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Author	Topic: The Writers' Guild
Jek_Windu Registered: Jan '03	Date Posted: 9/28/06 2:44pm Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	I'm not sure if this has been asked here before, but I was wondering people here focus on more- story or characters? Personally, I've always believed that a lackluster, not-so-epic plot can be made amazing by the right characters. -----signature----- Tryanids: You don't have enough bullets! Imperial Guard: YES WE DO! R.I.P. Trini
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Coruscant Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 9/28/06 9:40pm Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	Or absolutely brilliant writing. Such as in Ursula K. LeGuin's case, with A Wizard of Earthsea.
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DarthBobbalot Registered: Mar '02	Date Posted: 9/29/06 1:22pm Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	So i got sick of hearing all the false allegations so i have decided to create a short story labeled "Ninjas and Pirates" it is a conclusive and detailed explanation of what would happen in the situation where the two faced off against eachother. It will be glorious, because the outcome is so apparent, yet some people have false assumptions about who would win. Idiots, really. I will post it here when i am finished, if you want. -----signature----- In the *Official* Andalite-Bandit cult. "Idle hands spend time at the genitals" - Drippy "Kif, set a course for that blackish, holish, thing" - Zap Brannigan The greatest weapon is knowledge. And laser beam eyes I'm a winner.
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Fenrisulven Registered: Nov '04	Date Posted: 10/5/06 8:46am Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	DarthBobbalot posted: So i got sick of hearing all the false allegations so i have decided to create a short story labeled "Ninjas and Pirates" it is a conclusive and detailed explanation of what would happen in the situation where the two faced off against eachother. It will be glorious, because the outcome is so apparent, yet some people have false assumptions about who would win. Idiots, really. I will post it here when i am finished, if you want. ooh, interesting. I'd love to read that one when it's finished. Maybe you could write one about Pirateninjas vs Ninjapirates too... And for the first time in ages I actually wrote down a story I had in my head. A rather short and silly little story. Here it is for anyone interested: http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/40901989/ -----signature----- There's a demon in the fridge. Get it Out.
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Sanctimoniously Registered: Dec '05	Date Posted: 10/5/06 3:16pm Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	Please take some time to review my latest work: "Stalker." -----signature----- In For a Quick Garden http://www.myspace.com/sanctimoniously
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Fenrisulven Registered: Nov '04	Date Posted: 10/26/06 12:45pm Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	Oh dear, what is this thread doing down here? Sanctimoniously posted: Please take some time to review my latest work: "Stalker." I just read it, and I must say that I'm impressed by how well-written it was. Good story too. "...but that thought was immediately taken behind the outhouse and introduced to a .30-30 slug." I just loved that quote, hahaha. -----signature----- There's a demon in the fridge. Get it Out.
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malcolm-darth-am-i Registered: May '05	Date Posted: 10/26/06 8:56pm Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	Sanctimoniously posted: Please take some time to review my latest work: "Stalker." It was a good story. The starting didn't grab my attention. But it did slowly pick up. and turned out to be a good story overall. I enjoyed it.
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clonetrooper1 Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 10/27/06 4:25pm Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	Coruscant told me about this place I have a small story which i've done for homework What do you think of it? sorry about the long post story: The year is 2980 and earth has begun to explore deep into space. Technology has evolved in some what a slow manner in parts but has greatly improved in others. 5 years before this story begins humanity runs into an alien race that sees humans as a danger to them and so they begin a war against the humans. Humanity retaliates and so war across the galaxy begins. The story looks through the eyes of one solider who has been through 2 years of this war and begins to wonder if either side will ever win. The storm clouds were gathering as I turned a looked back and from then I realised that they were back. The enemy was back again and it was starting to hit us that they would never cease. This war doesn’t seem to be changing, although I haven’t been in the military as long as some of the others here, I’ve watched and seen most of it on the news stations. This whole war started because of our beliefs that we are not the only ones out here and now we know we are not alone, but maybe we were better off not even knowing. I don’t know much about them ones that attack us but we have given them the name of “Ruhn” and they seem to have technology same to ours. The best way to describe the Ruhn is that they are lizard humans; they had the eyes and skin of a lizard and the body of a human. They always bring storms to wherever they attack, maybe as a way to strike fear into us. I’ve lead a battalion of men for only a month after our last commander was killed and it is very hard work. Most of the men who were in the battalion from the beginning have been killed and replaced by other soldiers, I never really got to know them as well as I have the ones who were here from the beginning. The ones I know well are: James parks who is our coms unit, Pete Jones a sniper, James Anderson a medic, Paul and Mark twins who are both basic troopers, Kurt Fredric a heavy weapons specialist, Eric Adams who is a standard trooper and Me Alec Watson once a standard trooper but promoted to battalion leader. As the clouds gathered the thunder began to rumble we could see on the horizon their army marching forward and in the sky their mechanical terrors all heading towards our base. In total their army marching towards us must be around 6000 and we only have 8 battalions which give us a total of 4800 men altogether. It had only been 6 hours after the last attack and the commanders were given a procedure to follow if the base was attack which was every unit there would split into groups to cover the 3 sections of the wall (the base is backed against a mountain): a battalion on each section of the wall, another battalion to man the heavy cannons dotted all over the walls, one battalion to cover the wall where the gate is, one battalion to man the tanks and vehicles and the rest dotted around where the weak points of the base is. As the time went by we only managed to be fully ready for them just as the Ruhn arrived outside our walls. They had boarding portals which was placed against the wall and the Ruhn would simply step into it and be on our walls, they also had assault cannons which was usually used as a weapon to fire on infantry positions and buildings, along with Ruhn ground units they also had with them the terrifying “crows” flying machines with mechanical arms used to grab soldiers and pull things apart, They were named crows after the pest bird back on Earth. As I was standing there staring at the Ruhn I noticed one of them looking straight at me., It’s yellow eyes glairing at me seemed to have me captivated but just the base commander gave the order to attack. The heavy cannons opened fire letting out massive bursts of heat rays that teared apart sections of the Ruhn’s army. The Ruhn returned with fire from their assault cannons shooting large balls of heated yellow plasma that at first missed many of our building and hitting into the mountain. All of the commander’s got a message from the communications section saying that air support was not available meaning we had nothing to tackle the crows, which sent a chill down my back. Watching our cannons fire on the enemy I followed one shot with my eyes to then see the Ruhn charge straight towards us, some carrying melee weapons and some with the boarding portals. The next thing I hear is the yell form my radio “all units open fire” so we all set our rifles to kill and aimed straight at the charging Ruhn and in a split moment a hail of rays rained on the Ruhn. All our fire was not going to hold them back and the corner of my eye caught a boarding portal setting up right where Paul was, I shouted “Paul! Boarding portals where you are”. Paul looked straight at me and then they trooper next to him was knocked flying back a fierce melee fight endured there. As I looked around I could see many more portals reaching the wall and very soon all fire on the enemy at the walls was ended as everyone was now engaging the Ruhn on the walls. I ran into the fray only to be knocked back by a Ruhn melee unit, I was laying on the floor and for a spilt second I could see a crow swooping down right near where I was, I stood up and saw it crash right through our troops and as it was charging towards me I dived off the wall and onto the ground. When I finally got back on my feet I looked up to the wall to see everyone being pushed back and a heavy cannon crashing into the wall blocking the portal to the ground in that section. I heard a familiar voice yelling at me “We could use you on the gun sir”. I turned around to see Eric in the driver’s seat of an attack jeep. The jeep was a four wheeled car with a drivers section in the front with a gun turret behind it and a passenger section at the back which could take two men. I ran straight to the turret and we drove to the far side of the base to hold off the Ruhn that had control of a small part of the wall. The last time I ever used a turret on an attack jeep was about six months ago, but as I pulled the trigger I felt the power for the gun and it became rather hard to control so I decided to just strafe across the Ruhn on the wall. After a short time an Assulat tank took over where we were to cover the wall. The assault tank had a hover system that allowed it to move fast over any terrain and had one main cannon that fires a very powerful shot and had two small rapid fire ray guns just underneath the main cannon. Our jeep now had to find somewhere to be of use and fast. As we were speeding along the radio yelled “The Ruhn are breaking through the gate. All units report to the gate, the wall is lost, we’ll hold the off from the gate. We headed straight for the gate and as we arrived we found everyone set up there watching the gate as it shook . I watched the gate and every 2 seconds the gate would shake and rumble and after a few hits at the gate it began to rumble violently. Just then the gate smashed into tiny pieces and the masses Of Ruhn solider charged straight at us. I prepared for the horrible blood bath that awaited us. To be continued -----signature----- http://www.bungie.net/stats/Halo3/default.aspx?player=SPARTACHEIF
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malcolm-darth-am-i Registered: May '05	Date Posted: 10/27/06 10:05pm Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	I'm sorry, but I'm a stickler for presentation. I would love it if you broke it into paragraphs.
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Sanctimoniously Registered: Dec '05	Date Posted: 11/29/06 8:51am Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	How in the name of... -----signature----- In For a Quick Garden http://www.myspace.com/sanctimoniously
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Valyn Registered: Mar '02	Date Posted: 12/3/06 6:48pm Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	If any of you are interested, here's a sample from a short story I did. It's actually the last bit of writing I've done for a month or so, as I've become discouraged by countless rejection letters from agents and publishers. Anyway, I hope some of you enjoy ETERNAL NOCTURNE Analise could not bring herself to meet her husband’s eyes. By the look of him, Garrett had been beaten before he was dragged here to hang numbly in front of her in the grip of two women of the night. Blood leaked from his torn lip and onto the neatly trimmed beard growth of his chin, and the flesh around one of his eyes had begun to swell. His clothes, simple garments consisting of a dark tunic and trousers, were ruffled and made filthy with the grime of his ordeal. Unable to look at him, she nervously glanced about the midnight panorama around her. They were atop of a high hill, just on the outskirts of the town of Suttonsville. The only source of light came from the twinkling stars in the heavens above, serving as witness to the evening’s horror. Apart from Analise herself, only the two night women holding Garrett and the man responsible for this tragedy were present. Valian, her personal tormentor, kept himself close to her, standing just a single step behind her, as if he were drinking in the scent of her presence. This is his fault, his doing! Anger and anguish almost encouraged her to spin about and strike that accursedly seductive face of his. But her hand remained still, burdened by the guilt of knowing that this was as much her doing as it was his. My fault…my sin was the carriage that brought us to this dark place. Traveling deeper into the fragile sanctuary of her mind only reminded her that it was her own weakness to temptation that had allowed Valian to sway her with his charms when first they met at the local pub. Within herself, she could muster no defense against the horrible truth. She had been all too eager to forget and betray her husband and the marriage they shared that night, and now she confronted the consequence for weakness and wickedness. A breeze swept through the evening air, stirring the hair of the night women across from her. Yet still they stared at her, both of them smiling with mischief in their eyes as their tresses cascaded over their fair faces. The one to her husband’s right was gorgeous in her flowing dress of white, her golden hair stroking at the wind as though with a lover’s affection. Her curves were ample, her lips full, and her smile was something promising of both pleasure and pain. The woman to Garrett’s left was almost the exact opposite, but no less alluring. She was a lithe and slender thing, with long dark curls and large, doe-like eyes set in a round, pretty face. Between the two of them, Garrett looked sorely out of place as they each held him effortlessly with a single arm beneath each of his. “Do it,” she heard Valian whisper into her ear from behind, his lovely lips nearly caressing her pale flesh. She shivered at the sound of his voice, ecstasy mixed with terror. So soft his voice, a commanding song to which I have become a slave. The agonizing sensation was made all the more intense as the wind brought a ticklish touch of his long, auburn hair onto her cheek. “Prove your love for us, Analise. Prove your love for me…and remove him.” As he purred into her ear, his hand slid into hers a delicately curved dagger fashioned with a golden pommel. Her fingers coiled about the hilt and she nearly squeezed her eyes shut in some attempt at retreat. Again he was tempting her, making her feel the seductive fire of pleasure in his words. She wanted to thrust her arm out, to plunge the knife into Garrett’s soft chest and watch as his blood gushed forth. The thought instantly brought to her a surge of panic, and she bit down on her lower lip. He’s my husband, she tried to remind herself. I love him! This was wrong, she knew, terribly wrong. It had been her choice to walk down this dark road, not Garrett’s. He should be set free and allowed to live. The sin was not his burden to bear. But if she defied Valian and the night women, what then would they do to her? There was no one around to implore for help, and even if she could scream for the town to hear, most of the common people would never hear her over the roar of their evening festivities. Suttonsville was famed for its great breweries and constant celebrations. Just as she noticed a look of impatience flutter across the night women’s faces, she heard someone approach from the base of the hill. Deliverance? She could only pray that the gods in the heavens above hadn’t abandoned her. She watched in desperate, anxious waiting as he completed his ascension up the ridge, appearing from behind the two women, having come from the direction opposite the town. At first, Valian and the women all seemed to become suddenly hesitant, like children caught misbehaving. Analise swallowed past her fear and forced her gaze upon the newcomer. He was of around the same height as her husband, but shorter than Valian. Nonetheless, his presence was one of subtle authority. The effortless grace with which he made each step put her in instant awe of him. Simple raiment of black covered his slender form. He wore no cloak and no gloves, but a sheathed sword hung from his left hip. His hair was black; the tresses so long that they came down to just teasingly brush at his shoulders. He had a square face, the skin pale and ghostly under the silver glow of the moon. Yet there was something in his clean-shaven visage that resonated in a mixture of power and beauty. Through the thin veil of dark wisps of hair dangling from above his brow, sharp eyes of eerie blue glanced from one person to the next before settling upon Analise. She felt the weight of his power, the quiet undertones of his anger, and she wanted nothing more than to cringe and step away. Somehow, though, she managed to stand still. “Dorian,” the golden-haired woman purred from Garrett’s right, her voice sensual and sweet, akin to a lover’s murmur during the tender moments of sexual afterglow. “Dorian,” the second woman adoringly echoed. The newcomer ignored the night women and looked instead to Valian. He tilted his head to the left, as if to convey interest or amusement. “And what, pray tell, do we have here?” His voice was as soft as a rare breeze in summer, warm and comforting like a favorite pillow. Analise almost felt her fears put to rest in the presence of such comfort, but she forced herself from the deceitful daze. “Conversion, My Lord,” Valian answered with a bow that was meant to appear solemn yet felt half-hearted to her perception. The man called Dorian looked from Analise and then to Garrett. Her husband held a gleam of defiance in his working eye. For a moment, she was afraid that he might say something to offend his captors, but--much to her relief--he remained silent. “And this is?” the newcomer quietly asked. “The girl’s husband,” the golden-haired woman answered with a bright smile, delighted to be of service. Analise could have sworn that she caught sight of the man Dorian cringing ever so slightly. Yet his eyes blazed to life far too quickly for her to be sure. The icy blue orbs again looked at her and Valian in turn. She could feel his anger, his outrage, but it, like the cringe, swiftly dissipated, leaving only utter coldness in its wake. He turned back to Garrett. “A cruel fate you face,” Dorian murmured to her husband. Garrett met his eyes with as much a glare as he could muster, but the strength was gone from him, stolen away when he had realized the infidelity of the wife he had adored. “You interrupted the ritual when I was turning her,” she heard Valian explain to the newcomer, still remaining close by her side. “You stopped us before she could drink her fill of my blood. But she rose as one of us nonetheless. Now we must make sure of her loyalty.” Drink my fill? Rose as one of them? Now she remembered, and such pain was the footfall of terrible memory. Her head swam with the obscure haze of disordered events, of Valian and his delicious touches, his perfect, knowing hands, and the cool sweetness of his mouth. And then she recalled the ecstasy of bleeding, the pinnacle of pleasure she had never before imagined--and it had all come to an abrupt end. This man, this Dorian, had interfered, had stripped her of her pleasure and peeled Valian from her sweating, writhing body. After that, there was only blackness…until now. She watched as Dorian fixed the other man with a hard stare before at last giving a curt nod of his head. “So be it then, but I warn you not to tarry for much longer.” He stepped to one side and gestured with a hand to guide Analise towards her husband. The wind stirred again and she felt the dark blue wool of her cloak wrap around her body even as brown tresses fell over her face. She wished she could forever hide behind that veil, but a second breeze brushed the wisps of hair aside, clearing the path for her eyes to settle upon her husband. She inhaled deeply, though to no effect, and she began to walk forward. Each step felt harder than the last, as though her legs were becoming frozen with every passing second. The dagger had become a terrible weight in her hand, but she managed to push herself onward. And then Dorian moved in front of her. She dared to hope that he would end this and prevent her from making the horrible choice. Her hope almost became fulfilled when he reached for her hand and took the knife away. Gods above! Praise be to you! Ahead of her, Dorian looked the dagger over before moving a hand to the sword at his hip. The scrape of the blade clearing its scabbard echoed in the silence of the night, slicing into her prayers and bringing with it the demonic wings of burden as he handed her the new weapon, pommel first. “His head,” Dorian softly explained to her ensuing look of confusion. She stared down at the offered sword, feeling the heavy weight of his eyes on her. Ever so slowly, she gleaned every ounce of courage within her to lift her gaze to his. His blue eyes, so suddenly pale and devoid of life, stared back at her in a manner she feared was knowingly. It was as though he could see her every thought, know her every feeling. Then I am truly damned, abandoned for my horrible sin. She bowed her head in a tentative nod to confirm her understanding as she accepted the blade. In front of her, the night women had forced Garrett down to his knees in order to facilitate the killing stroke. Her hand wrapped around the sword’s hilt and her eyes were drawn to the glitter of moonlight upon its immaculate blade. Though she had never held a sword before, she couldn’t help but appreciate the extravagance of this particular weapon. The blade was strong and sturdy, the balance crisp, and the pommel had been shaped so that the crosspiece reflected the curvaceously sharp wings of a gliding bat. It should have been heavy, she knew, but she held it with ease in one hand. The frailty of her former life was no longer a concern. For my sin I have gained a strength never before imaginable. She moved forward, almost eager to taste the feel of thrusting steel into flesh. But, as before, she tried to force such thoughts from her mind. The panic struck her again as she wondered what was happening to her. Garrett was now directly before her, about to be executed for the crime of loving her. He had always been a good man, had comforted her during her father’s sickness before he died, had loved her greatly, and even if not with skill, then with all the strength of his heart. He loves me, she sadly reflected, pain becoming a storm writhing within her. She felt all their eyes on her, all of them except for him. She reached her left hand, her empty hand, towards his face. He instantly looked up at her. His eyes, even the swollen one, still contained within their dark depths his boundless love for her, accompanied by the tragic anguish of her betrayal. Her hand caressed along the flesh of his cheek, and the sudden sparkle of reflecting moonlight drew her attention to the ring adorning her finger, the endless symbol of their marriage. Don’t say it, she prayed. Please don’t say it. But it was as though he had also took note of her wedding ring, for he whispered in a hoarse, throaty voice, “I love you…” Tears threatened to gather around her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out. “I’m so sorry…” “Do it,” purred the golden-haired woman, her smile wide and wicked. “Oh, yes…please…plunge it in…plunge it in… plunge it in! ” the raven-haired woman began to chant, her voice wavering in pitch as though she were goading on a lover to propel her to the peak of pleasure. She looked from them and to her husband, who had kept his eyes on her. There was so much she wanted to say to him, so much shame and guilt she wanted to confide in him. But it was impossible. “Analise,” she heard Valian say from behind, an edge of impatience in his voice. She spared him a glance over her shoulder and gave a delicate nod. Another useless breath was taken in before she gathered the sword’s hilt in the grip of both hands. Garrett still looked up at her, his love an eternal shimmer in his dark eyes. And she brought the sword down— —And to the left, slashing into the golden-haired woman’s face. A horrible screech split the air, but Analise was heedless of fear just then. She twisted the sword around and thrust the blade into the belly of the second woman. Even as the raven-haired woman’s wail echoed the first, Analise pulled the sword clear and turned to Garrett, her eyes wide with desperation. “Run!” she begged him. “Run, my love! Run!” To her elation, Garrett found the strength to push himself to his feet and scramble down the slope of the hill. Knowing she had to ensure her husband’s escape, she twisted herself about to slash at the man Dorian. But his right hand shot straight towards her, his long fingers catching onto her wrist and intercepting the blow. She struggled against him, but it was useless. He was as unyielding as stone. She looked up at him pleadingly, but his pale visage remained without expression, his cool eyes revealing nothing. And so she glanced after Garrett, only to see that Valian, his eyes suddenly red like the roots of burning flames, had begun to give chase. “No!” she cried out. Then, to her surprise, she heard Dorian utter the words: “Let him go.” She watched as Valian stopped in his tracks and swung about to face the other man. She saw Valian’s confusion and anger, but Dorian said again, this time more slowly, “Let him go.” Though he had spoken calmly, in that same, easily tranquil manner of his, there dwelt a power in his voice, a great, underplayed strength that seemed to humble Valian’s seething rage. She looked up to the stars, silently offering a prayer of thanks to the gods for her husband’s escape. Then she heard the chorus of savage, hungry hissing from behind. Terror again seeped its blade into her as she beheld the sight of the two night women converging on her. The golden-haired woman’s face was still torn and bloody, the flesh hanging loose and raw, her white dress sullied with the mess. Her companion was in no better condition with her own gown shredded in the center and blood weeping down her skirts. “Give her to us!” the golden-haired woman begged of Dorian as he still held her wrist in his grasp. “To us!” the second woman agreed. Their eyes were aflame as Valian’s had been a moment earlier, their fingers poised like the claws of some wild beast, their nails elongated and sharp like knives. She wanted to weep and sob, to plead with Dorian to not let her go. But, as before, she remained still and silent despite her fears. Slowly, Dorian unwrapped her wrist from his grip, but only after he had peeled the sword away. He did not even look at her, keeping his eyes fixed on the two women and Valian before him. “This farce is at its end,” he said gravely, coolly, and with a pointed glance at Valian. “I trust we will suffer no further emulation of this evening’s debacle.” The other man winced ever so faintly before lowering his head. “None, My Lord.” Dorian treated the three of them to a small, icy smile. “Good. Now let us be off before the sun provides any assurance that your promise might lack.” The night women similarly bowed their heads and started walking off. Valian lingered for a moment longer before following after them. With them gone and only Dorian left, Analise stole a glance in the direction Garrett had gone. A hand settled upon her shoulder and she turned to see Dorian. Through the ice in his visage, she thought she caught a flicker of sympathy. “There is nothing there for you now,” he whispered. Somehow, she knew that he was not wrong. -----signature----- "You call those fake implants you got boobs? They're not boobs! They're LIES!" -Stewie "It was mostly sweet, and you were the sweetest of all." -Muad'Dib
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Fenrisulven Registered: Nov '04	Date Posted: 12/5/06 6:31am Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	Hey Valyn, I really liked that sample. Nice amount of suspense. And I was so happy that she actually used the sword when she turned on them. It feels like I've read a lot of stories where characters doesn't use their weapons, they just drop it in fear when they need it the most. I finished another short story today. For the easily amused I hereby present "Sticky Situations": http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/44208207/ -----signature----- There's a demon in the fridge. Get it Out.
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Valyn Registered: Mar '02	Date Posted: 12/5/06 10:47am Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	I'll be checking out your story in a bit. Thanks for reading mine -----signature----- "You call those fake implants you got boobs? They're not boobs! They're LIES!" -Stewie "It was mostly sweet, and you were the sweetest of all." -Muad'Dib
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Valyn Registered: Mar '02	Date Posted: 12/5/06 3:35pm Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	In the meanwhile, here's an excerpt from the Fantasy novel I'm currently working on. Hope you enjoy. Though forgotten and buried by time, the lore of ancient Darnok Terien was often the abode of great wisdom. The elapsed words of that secret convent once taught that the past is but the foundation of the present, not the diktat by which we forge the future. The future is made in every breath we take here and now. -From “Tragic Truths” by the Dreamer of the Bloodied Blade and Shadow of Sorrow BURDEN OF HISTORY 400 years ago… Keil Las’Demar, Shadow Warrior of Darnok Terien, stood alone in a secluded chamber within the upper level of Darnok S’Ludos, the Citadel of Shadow, home and heart to the outcast elves of Darnok Terien. He stared out a large, faceless window that overlooked the desert spread before him, rolling on and on as far as the eye could see. The fading day’s heat danced upon the faraway dunes in waves of menace and oppression. The young elf looked down at the stone around him. Darnok S’Ludos, a massive spherical dome that took the painstaking labor of more than three hundred human slaves to shape and erect, had stood here, in the heart of the Spurna’else desert for more than a thousand years. Across from the window he now stood by, he could see one of the four soaring sentinel towers, each of them shaped in the likeness of robed and hooded elves. A breeze came from the desert to whisper through his long locks of silver hair, stinging his face with beads of hot sand. So thick was the silence in the ancient fortress that the wind made an echo around him, eerie and imploring, as if warning of death to come. Once that wind would have been drowned in the noise of gathering elves, of battles between Shadow Warriors waged in the arena below, of lectures and diatribes hosted by venerable sages and masters of the Order. Now only the silence of looming death lingered, brought here as if by the harsh desert wind, a creeping storm beseeched by the human Meithcael’s ascendancy to supreme power within the order. Meithcael, Keil’s mentor, his Kressil, revered teacher and sponsor in this, the coterie that elves of Shanakri had deemed to be called Darnok Terien, the Cult of Shadow. Keil’s faint, crystalline blue eyes continued to stare out into the desert, as if attempting to thrust his vision through the blurred waves the desert lifted in defiance to beings of flesh and water. Somewhere across that vast, empty distance was Meithcael, Master of Darnok Terien, the Lord of Shadow. Meithcael would come, he knew. The human’s patience was not eternal, and he would expect Keil, his honed and trained assassin, to have completed his assigned task of decimating the Order’s last voice of significance. “Keil.” Her voice was a caress upon his pointed ears, soft but strong, possessing of a power he himself felt forever deprived of. He turned to look at her from over his shoulder, watching as she approached him. She walked with a grace that defied time, the fabric of her swishing, gray robes pouring from her body like the cascading water of an Amastrian waterfall. As she drew near to him, he temporarily lost his breath in awe of the dance of sunlight upon her crimson tresses. From beneath that veil of red hair, brilliant eyes of emerald stared up at him, the corners of which were ever so slightly sharpened and defined by elvish age. “What are you doing here? We have lessons that must be covered.” He looked from her and to the desert beyond the exposed window. “I was trying to find time,” he murmured in a tone that mixed rebellious scorn and boundless sorrow. The combination brought a brief look of pain into her eyes, but she quickly pushed it aside, regaining an air of composed superiority. “We haven’t the time for you to find more. Meithcael—” “He would have expected me to have killed you by now,” the Shadow Warrior coolly interrupted. “This has been my argument since you began to teach me without his knowing. You are always the one insisting that Meithcael would not anticipate my victory over you to be a quick one.” He turned to her, his eyes adopting the chilling quality of ice that had made him so feared in the arena back in the time before Meithcael’s ascension, back when Darnok Terien was more than a step from ruin. “Why the sudden change of mind, Serena?” Serena V’Lakan, Voice of the Order’s Inner Circle, turned away from him. “The heat must make you delirious to speak to me so,” she said evenly, a notable edge in her words. He instantly regretted his callous attitude. Thoughts of Meithcael had wrought an anger in him, especially when coupled by the secret truths Serena had been sharing with him during their brief time together, time which the Shadow Lord suspected was being used for his puppet assassin to battle and kill the female elf. Time that Serena had reshaped as a period of enlightenment and revelation to the young Shadow Warrior. With such ease had she convinced him to lower his blades, to hear her voice, and to know truths which Meithcael would forever keep him blind to. Serena was his true Kressil now, though not a soul could ever know. “Serena,” he started in an apologetic manner, but she whirled on him, her green eyes full of that strong passion that had first captivated him, that had seduced him into making her his first and, at this point, only lover. The experiences shared with Serena were something that he hadn’t been able to enjoy with his precious Ayanala Elasrinan, who had been murdered long before Darnok Terien had issued its calling to him. “You cannot be afraid of him!” she snapped suddenly. “We of the Inner Circle granted to him his coveted title of Overlord, and now he destroys us from within, but still must we remain devoid of fear! There is too much at stake—too much to be lost because we are afraid.” She spoke with such intensity, such desperate vigor that he felt his heart go out to her, though he would never admit it. Could never admit it. “He destroys from within through his use of me,” was all Keil could say, a quiet whisper beneath the rustling of sand and dust. “What am I but a puppet with a sword? If preservation of this Order that you hold so dear to you is what you seek, Serena, then you must do away with me.” “Ignorance!” she roared. It was her favored word of derision regarding him. “Again you mold yourself back into the role he would have you play! Why do you insist on forgetting all that I teach you? We have such precious little time, and you go a leap backwards after each step forward!” She shook her head; spraying scarlet locks this way and that. He moved a hand to her shoulder, but she sharply pulled back and locked a firm glare upon him. “I grow so tired of this debate, Keil,” she murmured to him, her eyes losing their fire under the moisture of unbidden emotion. It was emotion he knew she wanted him to ignore, to neglect and forget. “You are so…so special, Keil…” She lifted a delicate hand to his cheek, gently rubbing where the sand had stung earlier. “You mastered the Sacred Test, the caverns down below the desert’s heart. You found the revered bird of prophecy…” Never far from the Shadow Warrior, and as if drawn by her mention of it, a sudden caw split the air, followed by the flapping of wings. The raven flew in from the desert to perch itself against the window’s ledge. From its sleek head of black feathers, round, dark eyes looked from Serena to Keil, and then back again. Serena returned the bird’s stare, her throat made abruptly dry by its presence. She turned away and lifted her gaze again to Keil’s pale visage. “No one has ever done as you have,” she said softly. “To have defeated the demon of the desert in combat, to have joined with the raven described in prophecy and myth…” He interrupted her with a shake of his head. “The combat was not one of blades, Serena.” “I know,” she quietly answered, her expression uncharacteristically sullen. “It was a battle waged on the grounds of desire, of emotion and passion. I remember your recital of it.” She looked so cold now, so hard and devoid of the warmth he knew her capable of. “I know that it was your passion that made you overcome the fears of that dark place. Passion for your lost love, your Ayanala.” How strange, he mused as he watched her. She looked so sad, but there always appeared a flicker of sadness in her brilliant eyes whenever conversation traveled to talk of the Sacred Test….and of Ayanala Elasrinan. Absurd! Keil knew that he should name her feelings of jealousy for what he deemed they were, but Ayanala had died long before he had ever met Serena, long before even Meithcael had come upon him to set him upon the road to Darnok Terien and the pathway into shadow. “Passion…passion…” he muttered with a shake of his head. “I was always taught as a Shadow Warrior to avoid passion, to avoid the cloud and fog it raises in the mind, the haze over judgment and discretion.” “But had you adhered to those cold lessons, where then would we be?” Serena quietly murmured. “One of us would be a bloodied corpse upon silent stone.” His eyes met hers and he murmured, “Passion becomes your greatest ally in this dark time of finality, it would seem.” “Passion could be an even greater threat should you not return your leash upon it,” she warned. But then, to the pained, confused look in his eyes, she quickly added: “Passion opens doors, Keil. That is something that neither of us can ever deny—will never deny, I would hope. But some doors need be left sealed. You must replace your ice over this fire.” Her hand moved over his chest, as if to indicate the heart beating within his flesh. But if the allusion was indeed accurate, he knew that it was done unconsciously. Neither of them could bear to admit what truly dwelt within the beats of their hearts. “If you do not,” Serena went on, “Meithcael will know. He expects you to mold yourself into icy resolution to serve in his puppet dance against time. One misstep is all it would take for him to realize that you are no longer his.” “Am I then yours?” he dared to venture. She hesitated, her hand swiftly slipping away from his bosom. “You belong to Darnok Terien, Keil,” she answered at last, though she no longer looked at him. “Meithcael has gone from that path. Now there is only you. You must remember what I have taught you, remember that this is not Darnok Terien…not the way it was meant to be.” She choked down what might have been a dry sob, but that would have been impossible. Serena would never sob, would never shed a single tear. Keil knew this! And yet, as he stared at her now, he began to share her opinion of himself as ignorant. “Darnok Terien is not a cult founded solely upon violence and darkness,” Serena murmured, though she had incessantly imparted this lesson of history to him. “The Order has become distorted by time, distorted by those like Meithcael who have used it to further their own powers. Once, Darnok Terien was a haven to those who believed in defiance of what the Shanakri call ‘Nature’s Way,’ a means by which to cut past the preordained flow of destiny.” She shook her head and sighed heavily. “Meithcael would have the world’s last memory of us be that of a stain of shadow upon golden sand.” “How am I to restore the Darnok Terien of your dreams, Serena?” Keil muttered. “How would this make me any less a puppet?” “You make yourself a puppet!” she snapped, strength fully restored to her demeanor. “I have sensed how special you were when first Meithcael brought you to this citadel. The air of destiny is thick in you, but you refuse to feel it, ever so willing to adhere to the whims of others! Meithcael is puppet master only as long as he believes that the strings are his to command.” She exhaled in a heavy breath, her shoulders rising and falling with intake and release, and she turned away from him. “Why do you refuse to believe that the strings could be in your hands? I beseech you to restore Darnok Terien, to overcome Meithcael through patience and guile, not because I wish to put my own collar upon you, but because I want you to see. Open your eyes and look past the blindness you have allowed to be draped over you. That is what ancient Darnok Terien stood for.” Though Keil could no longer see her face, a part of him knew that there were tears glittering in her eyes. So much passion… He wanted only to reach out and touch her, hold her to him. But what comfort could he, a lowly Shadow Warrior, offer to the Voice of the Inner Circle? Centuries his senior, Serena was another master in this game of pawns and puppets. But he couldn’t fully commit himself to that depraved view. There was a beauty in her, founded on her love for her beliefs. Once she had even whispered that she believed in him. Did that, he wonder, equate to love? He stared at her as she held herself across from him, looking out the window as darkness began to fill the desert beyond. With a sigh of resignation, he walked towards her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “Serena,” he murmured with his lips brushing along her left ear. “Shhh…” she bade him into silence while watching the faraway descent of the desert sun. She relaxed against him, sinking into his arms, and, for a moment, even she dared consider the implications of love. “Passion is all we can ever have,” she whispered sadly into the growing darkness. -----signature----- "You call those fake implants you got boobs? They're not boobs! They're LIES!" -Stewie "It was mostly sweet, and you were the sweetest of all." -Muad'Dib
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Valyn Registered: Mar '02	Date Posted: 12/5/06 3:50pm Subject: RE: The Writers' Guild
	Fenrisulven posted: Hey Valyn, I really liked that sample. Nice amount of suspense. And I was so happy that she actually used the sword when she turned on them. It feels like I've read a lot of stories where characters doesn't use their weapons, they just drop it in fear when they need it the most. I finished another short story today. For the easily amused I hereby present "Sticky Situations": http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/44208207/ Aside from a few typos (and lack of spacing to help my aging eyes! ), it was funny. I laughed At first, I was kinda' wondering how Criff was going to get down. I thought he would just snake his way along the branch's length until he reached the end and then just scoop the rope up ov