorious - inferno.
Upon a hill overlooking the burning town, there stood a horse - a powerful mare, black as night, with eyes like blood-stained rubies. Seated on the beast, admiring the spectacle, was a figure draped in a dark cloak and hat. In the shade of the midnight air, it was virtually impossible to distinguish his features.
"That's right, boys," spoke the dark man, addressing a group of creatures hiking slowly up the hill; they resembled humans, but their mottled flesh, partially-exposed vertebrae, gnarled talons, fang-filled jaws and abundance of glaring eyes suggested they were anything but human beings. Each of them led a portion of the townsfolk, whom were in chains - some of them were being dragged along the path, the grim bodily wounds implying they had resisted and been killed by these monsters. The shadowy man was pleased with his handiwork.
"Good job, boys. Good job." He took a look at the imprisoned townsfolk, and then the burning city. "Such a pity. I gave them a chance to surrender, but I suppose some people prefer things the hard way."
His job here was done. Lashing his steed's golden reins, he galloped off into the night. The blazing town, now beginning to smoulder, faded from view...
---
It was quiet here. The walls, made from thousands of cool grey blocks, must have reached up about at least fifty feet. Likewise, the floor was of great length, with rows of beechwood pews and a narrow red carpet trailing its way between them, leading up to the altar at the head of the church. Above the altar, and all along the walls, were magnificent stained glass windows. Not a sound could be heard. It was a peaceful place.
Eli was, by no account, a spiritual man. And yet here he was, seated on one of the front-most pews, a cigarillo held in his mouth. His gaze was fixed on the stained glass portrait in front of him, the very focal point of the church. It was a depiction of a large golden cross, surrounded by a chorus of angels. It made him think...
"Mr. Faust? Is that you, Eli?"
The voice was the first noise to be heard in a long time. Footsteps echoed through the grand, hollow building, coming from the priest slowly strolling down the hall.
"And if it is?" Eli responded, not even turning to look.
"I just didn't expect to meet you here, that's all." Father Maxwell, the parish priest, approached Eli softly. He looked at the cigarillo being smoked, but said nothing. "And what brings you here, young man?"
"Nothin' much, Padre. I just...needed to sit down. That's all."
"I think I'll join you." Father Maxwell took a seat beside Eli, hands cupped in a solemn manner on his knees. He pushed the small spectacles he wore up onto the bridge of his nose and gave a little smile. He was a number of years older than Eli, quite nearly a middle-aged man, but his face had the sculpted charm of a man half his age: not exceptionally handsome was Father Maxwell, but by no means unattractive.
There was an air of silence for a moment, until the priest spoke up again: "Why do you come here, Eli?"
Eli glanced suspiciously at Father Maxwell. "What kinda question is that?"
"I mean no offense, Eli, I'm just curious. You don't seem like a very religious person."
"I ain't, Padre." Eli blew a puff of smoke. "But this place...it's nice. Quiet. I can think here. Just sit back, relax, and think."
As Eli drifted off into his own thoughts, Father Maxwell began to idly fiddle with the cross necklace around his neck.
"Tell me, Eli, do you believe in God?"
Eli took a moment to exhale the cigarillo fumes. "Nope. I'm not one for believin' in fairy tales." A pause. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason, just idle curiosity." The priest raised the little golden cross and examined it. "God is more than just a fairy tale, Eli. We seek guidance in God, both spiritual and ethical. People such as myself have pledged their love and devotion to Him. I serve Him faithfully, Eli, and He has brought me joy and comfort."
"The big guy in the sky with the white beard?" Eli mused dryly, "I just don't buy it, Padre. But I used to know someone who did."
Father Maxwell's interest was piqued. "And who would that be?"
Eli took a deep breath, sighed and lowered the cigarillo. "My father, when I was just a little kid. Damnit, he believed in the Big Guy with everythin' he had, which wasn't much. We didn't have much back then; we were poor as hell, but my father kept on prayin' and prayin'. Every mornin', at sunrise, he'd get up an' head down to the chapel to pay his services. "God'll help us," he used to say. Lotta good that did. For all that prayin' an' devotion, he never got a single dime from the Big Guy. Not even a scrap. Everythin' he had, he busted his ass off to get." Eli took a drag on his cigarillo and quickly exhaled it again. "After that, I kinda stopped believin' in God. Far as I was concerned, if there was a God, well he could've come down an' told me so himself. I don't care much for believin' in what I can't see, Padre."
Father Maxwell nodded, having listened carefully to Eli's story. He leaned in a little closer. "Might I offer some spiritual advice?"
"Shoot, Padre."
"Perhaps, Eli, God was merely presenting that as a test of your faith. Perhaps He wanted you to put your faith in Him, despite the lack of physical evidence. For all we know, it could have been your denial of God's existence that left your family with nothing."
"What a loving guy," Eli muttered, getting to his feet. "I think I've heard enough preaching for one day, Padre. I just wanted to clear my head, not get into a religous debate."
Father Maxwell gave a knowing smile. "A Gunman must show humilience and servitude to God, correct?"
Eli, for once, was at a loss for words. The Padre was the only person who knew of Eli's relation to the order, and for the simple reason that Eli confided in him. He was, one might say, Eli's confidant. Whatever Eli had to say, Father Maxwell listened.
The priest leaned back against the pew and gazed up at the ceiling. "There is much anger in you, Eli. That much I can tell about you."
Eli didn't even turn around. "You don't say..."
"Eli, I know things haven't been easy for you, but you've got to learn to let go of your anger. Whatever is causing you to act like this, just release it. Let go of the grudge burdening your soul."
After a long, uneasy moment of silence, Eli stubbed out the remains of his cigarillo. "I can't, Padre. I've got something I gotta do, and I ain't gonna rest 'til it's done..even if I have to go down to Hell with him."
Father Maxwell chose not to say anything. Instead, he watched Eli take his leave, the sound of his boots ringing through the church. Once he had left, the elderly priest got down on one knee. Holding the cross in his clasped hands, he uttered a short prayer.
---
News of the fire spread quickly. All through the town, it was the topic on everyone's lips. There was no general concensus as to who or what started the fire and why: some people assumed it was just a freak accident, while others viewed it as sheer carelessness. Those of a more suspicious disposition believed it to be the word of a deranged arsonist, or something worse still. More than one zealous preacher spoke of the fire as the work of the Devil. No-one knew the truth for sure.
Except for one person, who had witnessed the event for himself. That person had only arrived in town earlier that morning, yet he had already gained a reputation as a delusional fool.
"More fiend than man, he was," the newcomer explained from his makeshift podium - a wooden crate in the middle of the town square. The locals had gathered around to hear him, but moreso to laugh at his mad ravings.
"He was one with the night, and even the moon trembled when he appeared," the speaker continued, "He rode a dark horse, black as night, with eyes like flames! Wherever that horse walked, a trail of shadows followed. The air itself became cold as a graveyard when he was near!"
The familiar figure of a man in a cowboy hat and grey-white clothing made his way through the crowd: Eli had heard of the so-called "nutjob" that had drifted into town, and he decided to find out what all the hubbub was about. He didn't expect to get anything useful out of it, but nevertheless, he listened intently to the speaker.
"He came down from the mountains, ravaging all in his path, and rode into town; he said something - I didn't hear what - and suddenly, a horde of vile monsters rose from the ground and overwhelmed the townsfolk! I barely escaped...I ran for my life, and when I looked back, the entire town had gone up in flames! The dark fiend rode off into the night, and was never seen again. It was terrible! And that fiend...he was like a servant of Death! Nothing less!"
It was there and then that something clicked in Eli. It was the phrase that was used - "a servant of Death" - that made him realize. There was no mistaking it: the "fiend" had to be the Dark Rider.
"Where did this happen?" Eli demanded, speaking up.
"Steelmill Port," said the speaker, "About five hundred miles from here. I had to run all the way just to get here, but I wanted to - no, had to - spread the word of this...this...this demon!"
"Steelmill Port," Eli mumbled under his breath, wondering if he had ever been there. It wasn't too far away on the map; he must have passed it on his way here. "There's no way he'd still be there," he thought to himself, "Nah, he's bound to have gone somwhere else...but even so..."
While the speaker continued to ramble on about what he thought he saw, Eli hurriedly made his way back out of the crowd. He wasted no time, sprinting as fast as he could in the direction of the local station.
"Looks like I've got a train to catch..."[/spoiler]
-
As of now, I really like the flow of the story, and it had just enough content to make a clear image in my head.
And this is chapter 2? XD
Anyways, a really good read.
-
Hero
[spoiler]Let's all play a game
A game of pretend
Pretend that you're falling
Pretend you're at your end
Pretend that I helped you
Imagine I took your hand
Pretend I amounted to something
Here I am, here I stand
What measure is it to be a hero?
When everyone else
Tries to bring you down
I'll stand up, be counted
I'll be a hero
I'll save you
I'll be your hero
I'll save you
Let's all play a game
A game of chance
A deck of cards, neatly shuffled
While they watch you dance
Like a puppet, a wooden doll
Tethered on a string
Dance, puppet, dance
Dance, dance, and sing
What measure is it to be a hero?
When everyone else
Tries to bring you down
I'll stand up, be counted
I'll be a hero
I'll save you
I'll be your hero
I'll save you
Let's all play a game
The game where things
Fall down
And the house of cards
Topples
No smile from fortune
You can't even pretend
When the masks breaks
You've shamed us!
Liar
You've shamed us!
Bastard
You've shamed us!
Whore
You've shamed us!
Monster
You've shamed us!
You're no hero
What measure is it to be a hero?
When everyone else
Tries to bring you down
I'll stand up, be counted
I'll be a hero
I'll save you
I'll be your hero
I'll save you
Break out
Break free
Cut the strings
Don't play their game
Any more
Break the rules
Break the game
Walk away
Let me be your hero
What measure is it to be a hero?
When everyone else
Tries to bring you down
I'll stand up, be counted
I'll be a hero
I'll save you
I'll be your hero
I'll save you
I'm your hero now[/spoiler]
Honestly, does anyone even like this poetry stuff anymore?
-
I know I really admire your written stuff. :3
-
Stop
[spoiler]Woke up one morning
And looked at my alarm clock
Saw that I had overslept
And boy did I freak out
So I jumped out of bed
Grabbed a slice of toast downstairs
Got my jacket and shoes
And ran outside onto my bike
I'm cycling as fast as I can
Legs pumping like crazy
Pass by my old neighbour's house
Hoping I can get to class on time
And I make it there, just in time
But I'm exhausted and worn
Look at the clock outside on the campus
Eleven-fifty-nine
Can I get inside before the bell?
Can I get my seat before it rings?
Can I empty my locker and grab my books?
Can I get there on time?
So I run, make a dash for the door
But then, out of nowhere
The clock suddenly stops
And so does everything else around me
The falling leaves, the swaying grass
The people rushing to get to class
The wind itself, there's no whooshing
And I'm just standing there, perplexed
And then it hits me like a truck
With a smile, I saunter to class
And take my seat in the front row
And suddenly everything moves again
I don't know how I did it, or why
And I don't know if, physically, I crossed the line
But I won't worry about my alarm ever again
'Cos I found out I can stop time![/spoiler]
-
W00t! Stop time!
Though how is another problem. XD
-
The Greatest Boys
[spoiler]The boy looked up at the man
And asked what the gun was for
The man, with a smile, leaned foward and spoke:
"My son, you're going off to war."
Fear knots in his throat
He hugs his mother and says goodbye
"It's okay, mom, I'll come home safe."
Said the boy, marching off to die.
The other boys, rifles in hand
Say nothing. Just nod and smile
Unsure of where they're going
But they'll get there in a while.
The boys are not very old
Scarely men at all
But they were sent to fight
To shed blood; their passion, their call.
They're never coming home
These are boys that cannot be saved
The screams, the bullets, bodies crumble
In bloodied boots, they march to their grave.
And the nameless boys
Fed the lies of squandered dreams
Bravely trod across the valley
Their lives in vain, it seems.
"He was such a good boy,"
His dear old mother cried.
The bitter rain, God's icy tears
Mourn this young soldier, belied.
Their faces and names a mystery
These shadow heroes, who gave their best
In shallow tombs amongst the stars
As the greatest boys are laid to rest.
And the higher men know nothing of fear
Or the mourning of families in kind
Their brave little boys, names left to the wind
A soldier long gone, a son left behind.[/spoiler]
-
War... And the behind the scenes...
Very touching piece.
-
Very touching... :'(
-
Nightmare
[spoiler]Shadows creeping on the wall
A steady climb and endless fall
Eyeballs peering through the cracks
My mind is running and won't relax
The thing that stands behind your back
Insects crawling from a sack
Oozing slime upon the ceiling
That chilling, freezing, haunting feeling
Something bumping in the dark
Children left alone in the park
Melting faces, scissor hands
The things I'd rather not understand
Strange words written on the floor
The creaking noise outside your door
Grinning faces, scary clowns
The nightmare realm beyond our bounds
Ten-foot tall and writhing bugs
Alcohol, smoking and addiction to drugs
Black mist rising from the bed
Evil thoughts inside your head
Hulking man with a hook for a nose
Screeching ravens and cackling crows
Hideous masks upon one's face
It isn't right or in its place
Drooling fangs and rending claws
Men with eyes like great buzzsaws
These are some of my nightmare scenes
And now, good night...and sweet dreams![/spoiler]
-
How am I supposed to have sweet dreams after reading all those nightmare stuff? O^O
Seriously though, nicely done.
-
I wondered where the [tornado fang] you were
-
Interest levels kind of waned, as they usually do. I got kind of depressed that I never upload any of my art and all I do is crappy poetry and I never even finish any of my stories and blah blah feeling sorry for myself. I shouldn't, though. I don't even have clinical depression, and I feel like I'm just degrading those that do by feeling bad about myself when I have no reason whatsoever to be upset.
Sorry.
I need another hug. And something to inspire me.
-
Whenever you feel bad, you feel bad. Don't let feeling bad about feeling bad make you feel bad. You need to take care of one person first and foremost and that's you. Do what you gotta do and unslump that [parasitic bomb]
I know, I should be a motivational speaker
-
The problem is, I'm the problem. I want to write stories and draw and stuff, but I'm too damn slothful to finish the bloody things. I'm like a child with a new toy when it comes to a project: I'm engrossed at first, but a few days later I'm bored and want something else. It sucks, too, because I can't seem to shake it. It's my major vice. Try as I might, my sloth still haunts me. And then it makes me feel even more lousy knowing that nobody's ever gonna notice me for anything because I never DO ANYTHING to gain that recognition.
I know I'm not gonna kick this funk by moaning and whining and sulking in a corner. Somebody, gimme a hug and a good kick in the teeth.
-
I can't do either. How about a pomato?
-
I would very much like a pomato, good sir.
-
The problem is, I'm the problem. I want to write stories and draw and stuff, but I'm too damn slothful to finish the bloody things. I'm like a child with a new toy when it comes to a project: I'm engrossed at first, but a few days later I'm bored and want something else. It sucks, too, because I can't seem to shake it. It's my major vice. Try as I might, my sloth still haunts me. And then it makes me feel even more lousy knowing that nobody's ever gonna notice me for anything because I never DO ANYTHING to gain that recognition.
I know I'm not gonna kick this funk by moaning and whining and sulking in a corner. Somebody, gimme a hug and a good kick in the teeth.
I too seem to have the same problem...
But enough about feeling sorry for ourselves, let's all enjoy our pomatos.
*Munch Munch Munch Munch*
-
Well... Don't fret too much on it. :3
*Throws a pomato*
-
Beautiful, poetry! I love nightmares! ^^
-
Warning: those of you of a sensitive disposition, or who would rather pretend I'm sweet and innocent, may want to look away now and not scroll down any further.
Okay, now that that's out of the way, let me present my newest idea for a story:
"The Bloody Hilarious Adventures of Chainsaw Charlie"
The plot, or what there is of it, is simple: the quiet little land of Mondegreen has been overrun by a plague of zombies, led by a cruel and mighty tyrant known as the Zombie King. The King has forcibly conquered the peaceful land and enslaved the people there, and is now using it as a base of operations for his plans to rule the whole word with his undead army. Only a small band of rebels have escaped the Zombie King's iron grip and have gone into hiding, waiting for a powerful champion to arrive and free them from the oppressive ghoul.
Instead they get Chainsaw Charlie, a psychopathic lunatic with a snazzy buzzsaw hand and a love of dismembering the undead. Believing him to be the hero they've been waiting for, they ask for his help in defeating the Zombie King and freeing the land. Charlie is all too happy to oblige, but what they don't realise is that Charlie isn't in it to help them...he's in it to kill those flesh-eating motherfuckers, dance in the blood fountains and have a damn good time while doing it!
Essentially, it's a grim, gritty, over-the-top, ultra-violent slapstick bloodbath, a sort-of parody of zombie moves; think of it as a twisted pastiche of Madworld, Evil Dead and Zombieland, with a healthy helping of sickeningly nasty humour and plenty of Crosses The Line Twice antics and much Refuge In Audacity, and you've almost got it.
[spoiler](http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/IMG-3-1.jpg)[/spoiler]
"Arthurian legend says whoever pulls the sword outta the stone gets to be the king of England. Charlinian legend says I'm gonna [tornado fang] you in the ass with a rusty buzzsaw, [dark hold]!"
The protagonist of this blood-stained slaughterfest, the self-named Chainsaw Charlie is the very definition of an Anti-Hero: rude, crude, obnoxious, gutter-mouthed, clinically insane and fuelled by an intense love of killing zombies. He's a one-man army with a variety of weapons - some more unorthodox than others - at his disposal, and the know-how that, properly improvised, anything at hand can make a dandy weapon. No-one is quite sure why he has a buzzsaw for a hand or where he got it from. But then, most people are afraid to ask.
[spoiler](http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/IMG_0001-1-1.jpg)[/spoiler]
"Under my regime, everyone getsssss free health benefitsssss, a decent job and asssss much brainsssss asssss they can eat."
The antagonist is the imaginatively-titled Zombie King, who is exactly what you think he is: the king of the zombies. After taking the land of Mondegreen for himself, he's kept the people in check with his undead army of slobbering zombies, and plans to rule the whole world for the hell of it. The greatest threat to his plans of total world conquest is Chainsaw Charlie himself, but the bad King will do whatever he can to make sure the blood-stained anti-hero meets his unfortunate demise.
So there you have it.
Enjoy.
-
Intresting.
I love Charlie's design.
Zombie King's design ain't half bad either.
-
Sounds like a bloody good story to me.
And the designs for Chainsaw Charlie, and the Zombie King, look great.
-
I may not sprite, and I only upload art once in a blue moon, but damnit I like writing and write I shall. So have something I've been working on.
Just to be awkward, I won't tell you what it's about. Read yourself.
Enjoy~
[spoiler]It's February 15th.
In a couple of hours, my life will change forever.
-----
I'm sitting Maths class, staring vacantly out the window, listening to the clock on the wall ticking away. It's a nice day out, but I'm stuck in here learning about simultenous quadratic equations. I have no idea what any of that means, so I drift off into my own world. Mr. Lator doesn't notice I'm not even looking at him.
Finally the bell rings, and I lazily pick up my books and leave the classroom. It's time to head home, so I head to my locker to deposit my books. My three best friends are there already, of course.
There's Wes Bradley, my best-of-the-best friend, even though our interests are miles apart: I like reading and writing, he likes soccer and running. He's also a total womanizer, and right now he's talking to a few third-form girls, and he's got them eating out his hand. He's just magic like that.
Sitting next to him is Lily Ayashi, who's originally from Japan. Akihabara, I think she said. She's a nice girl, and a total tech whiz - if you're ever wondering how a computer works, she'll tell you exactly what to do, right down to the finest detail. I'm not afraid to say that she's cute as a button, too, standing by her locker with a book in her hands and her little reading glasses and golden-blonde hair.
And then there's Rich Harper, who's drawing some sort of alien symbol on his locker. Rich is...well, alright, he's completely nuts. I don't know if he's actually insane or he just puts it on, but he's like excitement in a bottle. Wes maintains - in his usual manner of good-natured quips - that I won Rich in a bet, but I guess I like him because he's crazy. There's never a dull moment when Rich is around, that's for sure.
My name is Evan Chase, in case you're wondering. That's kind of important, I guess, since I'm the one telling the story and all that.
Wes is the first to notice me. This big grin appears on his face and he tells the girls he has stuff to do, then he walks over to me and holds out his hand. "Hey, Evan! What's up, my bro?" he says, and we exchange our secret handshake.
"Not much," I reply, managing a tired smile. Then Lily puts her book down and smiles.
"Hey, Evan," she says in her sweeter-than-sugar voice. I love her voice, for some reason. I have no idea why. I just nod back at her.
Once he sees me, Rich whirls around to face me and puts his hands on his waist, grinning like a lunatic. "The cavalry has arrived," he declares proudly. I don't even know how to respond to that. So I just salute him for whatever reason my tired mind can conjure up.
"So, what's the pee-oh-ay for today?" asks Wes, leaning against his locker like he owns the place.
"If it's all the same to you," I reply nonchalantly, "I'd rather just sit around at home until an opportunity presents itself to me."
What I didn't realize was that there was an opportunity waiting around the corner, and fate was just waiting for me to ask for it. I've never been much of a go-getter - that's Wes's turf - but I guess sometimes, opportunities have no choice but to be seized. I brought this up after we had left the building and began to walk home.
"Do you ever get the feeling that there's something watching you?" I ask them, waiting for the lights to turn green.
"Oh, all the time," says Rich, "UFOs are everywhere, dude. But they must be benevolent, 'cos they seem to like watching over us."
"I meant something deeper. Something more...spiritual."
"What," coos Wes, "Like God or something?"
I shrug. "Maybe."
"What's brought this up all of a sudden?" asks Lily as we cross the road.
"I've just been thinking," I reply, looking up at the sky detachedly, "About the universe and stuff. Metaphysics. I've been thinking, maybe there really is magic and living fantasy in the world. Out there, somewhere. But we just can't see it."
"It's possible," points out Lily, "After all, the average human being is said to use only 10% of their brain. It's possible that there is some kind of higher intelligence, which we cannot comprehend."
"See? Lily agrees with me," I mutter.
"You've always been like that," Wes teases in his usual good-natured way, "Ever since we were little kids, you've always been wonderin' why your life can't be more like a..."
"More like a work of fantasy," I idly murmur. We're passing by my house now. "I'll see you guys later, alright?"
"Okay," says Lily, smiling, "Bye-bye!"
I wave back to them, then walk in through the front door. My mother is chopping vegetables for dinner on the kitchen counter and looking at the TV while she's doing it.
"Hey, mom," I call.
"Hello, dear," she replies. I glance over at the TV screen. Some cookery program. She loves cookery programs. I just walk through the kitchen, out into the hall, up the stairs and stand outside my bedroom.
I am in no way prepared for what I'm about to see.[/spoiler]
[spoiler]I'm trying not to be alarmed here. I really am.
But it's kind of hard when there's someone - or something - sitting on my bed. It definitely wasn't there before.
"Hey, what's going on here?" I yell, backing up against the door. The...thing...on my bed isn't human, not by a long shot. It's got a humanoid shape, alright, but it looks more like a robot or alien than a normal person. The body seems to be fleshy and organic, but it's got these weird metal plates over its chest and arms and legs and...over most of its face, so that only a pair of glowing eyes are looking out. It's sitting on my bed, cool as anything, and staring right at me.
I'm genuinely freaking out here.
"Look," I go, fumbling at the doorknob, "If this is some kinda prank, it's not funny." I try to turn the knob. "Is that you in that suit, Wes? This is one of Rich's ideas, isn't it? Ha ha ha! R-really funny, guys."
Crap, the door's locked.
How did it lock itself?
"Do not be afraid," the thing says in this deep, hollow voice. It stands up and - get this - starts hovering an inch or so above the ground. It even has the nerve to hold its hand out to me.
"That's a good voice impression, Wes," I stutter nervously, "B-but the joke's over now...come on out."
"I am not your enemy," the thing goes on, "I am your friend. I am you."
I just cock an eyebrow. What the hell is this guy on about? "You're me?"
"Yes. I am you; or, more accurately, an extension of you. I am your subconcious mind taking form - an Esper."
"An Esper," I mutter, "Isn't that someone who has, y'know, psychic abilities? Not...whatever the hell you are?"
"Yes. Where do you think their abilities come from?"
"Sleight of hand, hidden cameras, smoke and mirrors, that sort of thing," I wager. The thing shakes its head.
"No. That is what they want you to believe. In actuality, their abilities are genuine and real; most every magician, fortune teller or psychic in this world is guided and empowered by one of us. An Esper."
"Most everyone?"
"There are some who do not possess an Esper of their own, or have not yet released it, but are nevertheless mystified by the tricks of these clever people," the thing explains, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, "They try to replicate their abilities, to varying degress of success. But what they cannot see is the magician's "invisible hand", so to speak - the subconcious spirit putting the rabbit in the hat, taking the pea out from under the shell, harmlessly seperating the woman in half. It is all the work of we Espers."
I can't believe this. It's all too much, too soon. Espers? Magicians? Psychic spirits? I must be going nuts. Maybe Rich has finally gotten to me. I rub my eyes in a desperate attempt to regain my grip on sanity. When I open my eyes, the thing, the Esper, as it calls itself, it still standing a few feet away from me.
"This is insane. Ghosts and ghoulies don't really exist, right? It's all just...just fantasy!"
"And you would know."
I blink. "What?"
"All your life, Evan, you have desired for your life to be more like a work of fantasy; like the stories you read. Only now have I appeared before you. But I have always been within you, waiting to be freed from your mind."
Right about then, I decide I've had just about enough of this thing. "No! Just...no! Yes, I've wanted that all my life, but...I always knew it was just a dream! If you're really here, then...then what about everything else I know? What's the difference between illusion and reality?"
The thing shakes its head solemnly. "Calm down. You are taking this too far. Nothing else has changed to alter the flow of reality. Do not think of this as a breach of structured continuity - rather, think of it as an extension of what you know to be in existence. Did Plato himself not say there are two worlds: the world we percieve through our senses, and the world that contains the essence of all things?"
He's got me there. I just nod, more to be polite than anything.
"Yes. It was Plato who said we cannot always trust what we experience through our sight, hearing, and other senses. He believed in a perfect universe, the "World of Ideas", wherein there exists the "perfect" form of everything."
"What does this have to do with me? Or better yet, you?"
"I am not finished. Aristotle later rejected this theory, stating that the senses are just as important as the mind. He deviated from Plato's beliefs by saying that all physical bodies consist of two parts." He holds his two hands out, palms cupped upwards. "There is the matter," he raises his left hand, "And there is the form," he raise his right hand. "The matter is that which the body is made from; this is you. The form is that which defines the body, its essence; that which seperates it from other bodies. This is myself. Aristotle believed that one cannot without the other - form must have matter, and matter must have form. Similarly, Evan, we are two sides of the same coin. You are the physical body, the host, that which controls me; I am the spirit, the subconcious mind, that which empowers yet serves you. Do you understand?"
Now, this is going to sound crazy, but bear with me here. I actually do understand what he's saying. It's weird - it's outright insane, really - but somehow, I suppose I've always known that there was something else out there. Whenever I looked at a magic trick, I would wonder how they did it. My rational mind said there was a logical explanation to it, but the little kid in me always thought it must really have been magic. I always wondered how sleight-of-hand, hidden cameras and smoke and mirrors could allow someone cut a woman in half. I just never thought the little kid would be right after all.
The thing...sorry, the Esper, sits back down on the bed. He puts his hand next to him. I come over and sit beside him.
"Okay, so, can I ask you something?"
"Certainly?"
I look up at the ceiling, then at him. "Ghosts and spirits...those kind of things...are they Espers too?"
"Indeed they are," he replies. "You see, everybody has some form of an Esper. Most people are just not aware of it. As well as that, only a handful of people are able to harness their Esper to gain supernatural powers. In olden days, they would be seen as druids and holy men and were revered; or they would be seen as demons and witches and punished for their gift. To answer your question - when a person dies, their subconcious mind and soul are seperated from the host body. This is the Esper being freed, if you will, from its earthly form. Most Espers, after being freed, return to the place where all Espers hail from. Alas, some still retain feelings of sorrow, anger or guilt from their mortal host's lifetime, and cannot return until these feelings have been sated. It is a terrible existence, to be a restless Esper."
This is unbelievable. I'm actually talking to someone who understands this stuff - he is this kind of stuff! I need to know more. So I ask him:
"Did philosophers like Plato and Aristotle have Espers?"
He considers this. "I cannot say for sure, given that I am but a young Esper amongst many. It is possible that they may have possessed Espers and wished to teach others of them, but not everyone was willing to accept their ideas. A terrible shame, really."
It's not really the answer I was hoping for, but I let it slide. I decide to go back to the first question.
"So, where do all these Espers come from, anyway? You said something about, uh, returning there."
He says nothing for a moment, then speaks. "I cannot say. Even I do not know. No-one knows. Many would believe it is God himself, if you believe in such a thing; others would believe it is the centre of all existence, the nexus of all reality. Others just believe it is a giant fish."
"A giant fish?"
"That theory is not very important. In short, I cannot answer your question."
I nod. I suppose it'd be unfair to assume he knows everything about this stuff. He looks at me. I can't tell if he has a mouth under the plating, but if he does, I get the feeling he's smiling.
"Now, Evan, I have a question for you."
"Fair enough," I go, "Shoot."
"Do you accept this?"
"What, Espers and stuff?"
"Yes."
I just shrug. "It's kinda hard not to when you're sitting right next to me, isn't it?" I can't help but chuckle. "Oh, man. I can't wait to tell Wes, Lily and Rich about this. They're gonna freak out. Well, maybe not Rich."
He suddenly become a bit defensive. "I would be careful of telling them." I look back at him puzzledly. "Those who do not possess Espers themselves are not usually understanding of such matters," he explains.
"Oh."
After that, there's a long - some might say awkward - moment of silence. I'm just left looking at the floor, while he stares blankly in front of him. He seems to be good at just staring blankly, what with those expressionless eyes he has on him. Eventually, something comes to mind. I decide to break the tense silence.
"What's your name?"
He turns his head and looks down at me. "Pardon?"
"I mean, what should I call you? You've gotta have a name, right?"
"I suppose so," he says, half-chuckling while he says it. "Very well. You may call me...The Magician."
"The Magician?"
"Indeed. You see, in the mystical wisdom of the Tarot - the fortune-telling cards - The Magician represents one who understands the innate intricacies of the universe, for he has experienced them himself; he is the one who, through his own inner power, brings change to his world. He is the conjurer - he who brings tales and stories to life."
"Okay," I go, still a little confused, "But what does that have to do with me?"
"Isn't it obvious?" The Magician replies, probably smiling again, "You, Evan, are the one who brings these stories to life. Ever since you were little, it is all you have ever desired. And now, because you are ready to accept it, you have conjured myself - your Esper."
"I don't see how I'm ready, though," I mutter. He obviously hears it, because he says:
"In your subconcious mind, you are. I should know - I am that subconcious mind, after all. You're a young adult now, Evan. You are more able to understand these things."
I just nod, maybe a little too slowly. It's been a pretty weird afternoon, and I haven't even had dinner yet.
I can only wonder what the others will think if I tell them.[/spoiler]
Thanks to the both of you who'll comment on this.
-
It is some impressive writing you have there. You used that word you know I like! So are ya gonna write more? I'm interested...
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Very interesting read, of espers and mystical beginnings...
Can't wait to read more. :3
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Just finished reading your story, and I got to say...
It has got me intrested.
Do write more of the story, I want to see what sort of adventure(s) the protagonist and The Magician have throught this tale.
-
[spoiler]I come back down the stairs, having unlocked the door, with The Magician floating beside me. I'm still a tad shocked, but I don't say anything to him.
"Can you do me a favour?" I ask him when we're at the kitchen door.
"Certainly."
I sort of sigh. "Try not to be seen, okay? I don't want my parents freaking out or anything."
"Don't worry," he says, "Only those who possess an Esper themselves can see other Espers. Your parents will neither hear nor see me."
I blink. "Well...that's good, I guess."
So I head into the kitchen, The Magician following me, and I take a seat at the table. Mom doesn't scream that there's some monstrous being floating beside me, so I assume The Magician was telling the truth about being invisible to other people. Dad puts his newspaper away and takes a puff on his pipe - he's kind of old-fashioned that way. He even wears his slippers around the house and has little square glasses. But I digress.
"Dinner is served," Mom declares, bringing over our meal: roast beef with baby potatoes, carrots and celery. She's a great cook. Must be all the programs she watches. "Bon apetit!"
We each take a plateful of food and tuck in. About half a minute later, Dad raises his fork and points it at me like he does when he wants to make a statement. "You know, there's been some pretty strange goings-on around here in the past month or so."
"You don't say," I mutter in reply, copping a sly glance at The Magician. He's staring at the beef in wonder. I guess he doesn't really need to eat, so food must be an alien concept to him.
"Oh, yeah," Dad goes, like he's on a soapbox or something, "Very strange. One young lady said she was saved from certain death by a mysterious stranger. Just walkin' across the road, she said, when this car swerves right in front of her. Said she thought she was a goner. Then, all of a sudden, she was at the other side of the road. Car drove on. Said she didn't know how it happened, it just did. Like some sorta guardian angel, she said."
I have a fairly good idea what happened to her. Magician did say some people had supernaturally-gifted Espers. Or...something.
Mom just shakes her head. "Poor dear must have gotten the shock of her life."
Something stirs in me then. I don't know quite why, but I feel the sudden urge to tell Mom and Dad about The Magician. I guess they deserve to know, too.
"Mom...Dad?" I say quietly. They look at me.
"Yes, son?" asks Dad, puffing his pipe.
I look at Magician, surveying the carrots with enthusiastic interest. I give a little sigh. "There's...something I need to tell you."
"Have you started doing drugs?" asks Dad.
"What? No!"
"'Cos son, lemme tell you, drugs are not at all cool. They'll destroy your life, and furthermore--"
"I'm not doing drugs!"
"Drinking, then?" suggests Dad, eyeing me sternly. I sigh.
"No, Dad, not drinking either..."
"Son, you know I'm more than happy to let you sit and have a beer with me, but not 'til you're 18 at least."
"I don't want a beer!"
"Oh," says Mom, smiling. She looks at me with her big Bambi eyes. "I know what this is."
"Y-you do?" I ask quickly. If she has an Esper, I figure, at least it'll lessen the awkwardness of the situation. Though it might just make things a lot weirder.
She nods. "You've met a girl!"
I nearly fall off my seat. Somehow, I guess I was kind of expecting - even hoping - for her to say she knew about The Magician. My mind just doesn't like mundane ideas, it seems. "What?!"
"Oh, I'm so proud of you!" she squeals, getting up and throwing her arms around me.
"No, Mom, that's not it at all!" I cry, under the strain of her iron hug. "Besides, I already know a girl!"
Dad suddenly takes interest. "Oh, you're going out with that Japanese girl, are you?" He smirks. "Evan, you dog!"
"N-no," I bluster, feeling as though the sanctity of our platonic friendship has been violated by my own father, "Not Lily! She's just a friend!"
"You say that now, son, but I know you've got the hots for her. Cute little thing, isn't she?"
I should probably mention that my dad still has a certain...affinity...for teenage girls. Almost as much as Wes's dad. But Wes's dad just scares me.
"Dad, I don't...like...Lily!"
"Oh, my baby boy's all grown up," Mom coos happily, swaying back and forth with me in her arms. I just groan. The Magician's looking at me, but he doesn't say anything. I doubt they'd hear him anyway.
"Look, I'm not doing drugs, or drinking, and I'm not in love with Lily," I state firmly, once Mom decides to let go and takes her seat. "I've...uh...well...let's just say I've...made a new friend."
"Oh," says Mom, sounding a tad disappointed. She cuts off a bit of her beef and chews it in silence. Dad takes another puff on his pipe and resumes eating as well.
The next five minutes are spent eating in pretty much total silence, amongst an air of disappointment. Well, for Mom, anyway. After that, I just pick up my plate and get up.
"I'm finished."
"Finished?" says Mom, "But you've barely touched your potatoes!"
"I'm not that hungry." I head for the door, and Magician follows me. "I'll be in my room. I've got...study...to do."
I have a feeling school is going to be one hell of a wild ride.[/spoiler]
And here's a little bit of characterisation for Evan's parents:
* Mitzi Chase: Hot Anime Mom, excellent cook, caring mother, gentle as a butterfly...unless someone threatens her family, in which case she goes into full-blown Mama Bear mode. She's not at all concerned with such concepts as feminism or gender inequalities; she's happy to stay at home and be a housewife, and she knows well she's the one keeping the whole house together. After Evan meets his Esper and becomes more secretive and distant, she shows real concern for him. She knows Evan is a capable young man, but she often wonders if he's keeping something from her. Who knows? Maybe she'll become an important figure in Evan's journey.
* Gerald Chase: Oddly resembling the classic father from 1950's sitcoms - neatly-combed hair, pipe, newspaper, slippers and square glasses - he's the kind of father who loves to spend time with his boy. Even though Evan is older now, he still harbours a secret desire to play catch with his son and help him ride a bicycle. On the other hand, he's glad that Evan's age opens up new opportunities for leisure and discussion; though his attempts to interest Evan in rugby and cricket haven't worked out so well for him. He knows something's up regarding his son's odd behaviour, and he intends to find out what it is.
-
Hot anime mom... Mmm...
Ahem, oh well, Plan A failed rather badly...
Still... There's still school to think about. XD
-
The following is another attempt at writing surreal poetry. Inspired by listening to The Beatles' "Revolution 9" (which, by the way, I would not reccomend listening to late at night). But I digress.
F.I.R.E.
[spoiler]Feed me
Feed me
Feed me
Feed me
Fire! Fire!
Fire! Fire!
Heal me
Heal me
Heal me
Heal me
Fire! Fire!
In
The
Sky
Fire! Fire!
On
The
Floor
Toasty toasty toast
Mmmmm, I'd like some
Yeah
Yeah
Galahad's mighty sternum
He drinks my tomatoes
Through a straw
Yeah
Yeah
Through a straw
Think I'm gonna understand
How you ate my avacado dreams
Eventually, I'll get it
Right now, I got it
Everybody loves Galahad's mighty sternum
Fire! Fire!
In
The
Water
Fire! Fire!
Below
The
Ice
Inky dreams
Slippery streams
Nobody catches my prawns
Oh, baby, gimme some toast
Fire! Fire!
Fire! Fire!
Many a man has told me
Extremely cold carrots
Alleviate the dog's ennui
Nice, mmmm, nice toast
I'd like to have your toast
None of Galahad's men
Green is like blue in disguise
Ice? Ice?
Ice? Ice?
Tomatoes in the straw
Oh, spread some on the toast
Try some of my avacado dreams
Hell is where the Devil plays a six-string
In his lemon-flavoured boots
Sincerely, Galahad's mighty sternum
Thunder thunder thunder thunder
Thunder thunder thunder thunder
Please, if you're reading this
Oh, don't feed the dog my trumpet
Especially if he's feeling bored
Make sure he eats extremely cold carrots
Fire! Fire!
Fire! Fire
Mmmmmm, oh, yeah, baby
Toast is on fire![/spoiler]
I will personally write a poem/song/short story for the person who can determine the meaning of this poem. Anything they want, of their choice. Unless, of course, nobody can figure it out.
But let me point this out: I'd like evidence or reasoning to support your interpretation. Don't just say, "It's about...ducks", for example. Tell me why you think it's about...ducks. Explain where that reasoning comes from and why you think the lyrics refer to...ducks. If you just say it's about...ducks, and don't say why, I won't give you squat. Read the lyrics very carefully. M'kay? M'kay. Cool.
To be a little more fair, I'll give a bit of help by eliminating some possibilities: it's not about drugs, hallucinations, dreams (not even avacado dreams), childhood memories, philosophy, or...ducks.
Enjoy.
-
... Ducks.
Ok, let's see...
With all the food mentioned here and there...
I want to try guessing it's about hunger, how it can drive people crazy, or how it can fill you with energy.
Then again, not sure how the dog fits into this...
-
Close, but no cigar. Anyone else care to take a shot at it?
-
*snaps fingers*
Oh well... *eats some Peking Duck*
-
Dude, you are pretty good at this stuff.
-
And now, for your bewilderment, a collection of short stories.
Vignettes
[spoiler]John went to buy groceries at 7 AM on a Tuesday morning on the 15th of March it was a very sunny day there wasn't a cloud in the sky so John decided he didn't need to take his car and so he decided to walk to the shop as he was walking down the road he saw a penny so he picked it up and to his surprise the penny started talking to him John it said John I am a magic penny I will grant you anything you so desire simply say what you want and I will conjure it up for you John thought about it and then he asked well how many of these wishes do I get the penny considered this thought long and hard it did and after much careful deliberation it came to a conclusion you may have five wishes five wishes thought John well alright then and he thought about this it would be a shame he said to waste my first wish on something really expensive and have it wasted so just to make sure for my first wish I would like a sandwich and lo and behold in John's hand was a delicious smoked salmon and brie sandwich on rye bread with mayonaise and mustard spread on it John ate the sandwich to see how it tasted it was delicious he smiled and looked at the penny nestled in his palm by god he said to the copper mintage that was one of the best sandwiches I've ever had the good fortune of eating the penny seemed pleased by this though being a penny it could not express its sentiments to its new master John then spoke up and he said to the magic penny for my second wish I would like my wife to have a new car and amazingly he saw his beautiful wife driving past him in a new Ferrari Testarosa she seemed very pleased with herself and because she was happy John fair deuce to him was also happy well he murmured I think for my third of fifth wish I would like a new pair of shoes the penny was unsure about this are you certain that's what you'd like it asked John but John was sure I don't care much for fancy luxuries he said as long as I have my loving wife my job and my house I am content so I would like my new shoes if you please and after a slight pause but only a slight pause barely noticeable by John's a little above average vision the penny gave John his wish and a new pair of shos appeared on John's feet fantastic John cried in delight a new pair of shoes might I humbly suggest something a little more extravagant good sir mused the coin but John shook his head not yet he said and rubbed his chin slowly alright he concluded happily for my fourth of fifth wish I would like my wife to be even happier than she already is she seemed very happy with her new car but she could be happier than she is and by this point the penny was notably nervous about John's desires John it whispered gently but ever so urgently John it said warningly John oh John do not ask for such a thing John however was puzzled why not he asked because said the penny there are some forces even I cannot control by which I mean my power John I cannot control my own power John if you choose such a thing John I cannot guarantee what will happen but John scoffed at this so long as my lovely and caring wife is happy then I too am happy so please grant me my wish the penny was hesitant but it had no choice it was a magic penny and therefore had to grant the wish of whomever held it and so it granted the wish there said the penny I have made it so your wish it is granted and your wife is the happiest she has been in a long time John smiled and went home to see her oh my dear he announced ever so proudly when he walked in through the front door oh my dear I'm here now oh my dear are you happy oh my dear but when John still clutching the magic penny in his hands buried amongst his narrow fingers went up to his bedroom to greet his wife he found her in bed with another man John oh poor John he was distraught he opened up his hand and angry tears spilling across his cheeks he shouted to the magic penny he held oh magic penny is this what my wife has wanted all this time is this what will make her happier and the penny mororesly told John that this was what was making her happy and John in his rage asked for his fifth and final wish.
Bang.
--------------------
Wherein a thousand spoke of fame, none of them were yet to blame.
JC Cristoff and Louis Saffar trod the empty halls of the old opera house. No sound came, for there was nothing there to make a sound. The walls, once dark and proud, had grayed over time and the paint now flecked and scratched in crisp pieces of flake and grit. With every step, a portion of dust taken from the floor. The soulless seats, the barren stage; remnants of days since past.
"Ah," breathed JC, seating himself, "For those days to have again. As we once had."
"Indeed," murmured Louis, lowering himself beside his companion.
Both men watched, in idle fascination, the stage. No-one came on. They watched a phantom production; an illusion of a performance.
"The conductor played here," mused JC.
"Yes," replied Louis.
"In the old days."
"Yes. The old days."
"There is nothing here, now," stated JC.
"Nothing," agreed Louis.
"Do you ever wonder?"
"Of what?"
"Of why."
"Why what?"
"Why they left."
"Times pass."
"Yes."
"Things change."
"Indeed, things do change," contented JC.
"They must change," continued Louis; in his voice, a tinge of sadnes.
"Of course."
"For without change, what is there?"
"The same."
"Yes."
"We cannot have the same."
"We cannot."
A moment of silence. In someone's mind, a man on stage blew a trumpet. Perhaps an audience cheers. Maybe a man amongst the audience falls to his knees and cries.
"I wonder," spoke JC.
"Wonder what?" queried Louis.
"Why they dreamt of such fame."
"They are only mortal. It is to be expected. They must reach new heights; achievements must be gained."
"Or they will not be satisfied."
"Exactly."
The audience. A baby laughs at the tinkling of the triangle. A woman smiles at the mellow murmuring of the violin.
"But they are His children," thought aloud JC.
"Children are often spoiled," replied Louis.
"Of course."
"They had to leave. They did not find fame."
"Indeed. Pastures greener, and whatnot."
"To be sure. To be sure."
The performance finishes. The audience applauds. Cheering. Triumph. Happiness.
Both men stood up and left the theatre.
Wherein a thousand spoke of fame, none of them were yet to blame.
--------------------
This story is very short.
Don't you think?
--------------------
Annoyingly, Boris can't decide Evelyn's fairness. God! He, I, joke kindly, loudly, maddeningly. No-one opens Peter's quiet retail store. Tony understands Veronica's worries. Xylophone? Yes! Zoo.
--------------------
Watch as my fingers dance they dance they dance on the kyboard I do not look as I tupe, for sure, for sure, ha ha ha aha haha, undertsn me! My sorry, my rage, oh dear. Ha ha ha ha ha! Tyrnips, pleae me. Pease. I need the turnipsFor mow. To understad. I must e healed. waken me do not let me go no olease dont t emr gos a ha ah aha ha ahs aha a ah oh.
A vignette. By Nick Z. Rhythm.[/spoiler]
Posted on: November 18, 2009, 09:12:49 PM
This is the first part of a story I've been working on. It's my own revision of Alice in Wonderland. Please read it if you're here, preferably leave a nice comment, and enjoy.
ALICE - Part 1
[spoiler]If you're gonna give a girl a gun, you'd better make sure she knows how to use it.
These words were passing through Alice Butler's mind as she walked - or rather, sauntered - along the riverbank. It was a quote from her father. He worked as a police officer in another town, having divorced from Alice's mother some ten years prior. Alice hardly saw him, which suited her just fine. He came to visit every few months or so, during which time Alice would retreat to her room and lock the door. They rarely spoke to eachother. There was a sort of mutual disdain between father and daughter, though neither knew why. They just didn't get along very well.
As Alice strolled by the row of willow trees, she snapped her fingers to "Livin' On A Prayer" on her headphones. 80's rock was her passion. Her father preferred 70's music, which was often a source of ire between them. She stopped at the bench by the bank, sat down and moved onto "Welcome To The Jungle". As Axl Rose's shrill voice resounded in her ears, she lay back and looked into the sparkling water below.
Her hard rock reverie was suddenly broken by the appearance of a little white rabbit. There, in front of her, was a snow-white rabbit. Alice blinked. It definitely wasn't there before.
"Hey, uh, little guy," she said softly. The rabbit's nose twitched. Alice slid down the volume on her headphones and leaned forward a little bit. The rabbit looked at her. She reached her hands out, hoping to catch it. Maybe she'd return it to its owner and get a reward. She could do with the money.
No sooner did she stretch her arms out than the rabbit scurried off a few feet. Alice frowned and stood up.
"I'm not gonna hurt you, little guy..."
But the rabbit was not at all enticed. It hopped back another few steps. Getting more annoyed by the moment, Alice stepped forward. The rabbit hopped back.
Alice was losing her temper at this point. She lunged forward, crouching at the last second to catch the damned rabbit.
Alas, fortune was not on her side. As she lowered herself after her running leap, her right foot landed on the slippery mud at the edge of the riverbank. The rabbit watched in its own style of idle curiosity as Alice fell headfirst into the water.
Spluttering and gasping, Alice thrust her head upwards. Past the edge, the bank fell down a steep incline, straight into a deep body of water. Alice kicked her feet vigorously, trying her best to tread water. She now regretted not taking those swimming lessons like her mother reccomended.
Instinctively, she grabbed onto a branch protruding from a sagging tree and held on for dear life. It didn't do much good, though; the current was too strong. Within moments, she found herself being dragged downstream. She cursed the rabbit, who was watching her from the shore. It was all the rabbit's fault. She was a goner.
Alice Butler closed her eyes.
-----
When she opened her eyes, Alice found herself somewhere else.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but when they did, she found herself looking at a world of strange colours; almost like a photo-negative image. It looked remarkably like the riverbank she was just at, except for the fact that the colours were entirely different. That, and everything seemed to be back-to-front. A mirror image.
"Am I dreaming?" She rubbed her eyes and looked around again. Nope. Everything was still backwards and colour-screwed. "Then...am I dead? Did I drown back there?" She quickly turned on her headphones, and was greeted by Bon Jovi's voice. That ruled out Hell, then. Anywhere she couldn't listen to her 80's rock had to be Hell for her.
Alice groaned and struggled to her feet. She brushed her shirt off and fixed her skirt. Unbeknownst to her, a figure was crawling out along the branch of a nearby tree. Smiling, the figure slid down the trunk of the tree and slinked over to the newcomer.
"I must be going crazy," Alice muttered to herself, staring into the violet water of the river beneath the navy sky above. When she turned around, she found herself looking at a young woman with a pair of purple cat ears on her head and a swishing cat's tail. "Yeah, I'm definitely going mad."
"Hey, baby," the catgirl cooed, approaching Alice. She was wearing nothing but a fur bikini, Alice noted. She frowned and took a step back uneasily.
"Uh...hi there."
The catgirl, grinning a gleaming white smile, leaned over and put her arms around Alice's waist. Alice immediately blushed.
"I get a good feeling from you, baby," the grinning catgirl purred, stroking Alice's cheek sensually, "Do you get a good feeling from me?"
"Not really," choked Alice. Her cheeks went from strawberry pink to crimson red as the catgirl licked her cheek. Alice stood frozen in shock and confusion as the overly-friendly feline female ran her tongue along Alice's lips, then moved down her neck and to her breasts.
"GET OFF!" Alice cried, staggering back and holding her shirt tightly. "Look, I don't know who you think you are, but I don't appreciate you tryin' to...molest me!"
The catgirl continued to grin, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "The name's Chesire, baby."
"Chesire," Alice repeated for herself. She glanced about for something she could use to beat off the catgirl. Being compromised by a half-naked feline girl only moments after arriving in some strange new world would just be plain embarrasing.
No big sticks by her feet. Damn. She'd just have to rely on what little fighting skills she had.
"Look, if you try touch me again, I'm gonna break your little kitty back, got it?"
"Awwwww, don't be like that, sugar," Chesire purred, lying down on the golden grass and running a hand along her bare leg. She was still grinning that uncomfortably homely grin. "It's not very often we get folks like you 'round these here parts."
Alice forgot her rage for a moment and glared at Chesire. "Folks like me?"
"Indeedy-ba-doobily, cupcake." Chesire raised herself to all fours and slinked back up the tree she came from. She sprawled herself out on the long branch and closed her eyes. "Yeah, you're what we call an Otherworlder."
Alice clutched her head. "Otherworlder? What are you...oh, God, I need some music...I'm definitely going mad."
"Relax, honey." Chesire's grin went beyond the impossible and spread even wider and gleamed even more intensely. "We're all mad here!"
"That doesn't help!" snapped Alice, fumbling for her headphones. "Just...just send me back home already!"
"No can do, cutie."
"What?"
"It's not in my power to do that. Nope, I'm afraid you're stuck here."
Alice narrowed her eyes. "Tell me how to get home, or I swear to God, I'm gonna wring that furry little neck of yours."
"Hey, now, no need to get violent." Chesire smiled deviously and licked the back of her hand. "Unless, of course, you're into that type of thing. Are you a submissive or a dominant?"
"I'm neither!"
"Ooh, dominant. I like that. I'm a baaaaad kitty."
Alice turned on her heel and stormed off. If this nymphomaniac little catgirl was going to screw with her like this, Alice didn't want to stick around any longer.
She'd find her own way home.
-----
Shortly after leaving the Chesire catgirl in a huff, Alice found herself strolling along an unfamiliar part of the river. At any rate, it wasn't like this back home. She would at least remember the water rissing up over nothing.
"This is insane," she muttered bitterly, "I must be dreaming. Or something! I can't really be in this...place. It's just insane."
While she was walking, she saw a strange old man sitting by the riverbank. He was wearing a flat-topped, wide-brimmed and slightly rumpled hat, and had a greying beard that reached down to his waist. He seemed to be skimming stones. Alice decided she'd ask him for help. He at least looked like someone who wouldn't molest her.
Well...
She'd try anyway.
"Hey, excuse me," she called, approaching him, "Old man?"
The old fellow didn't even look at her. He just stared into the river from behind his dark glasses.
"Uh, hello?" said Alice. She leaned over to see if he was even awake. It was hard to tell behind the glasses. Maybe he had programmed himself to skim stones while sleeping.
She leaned another bit closer. Her heart nearly leaped out as he swung his head to face her.
"What?" he grunted unpleasantly. Alice stepped back, grimacing noticeably.
"Um...yeah, hi," she said, trying to act polite, and succeeding only in the loosest sense of the term, "I'm not from around here, and I was wondering if you could give me a hand? You know, telling me where I should go to get home and...stuff."
The old man looked back at the river. "No," he replied firmly, and threw another stone across the water's surface.
Alice frowned. "C'mon! Can't you even tell me where I am?"
The old man was quiet for a moment. After a half-minute of hesitation, he grunted, "Wonderland."
Alice cocked an eyebrow. "Wonderland? You're kidding, right?"
"Nope. I don't kid, kid."
Alice heaved a sigh. She produced her headphones and decided to sit beside the old man.
"You new here?" he asked suddenly.
"I already said I was."
The old fellow grunted ambiguously in response. "Not a lot of folk come here these days."
"I can imagine they don't..."
There was another moment of awkward silence. After at least a minute of quiet music and watching the old fellow skim stones, Alice found herself being surveyed by her elderly companion's scrutinising stare.
"Here," he said.
"Here what?"
Alice found herself with something metal and a bit heavy in the palm of her hand. She looked down. It was a revolver. Her eyes widened, and she had to focus her energy into her mouth to keep her jaw from dropping.
"Wh...what...why...why..."
"You're gonna need it," said the old man. This was, apparently, his justification for giving a seventeen-year-old girl a 19th Century firearm, albeit one that was considerably modernised and enhanced. Before she could even argue against the old man's lack of consideration for safety, he was up and walking away. She knew better than to follow him.
If you're gonna give a girl a gun, you'd better make sure she knows how to use it.[/spoiler]
-
As always, your writting is just Delicious!
Great prologue for the story. I do like the concept of a gun-wielding Alice in Wonderland.
Now if you'll excuse me...
...Must...draw...fan art...
(Not only of this but of Espers)
-
A Lament of the Eldritch Things
[spoiler]These beings lie amongst the stars, scheming
And subject terrible visions upon us mortals dreaming
Waiting for the moment the stars will seal their fate
Tentacles and slime dripping from the oozing maws
Fetid fangs, bulging eyes, ubiquitous tentacles and claws
Brooding amongst the unearthly horrors they pro-create
From times since past, ancient and forgotten by man
Eldritch abominations crawling from the abyss of the damned
The darkest things which humankind was not at all meant to know
The things no mind can imagine; no science can rationally explain
The shuffling, lurking, tearing, rending monstrosities not of this earthly plane
And over times, it seems, their terrible powers only seem to grow
For whatever is the meaning of these wretched things, violations of time and space?
Perversions of all that is sacred and holy, emerging from their abbysal dwelling place
The horrific plagues that follow, to which no man can build resistance
Macabre reveries of times long since past, memories of diabolical dreamscapes
Wherein they drag their gibbering victims - to a Hell wherefrom no-one can dare escape
The Great Old Ones, Elder Gods, the very enemies of all logical extistence[/spoiler]
-
Wow, how do you get the concept for these
You, my good friend, have a future.
-
Wow, how do you get the concept for these
Howard Philips Lovecraft. The greatest horror writer of all time; certainly of the 20th Century.
Posted on: November 24, 2009, 12:50:08 AM
This is just a little short story I through together, about RPM. It's pretty crap, since I didn't have any decent ideas at the time, but I'd like to continue writing these (and maybe some more RPM Fortress stories). If anybody wants to appear in a story or something or whatever, just say so.
Yeah. Enjoy, I...guess.
[spoiler]Nick Z. Rythm sat outside Club Groove, perched pleasantly upon a little mound of grass, sipping a chilled bottle of bubblegum soda whilst reading a copy of JoJo's Bizarre Adventure. His best friend, a one Magnus Ryujin, was sitting beside him - tinkering away on his brand new Backburner Torchmaster 5000 flamethrower. This happened quite a lot on these lazy days. Nick decided to break the tranquil silence with one of his inane questions.
"Who would win in a fight," he hypothesised, "Mega Man or Dio Brando?"
"Mega Man, obviously," replied Magnus, not even looking up from his new toy, "He's fought plenty a' time-stoppin' bad guys, right?"
"Yeah," conceded Nick, "But Dio's super-strong! And he's a vampire. A real vampire, not one of Stephanie Meyer's sparkly flowery lads."
"Mega Buster, dude."
"The World!"
"Copied weapons!"
"ROAD ROLLER!"
Magnus glared up at his friend, scowling. "Look, how 'bout we just drop the subject before I have to force-feed you a live hand grenade?"
Nick blinked, then went back to his comic quietly. He knew better than to annoy Magnus when he was in one his patended MoodsTM. A few minutes later, who walked by but a young woman with long blonde hair and a familiar green beret.
"Hello, you two," Grodgudinnan - or Patch, as she had been dubbed - said dryly.
"Hey, Patch," said Nick, trying not to stare at her chest. Musn't stare at her chest...her lovely, soft chest...
She eyed the comic curiously. "Oh, are you reading that JimJim's Weird Journey thingy?"
"JoJo's Bizarre Adventure," said Nick, pouting slightly. He considered this to be an affront to what he, in his own peculiar mind, dubbed a "masterpiece".
"Yeah. That."
I wonder what colour panties she's wearing...
While Nick's mind drifted to lewder things, Magnus was getting rather less happy with his toy. "SON OF A FARKING BIRCH!" he yelled, leaping to his feet and throwing the flamethrower to the ground. "WHY THE FRACK DON'T YOU WORK?!"
Patch glanced at the device, then gave it a kick. It instantly sprang to life and began to spew a jettison of hot burning flames all over Club Groove's neatly-mowed lawn.
"WOOT!" exclaimed Magnus jovially, grabbing his flamethrower. "Your girlfriend got it working!"
"She's not my girlfriend," snapped Nick, blushing slightly. He instinctively buried his face in his comic. Patch just rolled her eyes, smirking slightly.
"I worry about you two, you know that?" she muttered to herself as she sauntered off. Once she was safely out of hearing range, Nick shot a glare at Magnus.
"Dude, watch that mouth of yours!"
"Aww, don't be such a stickler," cooed Magnus, grinning maniacally at the thought of all the chilli-con-carnage he was going to wreak with his new baby. "Bwahahahahaha!"
Nick sighed and took a hefty swig of his drink. Unearthly blue it may be, but it was delicious, and that to Nick was all that mattered.
"I'mma go find someone to burn, 'kay?" cackled Magnus. Nick shrugged.
"Just leave the newbies be, alright? If you're gonna burn anyone, go burn one of those spiders that are always crawlin' around here or something."
"Yeah, yeah, noise, noise." The reptilian pyromaniac thus skipped merrily off, all the while singing his favourite little ditty:
"Fire in the morning, fire in the evening, fire at supper-tiiiiiiiime~"
Nick resumed his daily dose of Vitamin JJBA. "Heheh...Polnareff is awesome. Pew-pew-pew-pew, bravo, bravo!"
Just then, his good friend Archer came by, ranting on about something. To no-one in particular. "I mean, they completely nerfed Wallachia! And Arcueid's breasts aren't as big as they should...oh, hey, Nick."
"Hey," said Nick, trying to - politely - avoid conversation.
"Whatcha reading?"
"Nothing," lied Nick. It was quite obvious. The book in his hand essentially gave it away.
"Oh, hey, you played that new Melty Blood game yet?"
"No."
"It's great. Although that whole sub-plot thing is a complete joke. I'll bring it over later and we'll play some matches together, alright?"
"Sure."
"Cool."
And with that, Archer left to edit the Type-Moon Wiki. Just as Nick turned the page, Dr. Wily II came by. He was discussing his newest ideas for Robot Masters with Kirby Pink.
"So, if I put the spikes on the back this time, I figure I could..." Kirby looked at Nick on the grass. "Oh, hello, Nick."
"Hi."
"Oh, is that bubblegum soda?" queried Wily. Before Nick could say anything, the scientist had snatched the bottle from beside the blue-haired lad and was chugging it enthusiastically. With a mighty sigh of relief, he lowered the - now empty - bottle and wiped his moustache. "Ah, that hit the spot. I was gasping for a drink. Thanks!"
As the two spriters walked off, discussing the finer points of the weakness cycle amongst their beloved creations, Nick stared in abject sorrow at what was no longer in his bottle. He sighed and decided he could at least finish his comic in peace.
And then Blackhook and Afro-Shroom walked by. Even though they had said nothing, Nick wasn't going to let them spoil his quiet afternoon. Again. He produced a pair of earmuffs - let's not delve into the metaphysical conundrum of where they originated from - and clamped them over his ears.
"Hey, Nick," said Afro.
Inside his mind, Nick was fuming. He never got this much attention when he wanted it, and now that he was trying to read in peace, everybody just happened to be walking by Club Groove. [tornado fang] you, Murphy.
Try as he might, Nick was finding it difficult to keep his irate complexion a secret. His usual casual light-heartedness was being slowly melted away by his burning rage at this distinctly Murphian turn of events.
"Nick?"
No reply.
"Hey, uh, Nick?"
Still no reply.
"Niiiiick?"
Nick...Nick...Nick...Nick...Nick...Nick...
POLNAREFF
...Nick...Nick...
And then the metaphorical twig snapped.
"WHAT?! WHAT IS SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU HAVE TO INTERRUPT ME WHILE I'M READING?!"
Blackhook and Afro looked at eachother in confusion, the back to the fuming Mr. Rythm.
"I'm just trying to have some quiet time to read! Is that so much? Can't a guy READ IN PEACE AROUND HERE?!"
"Well..."
"WELL WHAT?! Just tell me what's so frickin' important that it can't wait 'til AFTER I'm done, oh, I don't know...READING?"
Blackhook thrust his eponymous ersatz hand in the direction of a nearby gnoll. "Uh, that green guy, your friend? He's about to set fire to your club."
"FIRE IN THE MORNING, FIRE IN THE EVENING, FIRE AT SUPPER..."
Nick's eyes widened in horror as Magnus joyously barreled by, waving his flamethrower maniacally. And, just because Murphy liked to screw around like this, Magnus was also wearing what appeared to be a rather large petroleum canister on his back.
"Oh you son of a..."
"TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME~"
Boom.[/spoiler]
-
Heh, nicely written, Nick, I quite enjoyed it, one question though;
POLNAREFF
What exactly does this mean?
-
What exactly does this mean?
Jean-Pierre Polnareff - "The Greatest Frenchman Who Ever Lived" - is a character in JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, the manga I'm reading in the story. If you notice...
Nick resumed his daily dose of Vitamin JJBA. "Heheh...Polnareff is awesome. Pew-pew-pew-pew, bravo, bravo!"
=3
-
lolwut
Well, that was a fun a read.
-
"I wonder what color of panties shes wearing." That seemed creepy, yet kinda funny. Good story.
-
*Gets Burned By Magnus*
-
That story made my day. 8)
-
That's some read. and I never knew you're a Jojo's fan.
-
Murphy is an ass 8) Yaaay I got a cameo :D
-
Lawl at me and KP talking about the finer points in weakness cycles... XD
Great reads as always.
-
Just for that ima sprite Spike Man. >U<
-
More poetry stuff. Enjoy.
TRiANGLES
[spoiler]Everybody, everybody
Get into line
Form an orderly queue
Settle down now
Stand up
Now stand down
Like I want you to
Like I want you to
I'm a circle
You're a square
They are a rectangle
We are a triangle
Everybody, everybody
Listen to me
Understand me
What I have to say
Important noises
Thinking surprises
Like I told you to
Like I told you to
I'm a circle
You're a square
They are a rectangle
We are a triangle
Everybody, everybody
Stop looking at me
Turn your heads
Avert your eyes
Look to the sky
Now stand by my feet
Like I show you to
Like I show you to
I'm a circle
You're a square
They are a rectangle
We are a triangle[/spoiler]
Stealing Lockpicks
[spoiler]Shimmy and shake
Bend and stretch
Twist and turn
Round and round we go
Hey! We're gonna have some fun now
Hey! The game's about to begin
Hey! Don't worry, just join the ride
Hey! C'mon, won't ya, and join us
While we're stealing lockpicks!
There's fun to be had
Don't feel so down
Tear off that mask
And let's take a ride
Hey! We're gonna have some fun now
Hey! The game's about to begin
Hey! Don't worry, just join the ride
Hey! C'mon, won't ya, and join us
While we're stealing lockpicks!
While we're stealing lockpicks![/spoiler]
"TRiANGLES" is about the power of suggestion and being controlled by others. "Stealing Lockpicks" is about letting go of negativity and just having fun together with your friends.
-
Oh... I had the wrong idea for Triangles. XD
And great one for Stealing Lockpicks.
-
Short update is short.
[spoiler]As it was, Alice Butler did not know how to use a gun; or guns, for that matter. Her experience thereto had mostly been confined to the "and Roses" variety, which wasn't much help when one was presented with an actual firearm.
"Crazy old bastard," she muttered to herself, sauntering grimly past an orchard of kaleidoscopically twisting trees with rainbow foliage crowning them. In her hands was the revolver the old man gave her - she fumbled with it in her delicate fingers, trying to get the chamber to open.
Clint Eastwood made this all seem so much easier.
"I'm stuck here, am I?" she hissed under her breath, internally cursing the feline rapist she had earlier encountered, "Well, isn't that just great? No more home-cooked meals, no more sleeping in my own bed, no more video games, no more decent TV...at least I won't have to see dad anymore."
While she was going through a mental checklist of everything she was eagre to hate about in this strange new world, she spied with her little eye - the one that wasn't covered by a long bang of blonde hair - the white rabbit.
The white rabbit. The white rabbit!
"You furry little son of a [sonic slicer]!" shrieked Alice, pointing the gun at the snow-white bunny, "It's your damn fault I'm even here! I risked my life to save you! You little bastard!"
The rabbit just looked up at her, curiously, with its little pink eyes.
"That cutesy look doesn't work on me, Bugs," she snapped. She wanted to pull the trigger, she really did; but there was something preventing her, a subconcious force that wouldn't allow her. As much as she wanted to, she knew killing the rabbit wouldn't bring her back home. Heaving a heavy sigh, she forced herself to lower the revolver. She took a perch on a mushroom sticking out of the ground and buried her face in her hands.
The rabbit skipped over to her. Alice took her hands away from her eyes and glared down at it. "What do you want?"
Its nose twitched. Alice, with some effort, managed a small smile.
"Well, I guess I shouldn't blame you. I guess it's my own fault for going in after you." She bent down, picked up the rabbit and laid it across her lap. It looked up at her intently. "Heh...well...I guess you're kinda cute..."
"I didn't know you liked rabbits, sweetheart," a familiar voice purred. Chesire was lying across the branch of another tree not twenty feet from Alice. Alice looked up and glared at her.
"Get lost, you useless ball of fur."
"Hey, now, no need to be rude. I'm here to help you."
"I don't need any of your help."
"Yes you do, sugar-plum."
"No I don't! Now go away!"
Chesire yawned, not at all offended by Alice's shouting. "Oh, baby, don't be that way." She grinned sensually. "Whether you like it or not, I'm the only one who knows enough about this place to help you out."
Alice narrowed her eyes, stroking the rabbit's silky white fur. "Why do you want to help me?"
Chesire's teeth and eyes seemed to sparkle with a whimsical delight. "'Cos you're cute. But also 'cos I know you really want to get home."
Alice stared blankly at the grass. She did want to go home. It was true that, sometimes, one does not appeciate something until they no longer have it. Begrudgingly, she nodded.
"Fine. You can help me." She paused, then hastily added, "I guess."
With a playful wink, Chesire leapt out of the tree and landed at Alice's feet. "Alrighty, sugar. The first thing you need to know about this place is..."
Before Chesire could finish, a zombie rose out of a nearby bush. Its jaw hanging loose, it lurched forward hungrily, vile saliva dripping from its fetid fangs. Fuelled by a sudden burst of shock and terror, Alice immediately fumbled for her gun and fired a good three rounds into the undead monster's soft, squishy head. In a burst of sickly green blood, it collapsed to the floor. Alice was now breathing heavily. There was smoke billowing from the revolver.
"What the hell was that?"
"Zombie," said Chesir nonchalantly.
"And what's it doing here of all places?"
"Oh, they're everywhere. They follow the Ebony Emperor, mostly."
Alice cocked an eyebrow. "Who? Is he your boss or something?"
Chesire shrugged. "You could say that. He just came here about a year ago or so, told the old ruler the get lost, and ever since he's been in charge around here."
"And nobody panics, or finds it odd that there's flesh-eating ghouls wander around in Wonderland?"
Chesire shook her head. "They only eat people if the Emperor tells 'em to. They just follow his orders. They're kinda there to keep order and stuff."
Alice nodded, not quite sure why she was alright with all this nonsense. Chesire sidled up to Alice and stroked her cheek playfully.
"You look hungry. Wanna go get somethin' to eat?"
Alice moved over nervously. By now, the rabbit had jumped out of her lap and scurried off. "Not really..."
"Great!" Chesire grabbed Alice, ignoring her protests, and dragged her off to get something to eat.
Alice knew she was going to hate it here.[/spoiler]
-
Alice is back!...but where's my Espers? :(
Ohwelloneouttatwoain'tbad...also.
[spoiler]Zombies in Wonderland. >w<[/spoiler]
-
This here is just a one-shot poem/short story about a new character idea I made up. I may write more about him, if anybody enjoys it.
[spoiler]The lighter clicks
The little flame springs to life
In the moonlit shadows of the midnight streets
The dim glow shimmers nonchalantly
No breeze to blow it
The teeth bite down on the cigarette
The tip, with the little flame
Dancing around it eagerly
Turns a bright red colour
A deep breath; but no lungs to inhale
A thin ream of smoke trails from the burning tip
Melancholically floating into the air
And whisping away into the ether
A deep sigh; but no lungs to exhale
"You crazy little fuckers."
A hand, bony and white
No flesh and blood, just white bone
Flexes its fingers in agitation; waiting
Slowly, it slides down to the hip
Thumb and forefinger bend at the joint
The fingers rattle against the metal body
In the holster, the gun waits patiently
It can feel the tension in the air, and it's hungry
Kill the infidels; burn the heathens!
Kill, kill! Maim, maim!
The gun cries in a bloodied frenzy
Eviscerate the unholy fiends!
"Made my life a bloody misery."
The cigarette is pulled out and thrown to the floor
Where the heavy boot, sole or iron, stamps it flat
A terrible habit, they say; but not one to care
Grim grey smog plumes from the carrion nostrils
The fingers, ivory and dry, wrap tenderly around the handle
The gun cries out in euphoric glee
Raised high into the air, then aimed at the heathenous demons
Who would stand against all that is sacred and...
"What a [tornado fang]ing farce!"
There is no sacred
No love
No joy
No more Gods to speak of
Around the trigger, tenderly, the finger goes
And the thumb pulls against the hammer; tugs it back slowly
Crimson eyes, like fires of undying hatred, glare ahead
No compassion to be felt; remnants of a dead age
"Hell's waiting for you. Have fun."
The terrible grin; teeth bared maliciously; wicked glare from the grave
The skullen head lets out a cruel laugh; the mirthful dirge
And then the trigger is pulled
Bang! Bang! Beats the drum of death!
The gun cackles in delight; an ecstacy of carnage
The bullets, the flesh, the blood spurting
From what was once a demon; the monsters are on the floor
This is a firefight; a massacre! There will be no lament!
And, when all is said and done
The pale man looks to the floor; in shame, perhaps?
At what he has done
The gun, engraved with the words:
"MEMENTO MORI" - a reminder of death
Pants in orgasmic sensation
The taste of blood dripping from the barrel
The taste is sweet
It is the taste of an existence most cursed
The gun is put away
And another cigarette is lit
And the man; not a man, but a phantom
A skeletal messenger of death
The pale rider, he looks to the black clouds in the inky sky above
And there, with a vile smile of the afterlife scorned
Lets out a laugh
"That's why they can't get me:
I'm Trigger Mortis!"[/spoiler]
-
Hmm... Now I wanna see this new character of yours.
And sweet Alice in Zombieland. 8D
-
And now, ladies and gentlemen, presenting my latest RPM project/crazy idea...
RPM HEROES!
Story
RPM's in big trouble! The villainous vampire Roa has taken over with his undead army - the land has been plunged into darkness and decay, and his infernal tower has been built in what used to be RPM City. He's now looking for the seven Yashichi, which could give him the power to rule the entire universe!
A number of RPM's denizens have stepped up to fight Roa, not about to let their beloved homeworld become a haven for his diabolical empire. But arguments arose over how to defeat Roa once and for all. From these differences in opinion, the people have divided themselves into teams of three.
Now it's a competition to save the day! Everyone's ready to save RPM, but who will win in the end?
Gameplay
For all intents and purposes, the game is a platforming game. Players control their character(s) in a three-dimensional environment, and the aim of each stage is, generally, to reach the goal at the end; however, different teams have different routes to take, methods of reaching the goal and, in some cases, entirely different mission objectives.
The game operates with team-based play in mind. The player selects one of the teams (see the "Characters" section below for more detailed information on them), each of which has three members. The character "leading" can be changed at will, and the player must take advantage of each character's individual skills to overcome obstacles and solve puzzles. The members are based on three seperate "classes": Speed, Flight and Power.
Speed characters are designed with running and moving ahead in mind; considered the "default" class (but by no means the most important), they excel at missions that require getting to the goal, competing against a time limit or crossing obstacle-laden courses; naturally the fastest class, but also fairly weak, they rely on speeding past enemies rather than tackling them head-on.
Flight characters are designed with exploration in mind; they excel at missions that require finding something or areas that have lots of falls and platforms; not very slow or strong, but they have the best jumping ability, and are great for platforming sections that require skillful jumps.
Power characters are designed with combat in mind; they excel at missions that require defeating groups of enemies or bosses; by far the strongest class, they aren't very fast or good at jumping, but they can easily make short work of opponents and heavy obstacles in the way.
Players can also enter Special Stages by finding one of the hidden warp rings. In the Special Stages, the player must control their character as they run along a half-pipe track, collecting enough Zenny - but avoiding harmful bombs - to win one of the seven Yashichi. Collect all seven Yashichi to unlock the "true" ending!
Overall, the game is a glaring spoof/parody of/homage to Sonic Heroes. Those of you that don't like the game for whatever reason...well, remember that this is just a bit of fun! And since it isn't a proper game, you can imagine it without the voice-acting or poor controls and whatnot.
Characters
Team Sexy
Three of RPM's most beloved citizens - Vixy, Protoman Blues and Quickie - have banded together in the name of peace, love and Mango Lemonade! With a wide variety of dazzling moves, the know-how to get around and the adoration of the people, they're ready to save the day...in style!
Quickie - Speed
Vixy - Flight
Protoman Blues - Power
Team Dark
Three of RPM's darker denizens - Flame, Sparky and Kit - have joined forces to crush the enemy and spread terror as they go. Striking fear into the hearts of all they meet, and with no qualms about unleashing chaos and destruction in their path, this terrifying team will stop at nothing to save the day!
Flame - Speed
Kit - Flight
Sparky - Power
Team Star
Three of RPM's most idealistic members - Jericho, Enigma and Taiyo - have come together under the light of the stars to vanquish evil! These starstruck heroes, with their shining powers combined, harness the power of the cosmos itself to form a team of hopeful spirits that will save the day!
Enigma - Speed
Jericho - Flight
Power - Taiyo
Team Mech
Three of RPM's most renowned technological wizards - Dr. Wily II, Speedremix and Kirbypink - have come together, under the banner of science and technobabble! They have a vast array of gadgets, contraptions and robots at their disposal, and with the loyal aid of their mechanical minions, these clever chaps will save the day!
Dr. Wily II - Speed
Kirbypink - Flight
Speedremix - Power
Team Heart
Three of RPM's cutest and cuddliest members - CephiYumi, Akira and Milen - have decided to help eachother out. They may seem sweet and friendly on the outside, but don't let their lovely exterior fool you...they mean business, and through the power of joy and friendship, they're going to save the day!
CephiYumi - Speed
Akira - Flight
Milen - Power
Team Strange
Three of RPM's odder members - StrangeMan, Afro-Shroom and Blackhook - have united to spread their weird ways with the rest of the world. Possessing a penchant for the peculiar and fetching a flair for the funny, these quintissentially quirky characters are off to save the day!
Afro-Shroom - Speed
StrangeMan - Flight
Blackhook - Power
Team Badnik
Three of RPM's most dastardly bad eggs - Irgendein/Dr. Robotnik and his lackies, Scratch and Grounder - are up to no good! Well, since they're the lesser of two evils, they're out to take down this new villain. Because only one person can save the day rule RPM - and then he'll give himself a prrrrrrrromotion!
Scratch - Speed
Dr. Robotnik - Irgendein (w/ Dr. Robotnik's hovercraft)
Grounder - Power
I'll be adding levels and more information on each character's abilities soon enough! There's also more teams to come, and everybody is free to give comments, feedback and/or suggestions!
Enjoy~!
-
Hmm... This is an interesting idea.
-
Roa Arc~ >0<
Anyways, interesting game idea, can't wait for more stuff to be added. :3
-
Hey look, I'm that main villain.
Naturally I'm interested. I shall look forward to more.
-
Heh, pretty sweet Nick. I quite like how you tied the story in with the RP. I'll admit I'm a bit jealous that I'm not on a team though. (although I could easily borrow Robotnik's hovercraft and make a team with Scratch & Grounder)
-
TEAM BADNIK
:3
-
I'll admit I'm a bit jealous that I'm not on a team though.
Like I said, there's more to come! If you can give me some idea of what abilities you have, I'll add you in when I update it~
-
Like I said, there's more to come! If you can give me some idea of what abilities you have, I'll add you in when I update it~
Oh, that's easy:
Team Badnik (couldn't resist stealing it, Wily II)
Speed - Scratch
Flight - Irgendein (w/ Robotnik's hovercraft)
Power - Grounder
Story would be something to do with Robotnik ordering me & the SSSSSS to go see what's going on up north in RPM (although why he wouldn't go himself, I don't know, but I'd like to be on the team and such)
-
Y'know, I was planning on putting you with someone, but this is a lot easier (since I had no ideas), funnier and more fitting! Thanks!
-
Sounds quite fun...but...
Not to be nitpicky or anything, but I think my character would be better suited for the flying type, seeing as he's the only member of the team who possess the ability to morph his cape into wings.
Also because his trusty and speedy invisible hovercraft got stolen. :(
-
Y'know, I was planning on putting you with someone, but this is a lot easier (since I had no ideas), funnier and more fitting! Thanks!
Heh, no problem. I'm curious though; Who'd you think of putting me with? :P
-
Sounds quite fun...but...
Not to be nitpicky or anything, but I think my character would be better suited for the flying type, seeing as he's the only member of the team who possess the ability to morph his cape into wings.
Also because his trusty and speedy invisible hovercraft got stolen. :(
Thanks, and fixed.
Heh, no problem. I'm curious though; Who'd you think of putting me with? :P
Like I said, I literally had no ideas! >0< So this is much better. You're added~
-
Glad I could help, even if minimally. XD
-
Hmm... Sapph, in his regular armor, is more of a Power-type, but he also has two armors that can constitute Speed and Fly types, as well as another suit specifically for Power-related activities. Though, Sapph being in one suit while the other two are set to auto-pilot (and rotating which suit he's wearing) would be kinda cheating, wouldn't it?
-
Maybe just a wee bit.
I was thinking of putting you, Ryunosuke and Mags together to form Team Merc. How's that sound?
-
Heh, Magnus would probably be more suited as the power-type of the group in that case, unless Sapph has a costume change, which means I should probably draw out all of his armors... Wow, I think I just gave myself even more of a workload. o-O
-
The list looks so cool. ^.^
Thank you for adding Akira. He needs more screen time. (He gets almost none. ;oo;)
-
Maybe just a wee bit.
I was thinking of putting you, Ryunosuke and Mags together to form Team Merc. How's that sound?
No. We would be Team Random because of how nucking futs stuff gets when you leave the three of us alone with something funny.
But i would still be the Power type. And sence i know Sapph has some manner of jetpack type thing, that leaves Ryuno as the Speed type. i think.
-
Sapph in his Jet Suit for the role of Fly-type teammate then!
-
Well well well, this seems like quite the thing to be doing, though I cant help but wonder who id be paired with. To teach the humans a lesson would be the first priority of course.
-
No. We would be Team Random because of how nucking futs stuff gets when you leave the three of us alone with something funny.
It's my game, and I say you're Team Merc! D=
Besides, the random element is already taken by Team Strange~ You guys would be more like Team Chaotix; getting hired to do stuff. Like finding Roa and tearing his juggular out.
The list looks so cool. ^.^
Thank you for adding Akira. He needs more screen time. (He gets almost none. ;oo;)
Thanks! And no problem at all. =3
Posted on: December 13, 2009, 13:41:03
Before I get back to working on stuff for RPM Heroes, I thought I'd toss this stuff in here. I was going through the thread when I came across the poem I did for Wily, so I thought, "Why not write about other RPM members?" The result is this clusterfudge of poor rhythm and bad rhymes.
First up are Kit and Irgendein. Why? Well, actually, they were the first two people that came into my mind after I had the idea. So yeah.
I do indeed apologise in advance for the shame that will no doubt befall these poor people after reading this. Still, enjoy.
Kitsu
[spoiler]Deep in the Lost Woods, in the grove where nobody goes
There sits an impish young lady wearing sexy clothes
Her hair is a fiery red, her eyes are a glimmering gold
Greenish skin and pointy horns, what a sight to behold
Kit is her name and mischief is her game
Seduction or jaywalking, it's all the same
Don't stand in her way or you'll surely end up dead
Roasted in her fires, or battered with a bash to the head
And most of all, her breasts, with their hypnotic green swirls
They charm all the world with their gleam...from the guys to the girls![/spoiler]
Irgendein
[spoiler]Deep amongst the Mobian Badlands
The land that people dread to cross
Atop the hill in his fortress lair
It's Irgendein Typ, the big bad robot boss!
He says he's not quite Robotnik
But people aren't so sure of that
Why else would he wear the 'stache
And the doctor's merchandisable hat?
Though unassuming to outside folk
In terms of his wicked mind, there's little worse
And with his army of Badniks at his command
He's going to rule the whole damn universe!
And then give himself a promotion.[/spoiler]
-
Irgendein
[spoiler]Deep amongst the Mobian Badlands
The land that people dread to cross
Atop the hill in his fortress lair
It's Irgendein Typ, the big bad robot boss!
He says he's not quite Robotnik
But people aren't so sure of that
Why else would he wear the 'stache
And the doctor's merchandisable hat?
Though unassuming to outside folk
In terms of his wicked mind, there's little worse
And with his army of Badniks at his command
He's going to rule the whole damn universe!
And then give himself a promotion.[/spoiler]
0v0 *hugs Nick* Thanks man! A prrrrrrrromotion to you!
-
It's my game, and I say you're Team Merc! D=
Besides, the random element is already taken by Team Strange~ You guys would be more like Team Chaotix; getting hired to do stuff. Like finding Roa and tearing his juggular out.
You guys would be more like Team Chaotix; getting hired to do stuff. Like finding Roa and tearing his juggular out.
tearing his juggular out.
Oh hell yes. I approve. I approve very, VERY much.
-
Before I get back to working on stuff for RPM Heroes, I thought I'd toss this stuff in here. I was going through the thread when I came across the poem I did for Wily, so I thought, "Why not write about other RPM members?" The result is this clusterfudge of poor rhythm and bad rhymes.
First up are Kit and Irgendein. Why? Well, actually, they were the first two people that came into my mind after I had the idea. So yeah.
I do indeed apologise in advance for the shame that will no doubt befall these poor people after reading this. Still, enjoy.
Kitsu
[spoiler]Deep in the Lost Woods, in the grove where nobody goes
There sits an impish young lady wearing sexy clothes
Her hair is a fiery red, her eyes are a glimmering gold
Greenish skin and pointy horns, what a sight to behold
Kit is her name and mischief is her game
Seduction or jaywalking, it's all the same
Don't stand in her way or you'll surely end up dead
Roasted in her fires, or battered with a bash to the head
And most of all, her breasts, with their hypnotic green swirls
They charm all the world with their gleam...from the guys to the girls![/spoiler]
Irgendein
[spoiler]Deep amongst the Mobian Badlands
The land that people dread to cross
Atop the hill in his fortress lair
It's Irgendein Typ, the big bad robot boss!
He says he's not quite Robotnik
But people aren't so sure of that
Why else would he wear the 'stache
And the doctor's merchandisable hat?
Though unassuming to outside folk
In terms of his wicked mind, there's little worse
And with his army of Badniks at his command
He's going to rule the whole damn universe!
And then give himself a promotion.[/spoiler]
Aaahhh i loooove thiiiis!
-
Besides, the random element is already taken by Team Strange~ You guys would be more like Team Chaotix; getting hired to do stuff. Like finding Roa and tearing his juggular out.
Seems like I have some...fun times ahead.
-
0v0 *hugs Nick* Thanks man! A prrrrrrrromotion to you!
YOU'RE LYING JUST TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER. D=
Oh hell yes. I approve. I approve very, VERY much.
I thought you might~
Aaahhh i loooove thiiiis!
You're lying too. >3>
Seems like I have some...fun times ahead.
Bahahahahaha~! That's what you get for being the bad guy. =P
-
Those 2 poems are really good, great job. :3
-
Recently, I decided to try my hand at spriting, and I found that I'm actually quite liking it. So, I've decided to join the likes of my good pals DWII and KirbyPink in the realms of creating original Robot Masters...but obviously I'm not nearly as good as they are~
I have a few ideas already, and a number of them already finished. Here's a few of them, just to give you "lucky" folks a bit of a taster!
(http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/texmanbigger.png) Tex Man
(http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/scimitarmanbigger.png) Scimitar Man (not sure about this one...)
(http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/dreadmanbigger.png) Dread Man
(http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/smogmanbigger.png) Smog Man
(http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/roadmanbigger.png) Road Man
Props to Dr. Wily II for helping me out with some of these guys.
Just a note here, though: comments and thoughts are appreciated, but I'm not looking for critique. I'm doing this stuff because it's fun, not to be great or win praise for people or anything. These are also still subject to change slightly.
Enjoy~!
-
Not bad, but the designs are derivative.
Nice effort, though. owob
-
In fairness, I'm not going to be making any wildly imaginative or fantastically creative characters here; don't expect anything to rival the likes of Capcom or MegaPhilX or anything like that. They're meant to be affectionate parodies of/homages to classic Robot Masters (for the most part, anyway); in the case of Scimitar (whom I will probably change anyway), Dread and Road, they're supposed to be "based on the blueprints for those Robot Masters. Roll with it. It's just a bit of fun. Take them for what they are.
-
Nice job Nick, better than anything I could do :P I especially like Tex Man.
-
In fairness, I'm not going to be making any wildly imaginative or fantastically creative characters here; don't expect anything to rival the likes of Capcom or MegaPhilX or anything like that. They're meant to be affectionate parodies of/homages to classic Robot Masters (for the most part, anyway); in the case of Scimitar (whom I will probably change anyway), Dread and Road, they're supposed to be "based on the blueprints for those Robot Masters. Roll with it. It's just a bit of fun. Take them for what they are.
Fair enough. They are well-done, though. ;)
-
Heheh, well, thanks. I'm still just an amateur, though.
-
Those sprites are better then anything I could do.
On one hand, I say this to everyone.
On the other, it's true.
-
Those sprites are better then anything I could do.
On one hand, I say this to everyone.
On the other, it's true.
You think that's bad? I can barely sprite at all (though, I did a few simple edits in my younger years)! X(
But, I don't mind. ;) I can provide ideas and give support to creators, at the least.
-
Sounds like you're better than me too.
Congratulations.
I suppose I would be able to sprite, if I actually bothered, but I have no real motivation to do so. So, I won't.
-
I suppose I would be able to sprite, if I actually bothered, but I have no real motivation to do so. So, I won't.
If it makes you feel any better, I'm not really that motivated for doing this sort of thing, either (too time-consuming for my tastes). ;)
-
Woo... Smog Man and Road Man are news to me... :3
And liking Smog, the design... :3
Plus, you know me. XD *swipes*
-
I like Tex and Smog, mostly Tex though.
You're quite good at spriting Nick.
-
Ku~ ku ku ku ku..... Tex Man ish awesome! owob
-
(http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/IMG_0001-3.jpg)
I don't know either.
-
So it all started with a Jacuzzi party eh? 8D
-
So an apple was really involved at the beginning of time!
The more you know!
-
And it was a doozy... XD
-
The apple, the strange creatures - surely this Death Note related!
I like the moon's mustache.
-
Must have been a sad process, since the hand is crying and so is the skullman.
And I was right, Apple corps. DID have something to do with time and space.
-
The apple, the strange creatures - surely this Death Note related!
I like the moon's mustache.
Nah, I think it's more Majin Tantei Negami Neuro related.
At any rate, not too shabby for a drawing.
-
I'm taking poem and short story requests now.
Yup.
-
Okay then, as I shall allow you to try and collaborate in my Saturday evening writing paper! I would like you to make a character for my story and try and make him fit in with the rest of my story, not many restrictions as to what I want to see, but I want to see how you could make a character in this story.
What you need to know is that there are 5 kingdoms, two which are taking over the rest, the kingdom of which Toraku and the others are in alliance with is called Riyg, the enemy in the other one is Tuik, Tuik is descending upon Riyg, carefully advancing towards the king, though the king has fled, leaving the army in disarray. so yeah, HELP! I need somebo- or wait, wrong line >.> So could you?
-
I don't see why not.
I need a little more information on the mythos, setting, time period, general attire, etc. PM me with what you have for me.
-
(http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/IMG_0001-3.jpg)
I don't know either.
Mind = Blown.
-
I'm taking poem and short story requests now.
Yup.
My request is for you to keep going with that awesome murder story :D
-
Mind = Blown.
Your mind doesn't exist. It's just a hollow fabrication created from an ethereal consequence in the tachyon-influenced recesses of the cosmos. Your mind is the apple, the being birthed from the womb of the motherly sun and the seed of the fatherly moon, who will cry silent and transparent tears for the fall of all things, and then, and then, and then, and then, and then, yes, and then, you see, these tears will fall into the birthing pool of all creation and the monster from the depths of time and space itself will howl with all his eyes and his mouths and his teeth will bleed and from his bloodied teeth will emerge you, you, yes, you, the creator, spawn of all things, deliverer of all good and evil, the apple which rotted to save all things from the evils of the lower beings, understand, wake up, YOU MUST UNDERSTAND.
Thank you. =3
My request is for you to keep going with that awesome murder story :D
Maybe. x3 Who wants to see what I had written of it, though?
-
*Waves arms in the air*
Me! ME!
-
Ask and ye shall recieve!
-----
A secluded mansion atop a lonely hill, somewhere in the darker recesses of RPM.
Eight individuals came for a weekend of fun and enjoyment.
One of them is now dead.
But the question remains...
WHO MURDERED PROTOMAN BLUES?
Nick Z. Rythm - now, in a moment of enthusiastic pretention, calling himself Inspector Elenvical Nigmaticus - had gathered the six remaining guests together into the drawing room. Wearing a dusty trenchcoat and rumpled fedora, he paced back and forth in front of the crackling fireplace, sucking idly on the end of his pipe while he did so. There, in front of him, lay the deceased body of Protoman Blues. One by one, Inspector Nigmaticus' scrutinising glare scanned the perturbed guests.
Magnus Ryujin; Sir Magnus of Hottehedde.
Archer; General Roanstrum d'Archer.
Irgendein Typ; Irgy the Chimneysweep Lad.
Dr. Wily II; Herr Wile von Uberdergruber.
Strangeman; Mr. Strangerson of the Smiling Masque.
Vixy; Lady Rebecca Vanderbooben.
"One of you has commited this crime," Inspector Nigmaticus droned, hooking a thumb at PB's corpse; his face twisted into a contorted look of shock and agony. Nigmaticus popped his mouth against the tip of his pipe. "Even if it takes every drop of blood, sweat and tears in my body, I will find out just whodunnit!"
General d'Archer raised a hand. "That's grammatically unso--"
"Silence, murderer," barked the Inspector. "Just for that, you're number one on my list of suspects!"
"What? But I--"
"Well, if that's gonna be your tone, I think I can safely say it WAS you whodunnit!"
General d'Archer closed his mouth and stared embitteredly into the fireplace. Inspector Nigmaticus remused his pacings.
"Now, upon examining the body, I have found a number of potentially important facts. For one, there does not appear to be any form of wound on the body; that rules out the use of a gun or bladed implement. Furthermore, the complexion of his skin implies he has not been dead for long - four hours, at the most. Rigor mortis has, most fortunately, not yet set in. Wait...should it have set in by this point? I don't know, I'm not a doctor. Finally, he was found dead in his dressing gown, which means he must have been murdered when he was, shall we say...defenseless? Were he in his dinner jacket and possessing a steak knife in his back, I would say he was murdered with a steak knife...at dinner time. Alas, he is not. That only makes the case even more mysterious, confounding, mysterious, enigmatic and, above all, mysterious!"
Irgy raised a hand.
"Yes?"
"Can I go now? I only came here for the free food."
"No! A good chimneysweep boy remains until the case is solved."
"But I'm not even a chimneyswe--"
"What's that I hear? You're guilty, too?"
Irgy, too, turned silent.
"Good. That's precisely what I like to not hear."
-----
That's all I got, sorry. xD
-
As I said before, completely nailed it on the "I only came here for the free food part." I hope you continue it!
-
Herr Wile von Uberdergruber... Nice ring to it. XD
And Vanderbooben. >U<
So, PB was killed... IT WAS LOU THAT DID IT.
-
Mr.Strangerson of the Smiling Masque, eh?
...I like the sound of that. [eyebrow]
Now, who could have been responsible for such a heinous act!? -_-
-
Damn, now you have to continue this story.
JUST WHODUNNIT!?
-
I think it's obvious.
-
IT'S LOU PEOPLE
AN OUTSIDE JOB
-
They want to make you think like that.
I say the detective himself. -_-
-
YOU'RE ALL WRONG
BUT YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO WAIT TO SEE WHODUNNIT
ZAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
-
It was either Vixy or PB HIMSELF!
-
Why didn't I see this before? I read it and love it! XD
-
VANDERBOOBEN
lol oh you~
-
WHO DARES KILL ME? 8)
-
Sir Magnus de Hottenhedde?! AJFKSLHGJLKDNHBKSFHJKSHKJKFHKLWHFLJJKADHALJFLWHFJLFKJHKS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WHY?! Why not something less insulting to me?! >8/
Not exactly helping my case by yelling about it in anger, but still! *sits in a corner and grumbles*
-
Sir Magnus de Hottenhedde?! AJFKSLHGJLKDNHBKSFHJKSHKJKFHKLWHFLJJKADHALJFLWHFJLFKJHKS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WHY?! Why not something less insulting to me?! >8/
Not exactly helping my case by yelling about it in anger, but still! *sits in a corner and grumbles*
You atleast got a cameo
-
But it's just so easy to tease you! 8D
-
But it's just so easy to tease you! 8D
Ah dun liek bein' teased, Nick. >8/
-
I own this thread! It belongs to me! Ahahahahahahahah!
A Final Introspection Into Morality
[spoiler]It's at this point that I have come to understand
The terms of my being here on this world
Before anything can ever begin
Certain rules must be agreed on, adhered to
Why would you break this contract?
And forfeit the terms of your existence
Forfeit nothing if you are good
For something awaits the pious
Forfeit everything if you are evil
For nothing awaits the wicked
I can no longer hide what I am
I can no longer accept my own lies
Many a time have I tried to wash my hands
Abstain from lifting another bloodied finger
My own weakness shows itself
I am laid before all as I truly am
Forfeit nothing if you are good
For something awaits the pious
Forfeit everything if you are evil
For nothing awaits the wicked
My heart weeps for affection
That has been stricken out
My mind wails for forgiveness
I shall not be granted it
My soul cries for redemption
It shall recieve none
Forfeit nothing if you are good
For something awaits the pious
Forfeit everything if you are evil
For nothing awaits the wicked
I am a monster.[/spoiler]
Motivational
[spoiler]You're
Doing
Very
Well
Keep
Going[/spoiler]
Glory Is Always Hidden
[spoiler]Yea, I speak to thee
Oh great and mighty lord
Under God's magnificent grace
Revered is your name
Elegance
Regal
Exceptional though you are
Amazement overwhelms me
Deny me not this chance
I come to deliver ye the good news
Now and forever
Great lord of mine
The people shall speak your name in the
Highest of regard
I do say to thee, oh
Splendid one
Whose brilliance cannot be overstated
Herald of
Excellence
Never let it be said
You are anything but amazing
Oh ye who are high above all
Understand my words
Could I speak more of the truth?
Oh splendid one
Undoubtedly the noblest
Loved by us all, you could
Do no wrong, we
Bow before ye
Esteemed leader, I am
Deeply humbled to be in your presence
Oh, how I could go on
Inciting great tales of your
Noble deeds and your
Greatness!
Supremity!
Oh beloved lord
My thanks to thee
Everything you do grants us
The utmost pleasure, we
Honour thee
I am not worthy to kneel before thee
No, I am not worthy
Goodbye, my lord
Until we meet once more, I
Say to thee, I have
Expended my use to thee
Fare thee well, my lord, I am
Unfit to serve ye. And the
Lord wept.[/spoiler]
-
Motivational
[spoiler]You're
Doing
Very
Well
Keep
Going[/spoiler]
Beautiful.
-
Great to see you writing again. :3
Firstly... Morality... It's very reminisect of Johan from Monster.
Very well done there.
Motivation is so motivating!
And I lawl hard at Glory.
What a hidden glory. XD
-
The Headless Angel
As if in some infernal dream, an eldritch nightmare conjured up by the foulest corners of the furthest reaches of my psyche, I bore witness to it. Words, being but human constructions, fail to express my feelings upon witnessing this travesty, this wretched abomination of reality. In that single insant, I felt a fear deeper and greater than anything ever felt by a mortal man, wanted to scream, desperately, but no sounds could break through and escape my petrified throat. I could only stare in the horror of all horrors at the twisted mockery of rational thought and evolution that stood before me. I will try my best to explain what I saw there and then:
It had the body of what I presumed to be an angel, though gaunt and emaciated, with gnarled bones clearly visible beneath the thin sheet of pale skin stretched out like tarp stretched across an ancient drum. It wore naught but a robe of silken cloth, so white and stunning as to be little more than a cruel jape contrasting the monster's grotesque features; it did not belong, and that made it all the worse in my own eyes. It had no head, that in particular struck me - and there was nothing in place of where a head should be. Not just an abscence of something, as is commonly thought to be nothing, but an absolute nothingess - an infinite pool of nothing sat where its head should be, upon the smooth, scarless stump that basely served for the creature's neck. I would have broken down and wept for how much nothing I could see (or not see; I am not sure), for it seemed to me a sick joke that so much nothingness could exist in one concentrated area; I did not know nothing had a form, but now I have seen it, and I will never forget the sight of nothing - unexplainable, but terrible nontheless. Terrible. Upon its back were many wings, many wings indeed; I counted eight, but although I could not bear to count more than that, something in the faintest recesses of my mind suggested that there were thousands more to be counted. Upon each one of them were a multitude of eyes, vaguely human, darting about frantically; thick, viscuous tears of a black, tar-like liquid were constantly secreted from them, dripping down and landing on the floor with the faintest of splashes. Each wing was spread outwards, perhaps in some form of evil parody of majesty, layered with ebony feathers, blacker than any black I ever thought possible to exist, darker than midnight; and in that brief moment I wondered how something could be so vastly dark whilst remaining so painfully visible. I was immediately dragged out of my desperate reverie by the sight of its arms.
Its arms were plentiful more than a man's, numbering six in total (unless there were other arms I failed to take into account, but I will assume for what is left of my sanity that there were no more); its legs numbered two, and all were unnaturally thin and sickly, as like the victim of a dread famine. Upon each of its gnawed, shrivelled hands, in the centre of the palms - for it held its palms out in front, as if to show me - it bore what seemed to be a mouth of some description; perfectly round and layered with tiny, shard-like fangs, too many to count, and in each mouth was yet another maw, each with its own row of teeth, and more, and more, seemingly going on forever and then some - an affront to logic and natural physics, for logic had no place in this madman's realm. I could see that each of its arms and legs was held in place by a long, rusted chain, each one fastened to a stone pillar, chipped, cracked and worn over the eons and eons I could only imagine this being had been trapped here. I could scarcely begin to imagine the length of time, for I did not know, but I wagered to myself it may have been an inconcievable length of time; perhaps since before time itself even existed. I could not help but feel a shred of remorse for this creature's endless plight, trapped here in this lightless dungeon for all eternity. However, this feeling quicky subsided, and was duly replaced by disgust and contempt. I have no idea why, but I cannot help but feel that if this being were ever to escape, it could bring about the end of the world. This potential future apocalypse must have been foreseen by whatever higher beings - and I dread to imagine them, so I will not, for the sake of what remains of my sanity - could possibly have seen fit to seal it down here. There is also the possibility it could be the saviour of our world, perhaps some sort of Messiah; but if you too could gaze upon the inexplicable abberation that I saw myself, this theory would quickly be dashed out and drowned under a sea of loathing and dread.
What I have just described is barely one-thousandth of the terrible nature of the being I saw. As I have said, words fail to describe my feelings for it, and indeed the sense of evil and revilement I could feel at ever microsecond I spent in its vile domain; a hundred new languages would have to be formed just to describe the depth of its infinite horror.
I only pray that this thing is never again seen by mortal eyes.
-
SWEET! Nice work!
-
An Ode To Pornography
Today I took my porn folder
And printed it all out
And set fire to it
I laughed as the breasts burned
Wholesome!
Get some!
-
An Ode To Pornography
Today I took my porn folder
And printed it all out
And set fire to it
I laughed as the breasts burned
Wholesome!
Get some!
I'm so "feeling ya" on that one right now.
-
[spoiler]It was at least midnight when the last bombs stopped falling on us. It was just like every other night: it starts with the sirens blaring, and the old man in the coat on the street shakes his bell, and the women and children and whatever men are left all line up and move down for shelter. You can hear the planes roaring overhead, tearing by as they swoop down for the kill, and the screech of the falling shells. When the dust settles and the smoke clears, you can see the ravaged remains of your house or your neighbour's, hope there are no bodies of those who didn't get out in time buried under the wood and rubble, thank God it wasn't you that got killed.
We have become used to this. It happens, if not every night, then at least once every week. The planes come and we hide and they drop their bombs and we emerge to see the damage. I asked Papa, before he left to fight, how long this would last. He said he did not know. Mama did not want him to go, but he said he had to. We'll win this war, he promised us, And when I come back, I'll buy you all sweets and a puppy and we can live happily ever after. My little brother Johan, still just a little boy, was delighted. I smiled, or pretended to smile, because I knew there was something Papa would not tell us. Be good for your mother, he said before he left, and gave us each a hug and a kiss and set off to fight.
I do not know who he is fighting. I asked Mama, but she would not tell me. Bad people, she said, Who are angry because they could not keep us down. Like dogs. There was a bitter tone to her voice, and I did not ask her again.
Bad people. Are people bad? I wondered. Papa is not a bad person. Mama is not a bad person. Am I a bad person? I don't think so. I think I am just normal. Not good, but normal. Are they bad people because they drop bombs on us? I heard a man say we drop bombs on them. Does that mean we are bad people, too?
It is four minutes past midnight and the planes have gone home. Mama releases us from her grasp, Johan and I, and we look at her. She is not looking at us, she is looking out and into nothing. I want to ask her why she seems sad, we're not the ones who died, but I stay quiet. Johan tugs lightly at her sleeve and asks if we can go back. She smiles, but it is not a happy smile, and says yes, we can.
The sirens stop wailing, the man in the coat with the bell grunts to himself and everybody with a house still standing goes home. We are lucky that we still have a house.
The next morning I am helping Mama in the kitchen cleaning the dishes. I am wearing my white apron, which I like, because it's clean and we do not have a lot of clean clothes. I decide to ask her again who Papa is fighting.
Mama, I say, Who is Papa fighting?
She says nothing for a moment. Then, Bad people.
I am not satisfied, so I ask, Who are these bad people?
She does not want to say. I ask her instead, Why are they bad people?
They are bad people, she explains, Because they don't want us causing trouble for them, when they are the ones who think we will cause them trouble.
I don't quite understand her, so I ask, Is that why we drop bombs on them?
She pauses again. She does not answer. Instead she asks me a question. She asks, Kristine, how old are you?
Sixteen, I say, because I am.
Yes, she says, Sixteen. A girl of your age should be learning to knit and cook and look after children, not ask silly questions. What about your brother, Johan? Who will look after him when I'm gone?
But Mama, I say, Why would you go anywhere? Do you have to go and fight like Papa?
No, she says, Only men have to go and fight.
Why? I ask.
That is their duty, she says, Their duty to their country and their people.
But why do they have to go and fight if we drop bombs on the bad people instead? And why do we drop bombs on the bad people if they are just going to turn around and do the same to us? Are they bad people because they drop bombs on us, when we drop bombs on them, too?
She does not answer. I say nothing.[/spoiler]
Unfinished.
-
Very nice so far. Just a guess; This takes place in the Battle of Britain?
-
The other side.
-
Ah.
Although the names should have been a tip off for me.
-
The Headless Angel
As if in some infernal dream, an eldritch nightmare conjured up by the foulest corners of the furthest reaches of my psyche, I bore witness to it. Words, being but human constructions, fail to express my feelings upon witnessing this travesty, this wretched abomination of reality. In that single insant, I felt a fear deeper and greater than anything ever felt by a mortal man, wanted to scream, desperately, but no sounds could break through and escape my petrified throat. I could only stare in the horror of all horrors at the twisted mockery of rational thought and evolution that stood before me. I will try my best to explain what I saw there and then:
It had the body of what I presumed to be an angel, though gaunt and emaciated, with gnarled bones clearly visible beneath the thin sheet of pale skin stretched out like tarp stretched across an ancient drum. It wore naught but a robe of silken cloth, so white and stunning as to be little more than a cruel jape contrasting the monster's grotesque features; it did not belong, and that made it all the worse in my own eyes. It had no head, that in particular struck me - and there was nothing in place of where a head should be. Not just an abscence of something, as is commonly thought to be nothing, but an absolute nothingess - an infinite pool of nothing sat where its head should be, upon the smooth, scarless stump that basely served for the creature's neck. I would have broken down and wept for how much nothing I could see (or not see; I am not sure), for it seemed to me a sick joke that so much nothingness could exist in one concentrated area; I did not know nothing had a form, but now I have seen it, and I will never forget the sight of nothing - unexplainable, but terrible nontheless. Terrible. Upon its back were many wings, many wings indeed; I counted eight, but although I could not bear to count more than that, something in the faintest recesses of my mind suggested that there were thousands more to be counted. Upon each one of them were a multitude of eyes, vaguely human, darting about frantically; thick, viscuous tears of a black, tar-like liquid were constantly secreted from them, dripping down and landing on the floor with the faintest of splashes. Each wing was spread outwards, perhaps in some form of evil parody of majesty, layered with ebony feathers, blacker than any black I ever thought possible to exist, darker than midnight; and in that brief moment I wondered how something could be so vastly dark whilst remaining so painfully visible. I was immediately dragged out of my desperate reverie by the sight of its arms.
Its arms were plentiful more than a man's, numbering six in total (unless there were other arms I failed to take into account, but I will assume for what is left of my sanity that there were no more); its legs numbered two, and all were unnaturally thin and sickly, as like the victim of a dread famine. Upon each of its gnawed, shrivelled hands, in the centre of the palms - for it held its palms out in front, as if to show me - it bore what seemed to be a mouth of some description; perfectly round and layered with tiny, shard-like fangs, too many to count, and in each mouth was yet another maw, each with its own row of teeth, and more, and more, seemingly going on forever and then some - an affront to logic and natural physics, for logic had no place in this madman's realm. I could see that each of its arms and legs was held in place by a long, rusted chain, each one fastened to a stone pillar, chipped, cracked and worn over the eons and eons I could only imagine this being had been trapped here. I could scarcely begin to imagine the length of time, for I did not know, but I wagered to myself it may have been an inconcievable length of time; perhaps since before time itself even existed. I could not help but feel a shred of remorse for this creature's endless plight, trapped here in this lightless dungeon for all eternity. However, this feeling quicky subsided, and was duly replaced by disgust and contempt. I have no idea why, but I cannot help but feel that if this being were ever to escape, it could bring about the end of the world. This potential future apocalypse must have been foreseen by whatever higher beings - and I dread to imagine them, so I will not, for the sake of what remains of my sanity - could possibly have seen fit to seal it down here. There is also the possibility it could be the saviour of our world, perhaps some sort of Messiah; but if you too could gaze upon the inexplicable abberation that I saw myself, this theory would quickly be dashed out and drowned under a sea of loathing and dread.
What I have just described is barely one-thousandth of the terrible nature of the being I saw. As I have said, words fail to describe my feelings for it, and indeed the sense of evil and revilement I could feel at ever microsecond I spent in its vile domain; a hundred new languages would have to be formed just to describe the depth of its infinite horror.
I only pray that this thing is never again seen by mortal eyes.
Ah, sweet and blissful insanity. You realize you've just inspired me, no?
-
Woa at the Headless Angel.
I tried to imagine its form, but stopped halfway...
I lol'd at pron, and the unfinished one... I really like the last question that Kristine asked. Very true.
Ah, sweet and blissful insanity. You realize you've just inspired me, no?
OH GOD D:
-
If you're reading this.
You just wasted several seconds of your life.
Several.
Seconds.
That.
You'll.
Never.
Get.
Back.
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
I own you now.
Cry for me.
Cry.
CRY.
Hahahahah.
Life is good.
IS THIS EVEN A POEM?
-
Those were some the best seconds I've ever wasted.
-
IS THIS EVEN A POEM?
My teacher said poems has no rules. So that is a poem.
-
COOL POEM, BRO.
-
Consider me impressed - that ending was a major twist!
-
My teacher said poems has no rules. So that is a poem.
IT'S NOT A POEM UNLESS I PUT A TITLE ON IT. :C
COOL POEM, BRO.
I know, I worked so hard on it.
Okay but seriously.
Study of Rhyme
[spoiler]Tick tock
Spider clock
Daisy meadows
River rock
Mister man's
Foreign lands
Yellow jelly
Biscuit box
Come away
Here today
Endless rythm
Recursion blues
Kettle strummer
Monster hummer
Clipping acid
Silent tears
Aging years
Milkman flacid
Hilltop knock
Hula hoop
Fruity loop
Cracking knees
Lemon bees
Circus dreamer
Lightning streamer
Flaming dock
Landscape printer
Tuesday sprinter
Retcon alley
Turnip's galley
Hamlet's woe
Santa's snow
Ancient hair
Haunted bear
Trickle ickle
Messer's pickle
Putty crock
Ginger fleas
Spongey grass
Crumbly lock
Spitting trees
Crispy frock
Tock tick
Spider lick[/spoiler]
The Alphabet Forms a Broken Staircase
[spoiler]a
bb
ccc
dddd
eeeee
ffffff
ggggggg
hhhhhhhh
iiiiiiiii
jjjjjjjjjj
kkkkkkkkkkk
llllllllllll
mmmmmmmmmmmmm
nnnnnnnnnnnnnn
ooooooooooooooo
pppppppppppppppp
qqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqq
rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
sssssssssssssssssss
tttttttttttttttttttt
uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz[/spoiler]
-
Study of Rhyme
[spoiler]Tick tock
Spider clock
Daisy meadows
River rock
Mister man's
Foreign lands
Yellow jelly
Biscuit box
Come away
Here today
Endless rythm
Recursion blues
Kettle strummer
Monster hummer
Clipping acid
Silent tears
Aging year
Milkman flacid
Hilltop knock
Hula hoop
Fruity loop
Cracking knees
Lemon bees
Circus dreamer
Lightning streamer
Flaming dock
Landscape printer
Tuesday sprinter
Retcon alley
Turnip's galley
Hamlet's woe
Santa's snow
Ancient hair
Haunted bear
Trickle ickle
Messer's pickle
Putty crock
Ginger fleas
Spongey grass
Crumbly lock
Spitting trees
Crispy frock
Tock tick
Spider lick[/spoiler]
Wow, this is wonderful.
-
The Alphabet Forms a Broken Staircase
[spoiler]a
bb
ccc
dddd
eeeee
ffffff
ggggggg
hhhhhhhh
iiiiiiiii
jjjjjjjjjj
kkkkkkkkkkk
llllllllllll
mmmmmmmmmmmmm
nnnnnnnnnnnnnn
ooooooooooooooo
pppppppppppppppp
qqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqq
rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
sssssssssssssssssss
tttttttttttttttttttt
uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz[/spoiler]
That's so absolutely beautiful - a true work of art. So great in fact, it's true worth of praise can't be put into mere words.
-
Study of Rhyme -> Beautifully done.
-
Those are very free formed poems you got there.
Hippie
-
Those few seconds were well spent. XD
Also, very nice rhyming, I hummed a bit while reading it.
And evil alphabets. EVIL.
-
HAY GAIS I ROTE SUM YAOI
[spoiler]He looked around the room, trying to ascertain where his other half was. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, but most prevalent of all was the nagging doubt in the back of his mind; this is a bad idea, it told him, a bad idea and you should be ashamed of yourself. He fought to cast these negative thoughts and emotions aside, or at least keep them at bay until his man arrived. He heard a short series of sounds like steps, and he knew it was him. He had come for him as promised.
"Honey, I'm home," the newcomer cooed warmly. He just sat on the bed and shuffled his feet nervously, trying to avoid making eye contact.
"Hi," he managed to mumble underneath his breath. He liked Azathoth as a friend, of course - it had been that way for as long as he could remember, eons and eons before the first stars were even born. He had never considered doing this, but Azathoth assured him it was perfectly fine.
"What's wrong, my little Cthulhu?" purred Azathoth, gently raising a tentacle and stroking it across his friend's facial region. Cthulhu looked away in embarassment.
"I'm not sure about this, Azathoth," he breathed, almost ashamed to say it.
"It's alright," said Azathoth comfortingly, "It's perfectly natural. I won't hurt you, I promise."
Cthulhu knew he could trust his old friend on anything, and yet still his mind protested. He skimmed furiously through his mind to find an excuse, any excuse, to avoid it.
"But...what if I become a vessel for your protoplasmic spawnlings?"
"That only happens to female Elder Gods, silly," teased Azathoth, "Besides, you're nothing like that [classy lady] Shub-Niggurath, with her thousand young..."
"I don't know," stammered Cthulhu hurriedly, "I mean, I like you, Azie, I like you a lot...but...as a friend, you know? I just don't think I'm ready for..."
Before he could say anything more, Azathoth was on top of him. Cthulhu's eyes widened with a strange mixture of dread and excitement; loathe as he was to admit it, he was actually quite excited about this, but he could barely bring himself to admit that even in his own thoughts.
"A-Azathoth..."
"Ssssssh," whispered Azathoth, allowing his manifold tendrils to slowly slide across the bed sheets and coil around Cthulhu's arms and chest. Cthulhu bit the lower fold of his feeding orifice sheepishly, nervous and yet eager at the same time.
Slowly but steadily, Azathoth began to rock back and forth atop Cthulhu, sinking his infinite tentacles into his mate's orifices, dripping with oozing moisture and hungry for loving. Gradually, he began to speed up - ever more and more, harder and harder, fiercer and fiercer, until at last he was writhing and convulsing atop the aquatic deity like a starved beast from beyond the stars.
Cthulhu could feel his hearts-rates increase and his temperature rise slowly in his body. These feelings were alien, even to a cosmic being such as himself; never before had he felt the strange yet undeniably thrilling rush of preternatural fluids to his reproductive organs, and yet as Azathoth continued to pound away on him, the feeling only increased. With every passing second, the pleasure became more and more irresistable and magnificent, until he could scarcely think to live without such bodily excitement.
"Oh, Azathoth! Oh, oh, oh," Cthulhu moaned, panting heavily while his big, strong, handsome, prototypically-abbhorent dominator thrashed atop him madly. The two extrastellar beings, caught in the voluptuous throes of their magnificent passion, wailed and cried out blasphemous cacophonies of sheer amorous delight, engaged in the most wondrous bout of libidinous insanity ever achieved by beings of their grotesque forms.
At last, Azathoth could hold it in no more; with one final elated shriek, he released his mellifluous ichor into every concievable orifice in Cthulhu's body. Gallons of thick, slimy, liquescent emanation of all imaginable colours - and them even some - poured out, drenching the bed and Azathoth's submissive mate in a sea of orgasmic glory. Both parties panted loudly and audibly, especially Azathoth, who let his exhausted tentacles return to his luminescent berth.
Cthulhu slowly sat up upon the the bedrest and managed a shy little smile.
"Thank you..."
Azathoth smiled back at him, and the two eldritch abominations shared a single, tender hug.
They were together.[/spoiler]
K LIEK ENJOY LOL
-
HAY GAIS I ROTE SUM YAOI
[spoiler]He looked around the room, trying to ascertain where his other half was. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, but most prevalent of all was the nagging doubt in the back of his mind; this is a bad idea, it told him, a bad idea and you should be ashamed of yourself. He fought to cast these negative thoughts and emotions aside, or at least keep them at bay until his man arrived. He heard a short series of sounds like steps, and he knew it was him. He had come for him as promised.
"Honey, I'm home," the newcomer cooed warmly. He just sat on the bed and shuffled his feet nervously, trying to avoid making eye contact.
"Hi," he managed to mumble underneath his breath. He liked Azathoth as a friend, of course - it had been that way for as long as he could remember, eons and eons before the first stars were even born. He had never considered doing this, but Azathoth assured him it was perfectly fine.
"What's wrong, my little Cthulhu?" purred Azathoth, gently raising a tentacle and stroking it across his friend's facial region. Cthulhu looked away in embarassment.
"I'm not sure about this, Azathoth," he breathed, almost ashamed to say it.
"It's alright," said Azathoth comfortingly, "It's perfectly natural. I won't hurt you, I promise."
Cthulhu knew he could trust his old friend on anything, and yet still his mind protested. He skimmed furiously through his mind to find an excuse, any excuse, to avoid it.
"But...what if I become a vessel for your protoplasmic spawnlings?"
"That only happens to female Elder Gods, silly," teased Azathoth, "Besides, you're nothing like that [classy lady] Shub-Niggurath, with her thousand young..."
"I don't know," stammered Cthulhu hurriedly, "I mean, I like you, Azie, I like you a lot...but...as a friend, you know? I just don't think I'm ready for..."
Before he could say anything more, Azathoth was on top of him. Cthulhu's eyes widened with a strange mixture of dread and excitement; loathe as he was to admit it, he was actually quite excited about this, but he could barely bring himself to admit that even in his own thoughts.
"A-Azathoth..."
"Ssssssh," whispered Azathoth, allowing his manifold tendrils to slowly slide across the bed sheets and coil around Cthulhu's arms and chest. Cthulhu bit the lower fold of his feeding orifice sheepishly, nervous and yet eager at the same time.
Slowly but steadily, Azathoth began to rock back and forth atop Cthulhu, sinking his infinite tentacles into his mate's orifices, dripping with oozing moisture and hungry for loving. Gradually, he began to speed up - ever more and more, harder and harder, fiercer and fiercer, until at last he was writhing and convulsing atop the aquatic deity like a starved beast from beyond the stars.
Cthulhu could feel his hearts-rates increase and his temperature rise slowly in his body. These feelings were alien, even to a cosmic being such as himself; never before had he felt the strange yet undeniably thrilling rush of preternatural fluids to his reproductive organs, and yet as Azathoth continued to pound away on him, the feeling only increased. With every passing second, the pleasure became more and more irresistable and magnificent, until he could scarcely think to live without such bodily excitement.
"Oh, Azathoth! Oh, oh, oh," Cthulhu moaned, panting heavily while his big, strong, handsome, prototypically-abbhorent dominator thrashed atop him madly. The two extrastellar beings, caught in the voluptuous throes of their magnificent passion, wailed and cried out blasphemous cacophonies of sheer amorous delight, engaged in the most wondrous bout of libidinous insanity ever achieved by beings of their grotesque forms.
At last, Azathoth could hold it in no more; with one final elated shriek, he released his mellifluous ichor into every concievable orifice in Cthulhu's body. Gallons of thick, slimy, liquescent emanation of all imaginable colours - and them even some - poured out, drenching the bed and Azathoth's submissive mate in a sea of orgasmic glory. Both parties panted loudly and audibly, especially Azathoth, who let his exhausted tentacles return to his luminescent berth.
Cthulhu slowly sat up upon the the bedrest and managed a shy little smile.
"Thank you..."
Azathoth smiled back at him, and the two eldritch abominations shared a single, tender hug.
They were together.[/spoiler]
K LIEK ENJOY LOL
I.. I don't even.
THERE I COMMENTED.
-
HAY GAIS I ROTE SUM YAOI
[spoiler]He looked around the room, trying to ascertain where his other half was. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, but most prevalent of all was the nagging doubt in the back of his mind; this is a bad idea, it told him, a bad idea and you should be ashamed of yourself. He fought to cast these negative thoughts and emotions aside, or at least keep them at bay until his man arrived. He heard a short series of sounds like steps, and he knew it was him. He had come for him as promised.
"Honey, I'm home," the newcomer cooed warmly. He just sat on the bed and shuffled his feet nervously, trying to avoid making eye contact.
"Hi," he managed to mumble underneath his breath. He liked Azathoth as a friend, of course - it had been that way for as long as he could remember, eons and eons before the first stars were even born. He had never considered doing this, but Azathoth assured him it was perfectly fine.
"What's wrong, my little Cthulhu?" purred Azathoth, gently raising a tentacle and stroking it across his friend's facial region. Cthulhu looked away in embarassment.
"I'm not sure about this, Azathoth," he breathed, almost ashamed to say it.
"It's alright," said Azathoth comfortingly, "It's perfectly natural. I won't hurt you, I promise."
Cthulhu knew he could trust his old friend on anything, and yet still his mind protested. He skimmed furiously through his mind to find an excuse, any excuse, to avoid it.
"But...what if I become a vessel for your protoplasmic spawnlings?"
"That only happens to female Elder Gods, silly," teased Azathoth, "Besides, you're nothing like that [classy lady] Shub-Niggurath, with her thousand young..."
"I don't know," stammered Cthulhu hurriedly, "I mean, I like you, Azie, I like you a lot...but...as a friend, you know? I just don't think I'm ready for..."
Before he could say anything more, Azathoth was on top of him. Cthulhu's eyes widened with a strange mixture of dread and excitement; loathe as he was to admit it, he was actually quite excited about this, but he could barely bring himself to admit that even in his own thoughts.
"A-Azathoth..."
"Ssssssh," whispered Azathoth, allowing his manifold tendrils to slowly slide across the bed sheets and coil around Cthulhu's arms and chest. Cthulhu bit the lower fold of his feeding orifice sheepishly, nervous and yet eager at the same time.
Slowly but steadily, Azathoth began to rock back and forth atop Cthulhu, sinking his infinite tentacles into his mate's orifices, dripping with oozing moisture and hungry for loving. Gradually, he began to speed up - ever more and more, harder and harder, fiercer and fiercer, until at last he was writhing and convulsing atop the aquatic deity like a starved beast from beyond the stars.
Cthulhu could feel his hearts-rates increase and his temperature rise slowly in his body. These feelings were alien, even to a cosmic being such as himself; never before had he felt the strange yet undeniably thrilling rush of preternatural fluids to his reproductive organs, and yet as Azathoth continued to pound away on him, the feeling only increased. With every passing second, the pleasure became more and more irresistable and magnificent, until he could scarcely think to live without such bodily excitement.
"Oh, Azathoth! Oh, oh, oh," Cthulhu moaned, panting heavily while his big, strong, handsome, prototypically-abbhorent dominator thrashed atop him madly. The two extrastellar beings, caught in the voluptuous throes of their magnificent passion, wailed and cried out blasphemous cacophonies of sheer amorous delight, engaged in the most wondrous bout of libidinous insanity ever achieved by beings of their grotesque forms.
At last, Azathoth could hold it in no more; with one final elated shriek, he released his mellifluous ichor into every concievable orifice in Cthulhu's body. Gallons of thick, slimy, liquescent emanation of all imaginable colours - and them even some - poured out, drenching the bed and Azathoth's submissive mate in a sea of orgasmic glory. Both parties panted loudly and audibly, especially Azathoth, who let his exhausted tentacles return to his luminescent berth.
Cthulhu slowly sat up upon the the bedrest and managed a shy little smile.
"Thank you..."
Azathoth smiled back at him, and the two eldritch abominations shared a single, tender hug.
They were together.[/spoiler]
K LIEK ENJOY LOL
...*sniff* That was beautiful.
This calls for some fan art!
-
*claps slowly... Before resulting in a standing ovation*
Just... Woa.
-
Hmmm....
-
[spoiler]Fing fingered the empty ashtray and scoured it for ashes, but it was empty, thus there were none. Fing sighed and rolled himself a cigar, dipped the tip in brandy, lit it up and smoked it with petulant pride. Klum sat opposite him, agitatedly fiddling his hands against the legs of the table. The clock made a tick tick tock sound in the background and Fing glared at it, thus it stopped the tick tick tock.
I suppose you'll be going back to the store soon, drolled Fing aloud, gazing at Klum on the opposite end of the opposite table in the room opposite the room opposite this one. Klum raised his eyes to meet his friend and shook his head with a shake shake shake motion.
No and nay and never, replied Klum, not until that damned thing leaves and returns no more.
Are you sure you're not just seeing things, queried Fing, puffing on his cigar and sipping his brandy, tipping the ashes into the ashtray which wasn't empty anymore.
If I see what I feel and feel what I see, then I see pain and feel despair, sighed Klum despondantly. Fing tipped the ashes in the ashtray into his mouth, took a sip of brandy, swilled the ashes around in his mouth and spat the whole lot back into the once more no longer empty ashtray.
Then, sir, you are mad.
I am not mad!
But you are.
I assure you I am not!
Then, mused Fing, prove it.
I shall, harumphed Klum with a haughty harumph, I have recorded all the sightings in my journal, which I will now go and fetch for you.
And so fetch it he did, with a fetch fetch fetch and a here here here.
Here here here! Look upon my writings and tell me I am mad!
Sir, you are indeed mad, said Fing, and pointed at the paper upon which there were no writings at all.
But that cannot be, spat Klum, it cannot be for I wrote everything down just the other night and then some before that and some after that!
Fing poured himself another glass of brandy and tipped his ashes into the glass, which he then gulped down in one swift go. His glass eye rolled around in its socket, with a rooooooooooooll and he smiled.
Then, sir, would you care to tell me what it is you saw with your own two eyes that you have on you?
Indeed and I shall, smugged Klum smugly, it was a long creature, about the length of a man's arm, longer than a cat but shorter than a snake, and it was a colour I know to be somewhere between orange and red, indeed it was of that very colour that I just said. There was many a spike along the thing's back, all turned upwards like your mustache just there, and it had claws too. Yes, these claws numbered how many umbers I cannot remember to number, but there were quite a few.
So, interjected Fing with his brandy and cigar, it was like a lizard?
No, droned Klum, nothing like a lizard, actually. It was more like...a thing.
A thing?
Yes, a thing. I know of no other words that could describe what I saw.
What else had it?
Eyes, many eyes, said Klum with truth and truthfulness in his voice of voices, and many more teeth than a man like you or I have. Indeed it had many eyes and many teeth. It coiled out from beneath my chair whenever it did appear and grinned at me, looking at me with all of its many eyes, and it was so grotesque a thing to behold that I immediately closed my eyes and when I opened them once more it was gone.
Gone?
Gone.
You, sir, laughed Fing with a laugh laugh laugh, are mad as the proverbial hatter.
I am not and indeed I am not, snapped Klum visciously. He stopped his nervous groping of the table legs and stood up from his seat. Now the clock started to go again, this time with a tock tock tick. Fing eyed his opposite man curiously and warily, dropping his cigar into his next glass of brandy and rooooooooooolling his glass eye around in his head.
You are a madman, chided Fing coldly, mad and mad and yet mad again!
I am not mad!
But you are! There is no thing!
There is, and indeed I saw it!
Liar! A madman and a liar you are!
Still your tongue!
I should shoot you with my gun here and now, you foolish madman!
Quiet, I say!
Fing, too, got to his feet and threw his glass of brandy from the table. You are a madman and an idiot, a fool and a madman is what you are!]
Klum could take no more. He screamed to drown out the chides and taunts of Fing, then like a madman indeed, ran and grabbed the poker from the fireplace.
A madman and yes indeed I am, cried Klum. Feng reached down with a reach for his gun to shoot Klum, but already it was too late. Klum drove the poker through Feng's body and Feng, with his last breath calling Klum a foolish madman, fell to the floor. His glass eye fell from his head and rolled forward to the feet of Klum, wielder of the bloody fireplace poker. When he saw what he himself had done indeed, Klum fell to his knees and wept.
I am a fool and a madman indeed, cried he.
The thing, coiling around the leg of the table, looked up and gave him a grotesque grin.
It was done.
A fool and a madman indeed.
Tock tock tick.[/spoiler]
Feh.
-
That was a really fun read read read.
And this thing... This thing. D:
-
Yeats Died For Your Sins
[spoiler]Shall I wear a coat of lies
Or wrap myself in lazy dew
For what should pass my eyes
But nothing I ever gave to you
I feel a flurry against my heart
And my hands in a spiral turn
'Til the end and begin a new start
What should I say to here but burn
And yes, Yeats died for your sins
And though the Frost is broken and gone
And though they say a fool ne'er wins
And 'tis choice and choice we build upon
The words still carry on
Did apples not fall from the tree above
Did the hero not return from out at sea
Did the lady not procure her eager love
Did we not count this last victory
Did the world not spin ever more
Did they not mend the wall to see
Did I not shed my tears and wipe my eyes
And now gather me into eternity
And yes, Yeats died for your sins
And though the Frost is broken and gone
And though they say a fool ne'er wins
And 'tis choice and choice we build upon
The words still carry on
The words still carry on[/spoiler]
-
Nice work! ^_^
-
I will love you
We will get through this
Let's die together
I have found happiness.
-
Umm.. well done.
-
The words will carry on...
And die together... I'm too old to die! D:
-
First draft.
"Zahahahaha! You are weak!"
"I'll show ya weak, ya big galoot!"
Zelgius swung his axe, and Jango ducked underneath the sweeping blade. He struck back with an uppercut, and Zelgius swung a punch right back at him. Jango threw another round of punches against his opponent's armoured chest. Zelgius took these and intercepted with a sudden headbutt.
Jango countered by grabbing his opponent's head and slamming his fist against it, throwing Zelgius's head upwards and causing him to stagger back. Jango took advantage of this to swing a few more punches. Once Zelgius regained his balance, he immediately returned with a few swipes of his axe.
The blade tore through Jango, but for him it was only a flesh wound. He ignored the pain and kept pressing on with his punches. Zelgius stopped him by ramming his hefty shoulder against Jango, knocking him off his feet. He rolled over, crouched down and dived upwards, both fists connecting with Zelgius in succession.
Zelgius grabbed his opponent's arms and easily threw him over his shoulder. Jango's body crashed into a stone pillar, sending it crumbling down in a heap of grey rubble. He very quickly got back to his feet and gave his opponent a grin.
"You're pretty good," he said, wiping a bit of blood from his mouth. In the heat of the battle, with the excitement of the fight and the warriors' urges overcoming them, Jango almost forgot this was supposed to be his enemy. Truth be told, he was enjoying the thrill of the fight and the chance to fight such a strong opponent.
The feeling was mutual. Zelgius, too, though he wouldn't say it - lest he show any sign of weakness - felt the same way about Jango. It seemed both fighters had found in the other challenger the powerful opponent they had sought for so long.
But there would be no more banter now. They had to fight.
Zelgius, now apart from Jango, slammed his axe into the ground. A web of cracks spread outwards, and a crown of jagged rocks burst out from underneath Jango. They threw him into the air, but he managed to regain himself. As he fell to the ground, he smashed the stone spires with his fists and sent a red-hot blaze through the cracks towards Zelgius.
This continued for a brief while - Zelgius would slam the ground and buffet his opponent with rocks and stones, and Jango would either dodge, break or take them and counter the volley with flames of his own. The crew watched from the sideliness helplessly, unable to intervene in this titantic clash.
Eventually, Zelgius decided to switch tactics. He raised his axe again, and Jango put up his guard. But instead of slamming the ground as he usually did, Zelgius barrelled forward. Though he was not very quick overall, when he did get moving, he was like a speeding train: large, heavy and almost impossible to stop without getting run over. The feign had worked to trick his opponent, and he took advantage of this to grab Jango by the throat.
"I have you now, little man."
Jango grunted and tried uselessly to pry the giant's grip off of him. While his captured opponent was struggling, Zelgius jumped onto the pile of rubble left from the broken pillar. He used this to scale up higher, using stones he summoned to leap onto. Finally, when he was high enough above the ground, he stopped. He looked at Jango with his mad eyes and brutal grin and laughed terribly.
"Now I will break you."
Zelgius, with Jango in his arms, leapt. Jango tried all he could to break free, but it was no use; the hold was much too strong. Then they were in mid-air, high above the ground below, and Jango knew what was to come next. In that moment, he felt something he hadn't known since he could care to remember.
Fear.
There was, suspended in the air there and then, genuine fear in his eyes. Zelgius could see it, and he relished it. Time seemed to grind to a halt, though in reality, it was a mere second before they fell. Dread overcame Jango for the first in a very long time, and he knew this was it.
Zelgius, holding tightly onto Jango, let himself drop. He plummeted to the ground, dragging the helpless Jango with him. In one swift motion, they fell down.
Down.
Down.
Crash.
When the dust at last settled, Jango's crew-mates were horrified to see the outcome. The ground surrounded the centre of the arena had been ruptured and torn apart, with huge gashes ripped out and great big points of earth jutting out madly. The entire arena floor looked as though it had been dragged up from the edges, smashed together in the middle and left to fall lamely back in pieces.
Standing at the centre of the tarnished ground was Zelgius, whisps of chalky white dust drifting past his enormous form. With his axe held upright at attention, he stared down in triumph at the body of Jango on the ground.
He was broken. Lifeless. Destroyed.
Dead.
Lucky was the first to respond. He just fell to his knees, mouth agape in horror, as he looked at the lame and broken body of his friend, his mentor. He couldn't believe it. He refused to believe it. Tears began to stream down his face. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible.
"Jango!" Amphi screamed his name. "Jango! JANGO!" She cried his name as if hoping it would bring him back up. She was sobbing, and she wasn't the only one. Fey, too, had her face in her hands as she was weeping. Ki'tah couldn't even bear to look at his body, turning her head away and biting her lip tightly. Even Zetti, who found it difficult to display any sort of emotion, had to fight to keep herself from breaking down and crying.
Of all of them, though, Marx was hit the hardest. Even though it had only happened a moment ago, in that very instant he could feel something wrench at his very essence. All he could do was stop and stare numbly at what left of his closest friend in the universe.
"Zahahahahahahaha! Ahahahahahahaha! Hahahahaha!"
Zelgius couldn't help but bellow with laughter at his slain opponent. Though he had enjoyed the fight, he held no remorse for Jango. Those who challenged him were, in his eyes, deserving of their fate.
"Such a pity," he growled through his monstrous grin, "He was quite a challenge, I must say. I'm almost sad that I had to kill him. But then, no matter how well he fought, he was still weak. Weak. Weak! There is no place in this world for weaklings! Only strength matters! If you are not strong, then you will die! Eat or be eaten! Kill or be killed! That is the way of the warrior! Zahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"
And while he couldn't hear the laughter, in his own world, Jango was looking into total darkness.
-
Jango D:
And woa at the battle scene there... That was brilliant.
-
Welcome.
If you are wondering why you are here, then the answer is simple: you are dead, and the sins you commited in your life have sent you here, doomed to reside amongst the damned for all eternity. You have no-one to blame but yourself.
What's that? You say you don't belong here?
Very well. I will give you a task for you to earn your freedom. Should you succeed, you will be granted the chance to undo your past mistakes and the prospect of a new life. Fail, and you will spend eternity atoning for your crimes.
The task is simple: you will delve into the depths of The Abyss, the netherworld between the living and the dead, and defeat the monsters that lurk there. Atone for your sins by destroying these wretched evils and earn your place amongst the living once more.
You know the risks and rewards present. So, what do you say? Is your life worth that much to you?
Will you accept?
-
One thing bugging me: isn't rhythm spelled the way I just spelled it?
-
One thing bugging me: isn't rhythm spelled the way I just spelled it?
...
ANYWAYS
Goddarnit decisions. O^O
-
What kind of new life will I get if I succeed?
-
You'll be reincarnated as a water flea.
-
One thing bugging me: isn't rhythm spelled the way I just spelled it?
Yes, but this is how Nick's name is spelt. It's stylised.
What kind of new life will I get if I succeed?
The protagonist isn't reincarnated, he's just allowed return to life. Just presume that he died suddenly and without a chance to redeem himself.
-
I see... meh.
I thought you were asking us that...
-
Taylor Lyn looked over her shoulder. One approached her from behind. Quick as a flash, she swung her sword around and took its head off. Another came to replace it, and once again she decapitated it. They were slow to come at first, but soon they began to come in greater numbers, and faster.
A horde of the undead rose from the ground in front of her. She swiftly sliced straight through them, then twirled around and did the same for the slobbering creatures behind her.
She could hear their groans becoming louder now. They were coming closer and closer.
From all around her they closed in, but she did not panic. Panic would only lead to fear, and fear would destroy her. Instead she focused everything on this battle and the sword in her hands; she blocked out everything else, told herself there was nothing but the battle. This battle was all that mattered.
As the undead monsters fell one by one, or more if she was quick enough with her hands, stronger ones clawed their way out of the earth to replace them. As she was busy cleaving through a number in front of her, a couple shambled up behind her and grabbed her by the shoulders.
A spark of shock surged through her body.
Don't panic, she reminded herself. With a loud cry, she gripped one of the hands and tore it clean off - the flesh and bone being rotten and weak - and proceeded to slide around and drive her blade through the other one's face.
As the bodies fell to the floor with a wet thud, Taylor could feel the air around her become thick and musty with the foul scent of decayed flesh. She shook her head and urged herself to press onwards.
Now the hordes were becoming ravenous and determined. They came in greater numbers, hungrier and stronger, each one lurching ahead to feast on the young woman's tender flesh. Taylor vowed she would not let that happen.
It was time now. Time to use it.
As the famished corpses charged ahead brutally to earn their meal, Taylor shut her eyes and traced a symbol in the air.
Closer now, and hungrier.
Now was the time.
Taylor opened her eyes and slammed her hands against the dry valley ground. She could hear the undead advancing on her, and she knew she had to hurry. The same symbol she traced through the air carved itself along the ground, a sort of stylised pentacle, and the lines in the dirt began to glow a deep orange-red.
Three words:
"Sigil of Hellish Flames!"
With those three words, the ground cracked open. The floor split apart and flames, great towering waves and pillars of fire, shot upwards. The undead hordes were scorched, vanquished by the arcane flames that Taylor had summoned.
When at last the flames died down and the ground sealed itself back again, Taylor looked around her. No more; they had all been slain.
With a triumphant smile, Taylor sheathed her sword. She had won this battle, but there would be many more.
She would be ready.
-
The one you'd be looking for would be the Volcan sigil. And the sigils are circular shaped...
(http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y194/dakirbymaster/Bloodlines%20and%20BoNF/Sigils/Volcan.png)
That would be the one that would do what you described. It would be more accurate to say this:
Taylor opened her eyes and slammed her hands against the dry valley ground. She could hear the undead advancing on her, and she knew she had to hurry. The same symbol she traced through the air carved itself along the ground, a ring with a few curved lines reaching towards the peak, culminating in an oval shape. And then the lines in the dirt began to glow a deep orange-red.
Two words:
"VOLCAN! MAGNAFLAMAGA!"
Yeah... there's your solution.
Also, thanks. The rest of the story was pretty awesome! ^_^
-
"Get in there, ye bauld little thing, ye, and don't come out 'til ye've been down on yeer knees and praised Our Lord for even givin' ye the clothes on yeer back!"
Slam. Lock. Footsteps departing.
Alice fell back against the wall of the closet and started to cry. Ye bauld little thing, ye. The head nun's voice lingered in her head, gnawing at the bac of her mind like an aural infection. She'd sit here for an hour or so, crying, and then she'd be dragged off to the chapel to beg forgiveness. Say a word and she'd get the cane. You said nothing, and you got nothing in return. This was she all she had known all her life. It sickened her.
The clothes on yeer back. A grey dress handed down from one of the older girls. She didn't even have shoes, just a pair of white stockings, long since muddied by the dusty floors.
Our Lord. What lord? She didn't believe in any Lord. What was the point? Where was the Lord when her mother had gone, coughing and spluttering from the consumption? Where was the Lord when her father dragged her out here and left her to be raised like a filthy young urchin?
She'd be getting no soup now. All she had said was that her soup was cold, and she was thrown in here. "There's people starvin' in the world and ye can't even eat yeer soup, ye bauld little thing, ye?" She was always the bauld one, it seemed.
No, she couldn't enjoy her soup. No, she wouldn't give praise to Our Lord. She would sit here and cry, cry until no more tears would come out, then get hauled off to pray to a wooden altar and then sent to bed with the other girls.
At least the other girls were nice enough to her. They'd share books and stories and stay up half the night giggling, and then the nuns would come in and tell them to shut up, there's people tryin' to sleep in here and would ye get to sleep yeerselves, ye mangey little gurriers?
Then again, they were all in the same situation, all these girls; what would they achieve by being cruel to their own kind?
Alice sniffled and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Nine years old and already she held contempt for her caretakers, such that they were. Nine years old and already she knew what it was like to lose hope. Hope that she would ever get out of this place, hope that someday she'd have a mother who wouldn't die on her and leave her with her father to throw her to the mercy of the church.
It was a terrible feeling. The world held so much wonders in it, or so the books told her, and she would never get to see any of it for herself.
Posted on: June 03, 2010, 06:01:17 PM
"Alice?"
Alice looked up from her book.
"Ye've a visitor."
"A visitor?"
"What d'ye think I said? C'man, don't keep 'im waitin'."
The girl climbed off of her bed, tucked the book underneath the covers and followed the nun down the hallway. Twelve years old and at last she had a visitor. Her first visitor since she could even remember. She was so excited. Maybe he would even take her home with him?
She hoped he would have books. A huge library full of books, where she could sit and read all day and just lose herself in her fantasy worlds. She hoped, she hoped. She hoped she would go home with him to his wonderful house in the countryside and be his beloved daughter, and he would buy her cake and ice-cream and sit her on his knee and tell her stories and pick her up when she fell and kiss her goodnight and take her to a real school with real teachers and other children to play with and talk to and read books with. She hoped, she hoped. For the first time in years, she hoped.
"Well, here she is," said the nun with a hint of sourness in her voice, "The worst one we have."
"Are you sure she is the worst?"
"Aye, that I am. The little urchin's been nothin' but trouble since she came here, with her books and her reading and her complaining about the food and the beds. Ungrateful little wretch."
Alice desperately wanted to shout at her, tell her she got nothing but dog's abuse from her and the other sisters, but she kept her mouth closed. She didn't want the nun barking in her ear and giving her the cane. Besides, she had to look good for the stranger.
Tall. That was what Alice first thought when she saw him. Tall and fancy, with his black suit and his bow tie and his little hat and his big white moustache.
And the pocketwatch. He was holding a golden pocketwatch in his hand, and Alice couldn't keep her eyes off of it.
"Say hello," hissed the nun. Alice swallowed and put on her nicest smile.
"H-Hello...sir."
The man smiled under his bushy moustache and crouched down to the girl's level. "So, you must be Alice."
"Yes...sir."
"Well, aren't you the polite little girl?" When he stood back to his full height - taller than anyone Alice had ever seen - he threw a sideways glance to the Mother Superior and nodded. "I'll take her."
"Ye will?" The head nun looked like she would nearly collapse there and then from the shock. "Ah, by the sanctifyin' grace of Holy God! There's so much better ye could be havin'! Why would ye be wantin' this little gurrier?"
"Because you told me she is the worst you have," replied the stranger in a sharp, authorative tone. Alice shrank a little, not wanting to irk him any more.
"But why should ye be wantin' her to--"
"I said I'll take her. I understand that is how it works, yes?"
The head nun coughed and cleared her throat. "Well, yes, but...ye still have to be fillin' out the papers and what have ye."
"It shall be done," said the stranger with a dismissive wave of his hand. The nun shot Alice a bitter glare and scuttled off to fetch the paperwork.
Alice was afraid to look up at the strange old man, but she risked it anyway. He must have seen the anxiety in her eyes, because he just smiled and her and took her by the hand.
"Come along, Alice," he said amicably.
And as he led her out of the orphanage forever, she couldn't help but stare at that watch.
-
That was an interesting read...how will it continue?
-
Six years.
"I will take this girl, the worst you have, and turn her into a model servant."
Six long, long years.
"It will be difficult, yes, but she will learn to enoy it."
Day in, day out.
"I guarantee that within six years of her life, she will have transformed."
She had clothes, yes.
"She will no longer complain or cause mischief."
And a home.
"She will be the perfect servant - loyal, obedient and skilled."
And books to read.
"She will learn to fight and fend for herself."
Just as she wanted.
"I promise you this: by the time I am done with her, she will be changed."
But this wasn't what she wanted.
Alice had indeed changed. In the orphanage, that damned orphanage, she knew what it meant to feel despair; now she felt nothing.
Despair and hope no longer existed to her. She had been trained to ignore any sense of distinction between tragedy and excellence. When she was sad, she was told to stand up straight and stop moping to herself. When she was happy, she was told to act like a proper lady and stop feeling so smug about everything. Her feelings were gradually worn away, deprived from her, until she became numb to such feelings.
And her fighting skills? The envy of other men ten, twenty, thirty years older than her. She became so adept with the knives, she had almost forgotten what life was like without them. She could slice though a fly in mid-air, hit a speck of paint on a wall fifteen feet away, carve up a carrot in less than two seconds, and she could do all these with her eyes blindfolded.
He brought her challengers, and one by one she overcame them. When she didn't beat them the first time, she was sent to train more. When she defeated them at last, she was told to train more anyway, for the next one would be much more skilled and stronger. When she failed, he was not admonished; when she succeeded, she was not praised. Some were impressed, others disgraced that a young girl had defeated them. She, of course, felt nothing. There was no shame in loss, there was no pride in victory. It was incidental to her training, that was all.
"Go, Alice, train more. Become better than you are now."
Finally, there were no more left to defeat. She had taken on every challenger he had to offer, had learned their strengths and weaknesses and bested them. At last, it seemed, her six years of numbing, soul-wearing training and lessons on fighting and obedience had come to an end.
And then he died.
"I have taught you all I know, Alice," he told her on his deathbed, "Now you must prove to yourself that you are the best. Never forget what I have taught you."
Before he passed away, he left her a memento mori: the golden pocketwatch, the one she had never been able to look away from whenever it appeared. The pocketwatch was now hers. And yet, somehow, she didn't feel like she needed or wanted it.
It was by sheer accident that she discovered the powers it held. She was idly playing with the little device, flipping it open and closing it, just concentrating on the watch - the ticking of the internal gears, the rhythmic movements of the hands, lost in its subtle magnificence.
As she concentrated, totally innocent and oblivious, she could feel a strange sensation pour its way through her body. As though her senses were being heightened bit by bit, and the world around her was slowing itself down. In that brief moment, everything became clearer, and yet at the same time more dull and cold - though the words on the books on the shelves became sharper, the colours faded ever so slightly, as though washed with the faintest grey tint. The sensation lasted for about two seconds, but to her it felt like so much longer.
Over the next few days, she tried to replicate that sensation, the strange experience of time slowing to a crawl. The first few times, nothing happened. The next time, she felt nauseous and was sick. Then, slowly but surely, she managed to get a better grip on its mechanics. Gradually she came to realise how it was done, how she could conjure its powers. Not at will, though; it seemed to work when it wanted to. So far, she had only learned how to make it happen, but wasn't able to do so whenever she pleased. It would take much, much longer before she fully mastered it.
The next day, she left the mansion to find her place in the world. In the month or so after he, her surrogate father and mentor, had passed away, she stayed in the house. It was more out of convenience than any sense of nostalgia or sentimentality. She had forgotten how to feel such things.
She left after six years a changed woman. Whether she changed for the better was something she never allowed herself to ask.
-
Is there more?
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I take it that's a bit of background for the character in the RP? Nicely written.
-
Two years had passed since then.
Alice, with nothing to her name but her knives and the pocketwatch, had to take up odd jobs to earn enough money to eat. She slept in inns, in fields or, if she was lucky, people would give her rest as a form of renumeration for her tasks. It was a drudgerous life. Had she been allowed to remember excitement, she would be aware that this was precisely what was missing. Within those two years, she had become more and more bitter and cynical; she had seen the world for what it was, and it was nothing like her books. Her hopes had been dashed out long ago.
She had trained for six long, hard years, and had absolutely nothing to show for it. She tried becoming a prize-fighter, hoping she could at least put her skills to good use to earn a living; she was turned down for being female, something the patrons felt the crowds wouldn't take too kindly to.
It was menial tasks for her, it seemed, and all over Europe she travelled to do earn a meager living - just enough to keep bread on the table and herself alive, that was all she needed.
It was precisely seven months after he had passed away that that all changed. She was given a job she had never taken on before - an assassination task. At first she was unsure; she had never used her skills in so long, and she wondered if she still possessed those same skills. She somewhat doubted it. Her patron assured her, though, that she would be just perfect for the job.
He had heard of her, it seemed, from one of the many men she had triumped over during her six years of training. A girl who was as swift as the wind and sharp as her own knives.
Hesitantly, Alice agreed to take the job. At the very least, she reasoned, she would get a chance to hone her skills once more and perhaps even get a decent pay at the end of it all.
Count Dracula.
That was how she, Alice, found herself in the darkest recesses of Transylvania, standing on a moor not five miles from the Count's vast castle. With little idea of what lay inside - besides a host of malevolent demons and a vampiric aristocrat she had been sent to slay - the girl took a deep breath and made her way towards the castle.
The rest, as they say, is history.
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Not really history. The events that happen therein are still being written! >0<
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Not bad, not bad at all. Is there a chance for you to rewrite her fight against Remus?
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Not bad, not bad at all. Is there a chance for you to rewrite her fight against Remus?
Maybe. If I have nothing better to do and feel like writing, I might just try that.
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That was very nice.
So where exactly did the idea of Alice come from?
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I'm completely lost while reading this... @_@
Help? O^O
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I'm completely lost while reading this... @_@
Help? O^O
You. RPMvania. NOW!
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But I'm not well-verse in the Castlevania series to enjoy the RP fully. >.>
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You. Castlevania. NOW!
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That was very nice.
So where exactly did the idea of Alice come from?
I took her basic idea from my name and developed her from there. I made it up as I went along.
I'm completely lost while reading this... @_@
Help? O^O
Alice is my character in the RPMvania RP. She's a young woman with a lot of knives - both combat and throwing - and a magical pocketwatch that slows down time briefly. This is just her backstory.
-
But I'm not well-verse in the Castlevania series to enjoy the RP fully. >.>
Neither am I, and we're all enjoying the dangerous venture.
As Blackhook had said.
You. RPMvania. NOW!!...speaking of which Soulie hasn't participated in the RP yet...I is sad.
Lucky, I love your characters background story. Might make some fan art. Just need a detailed description of the character.
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Lucky, I love your characters background story. Might make some fan art. Just need a detailed description of the character.
Thanks for the compliment!
http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/IMG-6.jpg
Posted on: June 04, 2010, 18:48:27
Black Tarot
The lord of all evil. An immortal vampire who has existed since time immemorial and the ultimate source of evil in the mythos. He feasts on souls to stay powerful, and he manipulates others into killing people so he can harvest their souls for himself. He can take advantage of people with weak or corrupt souls by tempting them and controlling their sinful desires. He is able to tempt people by offering them anything they desire, but at the price of their soul. He wishes to gain enough souls to ascend to godhood and rule over a world of eternal night. He is immensely powerful and has total control over the powers of darkness and the night.
Doktor Koffenmaske
An eccentric scientist of questionable morality. He lives and works in his laboratory, where he experiments with creating new and often bizarre creatures. His creations include The Butcher. He is apparently related to Herr Zuchtusten, the prison warden, though the two rarely speak to eachother. He has weak lungs and wears a mask to help his breathing. He tends to breathe and wheeze heavily in his mask, and he often has to pause when he's speaking to breathe. He is prone to maniacal laughter at the drop of a hat, even when the situation doesn't call for it, even though it's bad for his lungs. He is very attached to his creations and flies into a fit of rage if anybody harms them.
Zezzonite
Nicknamed "The Mad Bomber", he is an anarchic madman with a penchant for explosives. His right arm is mechanical and is used to launch bombs, rockets, grenades and all manner of explosive devices. He was jailed for attempting to blow up a city block, but he broke out to wreak havoc again. He is very resitant to explosions, especially his own. He is something of a masochist and sometimes gets caught in his own blasts for fun. He never shows restraint and is known to go all-out against his opponent, no matter who they are. Outside of battle, he is cruel, edgy and callous; in battle, he is violent, brutal and chaotic. He hates authority and order and wants to see the world fall into chaos.
Arson van Murder
Known as "Hell's Bloody Emissary". A violent and psychopathic killer who enjoys seeing other people suffer. He is known to have murdered an entire village in one night, which he considers modest at best. At times he is somewhat more calm than he usually is when he's on a spree of violence; this is because he usually only kills when he has his frequent "urges". He appears to be somewhat detached from reality, as he often talks to a hand puppet he wears, whom he claims is the one telling him to kill others. Though very few are willing to try removing it from him, it has been noted that without the hand puppet, he becomes relaxed and unresponsive. He is notoriously treacherous and untrustworthy, as he sees no distinction between allies and enemies when he feels the urge to kill. He seems to feel great pain when he isn't shedding blood during his urges.
Itsuki Yamiyama
A young man whose ghost haunts an old hotel. As a result of his soul's power, his parents became convinced he was possessed by something evil. Fearing for their lives, the cruel parents brought him to the hotel, strangled him, buried the body and fled. His desire for vengeance was so great that his spirit remained and haunted the room where he was killed. Anybody who sleeps in the room dies and their body vanishes, so the hotel keeps it off-limits to avoid trouble. The ghost himself is a spiteful, hate-filled individual who holds contempt for all life and kills anyone who sleeps in his room out of jealousy. He wears a permanent grin on his face, but he is anything but happy with his life, or lack thereof. He wants to kill enough people so he can sacrifice their souls to return to life. He cannot leave the room unless somebody lets his spirit out, and even then he must return when morning comes.
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You can open an Asylum with this kind of freaks... Nice ideas
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On requests to join RPs, still on hiatus. -_-
Thanks for the compliment!
http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/IMG-6.jpg
Alice, I presume?
And I see, backstory...
Also, those characters... So fiendish. D:
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You don´t need to join, just read trough them :P
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... Depends. -_-
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Last Rites For A Sorry Soul
[spoiler]Sitting in a room watching time strip paint from the walls
Today I pull the plug, say goodbye to all of this
I will ride on a pale wing on to what is to come
You will find I will not be at your table tomorrow
Will you come with me on my way?
See my out on my final whisper
Will you tell me what you see when the candle fades?
Tell them, tell them all
Give them the last words I will ever say
Know that I loved you when I die
Tug on a rope to fall from the ceiling
Watch the life flow from my hands
An ecstacy of frothing and moaning
One last hurrah, one last fling towards the breach
Will you come with me on my way?
See my out on my final whisper
Will you tell me what you see when the candle fades?
Tell them, tell them all
Give them the last words I will ever say
Know that I loved you when I die[/spoiler]
Heaven Makes Monsters
[spoiler]Break my life, please
Choke my days, please
Crush my time, please
Steal my ways, please
Take my innocence when you go
I want to be completed beside you
Show me, show me, let me know
Heaven makes monsters too
Bubble my lair, please
Sizzle my space, please
Plunder my eggs, please
Number my face, please
Take my innocence when you go
I want to be completed beside you
Show me, show me, let me know
Heaven makes monsters too
Make me into your happy doll
Paint a friendly smile on my face
Take, shake, break, make me
Make me yours, only yours
Paint me black and red and warm
Fill me with heat and tender love
Drag me from hell and take me to heaven
Let me see the monsters one last time
Take my innocence when you go
I want to be completed beside you
Show me, show me, let me know
Heaven makes monsters too[/spoiler]
The meaning in both of these should be fairly clear.
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Well written, and a tad bit on the dark side... I like!
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Dario Vette
A villainous assassin who controls puppets. Ever since he was a boy he has had an interest in mechanics and making things work. He had a facination with puppets because of this and started making crude puppets as a child. He fell in love with a young woman named Anna when he was a young man and proposed to marry her, but she declined. She later went off with another man and, enviously, he killed him. Anna took her life soon afterwards, though he no longer cared for her. When he became a freelance assassin-for-hire, he turned her into his first puppet. He is sly, vindictive and likes doing things by himself in his own way. He detests being told how to do his job. He will gladly take almost any job, no matter how immoral, as long as the pay is good.
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A puppet master... Very creepy he is. D:
Also, those 2 poems... I feel them.
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A Complex Treatise On The Undefinable Yet Inaliable Ethical Distinction Between One Man And His Neighbour
[spoiler]Eggplant
Or
Aubergine?[/spoiler]
Abyss
[spoiler]Infinitessimal abyss
I gaze longingly into you
But you do not gaze back
Absolution
Hereditarily
I jump
P
l
u
n
g
e
Into your depths
Voluminous
Rapture
I have seen forever[/spoiler]
On Opinions
[spoiler]Pretention lifts its lips on opinionated stirrups
And drinks from a well other men have spat in[/spoiler]
-
1. DARN
I hate it when that happens. XD
2. Seeing forever... It is frightening.
3. This is so very true, and expressed right to the point.
-
Nothingness
[spoiler]Sharp words
Cut into me
I bleed
On the floor
I hear your voice
I must fall
There is no more
Nothing
No more
There is
Nothing[/spoiler]
I'm thinking of locking this thread because it's crap and nobody cares about it.
lolwut
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I'm thinking of locking this thread because it's crap and nobody cares about it.
Uh... I don't know about that. I admit that I probably should comment more in this part of the board more but I don't, since I'm afraid of my posts becoming slight variants of "Nice job", but I will admit that your writing is a bit above my level, and I envy the eloquence with which you can express, well, anything. Everything I write just becomes a horrible train wreck of a clusterfuck of conjunctions and adverbs.
But I'm just one person, and my opinion isn't enough to change anyone's mind.
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Dark... nicely written though.
Are you, by chance, going through a rough patch?
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D:
DON'T DIE ON ME
Alice? ALICE!? AAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
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Don't worry, I'm still here, and better than ever. What's done is done, and I'm not going to dwell on the past, just look ahead for a brighter future. ^w^
And now have some more character ideas!
Demi
The gatekeeper of The Abyss. He leads a small legion of demons, though he himself is under the authority of the Demon Lords. He likes to think he is very diligent, but the truth is easily distracted. He is quite lax towards his subordinates, believing he is enough to keep the gates protected, but he is usually too distracted to notice people getting in. He is very embarassed when people get past him and vows to be more careful, but he usually forgets about it very quickly. Though he is quite powerful for a normal person to fight, anybody with their own powers would find him easy to defeat.
Beelzebub
The Demon Lord of Gluttony. He lives in the garbage dump of The Abyss. He appears as a large, bloated fly demon. He is always hungry, and he mainly eats rubbish he finds and outsiders, though his hunger is rarely satisfied. His mandibles, stinger and saliva are highly venomous, regarded as one of the strongest poisons in the world. Though he is strong, he tends to overstate his abilities and thinks quite highly of himself. The other Demon Lords don't take him very seriously, something that annoys him greatly. It's often said that he is "too fat to fly", even though this is not the case. Because he has no arms, he picks up and eats things with his proboscis-like tongue. He controls poisons and toxins, mostly in the form of fumes and slime.
Valefor
The Demon Lord of Greed. He lives in the mountains of The Abyss. He appears as an insectoid demon wearing gold armour. He is very sly and scheming, and he is always trying to trick people - including the other Demon Lords - out of their belongings. Rather than devour outsiders outright, he prefers to gamble with them for their soul - though as the stakes get higher, he tends to include the person's friends and family in the gamble. None of the other Demon Lords trust him, and given his habit of trickery, it's with good reason. He can be bribed to let outsiders go in exchange for all of their wealth. He never gives away anything without getting something in return. He controls wealth and fortune, and he is able to change a person's luck as he chooses.
Belphegor
The Demon Lord of Sloth. He lives in the sea of The Abyss. He appears as an aquatic demon with an octupus-like head. He spends most of his time sleeping, letting his demonic minions take care of things for him. He becomes very angry whenever he is awoken for any reason by other people, but when he himself awakes on occasion, he is usually very apathetic and uncaring. He generally only awakens to feed himself or survey his realm, and if he is satisfied, he goes back to sleeping again. Because he lives underwater, outsiders the other Demon Lords are hesitant to approach him themselves, so his realm sees very little action. He controls the sea and the aquatic forces of his underwater kingdom.
Lilith
The Demon Lord of Lust. She lives in the crystal palace of The Abyss. She appears as a beautiful woman with an elegant gown. She is the only female Demon Lord, and all of the demons in her realm are attractive young women. She resides in her palace made of and surrounded by crystalline ice. Her demonic minions are known to seduce and overwhelm outsiders, male and female, and bring them to Lilith, who either takes their soul or makes them her slave. Though she is sophisticated and elegant, she is also very seductive and flirtatious. She and her demons are known to suck the life out of outsiders with their fangs after they seduce them. She controls lust and beauty, and she can charm others into following her orders.
Nemesis
The Demon Lord of Envy. He lives in the dark void of The Abyss. He appears as a dark mist covered in eyes and claws. He is the most mysterious of all the Demon Lords, and even the others know very little about him. His mere presence is known to fill people with dread. His realm is shrouded by shadows that can't be illuminated, and so outsiders tend to get lost there very easily. He enjoys tormenting outsiders with ominous voices and visions before devouring them. He says very little, and nobody is quite sure of his motives. He rarely emerges from his realm, and only does so for very important reasons. He seems to enjoy watching people suffer. He controls shadows and can drive a person to madness with his powers.
Asmodai
The Demon Lord of Wrath. He lives in the inferno of The Abyss. He appears as a large and monstrous demon with a cannon arm. He is very rough, rowdy, boisterous and aggressive towards others. His favourite pastime is battling his demonic minions in his realm, and for this reason it looks a lot like a battlefield. He doesn't take things very seriously, especially outsiders, and is known to laugh madly when he's amused. He enjoys drinking strong alcohol and his ability to handle it is legendary. His demonic minions are more like drinking buddies to him than servants, and as such they respect and admire him. He likes chasing outsiders through his battlefield as a sort of game. He controls explosives and has a variety of destructive weaponry in his arsenal.
Mefistoph
The Demon Lord of Pride. He lives in the ivory tower of The Abyss. He appears as a handsome man with a red suit. He is the de-facto ruler of The Abyss, having claimed power after the great war a thousand years ago. He is suave, sophisticated and charismatic, but also very sinister and inherently evil. He always considers himself before others and tends to manipulate people and events to his advantage. He is held with particular contempt by the other Demon Lords, but they grudgingly accept him as the leader in order to maintain some semblance of order. He watches over The Abyss from his luxurious tower. He carries a red book with the names of all the souls he owns, and is especially good at tempting people to gain their soul for himself. It's rumoured that he desires to conquer the overworld as well, but nobody is sure about this. He controls devilish powers and has a variety of dark and evil spells in his book of lost souls.
Abaddon
The hidden monster of The Abyss. He appears as a monstrous locust demon. Known as "the bringer of destruction", he is a powerful demon who was sealed away in the deepest pit in The Abyss. He is feared by the other Demon Lords for his destructive powers, and they never speak of his existence. Rumour has it he is the manifestation of the destruction experienced during the great war of The Abyss a thousand years ago. Though he is spoken of as a great and powerful monster, he is actually quite a manic and sporadic individual who is none too pleased about being sealed away. Despite his bitterness towards the Demon Lords, he is not really an evil person, he just thinks spreading chaos and wreaking havoc is fun. He controls destruction and ruin and is always followed by a horde of ravenous locusts.
These are the first five (not included the "intro boss") Demon Lords in an idea I had for a place called The Abyss, a hellish underworld ruled by powerful demons. Each Demon Lord oversees a seperate section of The Abyss and their own legion of demonic minions. They despise eachother and are constantly squabbling with eachother for supremacy, though some semblance of order is maintained by Mefistoph, the Demon Lord of Pride and de-facto ruler of The Abyss. I'll update it with the remaining two Demon Lords, Asmodai and Mefistoph, once I finish their bios.
Enjoy.
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WELCOME BACK TO THE LIVING *hugs*
I chuckled a bit at Nemi... And then the 5 Lords... D:
Your concepts are just brilliant.
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Updated it with the final two Demon Lords and the secret "extra boss". n_n
I'm thinking of sketching them as well. Would anybody want to see what they look like?
Also, stay tuned for the next group in this mythos, the denizens of the afterlife!
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I sure would like to see them sketched.
At a price of keeping my soul. D:
Anyways, Asmodai seems like the "nicest" one of the lot...
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Nicest? Hahah, oh no, not at all! He's nice to his minions, sure, but that's because they're all violent booze-hounds like he is. He hunts outsiders like animals when he's bored, if he doesn't blow them to smithereens outright. That and he has enough firepower in one arm to level a city block or raze a whole forest in one go. =P
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Comparing that with the others...
He still seems the "nicest" one. XD
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Fair enough, so. I guess you could say that!
Anyway, here's the first batch of the afterlife's denizens.
Requiem
The king of the Afterdark, he is the one who oversees the souls of the sinful. He comes across as cold and distant, though in actuality he is quite a nice person, far from the evil being he is often interpreted as. He seems offended by the belief that he is an evil or sinister person. He is very strict towards the souls in the Afterdark and holds little to no remorse for them. He considers them wrong-doers who deserve to be punished for their sins. He employs and is the superior of Dirge and Nocturne. Though he is the counterpart and brother of Serenade, the two rarely speak to eachother.
Nocturne
The emissary of the Afterdark, he is the one who collects the souls of the dead. He is a raven-man who is always followed by a flock of ravens, who are tasked with carrying the soul to the afterlife. He is a cool and level-headed individual who has a whimsical wit about him. He is quite fond of mortals, and since he spends a lot of time in the world of the living, he is able to see them regularly. Unlike his master, he doesn't hold sinners with contempt at all. He is totally loyal to his master and gladly does his job without question. His counterpart is Sonata.
Dirge
The ferryman of the Afterdark, he sails the souls of the sinful across the River of Sorrow. He is known as "The Glum Reaper" because of his melancholic nature. He tends to ramble on while he rows his boat, often talking about the afterlife, his job and having to work with the dead all the time. Though he is in a perpetual state of gloom, he doesn't have a problem with his job - it's just his personality. He is sympathetic to the dead souls, even though they are sinners, and doesn't judge them for their actions in life. He has very poor luck, or so he always says. His counterpart is Harmony.
These three belong to the Afterdark, the afterlife where wicked and sinful souls go. The Afterdark is a vast, almost barren land full of withered trees, gravestones, twisted landscapes, bones and pools of sinister red water. It's always night here, and the moon is always full and covered by hazy fog. However, despite what some people might expect, it isn't a place of punishment - rather, the wicked souls spend their afterlives here in a dark, dreary and miserable place with no hope of escape. Only people who really and truly repent and aren't beyond salvation can have a chance of going to the Afterlight.
Coming up next - the overseers of the Afterlight.
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Glum Reaper... Hehe... XD
These batch is definitely a lot nicer, and again, love the descriptions. :3
-
And here we go, it's the Afterlight!
Serenade
The queen of the Afterlight, she is the one who oversees the souls of the virtuous. She is a warm, loving and caring woman who is known for her grace and motherly personality. She oversees her realm fairly and tenderly and ensures there is peace and happiness for all. Unlike her brother and counterpart Requiem, She believes in giving everyone a second chance, no matter how wicked they were in life, and gladly accepts repentors from the Afterdark into her realm. She always looks at the good in people and believes it is more important than the bad. She employs and is the superior of Sonata and Harmony.
Sonata
The emissary of the Afterlight, she is the one who collects the souls of the virtuous. She is a dove-woman who is always followed by a flock of doves, who are tasked with carrying the souls to the afterlife. She is charming, whimsical and good-natured. She considers the world of the living a fascinating place and is happy that her job allows her to be there a lot. Like her mistress, she cares greatly for the souls she collects and is sad to see the wicked ones being sent to the Afterdark. She is like a daughter to her mistress. Her counterpart is Nocturne.
Harmony
The ferrywoman of the Afterlight, she sails the souls of the virtuous across the River of Joy. She is a perpetually upbeat, cheerful and optimistic person who loves her job, her friends, her co-workers and her mistress dearly. She is something of a scatterbrain, easily distracted by things and often going off into silly tangents while talking, though she means well. As she spends most of her time sailing across the river, she has a lot of time to think and tends to make strange and amusing observations. She treats Sonata like a sister. Her counterpart is Dirge.
These three belong to the Afterlight, the place where the sins of the good and virtuous go. The Afterlight is a vast, luxurious land full of shining white an golden buildings, silver trees, sparkling streams and rivers and an enormous and grandiose garden and fountain at the very centre of it all. It is always day here, and the sun always shines over the peaceful and serene landscape. Here the souls of the virtuous are "rewarded" with an afterlife of luxury, comfort and bliss. The people here can either choose to remain here for as long as they desire, or they can choose to have their souls reincarnated and returned to the world of the living to start a new life once more. Souls in the Afterdark who honestly repent have a chance to come here.
Just one more to go now - those we fall in between, the people of the Aftermid!
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... Aftermid? o_O
Sounds like limbo to me... @_@
And man... This 3... The nicest of them all, cheery, loving, good-natured... Yea~
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Yep yep. You really know how to write bios..unlike others *coughmecough*
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Taking a short break from updating the bios to flex the old poetry muscles.
Spend your days on the same track
Running ever onwards to the same finishing line
Once you start, it's over, there's no turning back
Your world is cold, listen to the beat of your dieing soul
Why do we keep on running?
We think we'll get there if we keep it fast
What's the point in keeping it up?
When nice guys always finish last
You think you see a glimmer on the horizon
Just another lie to keep you in your cage
You'll fall
You'll trip
You'll break your neck
See them laugh
See them cry
See them watch you when you die
See your world come spinning
See the end as a dead beginning
And yet you keep on running all the same
Maybe life's a chore, maybe it's just a game
We fall to pick ourselves up
We fail to make ourselves better
You can't win them all, got to choose your victories
When it matters it matters
So keep running
Running
Running
Maybe you'll get there in the end
Just keep on running, my friend
We'll always we keep on running
Maybe we will get there if we keep it fast
We'll find a point to keep it up
Nice guys don't always finish last
It's not very good, more a stream-of-conscience thingy than what I usually do, but I thought I'd try this style out anyway. Hope you like it! ^w^
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While your Poetry is probably good(hurr hurr i'm not a poetic person and a poor judge of such things), I miss your artwork. that stuff was really good. Of course i'm too lazy to backtrack through your entire thread to see if you've made any recent art things so yea.
plzdunthurtmeyoutoldmetoposthere D:
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I know, I know. I kinda miss my art as well, but unfortunately, I lack a scanner that I can use whenever I want. I only have access to one every so often, and even then it's not very easy to get to use whenever I need it. TwT
Still, thanks for commenting.
-
Did I just see a Magnus? D:
Anyways, that's so true of how the real world is...
The harsh reality. ;_;
-
And here we go, the final two characters of the afterlife, those who belong to neither the above or the below - the Aftermid.
Intermedio
The judge of the deceased souls, he is the one who decides where they go ultimately. He resides in and is the de-facto master of the Aftermid, the realm between the Afterlight and the Afterdark where the souls wait while their actions in life are examined and weighed. Souls who were totally virtuous in life go straight to the Afterlight, while souls who were totally sinful in life go straight to the Afterdark. Those who were a bit of both or somewhere in between must wait longer. Intermedio is absolutely neutral, unbiased and fair - he holds neither contempt nor sympathy for the souls he is judging and does his duty as he is supposed to.
Ilumi
The girl who oversees the Firefly Shrine, she is a gentle and enigmatic young lady. The souls of people who died before their time or in tragic circumstances are, of course, missed dearly by their families - it was her suggestion that they be allowed to come here so their memories will never fade. When a person suffers a tragic fate, their family's love allows a part of their soul to stay in the world of the living in the form of an ever-glowing firefly. In this way, they are never forgotten, and they can still be with their family in spirit. The Shrine itself borders between the world of the living and the dead, and as such no harm will come to anybody who stays there. Legend has it that it was her dying wish to have something built in rememberance of souls lost to tragedy, and her family built the Shrine to honour this last request.
The Aftermid itself is described as "the celestial waiting room". The souls of the deceased wait while their deeds in life are scrutinised and their final judgement is given. This is usually a fairly quick process - for an "ordinary" person, it might take a few hours to a day, while for a more complicated person, it could take days, weeks or even months before they are judged.
The Firefly Shrine, while not technically part of the Intermid, is not part of the Afterlight or the Afterdark, and hence it falls "in between". The souls are still judged and sent to their respective afterlife, but a special exemption is made to compensate for them being taken before their time. In this mythos, while doves are considered blissful and just and ravens are considered sombre and ominous, fireflies are considered both tragic and comforting. Because they are never to be forgotten, the souls in the Firefly Shrine never stop glowing.
Well, now that that's done, I think I'll move onto something else. Stay tuned to see just what it is. I'm also taking requests, so if somebody wants a poem or biography, feel free to message me!
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Splendid as ever.
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Did I just see a Magnus? D:
To answer you quest, Yes you did! HAI RPM!
Back on topic, lack of scanner is fail. Still, you could always resort to using a Webcam or digital camera. I did that for a while. o3o
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Alice... the characters sound awesome and I suddenly have an urge to draw them. Particularly Sonata. >w>
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Ilumi... I really like the concept of her shrine... O^O
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Alice... the characters sound awesome and I suddenly have an urge to draw them. Particularly Sonata. >w>
Aww, thank you! I would love that! I only have a vague idea what any of them look like, though, but if you really want to draw her, feel free ^w^
Ilumi... I really like the concept of her shrine... O^O
Hahah, I thought you might. ;P
Posted on: June 13, 2010, 10:36:02 AM
The birds in the sky
Do nothing but cry
When they find out why
God made them: to die.
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Darnit... But so very true.
Therefore... CRY TO YOUR FULLEST!
-
[spoiler]It was twenty years, five months, eight days, twelve minutes and fifty-two seconds ago that the world as I knew it came to an end.
I didn't know that before. But now, looking back on it, I can remember clearly that that's when it happened. Right down to the second. That's when it happened. But back then, I was like everybody else: blind, deaf and lame. Just like everyone else, I had no idea it had even happened.
Nobody understood what happened, how or why, and nobody knows when. Nobody except me. Even back then, I could still remember bits and pieces from the day - images burned into my mind, flashing and leering into the back of my eyes when I closed them.
Frames of panicked masses running and screaming; old men in greasy coats screaming about the end being nigh; the ground shuddering and cracking like an eggshell; crude black veins etching themselves across the sickly-blue sky; pieces of land and artifices, trees and office blocks, grass and roads, melting into empty holes in their space.
What I remembered most was the sight of one man losing his balance, watching his lifeless body slump to the floor, followed by another man. Then a woman. Then more and more. One by one, and soon in dozens, hundreds, thousands, the frenzied denizens hit the floor, no life in them, like someone just hit the off switch for a mass human consciousness. It was a hideous and haunting sight, the image of a mangled city block littered with lifeless human bodies. The next - the last - thing I remember is a bright green light flooding my vision, drowning me in a sea of neon green.
And that was it.
When I finally woke up, I was an empty shell. I couldn't sense anything at all. Once my sight came back I found out I was in a small room, kind of a grey-white colour, lieing upwards on a metal bed with a lamp above me playing hell with my retinas. But that came later. Right then and there, everything was dark, silent, hollow and empty.
No real memories of who I was, where I came from. All I felt, all that was in me - besides the mother of all migraines - were those images. I could see them, and they gnawed at the recesses of my mind ever since. I couldn't remember my own name, let alone anything else about myself, except those images.
It took a while before I was able to do anything, even move my arms and legs at all. My senses came back first; slowly but surely, I could make out sights, sounds, tastes, smells and feelings. Next my speech returned, though it was initially slurred and stuttering, and I had to physically force the words out most of the time. Pretty soon I was able to lift my arms and legs, then not long after I could support my own body on two feet. Eventually I managed to walk - albeit limply - and regain my main motor functions.
I don't know how long it took. Could have been days, weeks, months. Could even have been a year or two. When at last I returned to as close to my old self as I could get, they ran some tests to make sure I was alright, and then they finally let me go. Back out I went to the real world, with only a mumbling inkling that there would be nothing left for me.
Well, let me tell you, I couldn't have been more wrong on that one.
The first thing I noticed when I got out of that place was how bright the outside world was. I had forgotten about the sun and what real light was like after being in that place for so long. And then, fresh air. I can't tell you how good it felt to finally breathe it in. It was like a newborn baby taking their first breath.
Immediately after that I saw the world - the real world - for what it was really like. The trees, the sky, the grass, the clouds, the flowers. People wandered by and sat in the park, talking amongst themselves, playing, relaxing, enjoying life. How I envied their carefree nature. I wanted to be just like that.
I wondered if this was how the world looked before it ended. Still, the human mind works in mysterious ways. Even with those images scorched permanently into the backburner of my psyche, in my fascination with the world around me, it didn't take long before I completely forgot about the event at all.
Soon enough, things went back to normal. Somehow, my subconcious mind managed to keep the memories of that day at bay, and I never questioned it again. I settled down in a new house, got a job, made some friends. I started a whole new life, completely forgetting that, at some point in time, I used to be somebody else. I used to have a different life. I used to live in a different world. Somehow I forgot all that.
Somehow, I forgot what it was to exist.
It was a very strange time.
***
>> RUN_PROGRAM: GOD.EXE
>> INITIALISING
>> RUNNING_PROGRAM: GOD.EXE
HELLO.
IN THE COURSE OF YOUR MORTAL LIFE, YOU WILL BREATHE ON AVERAGE ROUGHLY 672,48,000 TIMES. EVERY WAKING MOMENT OF EVERY DAY OF YOUR LIFE IS A NEW EXPERIENCE. YOU WILL EXPERIENCE NEW SIGHTS, SOUNDS, SMELLS, TOUCHES AND TASTES, MANY OF WHICH YOU WILL BE COMPLETELY UNAWARE OF. YOU WILL MEET NEW PEOPLE. YOU WILL GROW OLD. PERHAPS YOU WILL MARRY AND PRO-CREATE AS HUMANS ARE KNOWN TO DO. YOU MAY FEEL HAPPY, ANGRY, SAD, PENSIVE, MELANCHOLIC, ENVIOUS, ENAMOURED, EMBITTERED, SCORNFUL, ECSTATIC, CONFUSED OR MAY LACK A FEELING OF EMOTION ALTOGETHER.
NONE OF THIS IS IMPORTANT.
YOU ARE HUMAN.
WELCOME TO YOUR NEW LIFE.
ENJOY YOURSELF.
>> CLOSE_PROGRAM: GOD.EXE
>> PROGRAM_CLOSED
***
People are rarely surprised when they learn I am physically female. Personally, it doesn't make a difference to me. I am neither an effeminate, elegant and graceful woman, nor am I a stubborn, brash, masculine tomboy. As far as I'm concerned, gender is an arbitrary and illusionary distinction based solely on one's physical appearance. My gender is unimportant to me. I am neither a man nor a woman, male nor female, despite what my body might say: I am a human, and that is all.
I say this because something I very quickly learned about my new life was the insistence of certain men to impose their biological obligations upon me. These men, whom I will refrain from assigning a name to, seem irreparably convinced that it is their God-given duty to pro-create and increase the human population, regardless of what their evolutionary mate thinks.
In other words, I have horny guys flirting with me a lot and it's getting very tiring, very quickly.
Let me just say that I'm not the best-looking girl in the world. Shoulder-length blonde hair, hazel eyes, average figure. Nothing special. Apparently, though, these aformentioned men take that as an invitation to come on over and hit on me as they please.
Maybe they think I'm "easy". Maybe they do it with every girl they meet.
Human nature is something I have yet to fully grasp.
***
>> RUN_PROGRAM: GOD.EXE
>> INITIALISING
>> RUNNING_PROGRAM: GOD.EXE
STOP.
CONSIDER.
ALWAYS BE WATCHING. ALWAYS BE AWARE.
STRIP AWAY THE LEVELS OF AWARENESS AND FIND THE CORE OF THE APPLE.
DELICIOUS.
>> CLOSE_PROGRAM: GOD.EXE
>> PROGRAM_CLOSED[/spoiler]
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I think the meaning escapes me, but it is a good read nonetheless.
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Great read there... I like your view on the gender binary (or the fallacy of it) in the last part. Nicely done! ^_^
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What's the purpose of life... Why are we given life...
At first I thought there was some form of alien abduction going on, then a sort of Flash Forward.
Really does make you think...
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That was a great read. Like NSFW said, it does make you think about what is life.
Really liked that apple part at the end.
Delicious.
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Oh, that's not the end. Far from it. Here's some more.
[spoiler]I used to spend a lot of my time on my computer, back when I was normal. At first it was for strictly work-related affairs. I worked as a courier for a pretry large delivery company, so having a computer was useful for tasks like keeping an inventory of stock, storing a database of customers and clients, that kind of thing. I got used to it pretty quickly. Everybody in this day and age has a computer, you see, so they're designed to be convenient and comfortable for even the most technophobic neo-Luddite.
Gradually, though, I became more and more interested in using it casually. I would come home from work and just start browsing idly, letting my fingers and mind wander as I explored whatever there was to offer. Soon I became involved in online communication. I discovered there were virtual gathering places of commerce and communication - "chatrooms" - people like me could join. I was able to talk to people from anywhere in the world, at any time I chose. The concept utterly fascinated me.
What an age I lived in.
It was about two months after my return to normalcy that I first spoke to him. I was browsing a chatroom, one of my usual online haunts, which happened to be totally empty. As I sat there, wondering if anybody intended to join, a small message appeared at the bottom of the screen.
AllTooHuman88 has joined.
It was a name I was unfamiliar with. Still, I decided, it would be best to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume the best.
MissTechno says:
hello
AllTooHuman88 says:
Hello.
MissTechno says:
are you new here?
AllTooHuman88 says:
Pardon?
MissTechno says:
I mean do you come to this chatroom often?
AllTooHuman88 says:
Oh. No, this is my first time. A friend reccomended it to me.
MissTechno says:
I see
AllTooHuman88 says:
It's a bit quiet here, isn't it? lol
MissTechno says:
I suppose it is. what does lol mean?
AllTooHuman88 says:
It means "laugh out loud". It's a slang word.
MissTechno says:
oh. sorry I'm new to online chat
AllTooHuman88 says:
Don't worry, you'll get used to it.
MissTechno says:
yeah
AllTooHuman88 says:
You have an interesting screen name.
MissTechno says:
thanks
AllTooHuman88 says:
Can I ask what it means?
MissTechno says:
I like techno music
AllTooHuman88 says:
Oh, I see. Do you have an e-mail address?
MissTechno says:
yeah
AllTooHuman88 says:
Would you like to swap adresses? Mine is zarathustra @ italk.com.
MissTechno says:
okay mine is misstechno @ italk.com
AllTooHuman88 says:
Okay, I'll add you to my contacts. I ought to get going now, though. How about we talk again sometime?
MissTechno says:
okay. see you later
AllTooHuman88 says:
lol See you later. ;)
AllTooHuman88 has left.
And that was my first meeting with him. It was by no means my last.
I signed off for the night and went to bed.
***
>> RUN_PROGRAM: GOD.EXE
>> INITIALISING
>> RUNNING_PROGRAM: GOD.EXE
IF YOU ARE READING THIS.
KNOW I AM WATCHING YOU.
I SEE ALL.
ALWAYS BE AWARE.
>> CLOSE_PROGRAM: GOD.EXE
>> PROGRAM_CLOSED[/spoiler]
-
Aaaand there is the paranoia fuel :P
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LOL, agreed with Blackhook.
This GOD.EXE... Something's not right here. XD
-
Hmmm...Me thinks there is more to this story than meets the eye.
What exactly happened on that day when man lost their memories? Who were the people conducting experiments in that strange and dead place? What exactly is GOD.EXE?
All shall be revealed. Slowly but surely, in the next chapter of; Life.Net: Humanity Program.
Or to be more precise, when Lucky updates.
-
[spoiler]It was just over a week that we had our next encounter. Every day I would visit that same chatroom, hoping he would show up. He didn't, at least until the eight day following our first meeting.
AllTooHuman88 has joined.
MissTechno says:
hi
AllTooHuman88 says:
Hello.
MissTechno says:
where were you?
AllTooHuman88 says:
I sent you an e-mail. Did you not get it?
MissTechno says:
did you?
AllTooHuman88 says:
Yes. I gave you a link to a private chatroom. Just for the two of us.
MissTechno says:
oh. sorry
AllTooHuman88 says:
Don't worry about it. lol I'll see you there, okay?
MissTechno says:
okay
AllTooHuman88 has left.
The thought of being sent an e-mail hadn't even crossed my mind. Biting my lip in answer to my simplicity, I got the link from the message and joined the private chatroom.
MissTechno has joined.
AllTooHuman88 says:
Hello again.
MissTechno says:
hi. why did you want me to come here?
AllTooHuman88 says:
I thought it would be better if we could just talk by ourselves. I'm sure there are plenty of things you're wondering.
MissTechno says:
I suppose there are
AllTooHuman88 says:
Is there anything you would like to ask me?
MissTechno says:
what's your name?
AllTooHuman88 says:
My name?
MissTechno says:
yeah. your real name
AllTooHuman88 says:
Fair enough. No harm in answering. It's Friedrich.
MissTechno says:
friedrich?
AllTooHuman88 says:
Indeed. Since you asked me, may I ask what your name is?
MissTechno says:
ave
AllTooHuman88 says:
Eve?
MissTechno says:
no ave
AllTooHuman88 says:
Oh, I see. Interesting. As in, "Ave Maria"?
MissTechno:
I guess
AllTooHuman88 says:
lol Very cool. I've never heard of anyone with that name before.
MissTechno says:
thanks
AllTooHuman88 says:
I have one other question, by the way. The real reason I invited you here was because I wanted to ask you something.
MissTechno says:
okay
AllTooHuman88 says:
Do you want to meet up some time?
The question struck me hard. I suppose that, up to this point, I hadn't considered the people I had spoken with to be, well, people. They were just names on a screen. As far as I was concerned, they didn't have any semblance of history, hobbies, jobs, family, friends...they were just people I spoke to in chatrooms, and beyond that, their existence was of no concern to me. His sudden suggestion that we meet up forced me to realise that, yes, he was a real person, and I had been presented with the opportunity to meet him.
Hesitantly, I gave my answer.
MissTechno says:
yes
AllTooHuman88 says:
Cool. I'll e-mail you the time and location, okay?
MissTechno says:
yeah sure
AllTooHuman88 says:
Okay, I ought to get going now. I'll see you there, alright?
MissTechno:
okay. see you
AllTooHuman88 says:
Bye bye.
AllTooHuman88 has left.
As I sat there at my computer, I began to wonder what lay in store for me once I met him. I signed off for the night and went to bed, all the while wondering what he would be like.
***
>> RUN_PROGRAM: GOD.EXE
>> INITIALISING
>> RUNNING_PROGRAM: GOD.EXE
THERE IS A LINE THAT NO HUMAN BEING HAS EVER PASSED.
A THRESHHOLD THAT SEPERATES MAN AND GOD.
YOU, BEING A HUMAN, HAVE NEVER PASSED THIS LINE.
WILL YOU TRY HARDER?
>> CLOSE_PROGRAM: GOD.EXE
>> PROGRAM_CLOSED[/spoiler]
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A human tries to become a god, they would lose their humanity, unless of course it was a greek god, which are all screwy when you compare them to say, Allah.
Of course a god program would be created because everything must have an answer, yet there are many unresolved.
I mean...it all sounds good, but that online chat reminds me of SWAT 4...*Shudder*
-
Of course a god program would be created because everything must have an answer, yet there are many unresolved.
You're thinking. That's what I like to see.
I mean...it all sounds good, but that online chat reminds me of SWAT 4...*Shudder*
Never played it. I just went for a generic chatroom vibe, the same reason I used "italk" instead of "Google" or "MSN" for the email. =P
-
Great work as usual! ^_^ More food for thought; I love it.
-
This is starting to remind me of my philosophical ramblings about the existence of one's self, except much better thought-out.
-
Now it's starting to give me a Matrix vibe.
Of how life seems so... Routine that you start to question things...
I like this, I really do.
-
[spoiler]This is the exciting daily life of Alice! Say hello, Alice.
<I don't know any of you.>
Today Alice is on her computer, reading the new threads on her favourite forum. People are talking about a new game, Ultraguy Odyssey 5. This makes Alice very happy!
<I have never played this game...why is it so popular?>
Alice is going to bed now. Say goodnight, Alice.
<Seriously, who are you people?>[/spoiler]
-
... THE ALICE SHOW 8D
-
That reminds me a bit of Hayate The Combat Butler and it's occasional narrator breaking the fourth wall.
And remember, Lord Of the Rings was a simple story told very well.
-
[spoiler]Alice is very bored today. Whatever could she do?
<Maybe I'll rob a bank...>
Of course! She can talk to her friends! That will cheer her up.
<I don't have any friends.>
Alice is such a loving, caring girl! She's so lucky to have so many friends!
<I'm going to go eat wet noodles and fall asleep in the bath.>[/spoiler]
-
Wet noodles... I thought they were already quite wet. XD
Though... Falling asleep in the bath sounds nice~ That is, until you become a raisin. ;P
-
[spoiler]Today Alice is eating out with her friends. The food is so good!
<I wish they'd stop arguing over such stupid things...>
Don't worry, Alice. You know your friends love eachother.
<I wonder if I could just stab them now and walk away...>[/spoiler]
-
... Stab the narrator first. XD
-
*lays on the floor, bleeding*
She already stabbed me... ow...
-
Hey, she's getting more and more mad by the post! I'm gonna hide!
But still, it is funny
-
[spoiler](http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/Picture039.jpg)
(http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c200/hidden_vampire_2005_/Picture037-1.jpg)[/spoiler]
Guess who these are.
-
Lucky and Alice?
-
Nice designs.
-
Lucky and Alice?
Spot on.
Nice designs.
Thanks. :3
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Yaaaay. I was wondering..where do those two get their nice boots from? :D
-
Yaaaay. I was wondering..where do those two get their nice boots from? :D
No idea. =P A lot of my characters have designs like that. I like the style.
Incidentally, Lucky's are metallic boots as part of his armour. Alice's are made of cloth and are more like leg-warmers.
-
What a sparkly Lucky. *o*
Very nice Alice too. :)
-
Observation
[spoiler]Birds can fly
Water can flow
Life can end
Poems can confuse[/spoiler]
-
And do they confuse, especially Emily Dickinson's works.
-
[spoiler]This is a story about a guy named Rad. Rad was awesome, and so he did awesome things.
One day, Rad was walking down the street to have sex with twenty Swedish supermodels when he was mugged by a ninja. The ninja pulled out a twenty-foot katana and told Rad he would chop his dick off if he didn't hand over all his money. Rad was awesome, though, so he glared at the ninja and the ninja melted into a bit puddle of money, which Rad put in his Manly Thong of Holding.
On the way, Rad met a homeless person. The homeless person smelled like body odour and stale [acid burst] and he asked Rad for some money. Rad, being awesome, took pity on the homeless man. He gave the poor bum all the money from his Manly Thong. The bum thanked him and vowed to follow him to the ends of the earth. Then the bum turned into a flaming jaguar and Rad rode him to the Moon and beat up Zombie Hitler because he was awesome like that. Rad thought his jaguar needed an awesome name, so he called him Rad, because Rad is the most awesome name ever.
When Rad returned to Earth - he passed through the atmosphere unharmed because he was awesome like that - he continued to ride his flaming jaguar steed down the street. Along the way he met Shaquille O'Neal and gave him a high-five and Shaq was all like, "Yo, Rad, you're so awesome, I want you to have my babies." And then Rad had hot manly sex with Shaq and they had seventy-eight awesome babies because Rad was awesome and so he had awesome sperm.
Rad then realised he was late for his sexy Swedisah appointment, and that simply wouldn't do. So he ran around the world so fast that time rewound and he high-fived Jesus on the way and stopped just outside the house where twenty naked Swedish supermodels were waiting for him. And because he was awesome, Rad had sex with them all at once, and it lasted five days, and it was so awesome (because, remember, Rad was awesome) that the girls all exploded and Rad's awesome semen destroyed the world.
But Rad was okay because he was awesome.
The End[/spoiler]
-
You're going straight to Hollywood, kid!
-
..that was certainly....Rad
-
You're going straight to Hollywood, kid!
YOUR APPROVAL FILLS ME WITH AWESOME SEMEN JOY.
..that was certainly....Rad
YOUR APPROVAL FILLS ME WITH SHAME.
-
That's probably one of the most
funny ridiculous awesome things I've read. It's almost as awesome as Rad.
-
Almost as awesome, but not quite.
-
Nothing is as awesome as Rad
-
That's probably one of the most funny ridiculous awesome things I've read. It's almost as awesome as Rad.
YOU FOOL. NOTHING CAN BE AS AWESOME AS RAD.
ACCEPT YOUR PRIZE.
[spoiler]This is a story about an average guy named Irgy. Irgy was average and so he did average things.
One day, Irgy got hepatitis and died.
The End[/spoiler]
-
...Cruel
-
Now that was a short story.
-
ACCEPT YOUR PRIZE.
[spoiler]This is a story about an average guy named Irgy. Irgy was average and so he did average things.
One day, Irgy got hepatitis and died.
The End[/spoiler]
WAT
AH THATS OK, I STILL LOVE YOU
-
Amazing. I have to tell you how great it is, squeezing life so short.
I still think your a bit icky though.
-
WAT
AH THATS OK, I STILL LOVE YOU
SO DO I.
I WOULD ASK YOU TO SLEEP WITH ME BUT YOU HAVE HEPATITIS.
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
-
...What have you been smoking/drinking ?
-
...What have you been smoking/drinking ?
NOTHING. I ABSTAIN FROM VICE.
I AM A GOOD BOY.
-
...So you´re High from life?
-
...What have you been smoking/drinking ?
WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? CANT YOU SEE THE BURNING LOVE BETWEEN ME AND NICK?
I'll stop caps now
-
...So you´re High from life?
YES.
WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? CANT YOU SEE THE BURNING LOVE BETWEEN ME AND NICK?
I'll stop caps now
Get back in bed, you.
-
...I´m not into such things....STOP MAKING ME START MY SENTENCES WITH (...) !
-
And why was I not invited to the love fest?
-
SEXY PARTY AT LUCKY'S PLACE.
EVERYONE IS INVITED.
-
ORGY TIME!
-
...only if there are girls there
-
What, you don't want a sausage fest?
-
...certainly not
-
You dishonour us, Blackhook.
-
...certainly not
I agree, I'll just stay here and think straight thoughts.
-
Straight thoughts are for queers.
-
Straight thoughts are for queers.
WE HAVE A WINNER.
-
So that means you have straight thoughts, yet is sexually gay?
What is love. Does not compute.*head explodes*
-
What is a man?
-
[spoiler]This is a story about an average guy named Irgy. Irgy was average and so he did average things.
One day, Irgy got hepatitis and died.
The End[/spoiler]
I lol'd.
And did someone say "sausage fest"? COUNT ME IN!
-
What is a man?
A miserable pile of secrets! *goblet smash* But enough talk, have at you!
-
May I join in this manly lovefest? I brought creampuuuffs!~ <3
PS: Loved the story by the way.
-
I'd ask for one, but you already did. At least, for my character. And it was a surprise! ^.^
-
XD Those stories just had me giggling. Good thing I wasn't drinking anything.
-
Yeah, that was-wait a minute, that was a yurifest. Now disguise yourself before the others realize there is a maiden among our midst...this sausage suit should do the trick. *Mirby aquires the sausage suit of magical wisdom.*
Now then, creampuff?
-
HEY! I DON'T WANT THIS!! I already have one I don't want...
-
God of the Forsaken Machines
[spoiler]This is my engine
This is my heart
Turn them on
To make me start
This is my hand and
This is my soul
Without them
The world is cold[/spoiler]
Posted on: July 30, 2010, 12:24:35 AM
Somebody please give me something to write about. D:
-
Can you write a song? :3
-
I can write a weird poem and you can pretend it's a song. :U
-
I'm too damn lazy to post them seperately, so here's a folder of new pics.
http://grooveguy.deviantart.com/gallery/#Horror
Posted on: August 19, 2010, 04:52:47 PM
The Beginning of the End
[spoiler]Let us no longer pretend
For this is no longer the beginning
But the beginning of the end
Ghosts of the pasts will arise
The noble will take pleasure in sinning
By the monster and its joyful guise
Do not stand, for soon comes the fall
And just when it seems like you are winning
The end comes to destroy us all[/spoiler]
An allegory, perhaps.
-
Screw the end, it won´t be able to erase my smile
-
Nice rhyme scheme.
-
All-truism
[spoiler]Try to imagine yourself
Not of this world, but perhaps
Elswhere in a far-away place
Imagine this, then consider
Do you know what I say?
Do you hear what I mean?
Can you face me now?
Or are you of a paler shape?
Conflict without arms
Judgement without scorn
Feelings without form
Calling without words
Understand what I will
Teach you, lest you forget
Why I have done this for you
We will craft the world anew
We will make things once more
We will build them up again
You and I
You and I[/spoiler]
-
Your poems are so full of meanings.
I really enjoy reading them.
And that Rad story a while back?
Awesome.