Collected writings, thoughts, and grumblings
- Thread starter Joker
- Start date
Joker
We have come to terms
- AKA
- Godot
She took a sip of her drink. It was strong, smooth…just what she needed to help unwind. It’d been a long day and, from the way the idiots in the corner of the common room were going on, it was shaping up to be a long night, as well.
The acrid smell of smoke filled the air, mixed with the spilled, often stale alcohol and the odor of unwashed laborers stopping by for a drink at the inn; as always, the innkeeper wasn’t picky about his clientele. Of course, The White Lion was like any other inn in any other town - filled with rowdy, boisterous townsfolk celebrating their windfall, lamenting their sorrows, or, in some cases, mustering their courage to face their wives at home. It had its fair share of shady business as well - Jyaco the Rat plying his dubious wares; Elenora and her cadre of “problem-solvers”; Dargen’s information selling. The inkeeper, a plump fellow by the name of Edrick, profited from their presence in his establishment, naturally; otherwise, as he’d once confided, he’d have given the lot of them the boot ages ago when first they darkened his doorstep. But they brought business in, and that business kept his house fed and the inn running smoothly, so how could he complain?
She could hear one of the local buffoons boasting about how he had felled an immense wild boar three nights ago. She rolled her eye; the boar he described was well-known in the area for being exceptionally savage and impossible to kill, and she knew the man to be lying because she had dealt with the beast herself a fortnight ago. It turned out that while it was quite strong and had tusks long and deadly, her spear was deadlier still.
She was Lethe - or ‘Lethe the Cyclops’, as had become her trade name (much to her displeasure) - and she was a mercenary for hire.
This tiny corner of the Chavarri Empire, though, was lacking in jobs for a person of her qualifications, and it was high time she moved on. There was usually better work, in both pay and job satisfaction, nearer to the capital, and so, Lethe had decided, she would move on in the morning - Arvada was only a few days’ walk away, and the local garrison almost always had work of some kind.
She stretched, stifling a yawn, the catch on her armor clinking slightly, the leather creaking. Maybe she’d take the long way to Arvada - Nairn wasn’t too far out of the way and a nice, long soak in the hot springs sounded incredible. She didn’t believe in creature comforts much, but the hot springs…now there was something she could put stock in. The delicious heat of the water, the fragant scent of the gardens…it was the closest thing to heaven she could imagine. Not that she believed in that sort of thing.
Not anymore.
In the fourteen years since she’d found herself huddling amidst the straw in the corner of a barn, without any idea of who she was or how she’d gotten there, she’d learned two very important lessons about life.
One, that the world was a cruel, unforgiving place, where you could trust no one any more than you would a wolf among sheep. Everyone was out to get someone, and the only one you could ever rely on was yourself. A cold and bitterly lonely existence, but better than an early death, in her estimation.
This small consolation did not help keep her warm at night, or sleep any better. She did her best to keep those feelings at bay, but sometimes - at night, when the fire was low, the stars were twinkling, and the moon her only companion - the loneliness would well up inside until she was fit to burst, a piercing, keening cry of despair that none would ever hear escaping her lips.
That was when the nightmares would come back.
The other, simpler lesson, was that the strong preyed upon the weak, and only the strong survive. With only herself to depend upon, the outcome was obvious.
Mmm, time to get some sleep. A long way to go tomorrow, and this place is getting too crowded, anyw-
"Hey there, honey!" came a shout, breaking into her reverie. Three of the inn’s more drunken patrons had come to pay her a visit, crowding in close around her. Given that they were armed and were sporting identical tattoos on their upper arms, they were most likely part of one of the handful of mercenary guilds in the area. "Care to join us for a little fuuun?”
Lethe rolled her eye. One of them always managed to crawl out of the woodwork before she had a chance to disappear. She turned to face the man, who ran a hand through his wild mane of hair as he affected what he seemed to think was an enticing air. When he caught her looking him over, he leered, displaying a grin missing several teeth. “I’ll pass,” she said simply.
"Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that! I’ll treat you real nice; might even have a go twice if you ask nice!" he drawled, eyeing her like a prize horse at market.
"I think the question is," Lethe replied acidly, "whether I’d get anything out of it."
The man on his left, sporting a wild ponytail and twin, wicked-looking daggers, cackled. “Shot down!” he crowed, slapping his friend on the back. “Tough luck!” The wild-maned front man scowled.
The man on his right, however, whose face was not at all improved by the ugly scar running from hairline to chin, leaned in closer to Lethe. “You’d probably better do as he asks,” he said, his voice a low, threatening hiss, “if you know what’s good for you.”
"What’s best for me?" she asked incredulously. She turned around in her seat entirely now, facing away from the bar. "Gentlemen - and I use the term loosely - do you see what’s sitting here right next to me?" she asked, giving her spear, Basilisk, a loving pat. Ponytail eyed it speculatively, while Scar ignored it entirely.
"You threatening us?” His voice was icy now, all business. Lethe could see she’d wounded his pride; he wasn’t the type to let such a slight go freely. And that was perfectly fine by her.
"Guys?" said Ponytail, his eyes flickering from the spear's inky black, razor-sharp head to the red eyepatch covering Lethe’s left eye, dawning recognition widening his eyes. "I don’t think this is a good idea…"
"You should listen to your friend," Lethe said, nodding toward him. "You’ll regret it if you don’t." She moved to turn back to finish her drink. The one in the middle, the would be lover-boy, snapped.
"Listen, lady!" he shouted, one hand going to the weapon at his side, the other reaching for Lethe’s shoulder to turn her back around, "I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but we call the shots around he-“
He never got to finish that sentence; the instant his hand had touched her left shoulder, Lethe had spun to her right, catching the offending hand in her own. It was with an almost bored expression that she crushed the hand as though it were but a piece of paper, crumpled before being discarded. The ugly cracking sound brought silence to the room, before a piercing shriek of pain rent the air.
"I did warn you…”
"Oh, that’s it! You’re dead, you little bitch!” Scar had finally had enough; between the affront to his manhood and the evaporation of the prospect of a good night’s pleasure, he was quite through. His axe in hand, there was nothing but murder in his eyes.
Or rather, there was, until it was joined by Basilisk's tip the instant he drew his arms back to swing. His body fell the the floor with a loud clunk, the axe sliding across the ground before coming to a stop at the innkeeper’s foot as he returned from taking food up to one of the rooms.
Edrick’s eyes slowly moved from the axe at his foot, to the dead man on the floor, to the still howling would-be assailant.
"…do you take some kind of perverse pleasure in driving away my customers?" he asked, fixing Lethe with a withering stare.
"Only when they lay hands on me," came her reply, as she pulled Basilisk from the still-twitching corpse, wiping the blood on the dead man's clothing.
Edrick sighed. “Fair enough.”
"Just give them all a round on these three - well, two. This one was smart enough to back away," she said, nodding at Ponytail.
Ponytail had been staring at Scar’s limp form before Lethe’s words snapped him out of his stupor. “I…uh…bye,” he stammered, before hightailing it out of the inn.
There was another short silence, the only sound breaking it the whimpers and moans of the grabhands on the floor; then, as quickly as the fight had started, everyone turned back to their drinks and the common room was filled again with sound.
Lethe moved back to her own drink, downing it in one before drawing her cloak more closely around her. As she headed to leave, Edrick shouted at her, “What, you’re not even going to help clean up this mess you’ve made?”
She turned, her one eye staring straight into his for the briefest of moments before digging into the purse at her waist. “Here,” she said, tossing him a shiny sovereign, ten times what her drink had cost, before turning back to leave.
"For the mess."
The acrid smell of smoke filled the air, mixed with the spilled, often stale alcohol and the odor of unwashed laborers stopping by for a drink at the inn; as always, the innkeeper wasn’t picky about his clientele. Of course, The White Lion was like any other inn in any other town - filled with rowdy, boisterous townsfolk celebrating their windfall, lamenting their sorrows, or, in some cases, mustering their courage to face their wives at home. It had its fair share of shady business as well - Jyaco the Rat plying his dubious wares; Elenora and her cadre of “problem-solvers”; Dargen’s information selling. The inkeeper, a plump fellow by the name of Edrick, profited from their presence in his establishment, naturally; otherwise, as he’d once confided, he’d have given the lot of them the boot ages ago when first they darkened his doorstep. But they brought business in, and that business kept his house fed and the inn running smoothly, so how could he complain?
She could hear one of the local buffoons boasting about how he had felled an immense wild boar three nights ago. She rolled her eye; the boar he described was well-known in the area for being exceptionally savage and impossible to kill, and she knew the man to be lying because she had dealt with the beast herself a fortnight ago. It turned out that while it was quite strong and had tusks long and deadly, her spear was deadlier still.
She was Lethe - or ‘Lethe the Cyclops’, as had become her trade name (much to her displeasure) - and she was a mercenary for hire.
This tiny corner of the Chavarri Empire, though, was lacking in jobs for a person of her qualifications, and it was high time she moved on. There was usually better work, in both pay and job satisfaction, nearer to the capital, and so, Lethe had decided, she would move on in the morning - Arvada was only a few days’ walk away, and the local garrison almost always had work of some kind.
She stretched, stifling a yawn, the catch on her armor clinking slightly, the leather creaking. Maybe she’d take the long way to Arvada - Nairn wasn’t too far out of the way and a nice, long soak in the hot springs sounded incredible. She didn’t believe in creature comforts much, but the hot springs…now there was something she could put stock in. The delicious heat of the water, the fragant scent of the gardens…it was the closest thing to heaven she could imagine. Not that she believed in that sort of thing.
Not anymore.
In the fourteen years since she’d found herself huddling amidst the straw in the corner of a barn, without any idea of who she was or how she’d gotten there, she’d learned two very important lessons about life.
One, that the world was a cruel, unforgiving place, where you could trust no one any more than you would a wolf among sheep. Everyone was out to get someone, and the only one you could ever rely on was yourself. A cold and bitterly lonely existence, but better than an early death, in her estimation.
This small consolation did not help keep her warm at night, or sleep any better. She did her best to keep those feelings at bay, but sometimes - at night, when the fire was low, the stars were twinkling, and the moon her only companion - the loneliness would well up inside until she was fit to burst, a piercing, keening cry of despair that none would ever hear escaping her lips.
That was when the nightmares would come back.
The other, simpler lesson, was that the strong preyed upon the weak, and only the strong survive. With only herself to depend upon, the outcome was obvious.
Mmm, time to get some sleep. A long way to go tomorrow, and this place is getting too crowded, anyw-
"Hey there, honey!" came a shout, breaking into her reverie. Three of the inn’s more drunken patrons had come to pay her a visit, crowding in close around her. Given that they were armed and were sporting identical tattoos on their upper arms, they were most likely part of one of the handful of mercenary guilds in the area. "Care to join us for a little fuuun?”
Lethe rolled her eye. One of them always managed to crawl out of the woodwork before she had a chance to disappear. She turned to face the man, who ran a hand through his wild mane of hair as he affected what he seemed to think was an enticing air. When he caught her looking him over, he leered, displaying a grin missing several teeth. “I’ll pass,” she said simply.
"Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that! I’ll treat you real nice; might even have a go twice if you ask nice!" he drawled, eyeing her like a prize horse at market.
"I think the question is," Lethe replied acidly, "whether I’d get anything out of it."
The man on his left, sporting a wild ponytail and twin, wicked-looking daggers, cackled. “Shot down!” he crowed, slapping his friend on the back. “Tough luck!” The wild-maned front man scowled.
The man on his right, however, whose face was not at all improved by the ugly scar running from hairline to chin, leaned in closer to Lethe. “You’d probably better do as he asks,” he said, his voice a low, threatening hiss, “if you know what’s good for you.”
"What’s best for me?" she asked incredulously. She turned around in her seat entirely now, facing away from the bar. "Gentlemen - and I use the term loosely - do you see what’s sitting here right next to me?" she asked, giving her spear, Basilisk, a loving pat. Ponytail eyed it speculatively, while Scar ignored it entirely.
"You threatening us?” His voice was icy now, all business. Lethe could see she’d wounded his pride; he wasn’t the type to let such a slight go freely. And that was perfectly fine by her.
"Guys?" said Ponytail, his eyes flickering from the spear's inky black, razor-sharp head to the red eyepatch covering Lethe’s left eye, dawning recognition widening his eyes. "I don’t think this is a good idea…"
"You should listen to your friend," Lethe said, nodding toward him. "You’ll regret it if you don’t." She moved to turn back to finish her drink. The one in the middle, the would be lover-boy, snapped.
"Listen, lady!" he shouted, one hand going to the weapon at his side, the other reaching for Lethe’s shoulder to turn her back around, "I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but we call the shots around he-“
He never got to finish that sentence; the instant his hand had touched her left shoulder, Lethe had spun to her right, catching the offending hand in her own. It was with an almost bored expression that she crushed the hand as though it were but a piece of paper, crumpled before being discarded. The ugly cracking sound brought silence to the room, before a piercing shriek of pain rent the air.
"I did warn you…”
"Oh, that’s it! You’re dead, you little bitch!” Scar had finally had enough; between the affront to his manhood and the evaporation of the prospect of a good night’s pleasure, he was quite through. His axe in hand, there was nothing but murder in his eyes.
Or rather, there was, until it was joined by Basilisk's tip the instant he drew his arms back to swing. His body fell the the floor with a loud clunk, the axe sliding across the ground before coming to a stop at the innkeeper’s foot as he returned from taking food up to one of the rooms.
Edrick’s eyes slowly moved from the axe at his foot, to the dead man on the floor, to the still howling would-be assailant.
"…do you take some kind of perverse pleasure in driving away my customers?" he asked, fixing Lethe with a withering stare.
"Only when they lay hands on me," came her reply, as she pulled Basilisk from the still-twitching corpse, wiping the blood on the dead man's clothing.
Edrick sighed. “Fair enough.”
"Just give them all a round on these three - well, two. This one was smart enough to back away," she said, nodding at Ponytail.
Ponytail had been staring at Scar’s limp form before Lethe’s words snapped him out of his stupor. “I…uh…bye,” he stammered, before hightailing it out of the inn.
There was another short silence, the only sound breaking it the whimpers and moans of the grabhands on the floor; then, as quickly as the fight had started, everyone turned back to their drinks and the common room was filled again with sound.
Lethe moved back to her own drink, downing it in one before drawing her cloak more closely around her. As she headed to leave, Edrick shouted at her, “What, you’re not even going to help clean up this mess you’ve made?”
She turned, her one eye staring straight into his for the briefest of moments before digging into the purse at her waist. “Here,” she said, tossing him a shiny sovereign, ten times what her drink had cost, before turning back to leave.
"For the mess."
Cabaret
Donator
Cool story, it's very easy to read and you're great at painting an atmosphere while keeping the pace flowing fast. There seems to be some inconsistencies in the tone/word choice. Sometimes you use beautifully original phrasing then throw in a clichéd expression which sort of made a ripple in the road for me as a reader, like 'wolf amongst sheep' / 'until she was fit to burst'.
I like how you handled the action in it and naming the unnamed characters, it's hard to write fights imo.
Is it a fan fiction or original? You set everything up that was essential if it is an original, except perhaps main character's reasons for moving on beyond a job - you set the scene that she has a forgotten past and has lost hope, but I think more could have been made of this. Like she wants to move on to not stand out as much by being in a crowd or that she's moving on to distract herself from the loneliness - personal preference here, I tend to milk it a bit more than you do!
Thanks for posting, it's good to read a bedtime story, she'd be my kinda woman - fucked up and bad for me!
I like how you handled the action in it and naming the unnamed characters, it's hard to write fights imo.
Is it a fan fiction or original? You set everything up that was essential if it is an original, except perhaps main character's reasons for moving on beyond a job - you set the scene that she has a forgotten past and has lost hope, but I think more could have been made of this. Like she wants to move on to not stand out as much by being in a crowd or that she's moving on to distract herself from the loneliness - personal preference here, I tend to milk it a bit more than you do!
Thanks for posting, it's good to read a bedtime story, she'd be my kinda woman - fucked up and bad for me!
Joker
We have come to terms
- AKA
- Godot
Thank you for the kind words!
It's entirely original; I've been kicking around ideas for a proper full-length original story for years, which I originally wanted to adapt into a game by trying to sell the story to SE or something This was intended to be just sort of a one-shot introduction to one of the main characters, although you do make some really good points, particularly about her motivations, which I really need to flesh out a bit better in the main story.
I did a sort of prologue/first chapter a really long time ago, but I feel like I need to go back and rewrite it because it's just kinda meh, and I've made a lot of changes to things since then. My planned second one-shot was for another character who originally started out as a male sheriff-type person and ended up being a female naval officer
It's entirely original; I've been kicking around ideas for a proper full-length original story for years, which I originally wanted to adapt into a game by trying to sell the story to SE or something
This was intended to be just sort of a one-shot introduction to one of the main characters, although you do make some really good points, particularly about her motivations, which I really need to flesh out a bit better in the main story.I did a sort of prologue/first chapter a really long time ago, but I feel like I need to go back and rewrite it because it's just kinda meh, and I've made a lot of changes to things since then. My planned second one-shot was for another character who originally started out as a male sheriff-type person and ended up being a female naval officer
Joker
We have come to terms
- AKA
- Godot
So I don't really have internet access anymore beyond the here and there chances I get when I'm at someone else's place (this makes the fourth time in about a month?); I was digging through a box of stuff and I came across my old FFVII walkthrough/guide/FAQ that I started writing back in 2001 or 2002 when I was a junior in high school (I think I finished it senior year?). It's all hand-written in a notebook, but I was wondering if there might be any interest in seeing it?
Obv I'd have to type it up, but that's not any big deal. I've got tons of notes in the margins and stuff, too, and quotes from the game that I thought were interesting and all kinds of stuff.
Obv I'd have to type it up, but that's not any big deal. I've got tons of notes in the margins and stuff, too, and quotes from the game that I thought were interesting and all kinds of stuff.
Claymore
3x3 Eyes
. I mean, can't get more vintage than hand-written notes.
Joker
We have come to terms
- AKA
- Godot
Took me a while to find this. Probably for the best, though, given how little I've had to put into it.
But here, once again, do I find myself, late at night (or early in the morning), awake and with thoughts of natures various running amok within the terrible place that is my mind.
Lately, I've been feeling as though my job isn't exactly...satisfying. I go in, I do things, I have a few laughs with whoever I'm working with, and I come home. I pop onto FFXIV for a bit - sometimes something else, like Fallout or Bloodborne - and I sleep. Little else happens or goes on in my life, whether for good or ill. And I sit, and I think, and I imagine. I wonder. And I feel like, no matter how much or how little they aim to push me down the path to management, I'm just not the managing type. I'm too...mmm, relaxed? Laid-back, more like. What will be, will be. And more to the point, I firmly believe that in order to earn the respect of one's subordinates, one must show them that they aren't unwilling ("above") doing the same duties and tasks that one might as of them. Apparently, this is bad management.
But I digress.
What this has led me to is the conclusion that I'm really just...not going to be happy with employment of any kind that isn't just as independent as I myself am, be it owning my own business, or more seriously pursuing this author thing, which is what my soul burns for so much that it aches.
Which brings us to now.
For my fantasy work - which still needs a name, by the way, so feel free to hit me with ideas! - I've concocted a delightful, slightly pre-industrial fantasy setting (think something like Fullmetal Alchemist) where science has come to the forefront and magic is slowly being forgotten - much like the two mysterious civilizations that disappeared a thousand years prior in a great war that involved all three of the realms (think heaven, hell, and Earth - or that weird shit they do in comic books with the gods, or Fate from DC!).
In it, we find a cast of characters who, like all artistic forms of representation, bear the very soul of their creator (in this case, me - I couldn't find any virgins to sacrifice to use theirs instead). While they each have their own stories, personalities, hopes, dreams, and motivations, they are all brought and bound together by events that will shake the world to its very core.
But, most important of all, I think, is one of the basic ideas I'll be putting forth in this for the reader's (or, if I can get it made into a game LIKE I WOULD LIKE because I have a million ideas for game systems for an awesome RPG) consideration: that within every person there is a monster - it is only a question of how far they have to be pushed to see it emerge.
And I thought to myself (jokingly), "here there be monsters", and so I googled it for an exact quote. As it turns out, searching for a line from PotC comes with some interesting search results, most interestingly (for the purposes of this thematic discourse) the following:
"Monsters are tragic beings. They are born too tall, too strong, too heavy. They are not evil by choice. That is their tragedy." --Ishiro Honda
Words to think about (particularly the last half).
But here, once again, do I find myself, late at night (or early in the morning), awake and with thoughts of natures various running amok within the terrible place that is my mind.
Lately, I've been feeling as though my job isn't exactly...satisfying. I go in, I do things, I have a few laughs with whoever I'm working with, and I come home. I pop onto FFXIV for a bit - sometimes something else, like Fallout or Bloodborne - and I sleep. Little else happens or goes on in my life, whether for good or ill. And I sit, and I think, and I imagine. I wonder. And I feel like, no matter how much or how little they aim to push me down the path to management, I'm just not the managing type. I'm too...mmm, relaxed? Laid-back, more like. What will be, will be. And more to the point, I firmly believe that in order to earn the respect of one's subordinates, one must show them that they aren't unwilling ("above") doing the same duties and tasks that one might as of them. Apparently, this is bad management.
But I digress.
What this has led me to is the conclusion that I'm really just...not going to be happy with employment of any kind that isn't just as independent as I myself am, be it owning my own business, or more seriously pursuing this author thing, which is what my soul burns for so much that it aches.
Which brings us to now.
For my fantasy work - which still needs a name, by the way, so feel free to hit me with ideas! - I've concocted a delightful, slightly pre-industrial fantasy setting (think something like Fullmetal Alchemist) where science has come to the forefront and magic is slowly being forgotten - much like the two mysterious civilizations that disappeared a thousand years prior in a great war that involved all three of the realms (think heaven, hell, and Earth - or that weird shit they do in comic books with the gods, or Fate from DC!).
In it, we find a cast of characters who, like all artistic forms of representation, bear the very soul of their creator (in this case, me - I couldn't find any virgins to sacrifice to use theirs instead). While they each have their own stories, personalities, hopes, dreams, and motivations, they are all brought and bound together by events that will shake the world to its very core.
But, most important of all, I think, is one of the basic ideas I'll be putting forth in this for the reader's (or, if I can get it made into a game LIKE I WOULD LIKE because I have a million ideas for game systems for an awesome RPG) consideration: that within every person there is a monster - it is only a question of how far they have to be pushed to see it emerge.
And I thought to myself (jokingly), "here there be monsters", and so I googled it for an exact quote. As it turns out, searching for a line from PotC comes with some interesting search results, most interestingly (for the purposes of this thematic discourse) the following:
"Monsters are tragic beings. They are born too tall, too strong, too heavy. They are not evil by choice. That is their tragedy." --Ishiro Honda
Words to think about (particularly the last half).
RedFFWolf
Donator
That's a good quote on monsters - monsters by definition, and though the quote suggests an inherent evil, it does not necessitate it [or, who knows, maybe he intended to]. I also like the one I came across years ago of "Monsters aren't born, they are made" - which can still lead into there being a monster within us all.
Have any plans yet on how you'll develop the monster within all people - and by "developing" in this question I mean from a literary standpoint. Is it that all people simply will have the potential before, as you say, they are pushed to have it emerge - in another way, a bit like a tabula rasa (or, the nurture side of "nature vs nurture")? Or are all people born with innate qualities (or, singular) that are defined as "monstrous" (or, in another way, the nature side)? And, for both cases, that no one can escape either? (Basically, I'm asking what your thoughts are on how there is a monster within us all - about the nature of the human being)
Or, better yet, forget my not-so-well-phrased questions above
The idea that there are monsters within us all: Is this all going to come from your own ideas, or are you going to compromise your own beliefs/ideas for the sake of the story (as for how you plan on putting this message across, regardless of how subtle or blatant)?
On a side note, I know your feelings on work. If anything, we're on a bit of a parallel right now with trying to make something of our ambitions and overcome the dreariness of work. I wish you all the best moving ahead. Only last week I properly began on my original novel, and it was such a wonderful feeling. Hope you felt the same if you've already begun, or will feel it too whenever you get around to it
Have any plans yet on how you'll develop the monster within all people - and by "developing" in this question I mean from a literary standpoint. Is it that all people simply will have the potential before, as you say, they are pushed to have it emerge - in another way, a bit like a tabula rasa (or, the nurture side of "nature vs nurture")? Or are all people born with innate qualities (or, singular) that are defined as "monstrous" (or, in another way, the nature side)? And, for both cases, that no one can escape either? (Basically, I'm asking what your thoughts are on how there is a monster within us all - about the nature of the human being)
Or, better yet, forget my not-so-well-phrased questions above
The idea that there are monsters within us all: Is this all going to come from your own ideas, or are you going to compromise your own beliefs/ideas for the sake of the story (as for how you plan on putting this message across, regardless of how subtle or blatant)?
On a side note, I know your feelings on work. If anything, we're on a bit of a parallel right now with trying to make something of our ambitions and overcome the dreariness of work. I wish you all the best moving ahead. Only last week I properly began on my original novel, and it was such a wonderful feeling. Hope you felt the same if you've already begun, or will feel it too whenever you get around to it
Joker
We have come to terms
- AKA
- Godot
Okay, so a few weeks ago, I started smashing keys and this happened. It's a prologue - and completely WIP and UNFINISHED (emphasis UN FUCKING FINISHED) - but I thought I'd put it here because idk I just fucking did fuck you
it's not very long, either
it's not very long, either
It was raining that day, too...
The raindrops beat out their staccato tune against the tempered glass of the train car. The sun, having just crested the horizon, set the visible evening sky ablaze, a deep, violent red-orange - starkly contrasting with the deepening blue of the clouds as the storm began to roll through the countryside. A young man, dozing lightly, dreamt of another time and place, a captive of the rain's soothing sounds and the constant vibration of the train as it steadily tooled along toward its destination. He was tired, worn, and in more ways than one. He'd spent the day searching the imperial capital on foot, and had no success. As the day went on, a certain desperation crept into his being, dogging his movements and his speech, until at last, exhausted, he'd been forced to admit defeat and retreat to the train station, catching a train back to his little hometown, his spirit just a little more broken than it had been the day before.
Such was the life of Maes Lezeth these past few years - day after day of slowly encroaching despair, each just a little worse than the day before, with no apparent end in sight, and no hope for reprieve.
Yet still he struggled on...for what else could he do?
Maes' head slumped a bit with the movement of the train as the tracks bent around the end of a mountain range. To look at, sleeping there? He was so peaceful. So carefree.
Four years ago, a strange disease had begun infecting the populace of the continent of Arkette. At first, it was just through to be nothing serious; a cough, perhaps a mild form of the flu - nothing more. But those who developed this cough never got better. Which wouldn't be so terrible on its own, were it not caused by a slow, almost literal calcification of the body, starting with the lungs. This bizarre malady began to be called "stonerot", for its victims were, in essence, being slowly, painfully petrified from the inside out. Most sufferers could easily be identified by the patches of stony scales on their skin, rock-hard and completely unfeeling. Many thought the worst of it was when the rot would take something - an eye, perhaps, an ear, a tongue. Rarely, the rot would spread to the heart or brain, killing its helpless victim. But truly, the most horrible part of it, at least as far as Maes was concerned, didn't even involve suffering from this debilitating curse of a disease. Oh, no.
It was watching someone you love slowly die an agonizingly painful death.
It was only being able to look on as their body began to fail, and you, utterly helpless, had to come to accept there was nothing you could do - for there hadn't been any cure found. Doctors, alchemists, what magi remained - all were powerless in the face of this terrible plague.
The raindrops beat out their staccato tune against the tempered glass of the train car. The sun, having just crested the horizon, set the visible evening sky ablaze, a deep, violent red-orange - starkly contrasting with the deepening blue of the clouds as the storm began to roll through the countryside. A young man, dozing lightly, dreamt of another time and place, a captive of the rain's soothing sounds and the constant vibration of the train as it steadily tooled along toward its destination. He was tired, worn, and in more ways than one. He'd spent the day searching the imperial capital on foot, and had no success. As the day went on, a certain desperation crept into his being, dogging his movements and his speech, until at last, exhausted, he'd been forced to admit defeat and retreat to the train station, catching a train back to his little hometown, his spirit just a little more broken than it had been the day before.
Such was the life of Maes Lezeth these past few years - day after day of slowly encroaching despair, each just a little worse than the day before, with no apparent end in sight, and no hope for reprieve.
Yet still he struggled on...for what else could he do?
Maes' head slumped a bit with the movement of the train as the tracks bent around the end of a mountain range. To look at, sleeping there? He was so peaceful. So carefree.
Four years ago, a strange disease had begun infecting the populace of the continent of Arkette. At first, it was just through to be nothing serious; a cough, perhaps a mild form of the flu - nothing more. But those who developed this cough never got better. Which wouldn't be so terrible on its own, were it not caused by a slow, almost literal calcification of the body, starting with the lungs. This bizarre malady began to be called "stonerot", for its victims were, in essence, being slowly, painfully petrified from the inside out. Most sufferers could easily be identified by the patches of stony scales on their skin, rock-hard and completely unfeeling. Many thought the worst of it was when the rot would take something - an eye, perhaps, an ear, a tongue. Rarely, the rot would spread to the heart or brain, killing its helpless victim. But truly, the most horrible part of it, at least as far as Maes was concerned, didn't even involve suffering from this debilitating curse of a disease. Oh, no.
It was watching someone you love slowly die an agonizingly painful death.
It was only being able to look on as their body began to fail, and you, utterly helpless, had to come to accept there was nothing you could do - for there hadn't been any cure found. Doctors, alchemists, what magi remained - all were powerless in the face of this terrible plague.
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