Writting Stories...

[Lord_Tarren]

Is a pain. I hate it. But how can I not? I can make increadble stories... The frustrating this is... I just can't write them... well. But I've never finished a story because my writting never seems to be up to snuff so I quit.

I write stories with dark plots and disturbing content. I use extreme gore and use psychology to prey on characters emotions. I set up twisting complicated plots that take years to unfold, and intervene... And I create awesome monsters.

But I can't write for the life of me... which is a shame.

I even draw my ideas... I drew a picture of one of my gods in the story I want to make now... Cthulhu. Real origonal I know... But I had this awesome idea... Theres a castle city... And one day its cloudy. A giant eye opens up in the clouds stareing into the city... And everyone is like: omg. From the clouds as far as the eye can see tenticles emerge... and like toy objects Cthulhu - the sky god destroys everything. Just the picture I have in my head of the sky breaking into tenticles during a golden dawn seems breath takeing.

But enough about my awesome idea.

I started writing the story. I intended to write it in 12 arks. The first chapter I think will have 5 chapters... Ending with Cthulu emerging. This is a rough draft of my story... I just wish to share it. I really think I dropped the ball during the jorney. My weakness is trying to write scenes where... nothing is happening for along time. As such, it really doesn't reflect on the lenght of our hero's journey.

This story... is a coming of age story. Its a story of emotional conflict, making the right choices... and its an apocalyptic story. It starts off light hearted, but by the end of story arc 1... the main character will witness Cthulu and the war that will be waged against it. His mother will also die and his sister will dissapear, leaving him alone. It also sets up the political side of the story as of there will be 3 people trying to find 12 lanterns. The King and the Elder Council for the safety of the people. A mercenary vampire named Raphael working for a yet named shady tradeing company... And a secret organisation that I am currently calling The Deciples Of The Blue Flame (who appear as monsterous horsemen)... Who are protecting the lantrens. Mid way through there will be the release of a demigod who is a powerful necromancer... and he is the key to an indestructable god named Haden. The lanterns, once considered becons of light and protection veil the world in shadow as the damned march.

So yeah. ^_^ heres what I got so far...

so far the story is simply called west.

EDIT: I messed up the posting order... You have to scroll up to chapter 1 read it... scroll down to the next part of chapter 1... then scroll back up to chapter two, then scroll down to read part 2 of chapter 2. Sorry :(

[Lord_Tarren]

Chapter 2:
On the Windowsill, where 4 gods stand - 8 once did battle and war. The sky god Cthulhu, the god of Creation Ai, the Goddess of life Feyrune and the titan god of destruction: Haden. The legends of the 4 remaining gods survive on but a winds breath. Cthulhu created air for life to breath and watched upon mother earth. Feyrune created the forests and elves, and is said to watch from the demon hallows of the darkest woods and Ai, finding great beauty in the other god’s work breathed life into Cthulhu and Feyrune’s creations. But for all that mankind was given there was much greed and hatred among them. And from their hate and greed rose a new god, born from pure malice struck at the world with great fury. The god of death, the great Nerull who watched over the spirit world struck Haden first with full wrath. In a sea of fire he was quickly overwhelmed and now Haden ruled the damned. With an army of dead under his belt Haden next struck the sun and moon goddess Iai and Dusk quickly brining down the two. Finding no use in their realms, he moved to Cthulhu who was perhaps the most defenceless god. As the attack started, the great god of war, Scorn rose, and brought his mighty battle axe down upon Haden who was no match for Scorn. But not before Haden could put Cthulhu under his control. Despite his best efforts, Scorn was defeated by the undead in a war that lasted 500 days and nights. Now the gods rest, thinking that its all over, but Haden expected that some day he might be defeated…

In the Castle Town of Thay, above all other buildings, even the castle loomed one great tower. A great marble obelisk surrounded by a vast olive garden stretched high into the sky and watched over the lands all around. In the east sits Feyrune with its grassy shores stretching towards the deep blue sky, and to the north an even bigger forest shrouded in mist sat. And even further then that is the glacier known as Ice Crown. But the tower, perhaps the most important of all is the Mage tower - a bastion of knowledge, research and scientific study of the highly classified kind. It is here that many scholars study under the direct supervision of the Elder Council: 12 elite and long lived Mages said to have obtained ultimate enlightenment. And at the head of the Elder Council sat one particular Mage named Abernego who is perhaps the wisest in all the land. It was rare that he was seen in public, and even rarer that he would summon the King to his chambers on the top of the tower. Rare enough that whenever he does, it is treated as an emergency.
Ambassador Gordon Norquay was on a brisk trek through the Mage Tower’s olive garden while he examined his pocket watch keenly. He had never met Abernego before, but he knew from the stories that he heard that the Head of the Elder Council expected nothing short of perfection when it came to punctuality, and that a second to late or early would result in his displeasure. And being an ambassador, Gordon’s tubby frame was always set in a fancy oak desk, discussing the politics of the entire nation. Gasping for breath like a winded fish, Gordon wobbled up the marble steps of the Mage tower, barley taking notice of the beautiful and elaborate garden and pushed through the great oak door into the shaded interior called the great hall. Aside from a loan desk in the middle of the room, the great hall is a circular chamber with no doors or windows. A single white cloaked mage sat in the desk and looked up only as Gordon and his great heaving belly approached.
“Mm… Gordon Norquay… to see Mr. Abernego I presume?”
“Y-yes” gasped Gordon, planting his hand on his desk to support himself. “M- my apologise… I was… running behind this morning.”
“Mm… Quite. Mr. Abernego will be most displeased. You are 13.4 seconds late.”
“Ye-yes… I know” said Gordon as he felt his breath return.
“Did he not tell you to come early?” The mage rapped his knuckes impatiently on the desk.
“No… I figured I didn’t need to come early for the appointment.”
“Mm… I’ll have Mr. Abernego delay your appointment by 3 hours.”
“THREE hours?!” Gordon chocked, almost falling over. “I’m a politician.”
“Yes. And this is only the most prestigious and most advanced university in all of the kingdom. The fact of the matter is that you will need those three hours, judging on how tough your trek was through the olive garden.”
“But why? Isn’t he here?”
“Oh he’s here… He’s on floor 15,000.”
“F-fifteen? D-don’t you have a bloody portal?” Gordan said angerly.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you can’t control yourself. Yes 15,000 and if you must know that 30,000 flights of stairs and a total of 210,000 steps. This isn’t dungeons and dragons after all. We just can’t go around summoning portals wherever we want, we need to go through the proper government channels AND get a permit with all the red tape in the way. And even so, summoning a portal takes a lot of resources.”
“I know I know, I passed bill m32 myself. Just show me the stairs.”
“Very well sir.”
With a flick of his wrist, the Mage waved his palm and behind him a great golden spiral staircase descended from the roof. Gordon hobbled over to it and looked up - only to see a great coil streach mind boggling high and then disappear.
“Any chance I can come back later.”
“Mm… well Mr. Abernego is booked for the year. And this is a matter of national security… But he’d be better to tell you the news.”
“N-national security?”
“Yes. Of the gravest kind.”
“What do you mean?”
“Abernego will tell you. In the mean time, I request that you don’t go into any of the restricted laboratories or the halls of mystery. They are all off limits to everyone but those who have clearance. Usually the entrances are guarded.”
Gordon looked around at the white cloaked mage.
“Guarded? By what?”
“Spells. Of the lethal kind Ambassador.”
Gordon peered back up the staircase and put on a determined face, sticking out his chubby bottom jaw.
“Alright, very well then.” he said as he planted his foot onto the first step and then hauled himself onto the golden spiral.
“See you when I come back down.”
“mm quite” was the reply he heard as he disappeared into the upper levels of the tower.
With sweat beading down his forehead Atticus pushed on as the sun beat down his back. Beyond the familiar reaches of his home was a whole other world that he had not expected. A vast sea of multicoloured grass stretched for miles. The path had vanished beneath the brush and the grass had grown so long that it reached well past his waist. Occasionally he would disturb grasshoppers that lurked under the brush and would suddenly jump up and startle him. Other times he would trip on a log - or worse yet, sink in a hidden pool of water.
On two occasions, Atticus had to swim across lakes who’s shimmering surfaces were unheeded by the grandeur of the prairie land that they were surrounded by. Like small insignificant specks of dust on top of an old photography, Atticus wondered if anyone ever took any interest in such lakes. Still they seemed to stretch for miles in both directions, so the only option seemed to go through the lakes.
Sometimes, the parries were broken up by little forests full of pine trees. Although he could have gone around them, Atticus decided to instead go through them and found that the trees quite adequately shaded him from the sun which was causing him a great deal of discomfort. Indeed, the air was so warm and humid that it seemed to stick to his skin and clothes. And it even seemed hard to breath with the air feeling so heavy. While he visited one of the small forests, he hoisted himself up into a tree and dug into his backpack, pulling out some smoked chicken and a handful of wheat. He looked out towards the land scape as he ate, almost lost in its endlessness when he felt his backpack slip. Instinctively, he grasped at the failing strap firmly, only to have it come undone as the contents of the bag spilled out.
“Oh for the love of…” Atticus sighed, realizing that the pumpkin that carelessly dangled from the bottom of the bag was still not lost. “Well… at least I still have the pumpkin…” he sighed as he peered over the branch and onto the ground where he saw a mess of splattered tomatoes and carrots.
“Well… at least I still have the stuff I packed...” he said half mindedly to himself as he slowly lowered himself from the branch.
He had lost track of time quite a while ago. He knew he had left in the morning, and already the sun was nearing the horizon. In the blistering heat, all he could do was continue putting one foot in front of the other, and by now it had become an ultimate test of endurance. And the weight of the pumpkin didn’t help him either. He cursed his mom under his breath, wishing that she was less compulsive and had got him to take something a little more manageable. His feet were sore and his knees felt like they were ready to give, but he knew he couldn’t give up. If he didn’t make the Harvest Festival, he would be the only one not to since… well ever. At least that’s what he thought. He had always felt isolated in his little farm town, but he never realized just how far away they really were from civilization.
It felt like a long time before the daytime air started to cool down. Atticus’s sweat drenched clothes now clung to his body, but the evening air felt very nice compared to how the rest of the day felt. Suddenly the air didn’t feel so sticky and heavy to breath, and hence the boy didn’t feel as physically drained or fatigued as he did earlier. Like he had a ten ton weight lifted from his shoulders, he started to pick up with renewed vigor, hoping to press on as best as he could before the sun set.

[Lord_Tarren]

Although his feet ached, he was hoping to make it to Thay in only two days. He pushed himself harder, shoving the grass out of the way as an explorer might do with a machete when delving into the jungle, under the setting sun which now cast a soft golden glow over the landscape, which suddenly broke open into a large valley with a stream running though it. Atticus stopped and rested his hands on his knees as he remembered his father’s words from a few days before.
“Son… About eight hours west of our farm there’s this valley. In the summer its beautiful. Your old man used to spend his weekends trekking down there. I’ll have you know this, since your coming of age journey is coming soon. When you get to that there valley, your about one third of the way there. Don’t go pushing yourself now, just lay down and set up camp ya hear me?”
Although it wasn’t summer, the end of spring brought a different beauty to the valley. The trees were already losing their leaves, and were slowly showering the landscape in hues of orange, yellow and red. Eager to rest, Atticus sprinted down the lazy rolling sloap, towards a small cluster of trees by the bank of the spring, and then collapsed into the grass, feeling the chill and wetness of the dew setting into the vegetation.
Then he looked over beside him and saw a shallow pit dug into the ground with charred pieces of lumber laying around it and a stump sitting nearby. Somehow, he knew it was his fathers old campsite - which was somehow undisturbed after all this time. Then again, knowing how his dad is, Atticus seemed it was likely that the man could probably sprint all the way down here, camp for about a half hour and then sprint all the way back home - probably all before anyone realized he was gone. At this thought, Atticus chuckled at himself.
“Ahh…” he sighed, feeling his feet burn. For the longest time he stared up into the sky as the light slowly faded and the stars started to become visible along with a great orange moon - the harvest moon. Its very first appearance in the fall season always marked a week before the harvest festival was to be held. At least, that’s what his mom had told him.
And as it became darker, the sky lit up with a brilliant cluster of stars and color. Atticus wondered to himself if the sky was as beautiful in Thay. And then he suddenly felt chilly. Very chilly as the temperature had dropped to a freezing level. The boy sat up and started digging though his back pack and extracted his wool blanket which he quickly wrapped himself up in. He sunk into the ground, and the earlier coolness which comforted him now caused him to wish it was warm again. At first he started shivering, but the air got even colder - a sharp coldness that seemed to penetrate the very fabrics of the blanket and pierce the boy’s skin to freeze his very core. His shivering got worse, and worse as he wrapped the blanket around himself even tighter in hope to preserve any warmth that might be left. With his teeth chattering uncontrollably, he closed his eyes tightly - it was far to cold now to even think about lighting the firepit. Somehow he was able to sleep, perhaps only due to pure exhaustion.

[Lord_Tarren]

Chapter 1
Slowly and gradually the sun rose over the prairie lands of Feyrune. In its warmth it slowly chased away the darkness in its radiant light marking the beginning of a new day - today if you will. One of the most important days. For you see, in the prairie province of Feyrune it is a tradition that during the start of the fall, the children are to partake in a special tradition. In a rite of passage to manhood, anyone of age must go on a pilgrimage to the castle town of Thay and deliver to the royal family a tribute from their household. Although Thay is not far away by any means, sometimes the three day journey on foot can prove to be quite dangerous.
As the warm sunlight shone though his open window onto the youths face, Atticus scrunched his eyes together tightly and rolled over, hiding his face in a pillow from the sun. He had been so anxious about his rite that he had not slept well. Living on a farm in the middle of the grasslands had taught him one thing he had loathed very much: you rise with the sun. He wrapped the pillow around his head tightly - almost until he couldn’t breath in a futile attempt to catch some more sleep. And that’s when the inevitability came: his mom rapped sharply and auditable on the door before throwing it open.
“Time to get up!” she demanded.
“But mom…” Atticus groaned into his pillow.
“Time to get up. Breakfast is on the table.”
Atticus rolled over and cast his mom a defiant and miserable look.
“But I wasn’t able to sleep. Can’t I sleep in just this once.”
“No. If your not dressed and downstairs in five minutes, I’ll get your father to come back up with the belt.”
“Christ…” Atticus moaned.
“What did I tell you about that kind of language?” His mom quipped.
“But I’m going to be a man.” said Atticus slowly propping himself up and rubbing his tired and sore eyes.
“Not for another 3 days. Hurry up” his mom said sternly before she disappeared into the hallway.
Atticus only sighed knowing full well that when his mom said 5 minutes, she meant only 3, and he also knew that the belt did mean the belt he thought grudgingly. He looked down at his floor to see his clothes strewn around and quickly located a pair of jeans and a white shirt. He dressed himself (putting his shirt on backwards) as fast as he could and bounded down the wooden stairs as his mother turned the corner nodding her approval with a slight smile.
“See. Its not that hard to get out of bed when your motivated.”
“Ah. Yeah.” Atticus said reluctantly.
“Breakfast is on the table, since your leaving in a little bit, I will do your chores for you - but only this once.”
“Thanks mom.” Said Atticus who was truly grateful.
He turned the corner into the kitchen where his father and younger sister sat eating breakfast. There was an empty seat at the end with a plate full of delicious homemade food. Atticus’s father was a large man, and in stark contrast to his mother - much more laid back and relaxed. He was a big man as well, somewhat resembling a grizzly bear in a plaid shirt. Atticus took his place which was, notably different today for his plate was placed by his fathers seat.
“Come! Sit m’boy!” his father announced loudly as he smacked, causing all the china on it to clatter noisily.
Atticus sat by his father, feeling awkward in doing so for he had always sat next to his younger sister, Aris and his mom had always sat at the “head” of the table. He had never once eaten shoulder to shoulder with his father, and now he realized that doing so was difficult for the sheer size of the man threatened to topple over and crush him.
“Ah yes. Man of the house.” his father said softly while scooping sausages into his mouth. Aris watched carefully on the other side of the table, her great brown eyes questioning the softness of his fathers tone.
“Well, second man of the house” his father chuckled.
“Well… I’m not quite there yet” said Atticus as he picked up his fork and knife and began to slice into his Sunnyside up eggs.
“Well… you will be in a few days.” Said his father. “That’s when you’ll really be the man of the house!” he said loudly “Isn’t that right honey?” he shouted in excitement.
“That’s right” came his moms voice from in the next room.
“Now…” said his father, dropping his voice to a whisper as best as he could and leaning over somewhat. “What did I tell you about them monsters land night.”
Atticus sighed as he scooped some farm fresh egg into his mouth.
“Dad…”
“What did I tell you boy? You think I’d make this up.”
“You told me about the reaper. I don’t think you’d make it up” said Atticus unconvincingly.
“And what did I tell you about the other things I’ve seen up and around here at night?”
“The horsemen too.” Atticus sighed, now finding it hard to eat.
Aris had picked up on the conversation too, and had fixated her owl like gaze upon father and son.
“Look, I know when we go into town that no one has ever seen these things. But I tell you, that’s because they don’t go near town, they stay here in hiding. And while we’re close to town, the go and wander here sometimes anyway. “
“Yes. I know dad.” Said Atticus putting down his fork.
“Now… when your done here…” said his father still whispering loudly enough for anyone to hear “when your done here, I want you to go into that barn in the back there, and you take that lantren.”
“Dad, you really can’t belive-”
“YOU TAKE THAT LANTREN, BOY!” his father bellowed, smashing his massive arm down upon the table which in turn sent silverware rocketing off its surface, his face red, and full of anger, breathing heavily, and then he looked up towards the doorway like a deer caught in the head light to see Isabel who shook her head.
“Now don’t you fill his head with silly ideas of monsters.”
“I wasn’t doing that dear. I thought he should take that lantern so he could see at night” his father guffawed “I guess I got a little carried away.”
Isabel only raise an eye and looked towards Aris expectantly.
“He was telling big brother of reapers and horsemen.” said Aris quietly.
Isabel then looked back over at Richard and raise her other eyebrow.
“We don’t need to fill his head with ideas before his journey. I suggest you stop living in your own little realm of fantasy and start fulfilling the role of a father figure… BEFORE he becomes a man in 3 days.” his mother said sternly and left.

[Lord_Tarren]

Richard cast a dark glance before he leaned back towards Atticus.
“I swear it my boy. You moms only been living off the land for a few years. I’ve been here all my life. Perhaps your mother is the smart one after all, but that lantern… its been in my side of the family for generations. Them reapers and horsemen and creatures don’t dare touch our farmstead. I reckon its because of that lantern. If anything, take it to quell your old mans fears - even if they be foolish. If you leave, and if that lantern isn’t gone, then I swear I will bring it to you boy.”
“Richard!” Isabel squeeled from the other room “what did I just say?!”
“Sorry honey” said Richard.
After breakfast the rest of the morning moved along quietly and swiftly. Without saying much, Atticus packed himself a few pairs of clothes, some rations and a canister of water. He hadn’t seen much of his family after breakfast for they had busied themselves with their chores. When he came back downstairs a large orange pumpkin sat on the table with a devilish face carved into its exterior. His mom sat back, a carving knife in her hand to admire her work.
“Mom?”
“Ah yes, just in time. I just put the finishing touches into our tribute.”
“The - what? Tribute? That?” he asked, shocked.
“Yes. A jack-o-lantren.”
“First dad, now you?” he sighed.
“Don’t you think its pretty? Its so round and orange. The texture. The face. it’s a great gift. Its decorative and it makes good pie.”
“Well…” Atticus paused “I guess its pretty. In a special way.” His mom had always been obsessed with pumpkins, turning growing them into a fine art. “Now I wouldn’t let your father worry you with his… stories. Sometimes I feel that mans seen too much for his own good!” she chuckled as she wrapped the pumpkin in a sling.
“But mom… A pumpkin? Its so heavy… and big. And… heavy” Atticus whined.
“Its perfect” his mom remarked defensively.
“Why not something small and easy… something like… dads lantren?”
“Well… now I’d love to give that away” his mother said thoughtfully “but he’d be awful mad.” she said with a chuckle “you know your father… one to many stories, one to many drinks. But really… This is the perfect item” she said sternly “the pumpkin is a symbol for the start of the harvest season, perfect for the harvest festival.”
Then the front door slammed shut followed by the sound of thundering footsteps as his father walked into the kitchen.
“attended to the chickens hone-” he stopped as he saw the decorative pumpkin on the table “now you can’t be serious.”
“Its hard to argue with her reasoning” said Atticus, who knew that siding with his mother meant carrying such a large gourd for 3 days.
In turn his father looked from one face to another like a wounded animal.
“If anything it will keep monsters away better then that silly old lantern.”
“Now don’t you dare!” his father bellowed, raising his finger and jabbing it into the air.
“Your simply to eccentric about this” said Isabel calmly. “its mere superstition. Now its time to send your “boy” off on his pilgrimidge. Can you go fetch Aris so we can say goodbye… as a family?”
His father sighed, his earlier rage vanished and he now resembled something more as a puppy dog.
“I’m sorry honey. Your right. Its time to send him off already then. I’ll go grab Aris.”
Atticus’s mother nodded approvingly as Richard left the room.
“Now you packed some spare clothes?” she asked.
“Yes mom.” said Atticus grudgingly.
“Three days worth of food?”
“Yes.”
“Nutritious food?”
“Well. Mostly.”
“Mostly?” his mother said raising an eyebrow. “Show me.”
Atticus sighed and took off his backpack. Holding it out in front of him he unzipped it.
“Well. I see some grains, some meat. some fruits, but what about vegetables?” she demanded.
“Mom! I’m going to be a man in 3 days”
“Your not a man yet. Not under my watch.” She said standing up and walking over to the fridge. “Honestly, if you don’t take care of yourself… who will? I don’t be here forever you know!” She said wearily as she started pulling items from the fridge.
“Well I mean…” Atticus stuttered as his mom returned to him and stuffed fresh carrots, celery and tomatoes into his open backpack. “I can handle myself” he said noticing that his mother had made sure that his mother had given him more vegetables then anything else he had.
“Well, this is your first time out. By yourself.” his mom said, starting to tear up a little. “I mean, I just want to make sure you make it home… And your father doesn’t help… with his monsters.” and that’s when she started to cry, pulling her son close while sobbing into his shoulder. “All this time we’ve been together. And now your going.”
“But not for long.” Atticus pointed out.
“No. I suppose not” she said chocking down her tears “No. your right. Just come home, ok?”
“I will mom.” he said gently, holding her close and feeling a little awkward.
“Well, I suppose… we should go meet the man of the house outside… so that he doesn’t track any more mud into the house.” said Atticus’s mom as she grabbed his backpack and started to sling it over his shoulder.
“Mom…” Atticus moaned.
“Don’t you “mom” me.” she said as she grabbed the sling wrapped jack-o-lantren off the table and attached it to the bottom strap of the backpack. Despite being hollow, its sheer weight surprised Atticus as he almost fell backwards.
“Mom! Its so heavy!”
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” she explained.
“But what if it DOES kill me? From back injuries or something?”
“It won’t.”
Before he could argue anymore the front door banged open again.
“Hoeny!” he shouted.
“Wait right there Richard - we’re coming.” she called before kissing Atticus on the cheek. “I know your worried, but I know you’ll do well.” she said as she ushered him towards the door, his father and sister already waiting.
“Son!” his father said cheerfully. “Come ‘ere” he said with his arms outstretched.
Atticus reluctantly came closer as his father swept him inwards, locking him in one of his “famous” bear hugs. In all honesty, Atticus feared his fathers spine shattering bear hugs more then any sort of monster he might encounter on the plains. His father held him close for a moment as pain seared through Atticus’s body, before he let go.
“Now!” his father said, almost bellowing “be sure you come back here soon, because when you do, I made a promise to you a few years back. That uh…” he looked over at Isabel who nodded approvingly “special drink I’ve been a saving for… this occasion. The one only a man can enjoy properly.” his father smiled.
Atticus was genuinely surprised that his father hadn’t taken this opportunity to throw in any more quips about his lantern.
“The city is a big place” said his mother “you stay on the marked roads on the way there so you don’t get lost.” his mother said as she started to rattle off a list she had already made in her head, no doubt days before “Lets see… don’t talk to strangers, you can go sightseeing if you want, but if you get lost then you should ask for directions…”
“how am I supposed to ask for directions if I can’t talk to strangers”
“Well talk to a guard or something… or somebody trustworthy” his mom explained. “Aris, don’t you have any goodbyes for your brother?”
“I love you big brother” said the little girl, looking up at him.
Atticus smiled. She had always been quiet, but they had a bond that went deeper then any thing imaginable. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise Aris. And I’ll bring you a souvenir to boot!”
“I got you something to big brother. I found it the other day.” she said, reaching into her pocket and extracting something from within before holding out a large orange tiger lily.
“Its beautiful, Aris.” said Atticus reaching for it, and then he pulled away. “But… I want to leave it with you for now.”
At this Aris looked puzzled, tilting her head aside and looking somewhat hurt.
“Its just, I’ll be gone for a week or so. I don’t want to hurt it along the way. You keep it here - safe. And I’ll bring you back something so we can trade, ok?”
Aris smiled and nodded approvingly.
“Well. You best be off now” said his dad.
“You’ll do us proud - I know it.” said his mother.
Atticus kissed his mother on the cheek and shook his fathers hand before he turned around, without saying another word and left, wandering down the garden path to the gate. Don’t look back he told himself as he hiked his backpack high upon his shoulders. He past the gate and then his favourite fishing hole. And then he ventured through the small thicket of trees where he had built his tree fort. And then finally he left his familiar territory as his small world opened up to reveal the grassy and untamed sea of the praries. Each blade of grass waved lazily in the afternoon breeze and many insects were out and about from the lowly mosquito to the busy honey bee. The sun beat down upon the youth’s shoulders as he marvled at the vast and unending landscape before him. The hills rolling gently to the horizon and beyond like the waves of the ocean and the sweet smell of grass filled his nose with its familiar scent. Its now that he looked back behind him, his home becoming smaller and smaller in the distance, almost as if it was melting away. It was then and only then that Atticus realized that he was already homesick.
Atticus had of course, forgotten his fathers beloved lantern.
NOTE: Extend breakfest conversation

[UFN]

What has this got to do with venting? Also, you seem to of written a story revolving around someone ELSE'S creation "(Cthulhu - created by H.P. Lovecraft) So i'd steeeer clear of sound bites like "I can write incredible stories" if you can't think of Original ones.

Yeah im being harsh, and no i haven't read it, but If i can already put my hand up and say "I can see plagiarism" im not GOING to read it, whether you admit its original or not. Unless its a fan fiction based in H.P. Lovecrafts created universe.

[The Doctor]

What has this got to do with venting?

I think he's looking for a writer. Am I right, Lord Tarren? If so, wouldn't this be better located in the seeking help section?

[UFN]

I think he's looking for a writer. Am I right, Lord Tarren? If so, wouldn't this be better located in the seeking help section?

if he's looking for a writer why am i staring at 4 large posts of Him writing it? If i wanted to commission someone to do a picture for me i wouldn't then go and attempt to draw it myself.


and i, AS a writer, am wholey put off by the egotism in the first post. I dont want to hear how "awesome" you think you're own story is, thats for the reader to decide.

EDIT: ALSO, is this the story that is being PM'd about randomly to some members?

[The Doctor]

if he's looking for a writer why am i staring at 4 large posts of Him writing it? If i wanted to commission someone to do a picture for me i wouldn't then go and attempt to draw it myself.


and i, AS a writer, am wholey put off by the egotism in the first post. I dont want to hear how "awesome" you think you're own story is, thats for the reader to decide.

Very good points, although, he did say that, "I just can't write them," in the first post.

Yes, he's had a go at writing it and then he posted it. Just like if someone had a go at drawing a picture, figured they weren't any good at it, and then got it commisioned.

[UFN]

He, at no point, asked for someone to help him write it. what he did do was quite a stereotypical "i suck at writing so dont judge me too harshly" But then goes on to say how awesome he is that "writing stories is a pain. I hate it. But how can I not? I can make increadble stories..."

and just like with the drawing analogy, it stops being "your" art when "you" dont draw it. You supplied the vision but its the commissioned artist that makes it real, its their artwork. with their style of art.

i would agree that he was looking for help, if he asked for it. simply stating that he "doesn't think he's good" isn't asking for help, its asking for sympathy.

[The Doctor]

I concede to your point.

[UFN]

haha :-P fair enough

[Idesin]

A word of advice, keep the big ideas backed up for when you become a good writer. I know how it is, you get these grandious, awesome, epic, mutli-book spawning ideas ... and then it all peters out because, even if you have it all in your head, you can't put it down on paper.

Trust me, start small. I'd suggest becoming a proficient RPer first, learning how to set a scene, describe the layout, illustrate a character, and paint their emotional condition. Then I'd suggest a transition to some short stories. Perhaps an original, short story about your character in an interesting situation, or perhaps a key scene or two from your masterpiest work, giving the readers the necisary information. Start off small and practice. It's taken me over three years to get to the point where i'm ready to try a test run of something longer than a few pages myself. Don't worry, you'll get there.

[Lord_Tarren]

Oh Ufn, so harsh.

I wasn't asking for a comission. I admit, its tempting.. But I wouln't likely be happy with the finished project... and the money I'd spend to get there.

The point I was trying to make is that its difficult for me to put words to paper, and do it well. I just suck at it. However at the same time, I belive that I can make excellet plot lines, and Ive shared my ideas with many who agree. Its just that... I'd like to share my indes in the form of a full fledged story... but my writing isn't good enough to accomidate the nature of my stories. You mistake my enthusiasm for being arrogant and egotistical.

I dont think it was being PMd to other memebers, I just posted it to share it. Thats kinda it. This particular story is a rough work in progress.

Also Ufn, while I do enjoy constructive critisism, Im sorry to have appealed to your bad side but I'd appreicate if you'd step off.

And this particular comment of yours bothers me:

"Also, you seem to of written a story revolving around someone ELSE'S creation "(Cthulhu - created by H.P. Lovecraft) So i'd steeeer clear of sound bites like "I can write incredible stories" if you can't think of Original ones. Yeah im being harsh, and no i haven't read it, but If i can already put my hand up and say "I can see plagiarism" im not GOING to read it, whether you admit its original or not."

1) The story itself has almost nothing to do with Cthulhu except for he appears breifly as a god, and is tied to 1/4 of the overall story line via a back story.

2) Many of the names right now - as of the story right now is rough are temporary names. Cthulhu is one of them. I chose it because it fit the monster. I came up with the monster first, THEN I chose a name for it about a week after. Cthulhu seems to fit it just fine.

3) I never read H.P Lovecraft... Infact, I know Cthulhu more as C'Thun from World Of Warcraft. Anything about Cthulhu, I haven't a clue about.
Outside the name, I think its an origonal monster... But I could be wrong, after all I have no idea what the real Cthulhu did.

4) Cthulhu is more of an icon really. Lovecrafts story thats behind him is well and dandy... But take a look at the others who have plaugerized Cthulhu: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cthulhu_Mythos_in_popular_culture.
Im not really the first to plaugerize him now am I?

The silly thing with monsters... Is that they come a dime a dozen. I have grim reapers in my story. That must have appeared in hundreds of fiction stories. I have horsemen... I couldn't be plaugerizeing the bible now can I? If I put in a huge spider, I might be plaugerizeing the legend of zelda. You took one monster out of 3 and forgot about the other two.
Once I put in a mine and dwarves I might be plaugerizeing the lord of the rings. The fact of the matter is that it doesn't matter what I put in it - its most likely to have appeared in another work of fiction. I think its not what the monster is named... or how it looks... But rather what it does that makes it special to the story. And if I took my Cthulhu and renamed it Twigs or something... And it still did the same thing, it wouldn't make a difference because its obviously still inspired by Cthulhu... In which cause... it actually wasn't. I was like "Oh! This monster is just like Cthulhu" about a week after I drew it. H.P Lovecraft and Cthulhu never once crossed my mind when it popped into my head and I drew a sketch.That however, doesn't really make it less of a plaugerism I admit.

So Ufn, I say to you: Im sorry that you don't like my story... And thats ok. Don't read it then - you are always entitled to your opinion. But then don't bug me about it afterwards and tell me you made a proper opinion on it without so much as glanceing at it.

Lastly, the reson why I posted the story is a simple one. I write for other people, and I just wanted to share what I had. Thats it. Nothing more and nothing less. You read to much between the lines. Just read what I say. I didn't want comission or sympathy. I didn't even want anyone to tell me that my story - A chapter and a half in - in its roughest form, and chocked full of spelling errors is any good. Its simply a sample for others to enjoy if they decide to read it. Im just shareing an idea.

[The Doctor]

Its good that your willing to get other peoples opinions, I respect that. But, something just clicked. Have you seen "Hellboy?"

[Lord_Tarren]

Oh... oh! I've been busted.

Alright, the gig is up... The Cthulhu in my story is infact a blatant copy - and fully inspired by Hellboy. It was so awesome so I was like "that's gotta be in my story."

As I said... monsters are a dime a dozen. I don't think its plagiarism as much as... as I don't know. But yes, I wasn't thinking of H.P Lovecrafts Cthulhu, but I was thinking about what I saw in hellboy. With a few modifications.

Besides... I was plaugerizeing Cthulhu from a source that plaugerized Cthulhu... without even knowing it. But thats two negitives... and you know what that means? They cancel each other out!

No?

How about... I take out the tenticles, leave the eyeball and name it Krako - which totally isn't copying Kirby Superstar?

No?

Well, then maybe I should post a different story. One that as far as I know its pretty origonal. Problem is, I gotta write a a chapter and a half first. Or maybe two chapters.

Anyway, with that aside, I feel that the point has been lost on this board since the moment I posted it, with the whole Cthulhu thing.

[Lord_Tarren]

Actually allow me to pitch a character I've been working on.

He's a vampire. His real name is Edward Faustian. He has 4 other cohorts that he works with, but they don't know his real name. He goes by the name Eclipse.

Hes about 3,000 years old and is the only remaining vampire that was one of the originals (as far as he knows).

Anyway, he used to be a criminal... Like uh... You know, those wild west criminals who rob towns and stuff? Then one night his friend named Siegfried Baldwin contracts a disease...Which ends up birthing vampires and stuff. Edward belongs to a desert clan, about 5,000 members strong called the Wanderers, so quickly the seed turns the entire clan into creatures of the night.

Edward, although a vampire is the only one with enough commonsense to break away from the mind control of the seed... And he finds... A headset... Way before its time of course. Over the headset, he is contacted by a woman named Robyn Aceline who explains to him that everything happened because their group is experimenting with weaponry.
So Robyn tells him to take out his former comrades.

This group is a cult that's named itself Genocide. They came from the supernatural plane to eradicate all humans, and to create an all powerful demon lord. This demon lord thrives on souls, but regular souls are to weak to provide it with any supernatural power. Hence the Genocide brought back an "evil seed" to plant in someone to spread its corruption. What ends up happening is that Edward slays anyone he can get his hands on... And then is betrayed by Robyn.

Every time he kills someone he feels a twinge of regret. Regret he never felt when he killed people he did not know. Over the course of this time, he becomes a very broken and empty man.

He survives the incident, then disappears. He is upset that he couldn't stop what unfolded and he considers himself a monster. He trains with a great iron blade - that he cannot lift because its to heavy for him. Like this, his combat technique requires the heavy use of gravity. Many other characters don't understand why he uses such a heavy blade, so he always reply that its the weight of his sin.

In the end hes a character that's withdrawn. He's generally moody and at the same time he has great philosophy and insight that comes from many years of hiding. His favorite saying is "The heaven that convince the earth hath an end cannot persuade me I have any". He wages his battle against the Genocide across time and history itself, appearing only when he needs to.