Storythread

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Hooray! You're back!

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>>51309072
Every other Friday, same as always. I did think about starting a thread last Friday when the old one 404'd so early, but I decided that it was easier to keep to the schedule.

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>>51309072
incidentally, it's nice to see someone cares. It's kind of disheartening when I have to watch the thread 24/7 to keep in from dying.

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>>51309558

>>51310014
You do good work, don't be disheartened!

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>>51308973
>epic campaign greentexts and the like go elsewhere
So is this for non-greentext only, or is greentext okay so long as it's /tg/-related creative writing rather than "this one time at my table..."?

>>51312494
>>51312494
seems kind of odd to present creative writing as greentext, but if you want to try it go ahead.

okay, someone's going to have to make sure this thing keeps going because I'm going to bed now.

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>>51314269
oops, meant to post a pic with that

Damn I was already working on a story on the previous thread, can't believe it had to die prematurely.

Anyways I'll be posting my still working on story. For those who know me and the stories I've done so far; especially the White Scarf, I'm working on a story that takes place in its same world.

So y'all just keep this weekly thread alive folks, please and thank you.

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One night in the pub, I found a strange kid in a red hood.

I didn't quite pay any mind to her until it was time to close up shop. I went to her to get her out. It was at that time that she said something.
>Hey, did you know that people once feared wolves?
Truth be told, I didn't pay any mind to it. It was late in the night and I didn't really have any reason to care about it. I just nodded and sent her on her way.

The next day I was talking to a band of hunters who were regulars. They were talking to me about their most recent winter hunting trip. It was honestly not that out of the ordinary until one of them then mentioned firing at a wolf. At that moment, I decided to ask about what the kid said. One of the hunters, I think it was John, informed me that there was a time back in the days of our fathers, before the invention of things like gunpowder and bullets, that wolves were indeed feared. John's father told him all sorts of tales about how wolves ate those who strayed too far into the forest and how they'd steal the women. I asked if any of this was true, but it seemed to be that none of them could really offer much in the way of proof. John said his father once saw a wolf-like person, Felix was reminded of an old tale about a wolf who was chased out of the house of a family with an only daughter, and Will said that his dad knew a guy who supposedly killed a wolf. When I asked what made them so scary, they all had the same answer: the advent of firearms.
Sure, there were ways to take down a wolf beforehand, but they were all honestly incredibly difficult and took more skill than most people had. Guns didn't require that much. With a few hours of practice, a couple bullets and some gunpowder, anyone could fire like a pro. Compared to about twenty years ago, there were less then half as many wolves out in the woods and those what were still around knew to run the instant they saw a gun.

>>51313097
>seems kind of odd to present creative writing as greentext
Really? I've seen a lot of (admittedly, mostly fetishy) greentexts that I'd think of as creative writing, just in a different format.
The sentence structure is different, it seems to move the plot to a different tempo, and there's a stronger preference towards first- and second-person perspective, but it seems pretty legitimate.
Though, not something for outside of 4chan.

>>51309072
Lightning flashed through the skies, illuminating the hills. They had been wandering through this waste for -weeks,- searching for some burial mound or something. Hell if Jeremiah knew- the crazy professor leading this expedition had barely spoken to him since they'd left the comforts of civilization. What kind of academic left the plush halls of Everhold for the Barrows? The kind that pays well, evidently. Which is why Jeremiah, several other fellows who were presumably being paid and were probably even human, and the crazy old hook-nosed freak with the floppy hat were trekking through the ghostly terrain. In the middle of the storm season, of course, because it was of "Grahnd importahnce, the likes of which you could not BEHGIN to comprehend."
A startled cry from up ahead broke Jeremiah from his reverie. "There! In the hills!" Some sheepish lowlander no doubt, scared of his own shadow. The shrieking boy was scrambling backwards, feet slipping in every direction on the soaked slate that made up the path.
"What, boy? Lost your nerve?" Grasping the coward by the collar Jeremiah hauled him upright, prepared to deliver some scathing retort.
"No! I saw it! I saw it!" As if on cue, the lightning bloomed again, and Jeremiah saw... something. It towered over the hills, empty eyesockets staring directly at the small party. A skeletal arm was draped almost lovingly around a mound, ossified feet cracking the slate.
With a start, Jeremiah realized something. Something about the mountains. They were too regular, too smooth, too uniform to be natural. Almost like... almost like...
"Professor. I believe we have found your burial mounds."

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>>51315132
>Important author note:

This story takes place in the same world as this story: https://1d4chan.org/images/5/5b/TheWhiteScarf.png

So it's best and or important you read it first as a way of understanding its world and context. Anywho, enjoy this next story that'd involve the White Scarf, the very first story I wrote for the storythreads.

###

This was a bad time and or a bad place for the lowly beggar; Toby Bailey, to be having a train ride in this hour. Beacause out of sheer bad luck and coincidence members of the "Demonium" gang where in the same train Toby was currently in. The Demonium are the most feared gangsters of the North Splorstom District in the city of Farburg; which is also about three miles away from the city of Nearburg, in which both cities belong to the Twin Distance County.

But as of now Toby the Beggar picked a bad time and also the wrong train to be hitching a ride in. Because the train that Toby hopped on so happened to belong to the Demonium Gangsters due to the owners of the train station being associated and having ties with the gang. And it was also very late at night, about eleven thirty, which most people in Splorstom District are very much asleep and not out in public, save for law enforcement and people who work late at night. But the Demonium Gangsters know how to keep hidden and out of sight from the authorities in their home district of their home town.

Made even worse for Toby is that he does not even know who these gangsters really are. He was just a drifter who constantly traveled city to city and he was just done drifting around the city of Farburg and boarded this train in a bad time. And the four Demonium gangsters noticed Toby the Beggar who was easily recognizable outfit that composed of cardboard cutout "armor pieces" and also the action figures he was fiddling around with and also he had a child's backpack.

>>51315151
The whole time, I couldn't help but feel a bit of pity. I mean, I was still scared as anyone else was, but it reminded me of this bully I knew at school who grew up to be some miserable beggar who lived on the street, trying to scare people into paying him but always failing.

And just as I was thinking about her, I found that kid at a table again, still looking out a window. I decided to strike up some small talk with her this time, asking if she heard those hunters and what her opinion was. I also explained that they weren't trying to be mean or anything, they were just good at their job. Her response was brief again:
>I know the legends of the wolves better than you think. They aren't the beasts you think they are, but everything you heard is true.
I didn't quite get any of this, so I asked her to explain.
>If you ever went outside when the moon's at its fullest, you'd understand.
Before I could ask again, she already ran out. I was completely lost.

Over the next few days, I decided to ask more about the wolves. Nothing that weird girl mention left my mind, and the fact that it bothered me so was cause for concern. I asked those hunters again on what superstitions they knew, I asked the local seers about the strange things they knew about the wolves, and I tried to ask the girl again, though she only gave me more cryptic answers. I learned about the tales about how men became wolves on the full moon, about how it was said that they once lived all the way up there, and how before we conquered our fear, wolves ruled the night.
It all lined up with each other, the superstitions, the fear of the dark, the fear of the moon and its children the wolves. The people were taught to never be outside when it's late because of all those tales of the wolves. The only thing that still didn't make sense was that girl's statements. How could everything be true if they aren't what I thought they were?

In the end, the only lead I had left to follow was the full moon.

>>51316229
"Uhhhhh... Yeah? You wana talk to me? Could you spare any change?" Toby Bailey spoke softly to the three gangsters who noticed and looked at him.

The three Demonium gangsters walked to where Toby was seated, all while the train was moving in a steady pace.

One of the gangsters asked. “Hey pal, you know who we are?” One of the gangsters asked loudly while Toby stayed quiet, likely realizing what he got himself into. The gangster asked again. “I said, you know who we are!? What ya got yourself into!?”

Toby replied softly. "No, I Don't know who you are. Where I'm going... I just hitched a ride 'cause I just wanted to go wherever this train's stopping by."

"You have no idea who we are?"

"...No."

The gang member who questioned Toby laughed out loud, and so did a few gang members in the train car, except for one who was reading a newspaper. The gangster who was taunting Toby drew a knife, but did not use it to threaten Toby, just showed it off, though one of the gangsters who were just sitting was already brandishing a bolo knife. While another one; a scary looking black man, stood up and was holding a hatchet.

The taunting Gangster piped up again. “Old man, we’s the Demonium Gang! We’s one of the most ruthless, toothless and fearsome gangsta’s in this country of Braland, and we’s own half the city of Farburg! The city of Nearburg’s too much of pussies to help and is scared of us, and half of The Twin Distance County knows not to screw with us to! And you don’t know who we are??? And where’ve you been livin’ in, under a rock?!”

Toby replied again wearily. “Please, I just want to get off where ever this train stops to, I mean no harm to any of you. And no, I’m not working for the authorities either. I’m just minding my own business…”

The hatchet wielding gangster joined in and boasted: “Look at this Hobo-Chump, dressing like some cartoon fool and playin’ with dolls! Oh and nice shoes, loser!”

>>51316656
The hatchet wielding gangster continued mocking “-I Know you some poor-ass bitch living off scraps. But who ever gave you those hideous sandals… Flip-Flop-thingies? Must be some cruel and merciless asshole. Again, you playing with children’s toys?”

Another of the gangsters who was brandishing the bolo-knife joined in too. “Also might I ask old man? What are you dressed up as? You trying to impress the kids, geeks and other people who are geeks and got kids? I doubt anyone would find your getup convincing, HAHAHAHAHAHAHEHEHEH!”

Then suddenly there was a loud wooden tapping sound that echoed in the train car, it was from the Demonium Gangster who was sitting down and reading a newspaper. He was tapping his baseball bat that had nails embedded in it on the ground and unlike the three gangsters making fun of Toby; he was quiet the whole time and had a name visible in his jacket, his name apparently was Dante.

“Alright settle down, settle the fuck down you three. We’re just on our way home to my suite in the Frast Avenue; and quit acting like a bunch of juvenile motherfuckers by making fun of an old homeless guy. Not being some moral considering the heinous and evil shit our organization’s done, but come on Bo Cree, Gavin Brinly and especially you Tyler Grin, act like mature adults at the very least.” Dante said to his fellow Demonium Gangsters in a loud yet bored and somewhat tired sounding voice. He was apparently the leader of this small group and Toby noticed Dante looking a bit longer at the blonde knife-holding gangster; whom Toby assumed was Tyler Grin, as Tyler put away his knife back at his pockets and took his seat again.

While the hatchet wielding black man; who was Gavin Brinly, also took his seat back, while the bolo knife holding gangster, who was possibly Bo Cree, also just went back to his seat and settled his bolo knife weapon on his lap.

“So Dante, sir. How long are we from Frast Avenue?” Bo Cree asked Dante.

>>51316968
“We should be at the Frast Station about in five minutes boys. Then we can have ourselves some cold beers at my suite.” Dante said matter of factly.

Toby had to stay quiet for the rest of the trip; he distracted himself with two action figures he had, playing with them. Time passes by, four minutes have past and the trip for Toby was tense as he could feel the Demonium Gangsters; minus Dante, looking at him with certain intent. Then one of the gangsters; Gavin Brinly, announced.

“Hey everyone, I think I see the Frast Avenue Station!”

But to everyone’s surprise the train did not stop as it kept going and going. “Hey what the fuck is this!?” One of the Demonium Gangsters exclaimed.

Then the public announcement speakers of the train sounded up, it was the train driver. “Attention passengers… Due to some technical difficulties and problems… We will not be stopping at Frast Avenue Station; instead we will be stopping at Lower Blingil Station… Sorry for the inconveniences. Please stay seated till the ride ends at Lower Blingil Station. That is all.” The train driver announced, though he sounded very nervous.

“Lower Blingil? Waits a minute, isn’t dat in the Darlington State? We headin’ to Darlington City something’?” Tyler Grin questioned.

“Nah man, Lower Blingil’s in Champids. The border town separating Darlington State from Twin Distance County and Dayport State.” Said Bo Cree.

“What the hell??? This ain’t right boys; this train could’ve just made it back to the previous station back at South Pret. Why bother going all the way to a station at Darlington State??? Stay alert boys...” Dante said to his group.

>will continue later

>>51316531
That night, I found that girl immediately. I asked her if she knew what tonight was.
>Do you want to know what tonight is? What it really means?
After all the guesswork I've had to go through, I only had one answer: yes. I wanted to put this issue to rest, and I wanted her to explain it. To my surprise, the red-hooded girl just drooped her head.
>I feel a bit embarrassed now...
Was it weird of me to think that her reaction almost looked cute? It was the first time she actually looked innocent rather than some enigmatic power who was leading me around by the nose.

When it came time to close the pub for the night, I found the girl by my side. I asked if she had anywhere to go. When she shook her head, then I asked if she minded that I follow her. Again, she shook her head. As soon as I finished locking up for the night, the two of us walked out of town and into the dark forest. I had asked if we should have brought any lights or repellent or even bait, all known ways to at least keep the wolves at bay while we traveled. Instead, she assured me.
>I will make sure they won't bother us. I can promise you that much.
It still made me a bit uneasy to wander around blind, but somehow that girl knew where to go perfectly well. It made me curious what it is she even does most nights. When I asked her, she just assured me that it would be a question for another time. The fact that I was hearing the howling coming closer did even less for my comfort, but I had to trust my partner to lead me safely.

The next thing I saw clearly within the forest as a bonfire. Already around it were packs of wolves, all howling at the moon. The next thing I knew, she too began howling like one of those wolves. She walked ahead of me some more, stepping side by side with the wolves like she was one of them. As her hood dropped, it became clear to me why: she was part-wolf too. On top of her head were two canine ears.

>tbc...sometime soon...ish.

>>51316981
This was getting even tenser than it already is for Toby as he just kept on staying quite. The gangsters often exchanged looks with Toby, while also being tense around their seats. Some more time passes and the train's public announcement speakers go up again.

"Attention passengers, we are five minutes away from Lower Blingil Station in Champids Town, Darlington State border. Repeat, five minutes..." The train driver sounded nervous and anxious again.

This felt like forever for the current passengers. Toby kept pre-occupying himself with his action figures and imaginations while the Demonium Gangsters kept tensely quite while also holding firm to their weapons. Another four minutes have passed and everyone knows it.

“One more minute… One more minute till we arrive at the Lower Blingil Station folks… Stay seated…” The public announcement systems sounded up with the nervous sounding voice of the train operator. One of the Demonium Gangsters; Gavin Brinly, said to his fellow gang members as he twirled around his bolo knife.

“You know what boys? I think that operator’s hiding something. I got a feeling that shit’s got something to hide from us. Maybe that train operator’s forgetting who he’s servin’ and I think he maybe in cahoots with people we don’t like.”

Dante then chimed in: “You know, I think you’re right… Assuming that operator’s in cahoots, we stop in Lower Blingil and quickly bag him. Beat some answers out of him if we must; know why we’re stopping at Lower Blingil and not at Frast Avenue Station… ASSUMING there ain’t any witnesses around since we’re in Darlington now…” Dante said with a gritted voice knowing that they’re outside their turf of Farburg and the Twin Distance County.

But Toby either did not overhear their conversation or just minded his own business he was about getting ready to leave and packing his belongings. Finally the train stopped at Lower Blingil Station.

>to be continued

>>51320355
Tyler Grin quickly rose up and peeked out to see the station if there were any people, and somewhat confirming to their suspicion, there were no other people outside to board the train.

“Yo Dante soir! No one else around this station! Either there aren’t peeps because its dis late, or we’s bein’ set up!”

And with that everyone; even Toby Bailey. Stood from their seats as the doors of the train opened up and Tyler Grin was the first to not only getting out, but practically dash out of the train as he was suddenly heard yelling.

“HEY YOU MISTER TRAIN OPERATOR! WHERE’S YOU GOIN!? GET BACK ‘ERE YOU LITTLE BITCH!!!”

At the sound of that, the Demonium Gangsters rushed out to, but Dante stayed for awhile to say something to Toby Bailey, who was still standing not knowing what to do.

“Hey hobo, whatever happens out there; DO NOT interfere. You got it?”

“…Uhmm… I really don’t even know what’s with all this, I just wana leave now-”

“Good, then don’t interfere, OKAY!? And here, something for your troubles.” Dante threw about a hundred credits at Toby, mostly in hopes of having to keep his mouth shut and look the other way around as opposed to charity. Dante dashed out of the train car and Toby then followed in suite to just leave and go someplace else where the road leads him.

As Toby moved out of the train car he saw the four Demonium Gangsters all gathered around the Train Operator. Bo Cree was the one to ask as he pointed his hatchet at the Train Driver;

“Why the fuck you brought us here to Darlington State!? And why the fuck were you trying to run away when Tyler here approached as soon as you got of your working post!?”

And Gavin Brinly then motioned his Bolo Knife close to the Train Operator. “Tell us, you setting us up or something!? WELL ARE YA!? YOU FORGETTING WHO YOU WORKING WITH NOW!?”

>>51320598
Please don't let this thread die yet people, keep bumping so thou may continue and finish this story.

>>51318659
I couldn't really say if I was terrified of this development but when I saw that girl look back at me, I was reminded of what she said. I slowly met her in front of the bonfire and none of the wolves even paid heed. I guess she really kept to her word.

Just being in the same place as all those predators made me uneasy. Even with that strange wolf-girl by my side, I constantly looked around to see if any of them noticed me. Before I could make sure, the bonfire suddenly went out for a moment, and I remember a hand grabbing onto me. An instant later, and there were no more wolves in the area, but a herd of people just like the girl, who looked no different than before.

It then came to me that this was a family reunion. The wolf people came together and began chatting. Honestly, with this many people talking, I felt kind of unprepared without at least a drink or two to share around. Actually, did wolves even drink? In any case, I kept close to my new friend as she walked around, meeting her myriad relatives and friends, now not in wolf form.
Curiously, I noticed that while all the wolves referred to each other in all sorts of terms and names, everyone who talked to the hooded girl all kept their contact short and referred to her in one name:
>Man-Pup
Each time they mentioned that, she just looked away and kept going, as if they just insulted her. As soon as I noticed everyone calling her that, I asked her what the deal was. She just dodged the question, but the pattern kept going without any further understanding. I asked again, and she kept on going. Eventually, I pulled her to the side and asked her upfront why she was avoiding me. I asked what a man-pup was and why she looked hurt every time they said it.
She then suddenly grabbed me. She kept her eyes from looking right at me.
>It's true. I'm the child of a man who fell in love with a wolf. I'm not part of a pack. I'm not part of a family. You're the first person to ever approach me.

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Hello everybody.
We really need to start taking better care of these threads. I left the last one for five hours and it was dead by the time I got back to it. Damn shame. I wish I could promise to keep a watch over this one, but I'm basically comatose already now and I might pass out any moment.

I should have some new tibits ready to post later today though. Just few small bits of translations a larger thing I've been working on lately.

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This thread shall not die, dammit.

>>51322278
I didn't quite understand it all, but from how she looked, I could tell that it meant a lot to her that I was even here. As I drew her a little closer in my arms, I thought about asking her about it, but I was more worried that would just bring up something more uncomfortable for me to know about. Instead of asking to go out again, maybe to figure something out, I decided to just stay where I was with her, rubbing her head just to see if it would calm her down any.

For some reason, I'm not sure why, I then asked the wolf-girl where she lived if she wasn't accepted by the wolves.
>I...cannot live with anyone, so I have to hide on the outskirts of town. I tend to be there before nightfall, but ever since I met you...I've been getting too used to lights and noises that I've been getting scared of being alone.
In all my genius, the next thing I said was that she could live with me. I had a room too big for me to live in, so I'd appreciate the company. As I was snapping to my realization, I noticed those big eyes just looking at me, illuminated by the fire. I was about to tell her that she didn't need to listen to anything I said when she stopped me.
>If you're asking me to be part of your pack, then you can't take your words back. A pack needs a leader, and you're the first person to ask if I wanted to join them.
It was pretty much a yes to me. I then decided to ask what it was tonight was about. Was it just for the wolves to become people? Was it just some social gathering? I was hoping my newfound position of power would give me something over her.
>When a fire rises in the forest, it gives a light. Within the darkness of the forest, that light allows us to see all that we've lost. On nights like these, when the moon is fullest and a fire rises, we can see them. For even an instant, we can remember those who are with us no longer.
So I asked if she was looking for someone too.
>Until I met you, there were only two people who cared about a man-pup like me.

>>51327030
It was easy enough to guess who those two were. As you expressed your sympathies, something even stranger happened.

From the fire emerged wispy figures, each taking the shape of a lupine figure like the other wolves. Many of the wolves bowed to these new arrivals, some started crying. As you were observing this, you didn't notice that there were two figures - one wolf-like, the other more human - making their way to us. By the time you turn back around to notice this, the little girl leaped right off you and into the arms of the two figures...only that they weren't quite real and she landed on the ground. I then notice her crying. She was hating that they weren't there, that she was all alone now and she had no idea how to live on without them.
Honestly, it felt a little heartbreaking. I've been to my share of funerals, and I've seen this happen more times than I'm comfortable with. I've had to deal with the fallout, where the bereaved family heads over to drink their sadness away, blaming all sorts of things that had no responsibility. I've did all sorts of things to get them to calm down, from talking to knocking a bawling brute out with a flagon, so when I saw this little wolf-girl asking why she couldn't be with her parents, I had to step in and calm her down. She slowly stopped crying, but while I was waiting, I decided to try talking. I wasn't sure if they could her me or if I was being rude, but I wanted them to rest assured that I'd be there for their kid.

For a moment, I think they even smiled. The wolf-girl noticed this too, and smiled as well. It was pretty clear that they were glad someone was there for her.
Soon the fire began dying out. First, the images began flickering out, and then the wolves began muttering goodbyes. Eventually, the fire died out altogether, marked by the howling of the wolves. The trip back was equally as swift, and soon we returned to the familiar borders of town. I asked again if she was okay with living with me.

>>51328821
I wasn't exactly sure I'd be able to give enough for the kid, and it made me even more conscious that I was asking this of her. Before I could chatter on about how I shouldn't be doing this stupid and possibly dangerous thing, she grabbed my hand.
>You've already given me so much just by joining me. I'll follow you anywhere you want.

Honestly, I don't know how she got this stuck to me, but if she's that happy to join me, then who am I to refuse? We started walking to my house when I asked the wolf-girl for her name.
>Seline.

Well, Seline. Let's live together happily, shall we?

>>51329640
I like it, man.

The only thing I have is a verb continuity issue.
>>51328821
>I've did all sorts of things
>I have did
Instead, "I have done" stuff. "I've done" things.

Honestly, it feels like you intentionally stuck that there for someone to find it, almost like you were dating someone to read your stuff.

>>51332437
Uh.....*daring

I blame the phone. Sorry.

>>51320598
>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ICjD3f-8SXE

Dante the leader of the group menacingly approached the apprehended train operator with his baseball bat he brandished. “What’s your plan mister train driver? You trying to set us up, is that what you trying to do? So where’s your police buddies? You better hope they arrive soon, because I’m gonna have to practice my swings on you then…”

The train operator tried to fight back and or struggle free, but as Dante was closing in on the train operator Toby Bailey watched from the distance as he was near the exit way of the train station. Toby knew what was going to happen; those gangsters are going to beat him up for some attempt to set them up, kill him and dump his body someplace else. Toby thought to himself that he can simply walk away, ignore the situation and the cries and pleas of the train operator and forget the whole thing.

“YOU DEMONIUM GANGSTERS WON’T GET AWAY WITH YOUR CRIMES AND WRONG DOINGS FOR LONG! JUSTICE’S GONNA HAVE YOUR BUTTS FOR THIS! YOUR ORGANIZATION HAS BEEN GETTING AWAY WITH YOUR CRIMES FOR TOO LONG, JUSTICE WILL PREVAIL-”

The briefly defiant train operator was cut when one of the gangsters who were holding him punched him in the gut, then the rest who had him restrained started curb stomping him. Toby still watched in silence at what was unfolding and still kept thinking on intervening or not, then Toby could hear Dante speak up again.

“Well it seems you’re associates with the authorities are either not coming or are late. Looks like I’ve got a skull to cave in!” Dante raised his bat, about to strike the train operator while the train operator prepared for the hit. Then to everyone’s surprise, Toby Bailey interfered by throwing a trash bin at one of the gangsters, which he intended to hit Dante but ended up stunning Bo Cree as he fell down, dazed. The gangsters all shot looks at Toby as Dante seemed quite upset as cast a menacing look at Toby.

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>>51336770
"You..." Dante pointed his bat at Toby. "YOU... Didn't I tell you to NOT interfere!? I told you this isn't ANY of your business! Now you're going to have to pay for sticking you nose into people's affairs. Tyler Grin, show this bum a lesson, and get the hundred credits back I had to give him..."

"Hehehe with pleasure boss!" Tyler Grin playfully twirled around his knife till he then had it in a stabbing motion, Toby now realized what he has gotten himself into. "Oh and help Bo Cree up, Gavin." Dante spoke again as he turned around back to the train operator whom Dante was about to eliminate again. Then a loud voice that was spoken in a cartoony hero manner was heard.

"THERE WON'T BE ANY ELIMINATION OF INNOCENCE IN MY WATCH, NOT HERE, NOT NOW!"

"...Fuck that better not be him." Dante spoke to himself as he had an idea who that might be as everyone looked at where the voice came from, and they all saw him, The White Scarf. Clad in biker's leathers, wore his specialized biker's helmet, Wakizashi short sword on his side, his signature white cloth scarf and in his ever heroic manners. The train operator was able to slip out of the grasp of the Demonium Gangsters as he quickly dashed off, while also thanking the scarf.

"THANKS FOR COMING IN TO THE RESCUE SCARF!!!" The train operator yelled while running off to the exit.

"You are welcome citizen!" He said to the fleeing train operator then looked back to the gangsters. "So this is the Demonium Gang from the North Splorstom District of the city of Farburg! Such uncouth dress code, criminal behaviors, roguish appearances and generally, EVIL!"

"Hehe, yo boss! This be who we think it is? The White Scarf!? Hahaha! He doesn't sound too bad, and he nothing be but skinny!" Tyler Grin boasted.

Gavin Brinly helped up Bo Cree, as the dazed one questioned, "Hey whats going on? Who the hell threw something at me? Hey, who's that!?" Bo Cree asked.

Gavin Brinly answered, "Shit man, its the White Scarf!"

>>51337084
>song from; >>51336770 still plays:
>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ICjD3f-8SXE

Toby Bailey then quickly hid behind a column, not knowing if the arriving White Scarf was a friendly to him or not, but really the Scarf was a good guy.

"Get ready beat someone up boys, and be serious and strike together. This is the White Scarf we're dealing with!" Dante told to his fellow gang members.

Tyler Grin again boasted while twirling his knife. "We can take him boss! And you Sacrfy, I'm gonna cut you up- *SHPLOT* AAAAAAAGGGHHHH!!!!!"

Before finishing his boast the White Scarf expertly struck a throwing knife to an eye socket of Tyler as he screamed in pain. Then looked back at the Scarf with both shock and some anger. "YOU MOTHER FUCKA! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THAT! AAAAHHH!!!"

The enraged Tyler attempted to charge at the White Scarf while wildly swinging his knife. But the White Scarf again, threw another throwing knife at Tyler's other eye as he stopped dead in his tracks, and fell to the ground, lifeless as the second knife this time struck deep enough to his brain.

"SHIT! Tyler's dead!?" Gavin Brinly exclaimed.

The White Scarf drew his Wakizashi from his sheath. "So, which one of you evil doers is next?" The Scarf asked as he stood in a fighting stance.

"GET HIM! BOTH OF YOU, GANG UP ON HIM!" Dante loudly ordered to to Gavin Brinly and Bo Cree as he banged his baseball bat on a vacant trashbin.

"I'M A CHOP YOU UP BIKER BITCH!" Gavin yelled, charging at the White Scarf and swinging his hatchet, the Scarf dodged the swing of the hatchet as Bo Cree tried to strike the Scarf with his bolo knife but the Scarf parried with his Wakizashi.

>>51337331
Dante tried to attack the Scarf with his bat, but the Scarf just dodged out of the way in time, away from Dante's swing. Bo Cree charged balls out towards the Scarf, but the Scarf dodged out of Bo's charge struck him in the back with a slash of his Wakizashi. Bo Cree yelled out in agony at the slash on his back, then the Scarf thrusted his blade through Bo's back and quickly retracted as he dodged a swing from Gavin's hatchet. Whereas Bo Cree lied dead on the ground along Tyler.

"You fucking killed him!!!" Gavin still tried hacking away against the Scarf, to which he just dodged in a way to bait Gavin away from Dante while he called out to Gavin.

"Wait, Gavin don't! He's baiting you!" And true to that, as Gavin made another wide swing against the Scarf. The White Scarf used that opportunity by dodging that big swing and struck Gavin with his Wakizashi by thrusting at the jugular area. Gavin gurgled with blood, dropping his hatchet, tried getting a hold on the biker hero then died from bleeding and choking on his own blood.

"YAAAARRGH!" A yell from Dante erupted as the Scarf failed to notice Dante charging towards him. But by the last second, the Scarf has received some intervention by a bystander, in the form Toby tackling with Dante.

Though Dante was surprised by Toby tackling him like that, as he quickly punched Toby in the face and pushed him off. But then the White Scarf reciprocated by quickly sheating his blade, rushing to the lowered Dante and striking at him with his two metal padded hands. And with that, Dante was knocked out.

The Scarf looked around him, seeing the three Demonium Gangsters he dispatched off then looked onto Toby Bailey and approached him.

"Are you okay citizen?"

"Oohhh... Yeah I'm fine, thanks for taking down that bad man mister. Just couldn't bear to see people like that have their way."

"I thank of thee citizen, rest assured these type of people will be apprehended and justice served against them."

>will finish soon

>>51329640
>>51329640
It's not bad, but it does not quite "click" with me. Here is a few reasons why:
A) I think you spend a little too much time explaining stuff that the reader has already figured out. We don't need a lesson about the fact that werewolf existed (it honestly seems a bit weird that anyone would actually "forget" and not know that wolves were once hated, even in some bum-fuck countryside in ye-olde-times). Similarly, we don't really need the narrator explicitly stating "I realized she was a half-wolf". The reader has already figured that shit long ago.
B) for a very simple story, that relies on images rather than some kind of epic storyline, your writing might be a bit dry. I am probably telling this people a lot here, but when you establish a scene, such as the one with the werewolf gathering with bonfires under the moonlight, you might want to set up the scene some more - ESPECIALLY since you then set up that the purpose of meeting is to gather and look back at what they once owned. The text should have already actually forshadowed the importance of sigh and the image/scene before that is said.

Finally, and this might sound a little crazy, but have you throught of writing it whole in "second person", that is addressed to the girl from the start? You kinda do it at the very end, but I think it could work better for the whole story. Because this kind of story setup almost begs for that. If you'll give me a second, I'll try to draft up an example of what I mean.

That said, I do like the "small" premise a lot. It's actually very simple stories like this, that don't rely on big twists or excessive fantasy and world building that I believe have the most potential and can be most charming. The rest is really a matter of improving your form and style: you know, all that boring but necessary iterative writer's work.

Now give me a second and I'll post a little example of what I think could be done with the story by shifting the perspective.

>>51315151
Short attempted "rewrite" just for excercise/example sake.

I saw you in the pub one late evening. A little red riding hood, huddled in the corner of the room, gnawing on what little meat was left on the bones of your meal. You were there, tiny in the shadow, in patched clothes little too big, alone and quiet.
To be honest, I was not impressed with you that evening. It was not the first time I child has wondered into my fine establishment, with barely enough coins to pay for their meal. The countryside was full of stray children these days. It was not my place to ask where did you come from or where will you go after: I was just about to close the place and you were just another patron standing between me and my just sleep.
When I was wiping the table next to you, you looked at me and opened your mouth. Do you still remember what you asked me that evening?
You said:
>Did you know why people once used to fear wolves on full moon's night?
Truth be told, you were not the first patron to tell ask me something like that late in the night. I just nodded and sent you on your way.

Well, something like that. You might not like the style, but I think the shift of the narration being directed to Seline from the start to the end could make the whole story much more personal, and give the relationship between the two more urgency and weight from the start.

>>51340321
>>51340501
Damn, forgot my name tag in the first post. But I'm sure you can put two and two together, right?

>>51340526
I'm gonna be honest. That's probably the most anyone's ever written about anything I've written that isn't disappointment that I used the Chris Orksen punchline again. Honestly, I'm surprised and glad someone's said as much because I've come to a point in these threads that I've reached a point where I'm not sure what I'm even doing and just writing to keep this damn thread afloat.

A lot of what I write honestly just comes as I write it. As much as it limits what I can do, I pretty much feel like I have to do it in order to keep things going lest I find myself so tied up in nitpicking that I lose my window to post.

Either way I appreciate the input.

>>51342132
>A lot of what I write honestly just comes as I write it.
That is fine, I don't write very differently either. And I don't think it's a problem to rush your own work a bit for the opportunity to post it here (I know I've done the same thing too a couple of times). That said, it's a good question to ask yourself whenever you want to go back to your work (perhaps even after you posted it here) and keep working on it. Who knows when it could jump out at you in the future...

Writing is always a at minimum of two-part process. Writing a draft, which is where it's much more important to finish your writing and do whatever is most efficient and comfortable to do just to keep yourself writing and finishing your damn work. And then iteration, rewriting. The kind of feedback I'm trying to give people here is really mostly aimed as suggestion for the second stage of writing: the part where you revisit your work and refine it. Not everyone, of course, even wants to do that, but I find it a bit of a shame that few people do. Even for people who don't aim to be professional or semi-professional writers, it's a shame so many of them leave their own stories without polish. Especially if the stories show potential, and yours does without a doubt.

The most fun thing about writing, I have found, is the second reading stage: the one where you already have all your major story pieces in place, and you start polishing it out, because it's at this stage you can often found a lot of good things in your own story you did not even know were there. Odd synergies, themes repeating even though you did not intended them to, things forshadowning events you did not even know are going to take place at the time of writing...

It's a good thing to go back to your story and reflect on them with a bit of hindsight. Almost universally, it results into people eventually discovering there was more to their texts then they even knew when writing them.

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>>51342832
Image bumps help more.

>>51337473
Is it me or is this guy take a lot of inspiration from Hotline Miami?

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Bump before bed

>>51337473
As the White Scarf helped Toby Bailey up a group of four or five police officers then came in to the train station, indeed this was meant to be a setup that included the White Scarf, but the cops just so happened to be late.

"FREEZE, DARLINGTON STATE POLICE!" One of the police officers yelled and pointed their gun at Toby Bailey, probably thinking he's one of the gangsters who're to be arrested.

"At ease officers! Tis be a civilian who was here at the wrong time and wrong place, yet has helped me out. He is innocent."

"Oh okay, I see you took out some of Dante Smith's enforcers. Wow I see you met Tyler Grin and made pin cushion out of him."

Another officer called out. "I just called in the clean up crew to get this dead chumps to the morgue. And that we've got Dante Smith; high ranking Demonium Official in our cuffs."

Then another cop also told the White Scarf; "Hey Scarf, Chief Gallows is just outside, waiting for you."

"Thank you officer, I'll let you all do the cleaning up. And you civilian, best you also make your leave aswell."

Toby agreed that he had enough action for one late night and also walked alongside the Scarf out of the train station. And once outside the station it is revealed there are more police officers waiting outside who've had the Lower Blingil Station currently shut down and under police control.

The White Scarf looked back at Toby Bailey. "And this is where it's best we part ways civilian. Again, thank you for that small help earlier. Oh and hear, something for compensation." The Scarf dug into one of his pockets and got a hundred worth of credits which he gave to Toby. "Should be enough to get you whole meals that'll last for a few months."

Toby meekly replied back. "Oh thank you sir... Thank you mister White Scarf sir. I guess I should be lucky, now I have two hundred credits. Thank you, and... I'll be on my way now."

"Good luck in your endeavors citizen." And with that Toby Bailey walked out of sight.

>almost done

>Write another draft of something I've worked on for almost a year now
>People in here seem to like it
>People in 4chan's writing discord also like it
>Am also in a semi-serious writing group with other authors
>Submit it for a weekly critique session
>They tear it to shreds
>One person compares it to a fucking Disney Channel cartoon
>A substantial portion of their critiques are focused on things I'd received positive feedback on before

Why is writing so goddamn hard.

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>>51353486
Don't give up, Anon. The writing world is a horrible horrible place to travel. You can do it.

>>51353551
I'm not giving up, but I face an incredibly difficult issue while trying to rewrite this. I think I know how to fix it, but I'm way too embarrassed by my performance to ask for help in that writing group.

Fuck it, I'll just ask here. What I'm currently writing is a story which can best be described as "Earth faces a refugee crisis when roughly 3 million dragons get banished here, all at once. An idiot human and his dragon sort-of-friend have to try and manage it, and fail horribly." I've posted it here before, some of you may remember it.

Right now, my beginning is somewhat unrealistic, because the POV character doesn't immediately go into a mind-shattering panic when the first dragon shows up at his house. I think my solution to this problem is to rework the scene so it proceeds as follows:

>First dragon appears, character examines it for a moment while paralyzed in fear, then tries to flee
>Dragon catches him instantly, holds him down, and casts a powerful magical spell on him
>This spell was an old dragonrider-type bond spell, so both die if either dies, slight empathy, shared dreams, etc.
>Dragon promptly apologies and explains he needed somebody to guide him, since, as far as he knew, Earth was a frozen wasteland
>Dragon is also fairly near death and needs food/water
>Plot proceeds from there now that POV man is basically forced into cooperating

My issue is that I'm not sure if my POV character can ever forgive such an extreme action on the dragon's part, and I do want the dragon to be sympathetic at some point. Does this seem like a hurdle they can overcome to you?

>>51353416
Amidst the police maintaining a perimeter in covering the station and a crowd of other civilians who're looking on the events while also taking the chances of taking photos of the White Scarf. The Scarf approached the police chief of Darlington City Police; Benedict Gallows, and the police chief for the Darlington State Town of Champids.

"And there he is, the Biker Vigilante that is the White Scarf! What did I say Chief Powell? The White Scarf gets the job done, I mean four armed thugs against one guy? What can you say?" Benedict Gallows said in a cheerful and boastful manner to the Champids Town Police Chief.

"I'd say this was ridiculous, having to cooperate with this vigilante. We already had the setup in place and those gangers on our sights yet you insisted bringing in Darlington City's new unlawful vigilante mascot."

"Unlawful? But Chief Powell, I'AM AN AVATAR OF JUSTICE AND THE LAW... And also I did prove to you that I'm an ally of law enforcement and help around with law enforcers and men in blue when needed." The White Scarf said to the Police Chief of Champids Town as Benedict Gallows chimed in.

"He's right, and besides, The Intercontinental Affairs Agency; the IAA, always makes deals with unorthodox people to get the job done, why can't we police do the same thing?" Chief Gallows said in support of the Scarf due to him being an IAA operative who's working as Darlington City's police chief.

"Hmpf fine. Atleast you did you're part scarf. I guess this plan laid out with the help of the IAA did work. Convincing the known Train Operator who's associated with Demonium Gang to help the IAA get a hold on Dante Smith, one of the highest ranking members of said gang from North Splorstom from Farburg. By taking them here to Darlington State just have this vigilante beat them up and have Dante captured."

>>51353739
Chief Gallows then said to the White Scarf. "Oh and I almost forgot Scarf. Here's your payment for the help, and I'll keep in touch with you if the law needs your assistance. And in case "Gumball," might have a job for you."

The Scarf accepted the brown envelope containing his cash payment from Chief Gallows as he got back to his bike an revved the engines.

"Its always good to work for the betterment of spreading justice to un-lawlessness, I'll be on my way now Chief Gallows." The Scarf said.

"Alright then Scarf, we'll all take it from here and have Dante sent and questioned to the IAA. Have those Demonium Gangsters shut down for good, and maybe it can help improve Farburg's inadequate law enforcement. We'll keep in touch as always."

And with that farewell the Scarf revved his engines again and rode off to the night. Back to his home town of Darlington City, or to fight crime again.

###

And there it is. Another story by me, this time set place in the same world that is the White Scarf. Again, best read the first White Scarf story; https://1d4chan.org/images/5/5b/TheWhiteScarf.png , and please do share some thoughts and feedback.

>>51353486
>Why is writing so goddamn hard.
You always need to keep in mind who is your target audience. There is a reason why the theoretical divide between genre and classical fiction exists, and remember that what might gain praise from people who seek genre fiction may be condemned by those who seek classical fiction and vice versa. It seems to me is what you ran into: criticism of classical-oriented critics for a work that clearly styles itself into very zany, light hearted genre fiction work. A good critic should be able to account for it, but in reality, few can. I struggle with this shit every time I'm trying to give feedback to folks around here too.

Ask yourself what is it really that you want to write, and who do you want to write for. That is the only thing that should really matter to you.

That said: yeah, writing is hard. Nobody ever claimed it was not going to be hard. But what would life be without challenge?

>>51353680
>Right now, my beginning is somewhat unrealistic
Two questions here:
A) are you sure that "realism" is really what you want to go after in a story about dragon-induced refugee crisis on Earth? I mean: that sounds like a pretty zany premise that might be better suited by stylization and humor, rather than attempts at realism.
And B): didn't you just describe the protagonist as an "Idiot"? Isn't that actually a sufficient explanation why he did not completely freak out when faced with a dragon for the first time?

Seems to me than rather than giving a forced justification of a special spell (which creates, as you noted, more problems than it solves), the whole situation could be played off a joke, illustrating the protagonists cluelessness, naivité or just incredible phlegmatism. You could have the narrator acknowledge the "unrealism" of situation and play it for laughs, saying that this protagonist was never really great at full assessment of the gravity of his situation.

>>51357010
The protagonist isn't actually an idiot, that was an exaggeration. He's actually rather sharp, but he makes a lot of mistakes over the course of the story.

I do want the book to be comedic in tone, but I want it to be grounded in reality. The idea in my head was to take a fantastical premise, and then treat it semi-seriously. That's becoming a lot harder to do.

I would just justify it by saying "this is how the protagonist is", but apparently that's immensely unrealistic. You are right, though, the magic spell idea is equally retarded.

Life is hard.

>>51353803
Seriously does this guy take way so much inspiration from Hotline Miami?

>>51344341
>>51359027
yes, we've noticed that he seems to like Hotline miami. If that's his thing, then that's his thing. There's nothing wrong with using other media for inspiration, and I like the fact that he's building on what he's done before.

all that said:

>>51353803
good stuff, but if you want to get better as a writer for your next story you may want to try branching out to something completely different.

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>>51358544
>life is hard
>it's even harder when you're stupid
That sounds like a good tagline for your idiot savant that's a dragonslave.

Oh yeah, bump.

>>51308973
I'm confused on the rules. I've been GMing a game for years now that would make a good story but is this thread strictly for non-campaign related fantasy writing?

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>>51363698
You can post it but make it into a story

>>51363698
writing a piece of fiction based on your game setting isn't the same as simply telling people what happened. Basically the difference is between writing from your perspective and writing from a perspective internal to the setting.

Anyone got any spoopy fantasy pics I can look at for inspiration?

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>>51367016
I have some. Are you find with some modern fantasy as well?

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I have a story I'd like to post but I don't think it's related to /tg/ should I post it?

>>51367443
What's it on?

>>51367506
It's on Google docs if that's what you meant and that picture is completely unrelated

>>51367779
I meant what's the story about.

>>51367810
Oh
It's about a regular everyday guy who gets sucked into a war that takes place on multiple planes of existence but it's kind of slice of life for a lot of it.

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>>51367889
Sounds /tg/ enough. Post it.

>>51367984
Alright please be gentle
https://docs.google.com/document/d/15Cg4jrLpk2r3dtPBHGgE8i27AalNwJWco4D6McFTdUc/edit?usp=drivesdk

>>51368064
I should probably mention this a rough draft

This is my first time attempting a fight scene. Comments and critique welcome.

Some people were renowned for their good advice. Travelling minstrels. Lords. Wizened old women who had lived in woods for so long they could remember when they were just pastures with an unusual number of saplings. Emperors. Village elders. Wizards. People of merit, of strength, of bearing.
And then there were people like Jeremiah, who were renowned for nothing but drinking copious amounts of extraordinarily cheap mead and leaving a truly extraordinarily number of bowed legs in each village they left. In his defence- in their defence- it takes quite a bit of living to make up for almost dying.
And right then, Jeremiah was very close indeed to being dead.
His opponent was battered, but so was he. In his left was clasped a matchlock pistol, now empty. Dead weight, unless he could use it for a club. In his right was a rapier. Almost four feet in length and two inches across at it’s widest, it was a beautiful piece of steel. Its tipped danced like a brisk wind, its handguard glimmering like dew at sunrise. Whether this had anything to do with the hole in his side is up to some dispute. He would later claim that it was intentional, a feint, luring his enemy into a sense of false confidence before he took advantage of it.
It should be said that people like Jeremiah were also renowned for being pathological liars.
The first kiss of steel had slipped harmlessly off his side, the flat of his opponent’s blade sliding smoothly across the top of his skin. He had fired then, his hips flipping to bring his arm to bear. Shoulder locked with his elbow, wrist bent, barrel pointed firmly at the braggart’s lying chest. It was the perfect shot. Impossible to miss. A blind drunkard with a peg leg, two fingers and half a gun could not have missed.
Jeremiah missed.
>Cont (1/?)

>>51370010

The blades danced. Fleche, parry, riposte. Remise flowed into passata sotto, feet stuttering along the wine drench cobbles as hardened steel flashed in the torchlight. A beat became a lunge, which was met with a coule. First blood was his! A glancing blow to the thigh, a hiss of pain. Nothing incapacitating, though undoubtedly he would be left with an impressive scar to show off to his next conquest. Poetry in motion, they flowed back and forth. Favoring his right leg now, Jeremiah circled along with him, chest heaving with exertion. Words were barked without meaning. One spoke French, the other Italian; neither understood anything but the universal language of the fight. You came here a nuisance- you will leave here a corpse. Hair matted, teeth clenched, pale skin stained with soot and grime and worse things beside, Jeremiah’s lips twisted into a savage scowl as he lunged, locked hilts, and was met face to face. Somehow he had been struck; his jerkin was torn, his ribs burning with a new intensity. Face to face, each combatant struggled against the other, desperate to wrench their weapon free first, to gain the upper hand. His enemy growled, spat in his face. Jeremiah cursed, flipped his grip on his pistol, and brought it crashing into his enemy’s head with savage force.
A man such as they could not afford to be heavy. A lithe and limber build was required, lest your steps become too clumsy to dance with a blade. Armor was unnecessary- any armor strong enough to resist the enchantments along the edge of each sword would have been taken away at the city gates, or quickly stolen in one way or the other. A jerkin, whether of leather or silk, weighed no more than five or six pounds. With a sheath and a heavy belt to wear it on, rarely did a rapier weigh more than five pounds.
>Cont (2/3)

>>51370030

It was fear that accounted for the extra weight. As he watched the vanquished hit the earth and lay still, an impact like a thousand mountains collapsing reverberated in Jeremiah’s skull, as if he had been stricken himself. It chilled him to his core, his heart turned to an ice sculpture, his veins full of chilled wine. There lay the main who had attempted to besmirch his honor, who had demanded death as apology. Limp on the shattered stone, like a marionette with its strings cut by a wayward nephew. His chest rose and fell, stuttering now, his breathing labored. Cutting his throat was almost too easy. Dreamlike. Merely laying the tip of his blade against the body’s neck and twitching his fingers was enough to send blood spurting across the road, running down furrows and disappearing in cracks.
Removing a satin-clad foot from the path of the crimson flow, Jeremiah looked at the moon as he sheathed his rapier, the beginnings of a grin on his face. A pale sliver atop the city’s wall, lesser men might have deemed it a good night to stay inside. They were huddled there now, grasping wives who weren’t truly theirs and telling stories to children who didn’t know enough to truly care. That could have been him, if he had stayed at home, if he had been content with a domestic life. A wolfhound to lay across his feet, a loyal woman to spice his wine and warm his bed. A home to return to, a certain roof, a hearth at which to make a living. Perhaps he would be reading in the solar, or fetching wine from the cellar.
Instead, Jeremiah smiled. The night was still young, and so was he. Surely there was more entertainment to be had in this godforsaken town.
With a smile and a jaunty tune, he set off to find it.
>Fin, (3/3)

>>51370010
>>51370030
>>51370050
It probably looks better in a different format. Seeing a wall of text just...doesn't lend to reading right away.

The scene is also very well written (IMO, anyway), but it seems that the vanquished had used some sort of spell that mirrors damage received. Is that the case?

>>51364135
>that pic
>filname: Dryad
>not a cutie adorable waifu-tier girl/woman with leaves and branches and color green
>wat

>>51344341
>>51359027
>>51359420
I don't exactly see whats so Hotline Miami about Oxide's White Scarf stories and world. Because asides from using synthwave songs featured in Hotline Miami, there's not that much Hotline Miami material in the White Scarf's setting.

Just a goody-two-shoes vigilante hero with a mysterious and very concealed identity who fights crime wherever he can while also working alongside a law enforcement organization that seems to be a combination of the CIA, NSA and Interpol.

Also correct me if I'm wrong, but I somehow love how the White Scarf has to talk like a cartoony hero as a method of making his/her identity even harder to recognize with that helmet of his/her adding some obscurity to it. Considering no normal person would ever talk like that.

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Okay, guy who was having trouble here. I rewrote my intro to try and make it more realistic.

Did I fail completely?

https://docs.google.com/document/d/15MBvBHhOiJTz__mKr0hXYr7fb9ch2Xy6DI7pWjqgKGE/edit?usp=sharing

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Pre-shift bump.

Not of cocaine.

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>>51367016
depends how you define 'spoopy'

>>51370747
There's no mirror enchantment, just a duel between men with very similar capabilities. What part of my writing gave you that notion? If it's a certain phrase, then I may be able to fix it.

>>51367276
He does not remember his birth.
He remembers the cold of the snow, the darkness of a blizzard. He remembers how fire glows at night. True night, the kind that only occurs when there's no soul around and hasn't been in a thousand years and will not be for a thousand more. He remembers dancing among the trees, gliding over moss and plunging into valleys. He remembers the glimmer of starlight on the canopy, the way the silver light makes the withered trunks shine. He rememembers a dozen forests, each with its own sounds, its own feel, its own sunset. He remembers his first town, the delightful colors, the tall trees that shed light on the strange stone paths. He remembers examining his first apple, carefully picking at the red skin and feasting on the sweet flesh within. He remembers his second town, where the strange metal deer do not move and do not growl, but silently bask in the sun. He remembers a thousand and one things, each delightful in its own way. But he does not remember sharing them.
He does not remember his birth.

>>51382789
Combination of things.
>>51370030
>glancing blow to the thigh
>favoring his right leg
>somehow he had been struck
And later
>enchantments along the edge of each sword (if enchantment hadn't been used, various other magic wouldn't have been introduced to my mind)

So...it's difficult to explain or reword.

Does anyone have any idea what happened to The Bard?

>>51387157
Who?

>>51387306
There was an online magazine advertised in these threads a short while back called The Bard Quarterly, they were brand new (one issue in already) and seeking submissions, apparently the founder or at least one of them browsed /tg/, I think. Some people here, myself included, had submitted stories and just never heard back, and their site was never updated. I was just wondering if anyone here had gotten an answer about the silence.

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>>51370010
>>51370030
>>51370050
I really like it. It's certainly a more entertaining way to describe a fight, which honestly to me tends to be the most boring subject of literature imaginable. I like how you actually use the fight to expand on the character, rather than merely describe it for the sake of it: I think that is the best way to go about combat scenes, even in genre fiction. I also do enjoy how you do not really rely on some pre-established trope or notion for the reader to know and recall during the fight. Or - almost. There is one thing that I'm personally not that fond off:

>Fleche, parry, riposte. Remise flowed into passata sotto, feet stuttering along the wine drench cobbles as hardened steel flashed in the torchlight. A beat became a lunge, which was met with a coule.
This reminds me strongly of Sapkowski, he did the same thing. Heavy use of combat pose terminology. I kinda understand why you are doing it (just like I always understood why Sapkowski does it), but I still don't think it's particularly beneficial to the text. It's a bit masturbatory: at best a wink at more savvy reader (yeah, we vaguealy know what those terms means too!), but even as somebody with a broad knowledge of the subject, it makes me just skip that entire line with a slight sigh. Partially because (and again, my former excessive knowledge of Sapkowski may be at fault) it seems like a bit of a cliché, a worn out approach, partially because it simply does not really enhance my own interest or understanding of what is going on.

But that is a relatively small complaint. Otherwise, as I said, I think the use of combat scenario to speak about something frankly more interesting than the clash of violence itself (the character) is really commendable and something I'd love to see more in genre fiction.
So as far as I'm concerned, great work.

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>>51385168
This one is quite interesting for it's shot length. One thing I really liked: the vision of the (presumably monsterous) creature genuinely enjoying colors, tasting an apple. That is such a simple yet beautiful image that I think actually carries the whole text.

That said, two (perhaps small) things that bothered me. The first one: the "He remembers his second town". For some reason, this sentence just feels jarring and unecessary. Why would he count the numbers of cities he visited? The vision of "metal deer who do not move" (again a ver powerful and beautiful image, that communicates quite a lot about the character of the creature) might as well be placed into the first town, or perhaps a mere, "yet another town" would suffice. I don't know, something about the specific clarification "his second town" throws me off.

The second problem I have is that you actually set up two thematic lines:
His lack of memories of his birth, and this loneliness (the fact that he never shared any of his experiences). The way you set them up, it feels like they are supposed to be connected, or at least of equal weight to him.
But they aren't. You basically set up an interesting image of a creature that wonders about the world he was thrusted in, then suddenly go "he was lonely - and he also did not remember his birth". It's a bit confusing, and I think the idea of loneliness ends up underplayed in the process too. The two sentences following right after another suggest that there should be a connection between the two sentiments, but there really isn't. Him not remembering where he came from does not actually logically stem from him not having anyone to share his memories with, or vice versa.

Nitpicky things, mostly, I know. And I'm not even sure if I explain myself very well here. But still, as long as I am here, I might as well try to offer what I can.

>>51371839
It's actually pretty fun reading. I have a few specific issues with a few specific sentences that bothered me. These are largely nitpicky things, the kind of stuff you usually fix on second or third reading, but here it goes:

>A flash of bright light awakens me from a surprisingly pleasant dream, and into a nightmare.
First of all: what flash? People awaken by a flash of light tend to generally instinctively look around themselves, which suggests the narrator would see the dragon immediately. I think him waking up peacefully would make more sense (even if you intended the flash to be an explanation of how the dragon found himself in the room - you still do not revisit or re-explain that later on, so you could just drop it entirely). Second of all: I would not describe the situation as a nightmare - not before he actually notices the dragon.
I think something along the lines: "That night I woke up from a most peculiar and pleasant dream" instead would be better. It would also fit better with the whole description of "nothing is out of ordinary, my bed is comfortable, but something still feels off..." that preceeds the description of a dragon. Otherwise, it's odd that you describe the ordinarity of a situation that you already previously called "nightmare-ish".

>and immediately he lets out a deafening roar.
Why does the dragon react like that to a pillow? Later on it suggest the dragon is actually decently well mannered and well composed, so why does it roar when the puny human throws a fluffy pillow at it? In that situation, it does not feel like the dragon has any reason to feel threatened in any way possible.

>but it’s not blocking the door to the bathroom. Maybe. I didn’t bother to check
The narrator should be able to tell if the dragon's body is between him and the bathroom door, even if the room is poorly lit. And I'm pretty sure it would be the first thing any human being would be checking instintively in a situation like that.
(cont.)

>>51371839
Feedback: Part 2
>That’s a terrible plan, but at least it’s a plan.
It's not a plan at all. The plan is to scare the dragon by tipping the bed at him, THEN make a run for the door. You should establish the whole plan first, before admitting it's not a great one. Just change the order of sentences: the "Just a pillow scared it" should go before the "it's a terrible plan".

>Oh, shit, I didn’t center myself.
I'm trying to imagine the situation, and it kinda confuses me. I mean: he is on the broad side of the bed, right? How can you fail to center it? Maybe you should describe the situation a bit more carefully. Otherwise, a funny moment.

>All choices exhausted,
Didn't he previously state that he thinks the path towards the bathroom door is still clear? Why isn't that a choice anymore?

>lightly pressed against the opposite room, looking down at me.
Do you mean "against opposite wall"? That would seem to make more sense.

There are a few other small oddities like that. It's still a pretty pleasant read and none of these issues are grave ones: the kind of stuff people do in early drafts all the time, nothing to worry about. Keep writing, it seems like it could be quite a lot of fun potentially.

>>51353486
>>51353680
I remember reading earlier drafts of this. Either you hadn't gotten to this bit or you rewrote something later, but I don't remember this bit (although its entirely possible I just wasn't paying attention, but still)

>Dragon catches him instantly, holds him down, and casts a powerful magical spell on him
>This spell was an old dragonrider-type bond spell, so both die if either dies, slight empathy, shared dreams, etc.

To be honest, this does seem a little gimicky. And you don't really need the shared death thing as a plot device to get the dragon and the guy working together - the fact that the dragon turned up in his apartment does that. And the 'psychic connection' thing is firstly, as I said, a little gimicky, and secondly robs you of an excellent source of drama - a man and a dragon working together is /supposed/ to be difficult, and they should resolve things by talking them out like adults rather than relying on magically knowing what the other is feeling. It's also better for the audience to have no magic empathy thingy because you can explain both the characters' feelings and deliver exposition in the form of dialogue (which is redundant if they know what each other are feeling); the alternative being that you simply tell the audience what the characters are thinking. (I mean, to an extent the dialogue > narrator prejudice is a holdover from theatre/movies and doesn't necessarily apply in novels, but I still think it's often neater if you can deliver facts through the characters rather than using your own voice as the author).

Apart from that I found the basic premise interesting - that is, not so much the dragons turning up, as there being a whole set of magical realms that they're being banished from which all assume that Earth is an iceball - and the writing perfectly acceptable.

>>51396161

Calling it a Disney Channel cartoon is way too harsh. Granted, it's not Shakespeare, but you knew when you started out that you were writing light fantasy (I assume). Like Czechfag sort of said, you're not going to get gritty realism out of a plot with millions of dragons turning up on Earth unexpectedly (although I don't think you need to go with stylisation and humour. You can be serious, just don't expect to write Games of Thrones tier serious). Some people are prejudiced against the light fantasy genre so you should expect to get shit on from time to time, but there's still a huge audience for it - just accept that you've chosen to do something in that genre and roll with it, or do something else.

Generally speaking a good rule for writing good fantasy is that you should rely on character rather than magic mcguffins to drive things, so instead of a character doing [x] because he had a dream that that was what the other character was thinking about, he should simply notice that the other character is behaving oddly and find out what he's thinking through conversation.

>>51396180
>>51396180
Hello, Chronicler. Many months, to maybe a year ago, I wrote a story about a jester who had been with the king's wife, and was locked in a tower. I forgot what name I did that under. Any ideas? I remember the prompt pic was of a sad man, maybe a clown or jester, in a dark room. My name might have been "Galaxy Writer" or something.

>>51334626
Title: The Spirit Of Autumn

1/2

The wolf stared at the red leaves. To an outside observer, he might have seemed dead, so still this canine was. The red leaves swirled in the breeze, making beautiful patterns on the ground as they landed. Only the sounds of birds filled the air, as nature prepared for winter. then, a sound of cracking thunder erupted from the stone ground, as if an earthquake was about to start. The wolf's ears swiveled, and his nose moved, but still the wolf made no sound.
A hand shot out of the ground, erupting from the pile of leaves. The hand seemed to be struggling under some great weight, and then another hand shot out. Now the wolf was paying attention, barking loudly. His tail was wagging, however,and his barks seemed to be more from joy than surprise. A woman's head emerged violently. She had red hair, and what looked like a simple crown on her head. Her eyes darted around, checking to see if anyone was observing her arrival. The wolf licked her face, and the woman laughed.

>>51397514
The Spirit of Autumn

2/2

"You've been waiting for me, haven't you? Don't worry, Dawn is here. At least for the fall," said Dawn. A look of sadness splashed over her face for a moment, but it was replaced with a look of determination, as she fully wrenched her body from the ground. Her body was naked, except for the red leaves that clung to her body, and a bright red scarf she wore around her neck. She looked down, clearly annoyed by this.
"The perks of becoming a autumn spirit don't always seem worth it," said Dawn to her wolf, who stood by her side. "Still, someone has to do it. And at least I have you, Ruffles" said Dawn.
Dawn and Ruffles walked through the forest, and looked at the highway underneath. Modern vehicles, driven by people who had long forgotten the day when spirits were known to walk the Earth, zipped by. Dawn stared at the cars, as if remembering a past life.
After a few minutes, Ruffles began to fidget. Dawn smiled at him, scratching his ears, and began to walk into the forest. The leaves and branches grew across her skin, knitting together, like a red coat.
"Come on, Ruffles. The autumn season isn't going to just prepare itself for winter. And I really don't need to get the winter spirit mad," said Dawn.

>>51392140
What Her Mate Would Have Wanted

Thorinka stared at the husk of her dead mate. She had several injuries on her leg, but she still lumbered to Rikopin's body, her four legs screaming at the effort. She searched for a sign of life in his eyes, even a hint of the red glow. She saw nothing. It had been five years living with him, five years of traveling the planet, and dealing with infestation of humans that had landed. Those miserable softskins had no right to lay claim to this world, and now they had taken something else from her.

With a horrific roar, she turned her glance to the human ships flying near her. She was them ready their weapons to her, and swiped them away with a flick of her large spiny tail. She ruthlessly chased after the humans who tried to leave their ships as they fell, crunching them with her teeth. Her eyes glowed red, and she felt the energy within her, the energy that all her species carried, pulse from her eyes, and gleefully saw the humans burn.

Funnily enough, Thorinka had never liked war, even though her mate is--was, she painfully reminds herself- a soldier. But now that her husband was dead, she realized it was only right to fight in his stead. And she would kill every single human who crossed her path. It's what her mate would have wanted.

>>51397115
sorry, it's not ringing any bells. Are you sure you posted it in this thread? I did just have a glance through the last few months of stories on the wiki, and there doesn't seem to be anything like that, plus I read every story that gets posted so I think I'd at least vaguely remember it.

Either way, all the stories that have been ever been posted in these threads are on the wiki page (unless they're really recent), so you can take a look for yourself in case I'm wrong.

>>51398105
Alright. I think it might have been closer to a few years ago. I also wrote a story based on a picture of 2 people on one street, one half winter, and one half summer. This was around the time that Bard magazine was accepting admissions, if that helps narrow down the time frame

And thanks for all these threads!

>>51376922
Title: Scariest Monster

Mina's hands ripped at the cow's flesh, her face filled with ravenous desire. She had not fed in a long while, and had almost eaten her girlfriend,Lucy, in her sleep. Thankfully, bovine meat was an acceptable substitute to human meat. And they were easier to explain when they disappeared.

After she had her fill, she retracted the beautiful peacock feathers that grew from her back, and washed herself in the stream. In the water's reflection, she could see the blood covering her face. It reminded her of the more feral mutants from the lab she came from, how blood and pushed would ooze from their mouths always, and how pitiful they had seemed. All of them used to be people, or at least came from pieces of people.

She spent several minutes cleaning her skin. When she was done, the reflection showed a normal, pretty waif, just like her makers had intended. She quickly put her clothes back on, and crept back to Lucy's tent. She was startled to find Lucy awake.

"Where we're you?" said Lucy.

"Just taking a walk, to clear my head," said Mina. She got under the covers, hoping there wasn't any leftover smell of blood.

Lucy frowned at Mina. For a second, Mina worried Lucy would press further. But Lucy closed her eyes and rested her head on the pillow, apparently satisfied.

"Be careful. There are wild animals out there. Like bears..." said Lucy sleepily.

Mina kissed Lucy on the cheek, and playfully bit her.

"Don't worry. I'm the scariest animal out there," said Mina.

>>51340501
I like it. Feels almost mythic.

>>51310014
He stared at the sea jade statue on his desk.
The statue stared back impassively with sextuplet eyes, squatting on feet and hands like some sort of fucked-up frog. Bat wings rose as if ready to take flight.

>Cthulhu.

His reading glasses slipped onto his face. That just made the statue blurry, so he took them off.
He downed a half-mouthful of whiskey. He was a practiced drunk. His hands only trembled a little when the glass came down.

>Cthulhu. The Elder Ones. Mi-Go, that yellow bastard from Saturn.

>Fucking hell.
He tipped the glass to his lips again, but found it empty. His hands deftly uncorked the bottle and spilled the whiskey into the glass without consciousness input.

>What was the point? The point of all this, his private-eye business, this New Deal, this Nazi business in Europe? When things from beyond the cosmos stood by to snuff us out like some sorta dipshit candle?

He was about to hurl another mouthful down his gullet when someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," He said before he could stop himself. Practiced though he might be, he was still too drunk and sleep deprived to put the brakes on.

>>51400035


The stranger walked in wearing a light trench coat over a black tux and tie. Which clashed mightily with the female-looking face with the lipstick and the brunette ponytail.

"Interesting statue you have there." The voice confused the issue even further, a deep and rusty contralto that straddled male and female.

"Not selling."

"Oh, I'm not here to buy that." She eyed the bottle and glass, clucked disapprovingly. " Perhaps I should leave you to your drinking..."

"Na, na, stick around, take a seat." He looked around the room for the first time and realized there wasn't any. "If we have one. I just got here yesterday."

"No need." She fished a manila folder out of her coat, spread it open on his desk. "I've a job offer for you."

"Do you."

"Well, yes." The folder had some enlarged photoprints which she spread over the desk. "We need some people to investigate some sort of cult in San Francisco. How familiar are you with the King in Yellow?"

"Hmm." We? "It does sound familiar. That H bastard, right?"

"Hmm? Ah. Yes, H is related, but only tangentially with this one. As far as we know, anyway."

Cats? He eyed the prints. No, no cats-but strange and eldritch graffiti was never a good sign however many cats there were.

"Anyway, there's this. Yellow Signs all over the waterfront. A few prominent artists of the Futurist persuasion gone missing. Police raided a warehouse, found human sacrifices."

>>51400035
I was thinking of writing something based on that pic. I liked the grizzled feeling of the protagonist, and how the background was implied in the writing.

>>51392971
>>51393037
Thank you very much! I'll implement the changes you suggested.

>>51396161
The bit you mentioned was not in the previous draft, but in a much, much older draft. I'm considering keeping the shared death bit as it explains why the protagonist keeps being involved after the dragon leaves, and turns into a big source of drama later on—but getting into that is going to be quite involved, so I won't do it here. In the draft you likely read it was only shared death and shared dreams, without the empathy bit, which actually made it a lot more difficult for them to work together. It's something I have to think about, I guess.

Thanks for your feedback. I'll try to keep it in mind when I talk with that group in the future—you're right, all of them are writing "serious" novels, and I'm writing a modern semi-political comedy. There's bound to be some tension there.

>>51400070
*Oops, didn't finish editing last.

"Sounds like something big's going down."

"Brilliant deduction." For a few glorious moments he basked in the complement before the sarcasm registered. Practiced he might be, the drink still made him slow. "Anyway. You'll be working with a team of federal agents on this one. Wage is 3 dollars an hour, take it or leave it. Ferret the bastards out, stop what they're planning." She leaned in, calloused hands on the desk."You want the job?"

Did he? He'd quit the Pinkertons for a reason...
Unfortunately for him, his mouth wasn't waiting for his slowpoke brain.

"I'll take it."

"Hmm?"

"I'll take the fucking job."

"...Well then. That was prompt of you." She chuckled without mirth as she proffered a badge and a calling card from her coat. "Welcome to the Office of Strategic Services, Mr. Smith."

That's not my name, he realized muzzily.
"That's not my name, Miss."

"It will be. Drop by my office at eight sharp tomorrow for briefing. We'll arrange transportation then." The stranger turned for the door, but eyed the empty bottle again and amended, "Make that nine. Last thing you'll want is be hungover." She slipped out the door. Then poked her head back in. "Oh, another thing. Bring the statue."

He sat there, stunned, as the door clunked shut.

He picked up the badge in one hand, a golden pike on a black oval. The calling card he picked up with the other.
He started to get an inkling of how deep he was in already.

>Fuckit. It's too late to think about this shit.
He swept the prints back into the folder, stashed it under his desk. He left the card and the badge on his desk as he dressed into pajamas.
He flung himself into bed as if dodging bullets, exhaustion already hooding his eyes. Sleep took him as soon as he pulled the sheets up.

>>51400169
That's odd. I would think good writing is good writing, but then again I'm a hobbyist newbie at the writing thing.

>>51401266
never underestimate the snobbery of people who like regular literature towards 'genre fiction' (i.e. scifi and fantasy). It's not as bad as it once was, but it's still there.

>>51403128
I think it's not so much the literature/genre divide, so much as the "this is a serious work" and "this is comedy"

>>51403183
I see. Did that writing group know it was a comedy? Or are they just a bunch of Serious Sallys?

>>51399789
>I like it. Feels almost mythic.
That is great. But the credit should always go to the author. At best Im the interpreteur, the real credit is is not with me.

>>51400169
>I'll implement the changes you suggested.
Happy to be of service.

>>51401266
>That's odd. I would think good writing is good writing
I damn wish that was the case. But really, it will never be. It's frankly a functional, not an ethical or or aesthetical difference.

>>51403918
What do you mean functional?

>>51403918
After doing a meeting with the 4chan writing discord I think I might be implementing a rework instead of those changes, actually. The feedback was still helpful, but I think we found a few major flaws with the premise itself that make it a lot harder to work with.

The main issue is that the story starts off seeming like it is going to be an escapist fantasy kind of thing, before becoming a political thriller. I really don't think I can make that transition work.

So now I'm going to try to write it in third person, with the main POV character being a guy in the State Department. Hopefully that will work.

Anyone got the cap of the story where a paladin is so pure he doesn't understand that a succubus is trying to seduce him and his orders are to lie with her, in the end her dad shows up and is just as clueless as the paladin,

>>51368064

OK, there's a lot but first off: the big block paragraphs make it hard to read. Break it up.
Typically two or three sentences a paragraph is good but that's not a hard and fast rule-you'll want to use paragraph breaks for emphasize as well.

If you've ever worked on a movie, one panel of a storyboard is roughly equivalent to one paragraph.

I'd break up the first paragraph like this:

Gasping for breath Nathan Woodrop awakens.

He finds himself in a sitting position, cold sweat covers him from head to toe. His breath comes quickly through a dry throat.
Instinctively he reaches for the cup on his bedside table. He drinks down the lukewarm liquid welcoming the plastic like flavor of the water as it wets his throat.

“That dream again,” Nathan rasps.

Slowly he swings his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet touch the cold hardwood floor sending shivers throughout his body. He stands taking another drink of the stale water, placing the cup back on the table he walks to his window and throws the curtains open.

It’s still dark he thinks to himself. Nathan had been waking up before the sun a lot lately. He decides, based on past experience that trying to get back to sleep now was a pointless endeavour. He sighs stretching his arms above his head then let's out a long yawn.
He scratches his lower back and walks to his bathroom. As he walks he sees himself from the corner of his eye in the mirror on his way to the toilet. He stops to look himself up and down yawns again and continues to the toilet.
When he is done using the toilet he hops into the shower to wash off the nights sweat. When he is finished cleaning himself he dries his body as best as he can with a towel and leaves the bathroom.

He walks back to his room naked as the day he was born to his closet where he grabs undergarments a shirt and some pants. Once fully clothed he yawns and leaves his home.

>>51406317
Secondly-Never describe more than one action in a sentence, and thirdly, use commas if you need to elaborate and can't make it flow in the sentence well.


Gasping for breath, Nathan Woodrop awakens.

He finds himself in a sitting position, cold sweat covers him from head to toe. His breath comes quickly through a dry throat.
Instinctively he reaches for the cup on his bedside table. He drinks down the lukewarm liquid, welcoming the plastic like flavor of the water as it wets his throat.

“That dream again,” Nathan rasps.

Slowly, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet touch the cold hardwood floor, sending shivers throughout his body. He stands taking another drink of the stale water.

Placing the cup back on the table, he walks to his window and throws the curtains open.
It’s still dark he thinks to himself. Nathan had been waking up before the sun a lot lately. He decides, based on past experience, that trying to get back to sleep now was a pointless endeavour. He sighs, stretching his arms above his head, then let's out a long yawn.

He scratches his lower back and walks to his bathroom. As he walks he sees himself from the corner of his eye in the mirror on his way to the toilet. He stops to look himself up and down, yawns again, and continues to the toilet.

When he is done using the toilet he hops into the shower to wash off the nights sweat. When he is finished cleaning himself he dries his body as best as he can with a towel and leaves the bathroom.

He walks back to his room, naked as the day he was born, to his closet where he grabs undergarments a shirt and some pants. Once fully clothed he yawns and leaves his home.

>>51406386
I know most of this is cosmetic and your piece is a rough draft, BTW, but a lot of a piece's quality is execution and ability to elucidate concepts clearly.
Furthermore, a lot of the time how you write is how you think-the more clearly you can write about something, the more clearly you can think about it, and visa versa.

With that in mind, fourthly- use as few words as necessary, but use them well. Don't sacrifice detail for word count alone, but if you don't need a word to carry something across, be rid of it.

For example:
>He decides, based on past experience, that trying to get back to sleep now would be futile.

Conveys the same meaning as

>He decides, based on past experience, that trying to get back to sleep now was a pointless endeavour.

with one less word, and with words that 'flow' a lot better.
That's fifthly, BTW-use phrases that are easy to parse. The less energy you need to understand what a sentence is saying, the better it flows, and the more you can 'get into the zone'.

For example:
> futile
Is easier to parse than
> pointless endeavor.

It's not that anything's wrong with 'pointless' or 'endeavor', mind-it's that you don't need 'pointless endeavor' when 'futile' has the same meaning without needing to apply the descriptive 'pointless' to the noun 'endeavor'.

>>51368064
sorry dude. this is pretty poor. you really, really don't need all of that detail, to begin with - unless your writing style is interesting enough to keep us from getting bored, which it isn't, avoid describing every action this guy takes in his day to day life. I don't give a fuck about what he had for lunch, and whether or not he had seen this rerun of his favorite cop comedy. Things like his generous tipping and complimenting the chef, which are supposed to develop his character and show that he's a "good guy" are pretty meaningless if you just say 'he tipped the waiter generously and gave his compliments to the chef' - this is an opportunity for dialogue that needs to be taken. If this is his favorite breakfast place, then he should have a relationship with the regular servers and chefs, so show it through their conversation.

Also, does this guy have a job? All he does all day is watch tv. Is this his day off? Is this a small town? Is it a city? For all the detail you put in I had a lot of questions.

The reveal that he's watching a doppelganger of himself on TV is really poorly handled too. It was confusing because you jumped straight from 'Susan is interviewing park goers' to 'wait, how can I be on tv'

The bar scene might be too much to unpack, but a lot of the above will help out there too. I am intrigued that Nathan Woodrop told Nate to go see the very people who want to kill him - if it's not a plothole, it could be very interesting to see plots with in plots and Nathan playing the government against themselves.

>>51405859
"So, is this like a fetish thingie?" asked a woman in a black dress. She was smashed up against five other people, all in a circle. Candles surrounded the group, all in a small room. The rope seemed to be biting into her wrist. Billy felt a little bad about making it so tight, but it would have to do for now.

"Oh heavens no. This is just a ritual summoning of our dad. He's a demon from another dimension, and we really want to meet him," said Hilly, Billy's sis. She danced a little jig. They would get to meet Daddy finally!

"That's just part of the play, right?" said a man in a rainbow shirt. He looked scared.

"Yes. It'll all be over soon. In fact, it'll be painless," said Billy. He was looking forward to the end. Frankly, it had taken too long to set this whole thing up.

Billy and Hilly muttered deep dark incantations, written in their subconscious. The candles in the room began to wither into dust, then reformed into a giant blaze. The two sublings' matching blue coats seemed to flicker and grow into large capes,and their eyes began to glow.

And then, they were silent. A man walked through the door, clean-shaven and wearing a black suit. His predatory glance chilled everyone in the room, except for Billy and Hilly.

"Hi, Dad! We wanted to see you! And we brought you snacks!" said Hilly.

"What is this?" asked Rainbow shirt.

Taking out knives from his jacket, Billy gave an apologetic smile.

"The snack intermission of the play," said Billy. He was shocked when a crossbow hit his chest.

The woman in the black dress had loosened her bonds,and had a crossbow in her hand.

"Typical. I go on a date and end up in a sacrificial ritual," said the woman.

Holly's eyes were glowing. "Who the hell are you?"

"Call me Buffy. Sorry, but your plays been cancelled."

>>51422274
That looks painful.

>>51370010
>>51370030
>>51370050
It's a pretty great first attempt, all things considered. However, I think a fight scene in a vacuum is a little pointless - for me, a fight without context will always fall short. For it to be truly engaging it needs stakes and a reason for it to happen.

Also i'd recommend formatting it better, and perhaps streamlining in places - describing things in detail can be good, but you have to consider the pacing of things. If you keep describing each little action, its consequences on each opponent and whatnot, things get bogged down and it feels like the whole fight is moving in slow motion.

I'd recommend reading some of Joe Abercrombie's stuff - while his overall plots are a bit lacking, he's a master of intense, brutal fight scenes that just flow off the page.

All in all though, pretty damn good!

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>>51425483
Let it never be said an Incubus could not pilot a plane. His name is Iriko, or atleast what he calls himself (his actual name is hard to pronounce to mortals) takes a great joy in flying one of the most exclusive planes in the world. Only open to those with exuberant sums of money, or the times that the eccentric captain will randomly choose a person to come on the flight for no reason. (He once invited a homeless man on-board, who turned out to be quite the interesting character.) The flights and plane are of any otherworldly proportion. The flight attendants appear in whatever form is most pleasing to the individual passengers. Same with the rest of the flight (usually lasting an upwards of 24 hours.) The drinks are however the client likes them, and so is everything else. They may fulfill their wildest pleasures, talk with the spirits of famous people and celebrities who rode in Iriko's flights and will appear for a in-flight meal or drinking, simply watch the best movies ever created, or sit up with the Captain.

The truth is, Iriko is terribly lonesome up there in the cockpit. While he feeds off of all the pleasure, the last person to come up and say 'hi' did so nearly almost 40 years past. That being the reasons he invites strangers on random. Hoping that one mortal or two will be able to disregard their carnal pleasures or vested interests to pay him a visit. He has been disappointed so far, but it will not deter him.

For the mortal who actually cares enough will receive quite the reward indeed. Of course, if any knew this, they would no doubt kill to sit up with him. So it is merely a waiting game for him now, and he has a lot of time. The only thing worse than being immortal, is being lonely and immortal.

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>>51425583
Another day another flight Iriko has given. Today he has invited high school students; whom were approved by their school and parents, to have a usually free flight which will last about 42 hours, two days tops. This year however he has decided to utilize a new plane, the previous plane he has used was an older and already aging model that has lasted for about 50 years. And because of that, he knew to get a newer and up-to-date plane that will not only accommodate his passengers, but will also live up to current date safety standards. Even though he has used his magic to enchant his flights and his plane he still put high priority to flight standards and protocols for the safety and pleasure of his passengers.

His new plane is a custom made luxury golden jet plane (of course by golden jet plane, it was expertly painted to look golden as actual gold is too heavy and malleable for practicality and to be used as metal for constructing aircraft.) And ofcourse he used his magics to enchant it with his abilities to please and pleasure his passengers of their carnal desires and feeding of their pleasures. And as soon as the flight has started and has now reached to the skies, he can already sense and feel the young ones indulging in their interests. There were students who were watching only the best and highly rated films, some were being entertained by lesser succubi who were disguised as the flight attendants (whom also served Iriko as his helpers) and there were student passengers who indulged in the delicious food and drink served in the buffet.

Iriko was once again disappointed of the mortals who gave in to such decadence, but again he was not mad since he and the lesser succubi who worked for him still fed off the pleasure of the passengers. But today was going to be slightly different as Iriko had heard a knock on the door leading to the cockpit.

>>51425713
Nice. Add more, please!

>>51425583
>>51425713
Interesting premise, but I feel like the execution does not quite do it justice. While I'm not all that into indulgence in literature, it feels like the text is a little too "tame" for being based around the idea of a "pleasure flights" organized by an incubus: that subject matter seems to imply a rather extensive and more viceral describtions of "pleasures" that the people on the plane experience, and pleasures a little more carnal than than talking to celebrities. Also, given the subject matter, I find describing the plane itself rather distracting and pointless - and I don't think you really need to explain to the reader that the plane is not REALLY made out of gold, the readers will probably be able to figure out why that is not the case on their own. Not to mention that dwelling on such "details" clashes with the magic tone of the text that you establish otherwise.

Finally: if the incubus feels so lonely, why does he not simply leave his cabin at times? I get what you are trying to establish and set up here, but it just seems somewhat unconvincing. It also kinda ignores the question of what he does when he is NOT currently sitting in the pilot seat.

I think the text could do with a lot of refining: both to be a little more streamlined and not get distracted with things that do not fit with the theme, and to draw the reader and convey the concept of opulent, indulgent pleasure trips a little more.

That said, I'm still curious where are you going to take the story.

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https://docs.google.com/document/d/12n-NCkB2XrMCmMasDItwqituQf0bH5Q5wTCXTpWzhjk/edit?usp=sharing

>>51353803
Huh pretty neat to see a White Scarf story since this its probably one of Oxide's best write faggotry. Though I must wonder, will we ever get a backstory of the Scarf?

I Am sure people agree, am I right people? I think we all could use a backstory of the Scarf and his or her identity. Or would you rather keep the Scarf's identity a secret? For reasons?

>>51432913
The Rake? Gee what year is it ? 2007?

>>51427582
Hundreds of years had passed since the city was populated. No one quite knew what had happened. One day, it was fine. Children played in the streets, merchants hawked their wares, and dervishes prayed and begged. What had gone wrong?

Some said the Sultan had double-crossed a powerful Djinn, who then put the trading hub of his empire under a sandstorm that would not end. Others thought that the Royal Vizier (who was a Vizier, and thus, a horse's ass and a despicable human being) contacted something dark and terrible due to his mad lust for power (because he was a Vizier. What Vizier doesn't have a mad lust for power?), and he didn't give it proper honors. Satirists and storytellers had their own little spins. The Vizier wouldn't share his dates, or a bottle of palm wine. Sometimes, the demon demanded the Vizier's wife, or the citizens of his realm.

Either way, city meets sand, because the Vizier pissed off the wrong being.

The true story was gone and buried, just like the two who were apparently at fault. Whatever old, powerful, creature that had surrounded the city with smothering winds of sand could no longer hold its grunge.

Unceremoniously, the sands simply stopped turning. The massive dust-devil that could be seen from any good-sized dune just disappeared.

When it finally did disappear, all those rumors came bubbling up again. What was once a decent trade hub, a city like any other, became a glorious golden Atlantis of the desert over the few hundred years it was drowning in sand. Hidden treasure, exotic magic and contraptions, beautiful women with glowing red eyes and pointed ears that walked about topless.

So, in search of inventions, lost lore, gold, and women with bountiful chests, the adventurers marched steadfastly into the city of dust, powered by a lust for fame and innate curiosity.

>>51435972
The Prince descended the steps of the crypt, the crystal sceptre throwing a pale blue light beyond him. The ceiling was low and the tip of his helmet would often scrape against the rough-hewn rock, causing him discomfort. His ancient armour, forged by swampfire-smiths from the metal of the first mountains, showed no discolouration despite the noxious air of the desiccated corpses which lined this bizarre tomb. His swords, curved and sharpened by strong valley winds over endless millennia, had not been needed here, despite the tales of the horrors of death. The place was unmoving, but not still, and not quiet, not to him.

At last the stairs ended and before him lay a wide hall, its mighty pillars crumbled and old bones piled upon stone thrones. The Prince whispered a word to the sceptre and wind of light rushed through the all, causing grotesque shadows to play around the collapsed skulls on the thrones. At the end of the hall lay a shorter corridor, beyond a collapsed set of metallic bars, long eroded from age. There was a door of dark, mouldering wood at the end. The Prince readied himself.

Reaching a gloved hand out, the Prince slowly let the door fall open on its rotten hinges. Inside were dried piles of wax all over the floor, cracked, and a dead brazier in the corner. But there was moss and vines and a stench about the place. It was little more than a cell of unshaped shock, a hollow in a stone. In the middle, though, was a stone throne, itself had pieces broken off from climbing vegetation which baleful blooming flowers and stains of damp. Upon it sat a figure, draped in rotten white robes, a torn hood covering its features. But its abdomen and arms were visible, and terrible to behold. They were dry, and flaking, mottled with blue veins and scraggling hair. The chest rose and fell with shuddering rhythm. The thing visibly corroded before his eyes.

'Are you...' the elven prince's question trailed off.

'Yes,' replied the human.

>>51436563
We are the Guards of the Natural Order,
We are the Light, the Salt of the Earth,
We are the Church, the Body of Christ,
Body and Soul, We are One...

They shall be His mightiest and wittiest warriors, these faithful who give of themselves to Him.
In great Wisdom shall He clad them with the strongest armor of faith and the holiest of weapons will they be armed.
They will have Truth, Reason, and knowledge so that no heretics and faithless enemies of the Lord and his Son can best them in battle.
They are His bulkwark against the unholy Saracen enemies.
They are the defenders of The Kingdom of Jerusalem and of Earth.
They are His Christ-Channers and they shall know no POZ.

>>51406648
Thanks I'll keep working on it

>>51414723
I appreciate the feedback I know it needs a lot of work and I'm glad you at least like the concept

>>51436552
Go on...

>>51437456
I didn't actually have a follow up to this, it was an atmospheric piece about how elves perceive humans and their creations, but since you've challenged me, I'll give it a go.

The Prince had been trained over an age of ice, to focus in on aspects, to peer down and perceive, as a new ambassador to the clay people. But that was when he was a mere sappling, and the cities of the men changed from being fur huts to shaped stone. Now what he was here, the totality of the human was overwhelming.

'I am the High King,' said the human. The words rushed out in a breath. The elf blinked. He composed himself and tried to think of the right phrases. Not only was he unfamiliar with the language, it was sharp and brunt, unlike elven contexts and honorifics. 'What brings an elven lord here to my deep?'.

'Time, milord, Your Highness.' The High King seemed to rumble under his hood. 'The elven assembly has it not. Barely have we drawn our council and our forest holds have fallen to the shadow of wings. It is...' The Prince could not find the right expression and averted his gaze in contemplation. The High King's head rose from its hidden gloom and the Prince looked up at the rustle of dry cloth. He could almost make out eyes, which were never still.

'The end, lord elf?'

'Of time, sir, my king. The Passing of the Silver Race. The Settled Clay...drakes and wurms pour in torrents. The Dragon soars beyond the sun... It is the end of time.'

The High King shifted in his throne and pulled his body from the recess of vegetation and rubble. 'As old as I am, to me, you want my dust and my dark?'

'We pledge to you the Heavens. The Silver Race passes and the Clay Settles,' the Prince looked sharply into the High King's hood and focused upon him, 'but not in fire.' The High King jutted from his seat and had come to the elf in a second it seemed. As tattered and rotten as he was, he was a king, and the elf bowed before him.

'The elves shall have dust, and dark.'

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>>51439344
Something a bit different for these threads, but I felt like modifying a sea shanty or two to fit the feel of the image. Not the best, but I had fun writing it.

To the tune of Barrett's privateers (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZIwzRkjn86w):


Oh, the year was 2278, How I wish I was on Venus now!
An old crewmate came to a ship,
The scummiest vessel I'd ever seen

Chorus:
God damn them all!
I was told we'd mine the belts for asteroid gold
We'd fire no guns, shed no air
Now I'm a floating man on a half-tank here,
The last of Astrid's mining years.

Oh, Captain Astrid spied the port, How I wish I was on Venus now!
For twenty hard men all spacers who
would make for her the mining crew

(chorus)

The old mining barge was a sickening sight, How I wish I was on Venus now!
She'd a leak in the aft and and her shields would lag
And the crew in their suits with the staggers and jags

(chorus)

On our berth's last day we put to space, How I wish I was on Venus now!
We were 91 days out Jupiter way
Drifting like madmen all damn day

(chorus)

On the 96th day we burned again, How I wish I was on Venus now!
When a bloody great rock dove in sight
With our cracked reactors we made our flight

(chorus)

The comet lay slow full of ice, How I wish I was on Venus now!
It was broad and fat and spinning for days
But to catch it took our lead barge two whole days

(chorus)

Then at length we stood two spans away, How I wish I was on Venus now!
Our broke tractor beams made an awful din
And with one fat blast the rock stove us in

(chorus)

The mining barge shook and broke in two, How I wish I was on Venus now!
Astrid exploded like a bowl of eggs
And then the blast carried me off for dead

(chorus)

So here I drift in my 23rd year, How I wish I was on Venus now!
It's been 6 weeks since we blew that day
And I just lost oxygen yesterday

(chorus)

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Horror story experiences okay?

>>51440814
This is more for writefaggotry, aka hot fresh OC.

in the OP:
>This is a thread for creative writing, so epic campaign greentexts and the like go elsewhere.

>>51431193
good work anon. But I did feel that you threw a few too many unfamiliar terms out there. Also, why are Irish werewolves using the French term? It just felt like you were a little overeager to use everything you knew about werewolf legends without considering if it was the quite the right place (wendigos aren't really werewolves, for example).

Just some gentle paring down and it would have been perfect.

>>51440130
Noice

>>51440130
as the person who wrote

https://1d4chan.org/images/a/a4/APiratesDeath.png
and
https://1d4chan.org/images/3/38/MalfunctioningAI.png

I thoroughly approve. Good job, anon.

>>51440130
pretty catchy song

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emergency bump (poor thread - what are you doing on page 10?)