The Writing Thread
Herein lies the Writing Thread! Usually I just post something brief and then allow the participants to engage one another, unshackled by rules like a meeting of Tea Partiers in a debate with Muslims.
However! I propose the following rules to the writing thread, and what this thread should be about.
1.) This thread should obviously be about your own writing.
Your post should be about one of the following things.
2.) A pitch. A story you're thinking about writing, ideas you're tossing around to solicit for feedback.
3.) Brief poetry can be posted in full. Just don't make your poetry a full length story.
4.) A short story you've written that you would like to post, in part. Since a short story can run 2000 to 5000 words, do not post in full. You may post sensible length excerpts, preceded by synopsis of that portion of the story for context.
5.) A long story or novel you've written that you'd like to post, in part. Since a novel can run from 80000 words to 120000 words or more, do not post in full. You may post a sensible length excerpt, preceded by synopsis of that portion of the story for context.
Things to avoid.
Don't get in a hissy fit about criticism. It's the only way to grow as a writer.
Don't just criticize to criticize. In other words, don't be a Debby Downer. List what you think a writer did well, in addition to criticism. Tone means a lot. Don't be overly negative in the tone of your criticism.
However! I propose the following rules to the writing thread, and what this thread should be about.
1.) This thread should obviously be about your own writing.
Your post should be about one of the following things.
2.) A pitch. A story you're thinking about writing, ideas you're tossing around to solicit for feedback.
3.) Brief poetry can be posted in full. Just don't make your poetry a full length story.
4.) A short story you've written that you would like to post, in part. Since a short story can run 2000 to 5000 words, do not post in full. You may post sensible length excerpts, preceded by synopsis of that portion of the story for context.
5.) A long story or novel you've written that you'd like to post, in part. Since a novel can run from 80000 words to 120000 words or more, do not post in full. You may post a sensible length excerpt, preceded by synopsis of that portion of the story for context.
Things to avoid.
Don't get in a hissy fit about criticism. It's the only way to grow as a writer.
Don't just criticize to criticize. In other words, don't be a Debby Downer. List what you think a writer did well, in addition to criticism. Tone means a lot. Don't be overly negative in the tone of your criticism.
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Comments
1) For things we're only allowed to post in part, what size is considered acceptable?
2) Are links to full text (for instance in a Google Doc) okay, or do even link need to only link to an excerpt?
3) If, according to your rules, a short story is a maximum of 5,000 words, and a novel is a minimum of 80,000 words, what is a story called when it's between 5k and 80k words (which is a huge range)?
Also curious what you call a story that's less than 2k words. To date, I don't think I've ever written a short story that was that long.
I'm working on one, though! And I'll probably post excerpt once I know what size is acceptable. My story is about a servant whose Lord's wife dies. The servant, a young girl, sees how the Lord is grieving and decides to get the Lady back to life.
Sadly, it's not a story of romance and zombies, although it sounds like it should be one, now. Maybe next time.
His eyes shot up to see the strangest cloud formation he had ever seen in his young days. He’d seen plenty of storms in his life, approaching from the horizon and accompanied by wind and thunder, storms that rolled in over the course of the day. What he saw now was different. The skies, still mostly blue and still mostly filled with daylight, were blotted out directly above them. A great, swirling vortex was appearing where there had only been blue heavens only a moment before, like a dark eye staring down upon them as they invaded this sacred place. The vortex grew ever wider, twisting and turning like a tornado, its center a black pinpoint far above. Then, with a crack of thunder and a flash of blue light that erupted from the storm’s center and flashed out to the edges of the storm cloud, the tornado seemed to descend. The clouds swirled and followed as a single being came into view, chasing the creature before dispersing as the beast came into full view, the cloud storm giving birth to a great, red scaled beast whose roar was louder than any thunder. Its wings beat with a slow tempo, each flapping like a drum that echoed in the circular formation of rocks, creating a storm of wind that nearly threw men to the rails as they were struck with the force.
“Dragon!” called Andres, quickly leaping down the length of the stairs and onto the main deck. “Archers, fire!”
Immediately all men turned their weapons upward, angling at the beast swooping down at them and releasing a volley of arrows so thick it blanketed the skies. Nearly all of these rebounded harmlessly off the creatures scaled skin, though a few stuck, the beast roaring as it suddenly ceased its descent, raising its wings abruptly and causing a tornado force to hit the deck. Mean screamed as they were carried off the side of the boat, deposited into the waters, lines of rope quickly tossed after them in the hope of saving their lives. As they reeled from the blast of hurricane fury, the creature reared its head back, settling just above the main mast before thrusting its head downward. A cauldron of hellfire spat across the deck, from the front bow to near the rear wheel deck, the masts bursting into flame as they were doused by the creature’s power.
“Water teams, move!” Rowley demanded, quickly descending to join Andres while Captain Terrance wheeled the ship away from the creature. Men ran all about, buckets filled with water that they hoisted up the masts to the spotty crew charged with saving their sails. Buckets were dumped on the fires that now crept over the ship, even as another volley of arrows filled the skies, breaking against the creature’s flesh. As the creature shrugged the attack off, Sparker crews angled their weapons upward, halting for just a moment as the captain got them out from directly beneath the beast. The moment they had an angle, they turned the cranks on their rudimentary weapons, unleashing globular blasts of blue-green flame that flew by the dozen, inaccurately but powerfully, soaking the creature’s flesh and forcing it downward. It shrieked, rattling the ship walls as it began to skim the waters, angling directly for their position.
Katherine had gone to the deck herself, now rallying her Pyromancers as a single unit, drawing near to the starboard side where the dragon was quickly rushing toward them, its outstretched wings as wide as their boat. “Full fire, go!” she cried as each girl lined up along the railing, clapping their hands in an outward motion that sent powerful blasts of energy forward, striking the creature against its skull and drawing a pained cry. Yet even with the combined firepower of the Pyromancers and the Sparker crews, the dragon crossed the distance, coming up alongside the ship and lighting down upon the railing, its great claw tearing it into bits and sending both men and women catapulting into the waters. Splinters of the deck were sent into the ocean, and the shock of the blow tossed the ship nearly onto its side before it up righted a second later. It drew back its head, sucking in air with such force that for a moment the crew on deck felt as if they were being pulled toward its mouth.
Max saw all this in one desperate, slow motion second. People struggled in the waters, floundering as the waves created by the ship tossed them backward. The archers above deck drew arrows once again, hoping to hold off the coming blast of hellish fury as Pyromancers and Sparker crews, decimated by the breaking of the deck, struggled to recover from the blow. Max’s head then swung sideways, eyes flashing toward Heidi. Her men had brought the Pyrolith Cannon to bear and the sun, peering through the glass lens, was creating a stream of focused light that pierced the broad Pyrolith lens. Captain Terranace was looking at the same display as the cannon swung to aim dead on at the attacking beast, a bright, multicolored light forming in the narrow lens as it was supercharged by the Pyrolith stones built into the weapon. Then, after perhaps a half second’s time, the cannon erupted with terrible power, a dazzling stream of multicolored energy streaming out of the cannon’s barrel and striking the creature directly in the chest. A sound like they had never heard before filled the air as the Pyrolith blast superheated the air around them, forcing men to cover their faces as the weapon’s power struck directly into the dragon’s chest with a flash so bright that the deck was soaked in light, the force of it driving the creature back. Its wings stiffened, its body arching backward as it screamed with inhuman pain, lashing its tail against the hull of the ship as it tumbled into the waters. An audible cracking was heard as the ship buckled, if only slightly, at the blow, the beast submerging beneath the waters.
A great torrent of water erupted upward into the skies as the creature disappeared, the Star Cutter rocking back and forth for a few moments as it struggled to maintain its balance on the waves. Men quickly rushed the side of the ship, eyes searching the waters as they watched for the creature, finding only the survivors of the battle as they swam back to the boat. The ocean was still rising and falling with the force of the large beast, which had vanished into its depths. Terrance took a knee, placing his hand to his forehead as he reeled from the events of the battle. Yet not a word was said as the waters beneath them continued to churn, continued to rock them, casting the vessel back and forth. It was as if they were caught in a storm, the waves growing and tossing the boat almost out of the waters. With a great motion the rear of the boat was then cast upward, nearly out of the water, as a massive rose and crashed backed down. A rainstorm of ocean water was hurled skyward, pouring along the deck in buckets, forcing men to brace under the force of the pummeling, unable to act as the head of the dragon reared upward out of the ocean. With no hesitation it spat its flame, a small, devastating fireball that hurtled quickly toward the wheel deck. All those atop it went quickly diving for the main deck even as the ball of destruction struck the Pyrolith Cannon with a force so power that it tore the rear of the wheel deck apart, exposing the cabins below as wood was tossed upward or incinerated.
Max found himself striking the deck hard, his shoulder jamming into the wooden surface, ears ringing, black smoke rising from the back of the ship. He quickly picked himself up, glancing around to see that the force of the blast had sent even those on the main deck hurtling onto the floor. His legs shaking, quivering even as his eyesight wavered, he forced himself to focus, hand moving to his hip. Just to his right he could see the neck of the beast sliding down along the rail, jaws snapping at any nearby, forcing them to spring away or become meals. For a moment he contemplated the same until he saw Heidi, body motionless, spilt out onto the ground. Her body was motionless, a ragged doll splayed along the floor of the ship, but there was hope. Though blood ran from her head, it came only in streaks, treatable if they got her medical attention. Yet the beast’s head was craning toward her as its wings beat, its legs sliding through the water as it leaned in for its meal. Without thinking or even hesitating, Max leapt forward, over Heidi’s body and to the railing, lashing out with his sword with what he was sure would be his suicide. The blade cracked against the nose of the creature, forcing the beast to flinch and withdraw for only a moment, even as the steel blade shattered in two at the blow.
****
The above is 1700 words. Really shouldn't be more than 2000 words, I'd say, otherwise it just becomes unruly to read and handle on a messageboard. Short stories don't have firm numbers because the word limit is dependent on the magazine to which you submit your writing. Links are acceptable.
Only request, for people who are posting their work: would you indent the text with
Here's the first, Gustav von Stultz, half-demon gunslinger-at-law.
It was a red dawn. Gustav liked red dawns, they went nicely with his scales, bringing them to life... almost as if every segment was its own separate flame. Not that he could see himself, of course. He’d dressed for the occasion, brushed the ash off his expensive three piece suit, rubbed a dab of polish on his shoes, dug out his nicest top hat... hell, he’d even given his revolvers a thorough cleaning. He’d pulled out the gloves, too, though that was more of a necessity than out of concern for style. At this point, it simply wouldn’t do to get anything scratched by his claws.
But it was getting ridiculous now. He dug out his pocket watch and glared at it in irritation. He was certain the flames would have been visible from town which should have had the lord of the manor back nearly ten minutes ago. It should have taken fifteen minutes... twenty, perhaps, if he dawdled or tried to rouse a militia. This was just bordering on sloppiness now. Also, he was getting tired of standing.
With a sigh, he pulled out his pocket handkerchief and dusted off a portion of the gatepost leading to what had once been the Fulcrum manor house. ‘Had’ being the operative word. Gustav allowed himself a tiny smile. There really wasn’t much left of it now, mostly just splinters and the last fingers of flame guttering out amidst the charred remains.
He finished wiping off the area before returning the handkerchief to his pocket and carefully leaning against the clean area, drawing out his case of cigarettes as he did so. He’d rolled them earlier, just in case something like this happened. He selected one of the nicer ones and held it lightly between his teeth as he rummaged through his pockets for a book of tindertwigs. It wasn’t hard to find, he invariably had three or four on him at any time. He didn’t light the cigarette, instead fiddling with the twig as he watched the horizon intently.
After what seemed like an age, but was actually closer to a few minutes, he saw what he was waiting for, that puff of a dustcloud, almost out of sight. By its size, he’d give it six, maybe seven horses. Six would be nicer, but knowing his luck, he’d probably miscalculated by a few. He watched the cloud’s progress, absent-mindedly tapping the tindertwig against his leg as he waited.
Eventually, he could see the great Mr. Fulcrum himself and seven men Gustav recognized from the town militia riding towards him. Fulcrum brought his horse to a halt a few yards short of Gustav, his companions fanning out in a semi-circle, blocking off any escape.
“You got some nerve there, son, sticking around here,” he spat, “Any idea what the punishment for arson is around these parts, boy?”
Gustav casually struck a tindertwig against the side of his cheek with a flick of his wrist and lit the cigarette. As he took a quick drag, he fanned the twig sharply and tossed it away. Deliberately, he blew out a puff of smoke before responding.
“Not as severe as you’d like, if I had to guess,” he drawled.
“You sure got that right. Hangin’s far too quick for you. Now you going to come in all peaceful like, or are we going to have a problem?”
Gustav pulled out a sheaf of papers from the inner pocket of his coat and began to fan through them, clenching the cigarette hard between his very sharp teeth.
Not looking up, he ground out, “Seems like we’ve already got a problem.”
“That indeed we do. I let you into my home... as a guest and you blew it up! I must say, I’m slightly peeved and it would be perfectly within my rights to tie your limbs to four of these here horses and fire off a pistol. However, I will give you one last opportunity to surrender.”
Gustav located the paper he was looking for and held it up, stuffing the rest into his pocket. He removed the cigarette with a flourish.
“Know what this is?”
“How the devil should I know?” asked Fulcrum in confusion.
“I took a tour through your cellar, which I should say, far exceeds the legal skeletons per domicile limit as put forth by Subsection C, Item Three of the allowable Home Improvement doctrine. After that, I thought that you might recognize this missing persons list. Especially considering all of these missing persons have been recorded entering your esteemed ex-mansion at some point or another. Now, what would you say the punishment for serial murder is around these parts? Boy?”
“You made that up.”
“The doctrine? Yes, I did,” he popped the cigarette back into his mouth, “You still haven’t answered my question, though.”
There was a moment of silence, like the calm before the storm.
Gustav spat out the cigarette, “Yeah, I didn’t figure you would.”
And suddenly, his revolvers were in his hands.
It took about five seconds.
Gustav, blew the residual smoke from his revolvers before carefully holstering them as he picked his way through the bodies, careful not to get blood on his new shoes.
I'm thinking about a new kind of narrative genre. One that is half graphic novel, half prose (verse even), without actually being an "illustrated novel". The key to the distinction would be the interdependency of pictures and words. What the pictures tell, the text shouldn't, and what the text says, the picture shouldn't show yet again. Not sure if it can be done without serious hiccups.
I even have an idea about a first 'short story' that hopefully sees life this year. The encounter of a troubled young man on a rather short autobahn trip, who meets some kind of a cop so peculiar in moral and deed that he scrapes the fantastic of the inspired benefactor as well as the autistic of the civil servant.
A novellette or novella, depending on the length.
Well...
In the blurry white
We take our places
On a cold winter’s night
Beyond frosted windows
Upon a floured lawn
We stand and wait
For the break of dawn
As the sun grows high
Nothing can be felt
As we begin to die
As we begin to melt
With spring comes the rain
With summer comes the heat
With autumn comes the fall
All the while, we’re incomplete
But when the icicles form
On a winter’s morn
From a ball of snow
We will again be born
Maxwell Douglas is an underachieving student in our world. More concerned with his drawings and stories than his grades, he's at odds with his parents and at an awkward time in his life, as many 17 year olds are. His best friend, Heidi Trevino, is, on the other hand a genius, daughter of a physicist and an overachiever at school. One day the pair accompany her father to his company lab, where a group of scientists are preparing to unveil a new form of clean, infinite energy. Presided by company president Geoff, things go badly wrong. Max gets caught in the explosion, only barely living to tell tale.
In the aftermath his dreams become more vivid, his stories more imaginative and, strangely, he begins to see visions of these places he once imagined in his mind. Then, one day, staring at a map from the fantasy novel The Dragon Lords of LaGunain his local bookstore, he is pulled out of his world and into another.
There he becomes friends with Princess Katherine, defender of her people; Sir Christopher the Ivory Knight, Captain of the Knights of LaGuna; and Admiral Rowley, supreme leader of the naval forces of the kingdom. Together they must confront an ancient threat that has arisen on the island of Deja's Rock, the powerful sorcerer Ansgar whose undead legions rage against the island kingdom. Lacking the strength to fight him, they'll have to travel across seas, braving pirates, aggressive foreign naval forces, thunderous storms, and the End of the World where the souls of dead men go, in order to forge a pact with the dragons that exist only in their myths, but whom they're pinning their hopes to help save the island Stretch.
Maxwell Douglas
17 year old, dreamer, student in the small city of Waxahachie, TX. An underperforming student who'd rather focus on his drawings and writings. Following a lab accident, Maxwell will find himself capable of opening a gateway to another world using a map of it to guide his mind. There, he will have to help the people of the Kingdom of LaGuna. Their ruler, King Leo, desperate for answers, hopes Maxwell's exotic origins will be enough to draw the attention of the dragons that may or may not exist only in their myths. Max will have to learn to fight to protect himself, to adjust to daily life onboard a ship, come to terms with a foreign world in which kingdoms vie for power, and two ancient, mythical powers are rising from the depths of history.
Heidi Trevino
Quick witted, innovative pragmatist, Heidi is best friends with Max due to their unified love of archeology. The two, members of the local archeology club that operates out of the southern suburbs of Dallas, are also united by their love of reading and fantasy. Far more the realist, her studies have place her at the top of her class, and she is Max's tutor. When the lab accident leaves Max seeing visions of other worlds, she is hesitant to believe him, wondering if he might be going crazy. However, when he yanks her through a rift between the worlds, using his newfound power to bridge the gap between our world at that of LaGuna, she finds herself immersed in a place whose technology and science is far different from her own. Charged with developing modern style weaponry to battle dragons and sorcerers, her actions will help modernize warfare in this ancient land.
Sir Christopher, the Ivory Knight
Captain of the Knights of LaGuna, Sir Christopher is the first line of defense against the sorcerer Ansgar. Tied to the sorcerer by concealed actions and agendas the kingdom embarked upon decades before, Sir Christopher now vows to cover for his mistakes and to battle the wizard, to return to the gates of the castle upon Deja's Rock and end the evil he feels responsible for. Max's sword trainer, and an advocate on behalf the boy who convinces the royal court that Max is not, indeed, a sorcerer himself, Sir Christopher is an unparalleled warriors who has been trained from birth to lead the knights of LaGuna.
King Leo and Queen Victoria
Monarch supreme over the Kingdom of LaGuna, which stretches from the islands of the east to the distant islands of Goran and Saffras in the west. The only islands that exist beyond those are the Shattered Isles, where the souls of the dead go to move onto the next world, and to which no man has claim. Leo is bound by his actions decades before and, though he is quiet about his role in events that transpired long ago, feels responsible for the rise of the sorcerer in the east.
Princess Katherine
Trained swordsman. Amazing archer. Pyromancer, capable of creating globules of blue-green destruction from her hands. Diplomat, and future queen of LaGuna. She is motivated by a deep sense of love for her people, whom she sees suffering under the assaults of Ansgar. While everyone else is accusing Max of being a sorcerer, she and Sir Christopher see him as a good omen, and act to defend him. As voyagers upon the grand vessel, the Star Cutter, she and Max become well acquainted. She inspires him with her passion to save the lives of those she cares for, and gives him the courage he needs to help gain the attention of the legendary dragons. Her many skills as a warrior, her ability to tend to the sick and hurting as well as her ability to lead and inspire men place her as one of the most inspirational figures in LaGuna.
Admiral Rowley
Commander of the Star Cutter and supreme commander of the LaGuna naval forces. Veteran of the pirate wars and the putdown of rebellions on the island of Tobra, his five deck galleon is unequaled in sheer firepower and size. An honorable man who helps acclimate Max and Heidi to life aboard a sea vessel, he is also at the head of all sea battles and the defense of innocent ships being plundered by pirates.
Siev-Alm
Ancient king of dragons known only in myth. The legendary creature allied with humanity to battle the sorcerer, and gave a tooth from his jaw to be forged into the legendary blade, Fang, wielded by Marcus Tyrannus in the myths of the ancient Battle of Desolation. If he ever existed, he has not been seen for a thousand years, and all of LaGuna hopes that he will ally with them against the sorcerer once more. It is said that, dissatisfied with humans, he fled to the land of the dead, beyond the Mouth of the Sun in the Shattered Isles that lie far to the west.
Ansgar
Dark sorcerer who rules from the shadow towers in Deja's Rock, Ansgar is as ancient as the dragons. Until recently, both were considered myths from an ancient war. His ties to King Leo and Sir Christopher are shadowy, and his sudden awakening is suspect. He and the dragon Siev-Alm also know of one another from the worlds beyond this world.
I'm not sure how to respond to this, lol. It's dark yet whimsical in its own way. You definitely seem like you enjoyed writing the character. I was confused at the start but sort of found the context for what I was reading as the story progressed. Definitely interesting for a character piece, I wonder how you'd act this out in a DnD, lol.
I'm having trouble understanding how this would form a cohesive narrative. Or is it not supposed to?
Which poets would you count among your favorite?
Glad you liked it. I'd probably go and act it out pretty close to how I wrote it. There's more to the character, of course, but I just wanted to give a snapshot of a single event without going into too much detail. I might write more of him later if I can think of an actual plot to go with him.
Also, I've got another character portrait, a good deal different than the above, as I feature an all out evil character this time, though I'd say I tend to stick with the same style. Introducing Nephista Kenduis, sadistic drow and part-time gardener.
“Listen, I’m pretty sure we had a bargain here. As I already told you, I can’t let you out of there until you cooperate with me and tell me the troop movements and numbers of your little hamlet... what was it called? Springdale?”
There was no response from the iron casket.
“Hellooooo?” Nephista called, “Anybody in there?”
She rapped sharply on lid, aiming precisely for the spot near the hinges that would drive the spikes further into the surfacer inside. To her satisfaction, the jostling was met with a strangled scream.
“Oh good,” she replied jovially, “For a moment there, I thought you’d gone and died on me. Which would be mildly irritating as I’ve only got five of you buggers left after the whole security snafu with the rat poison. You’ll just have to accept that I thought I was doing you lot a favor by letting you have a bit from my plate before I ate it and really, you’re only hurting yourself by not cooperating. Literally.”
“I don’t know anything...” whimpered the box, “I’m just a baker... a simple baker... they don’t tell me about soldiers...”
“If you don’t want to talk, that’s all right. How ‘bout I come back in a few hours, then? My garden hedge needs trimming. And just so you don’t forget me...”
With a vicious twist, she cranked in the spikes a few centimeters, a small smile crossing her features as the screaming intensified in both volume and frequency. She could only leave him in there for thirty minutes or so, of course, but she enjoyed imagining how panicked the surfacer must be inside that painful little box.
But that was enough of that. She gave a cursory look around the small dungeon, letting her eyes linger on random prisoners just to watch them squirm in their restraints, before heading up the stairs into the main house, the last few shrill screams suddenly cutting out as the soundproof door closed behind her with a heavy thud.
Ah, that was nicer. While the screaming did have a nice melody to it, after awhile she did tend to get a headache. With a contented sigh, she plucked up her gardening shears from where she’d left them on her coffee table and strolled out her front door.
Nephista hadn’t always had a front hedge. A hundred years ago, when she’d still been living with her mother, she hadn’t even known that such a thing could possibly exist. It was only on her first raiding party that she’d seen one and even though they’d burned down the house that it belonged to, she’d asked the party leader if they could leave the hedge so that she could study it. She’d agreed, and after several nighttime trips to get exact measurements, she'd taken a small sample of the hedge to try to plant in her underground garden. It died within a week. It had taken her years and hundreds of small shrubs to figure out what the surface world had that she did not. She’d tested the soil, observed them in every kind of weather in the attempt to replicate it, even gone so far as to take a few slaves to get some barrels of water from the stream that ran closest to the original hedge. Nothing had worked.
Of course, she knew now that the ingredient she’d been missing was light. There wasn’t a suitable substitute for that down here in the Darklands... so she’d just substituted a different sort of hedge.
She smacked the tendril that had been investigating her arm with the shears.
“What did I tell you about eating me?” she demanded sharply.
The tendril quickly retreated back into the hedge.
“That’s more like it. Try that again and I will shape you into a teddy bear. Don’t think I won’t. Now, I notice that you’ve been growing beyond the limits we discussed. You know what that means...”
The hedge trembled, possibly in fear.
She strode slowly towards it, casually snipping the shears as she did so. With great deliberation, she grabbed a particularly disorderly twig and prepared to cut.
She was interrupted by a gurgling scream. A scream that seemed to come from the other side of the hedge.
With a sigh, she let go of the offending twig and walked around to see a cloaked figure wrestling with several of the vines. On closer inspection, she could see that he was a surfacer. A male surfacer.
“So,” she smirked, “found my tendriculos did you? Struggling makes it worse, you know. Helps it tighten its grip on you so it can devour you faster. It also alerts the others to your presence, so you might end up getting ripped apart instead.”
“Others?” the man whimpered.
“It’s a hedge,” replied simply, “Of course there’s others, a hedge isn’t made up of one plant, you know. What I’m trying to say is that you should talk quickly. Who are you and why are you here?”
“Right, right,” the man gulped, trying to compose himself as the vines tightened around him, scrabbling for his pocket, “You’re Nehpista Kenduis, correct?”
Nephista nodded, moderately bemused.
“I’m Kevin Cartwright, a messenger. My master sent me with a letter for you,” he pulled out a small, crumpled envelope with a blood red seal and held it out to her.
With only the barest glance at the seal, she snatched up the envelope and ripped it open. Inside, the letter read only:
Want to take over the world? Meet up surface-side at noon.
Hmm... noon. From her rough idea of the time, that would be scarcely an hour from now, just barely enough to get to the surface if she left right now. Her hedge wouldn’t get trimmed for one thing... and then there was the matter of the prisoners in the basement. She hadn’t fed them today and if she were gone for a week or two, the mess would probably be pretty disgusting when she got back. Not to mention the man in the iron maiden.
But then again, even if this was an exaggeration, her mother had always told her to take advantage of opportunities for power, and this certainly qualified. Eh, she could borrow some slaves to clean up the prisoners if they didn’t survive. And the hedge would probably be happy it was let off the pruning list. And besides...
“It’s not as if I’ve got anything better to do,” she muttered.
“Um...” said the messenger, looking exceedingly uncomfortable as a vine began sliding down his pants, “Not to interrupt or anything, but could you possibly call off your hedge? I really need to report back to my master...”
She waved him off, “Don’t worry about a thing, Kevin Cartwright. I will make your report personally. Besides, my hedges won’t be getting fed for the next few weeks and it would be a shame to deny them a free meal...”
She walked off to the messenger’s pleading as she mentally calculated the things she’d need for the trip. Just the bare necessities, really...
It was another sunny day without a cloud in the sky. Julie Harper found it to be the perfect chance to head downtown to do some early Christmas shopping. There were shoppers all along the sidewalk, but nary a car in the street. No one could have foreseen the truck that would come barreling through the crosswalk.
Pam was asleep on the seat next to her daughter's bed. It had been a tough week. When Julie first came in, the doctors weren't even sure that she would survive the night. She'd made it through, but no one was sure how long she would be comatose. It was tough looking down at her daughter's bruised face, unsure if she would ever see her beautiful smile again.
"I'll take over from here, Pam. You look like you could go for some breakfast."
Pam looked back at her husband, whose handsome features were overshadowed after days of very little sleep and countless hours of crying.
"Is it morning already?" Pam got up and stretched. She made a weak smile as her husband came over to sit in her seat by her daughter's bed.
"I should go over to my parents. I know they'd want to know how she's doing. It's probably harder for them then it is for us. Julie is their first grand daughter. She's their entire world."
She could barely get the last words out as she choked up with tears. Her husband squeezed her hand gently.
"It's okay honey. I'm sure Julie will be alright. I can go get your parents if you'd rather."
Pam wiped her tears and looked into her husband's eyes. "No, it's OK. I could use the fresh air anyway."
Julie looked around. She was in an orange room with swirling white and blue lights all around her. She felt strange, almost like she was floating. With an unsteadiness, she brought her hand up to her face. It appeared orange just like the rest of what she saw.
"OK, this is weird. It's probably a result of the accident. I wonder why no one else is around."
She began walking forward and ended up in the back seat of a car. She could see the hazy white figures of three people in the car with her, but she could not tell who they were. She tried to focus her eyes, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't get her eyes to focus. As she started to talk, her vision seemed to split into two images, with one side a shade of white and the other a shade of blue. Thinking she was having double vision, she tried to focus again.
Suddenly, the blue image changed. The driver slumped down into their seat and the car veered into the oncoming lane. Without warning, a tractor trailer slammed into the car and all three figures were mangled by the crash. The white image drove by the tractor trailer and pulled off onto the side of the road.
The blue and white images began to blur, and then merge before finally Julie's view became normal again. She found herself in the back seat of the car again. Even though the images were still fuzzy, this time she could tell who the three images were. They were her mother and her grandparents! She became increasingly nervous knowing the fate that the car would soon have. Suddenly she found herself floating up to the front seat. She seemed to be inside the fuzzy image of her mother.
With her adrenaline levels soaring, Julie was able to take control of the steering wheel just as her mother slumped in her seat. The car missed the tractor trailer, and Julie brought the car to the side of the road and to a complete stop.
With that, Julie's view changed to black once more.
Go away, spambot.
I wake up tied up in a cold, damp basement. The man says he loves me. I have my doubts.
I make things happen with my mind. Nobody knows. Nobody believes me. People die in my sleep. Please kill me.
What's it about, exactly? I'm confused on what's going on though I guess that's half the point of this piece :P
This is a cool thread, I'm glad that so many people have stuff to contribute, and most important of all, it's inspiring me to work more on my stories
It is. Movies mostly work with the same premise, with the difference that 'text' is mostly 'dialogue'. Interdependency of text and pictures is well known in comics/ graphic novels (and described by Scott McCloud in "Making Comics"). If it still works with quite a different balance remains to be seen.
Frost, Shakespeare, Poe, and Hughes.
Agent
Agent Name
Dear
(blah blah blah droning on about myself)
I have written in various capacities. I was at one time contracted to write lore and background stories for Blizzard Entertainment, makers of the popular sci-fi game series, Starcraft, as well as its well know massively multiplayer game, World of Warcraft. As a historian in the making, in the midst of my dissertation in the realm of Native American spiritual experiences in colonial North America, crafting a narrative is half my job, in addition to the research that goes into the writing itself.
My light fantasy novel, The Dream Map, is a standalone work that comes in at 111,799 words. What follows is a brief description.
"I'm looking for maps of worlds that don't exist."
Maxwell Douglas was a dreamer, an underachieving student who preferred to focus on his art and fantasy books. It wasn't until an laboratory accident left him capable of opening a portal to another world, simply by looking at a fantasy map drawn from an old book, that he was able to live out the adventures he'd only read about. Aided by the science of his best friend Heidi, and the protection of a blue fire wielding princess named Katherine, he embarks on an epic sea voyage to arouse an ancient alliance of dragons. Armed with the blades of knights and the fantastic weapons created by the science of his own world, Max and his friends hope to drive back an awakened sorcerer whose ties to the dragons seem to reach beyond the borders of the dimensions. Along the way, he learns that war is far more terrible than anything he has read of in books, and that the greatest weapon he has is the affection he has for his friends.
As with many others, I'm looking for a shot. Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Jason Luthor
Name: Matthew McConnel
Age: 89
Classification: Delta
HISTORY
Matthew McConnell was born in Dublin, Ireland in 1922, shortly between the end of the first World War and the start of the second. Born under the occupation of the British army in Ireland, and a product of the rhetoric of freedom circulating throughout the world in the face of German aggression in WWII, he became a fighter in the military operations occurring in Europe. He was present on D-Day and demonstrated incredible skill, strength, tactical ability and speed. He was actually favorably compared to the American hero, Mr. Amazing [ES003] due to their comparative skills. Mr. Amazing always held the superior place due to his ethnicity and background, while McConnell suffered from discrimination and oppression within his own military ranks.
McConnell was also, unfortunately, captured in the European Theatre. At this time he was subjected to the Third Reich's Sephiroth Program, the same program that formed the foundation of the future SWORD agency. An attempt to understand super, supra and paranormal activity, Sephiroth sought to weaponize human, non human and unusual relics in the hope of developing new tools for the Reich to use against the Allies it was fighting. Because of his superior abilities as well as his regenerative healing factor, comparable with Mr. Amazing's, he was subjected to a series of experiments testing his limits and introducing him to mutagenic agents.
The end result of these experiments would never have a chance to be unleashed on the Allies, and the full scope of them is still not known. McConnell's experience left him in a state of suffering and mentally broken, a situation that would not be remixed by the British. He was returned to Ireland, subjected to the same discrimination he had faced previously, and landed himself in close alliance with local revolution groups hoping to establish home rule for Ireland. He established a name as a particularly effective resistance leader, and particularly violent, a reputation that led to his expulsion from the resistance groups he had previously found a home with. Rumors broke out concerning certain, unique capabilities he held. In addition to his previously held capabilities, he was demonstrating a "corruption", an ability to degrade biological and nonbiological matter in his presence, at will, which made apprehension by normal means impossible.
In the late 1960s, standard SWORD agents were sent in to apprehend McConnell, although they were ultimately unsuccessful. Ever larger teams were deployed, all which McConnell resisted through a combination of his own powers and the terrorist group he was establishing, whose influence was spreading throughout continental Europe. A concerted counter effort was made by SHIELD, the paramilitary wing of SWORD. In addition to agents, Mr. Amazing led the team which began a series of combative efforts to break McConnell's terrorist group, Lamh Laidir. This would be the first of a number of encounters between the two and, although they would fail to apprehend him, would drive his group underground.
CONTAINMENT
To date, no permanent containment solution has been devised for holding Black Sunday. His strength allows him the ability to break through concrete and steel. Heavily reinforced walls are effective at containing him physically, preventing escape by battering the walls with his physical strength alone. However, the corruption effect that Sunday produces is capable of progressively deteriorating the walls of his room. This effect is slowest upon superhard metals but regardless of the nature of the wall, the corrosion effect will eventually be sufficient to allow Black Sunday to penetrate it via his superior physical strength.
The current cell devised for him and previously used is located at Facility Abaddon, an imprisonment facility for the most unpredictable, dangerous and hardest to contain super and supranormals. The cell is a multilayered wall of diamond, carbon tungstide, concrete and titanium in interchanging layers that are seven feet thick. These walls are resistant to temperatures up to 1370 Celsius (2500 Fahrenheit) and could withstand a blast exceeding the detonation force of the Hiroshima bomb. Sunday is allowed no television but is provided a set of a dozen books once every month. 24 hour monitoring of his cell is required. Because of the corruption effect he produces, cameras must be changed once a week, as well as plumbing. Because IRIS bullets degrade before they can make contact with Sunday, they are ineffective at delivering a dose of IRIS blood to the subject. Similarly, blood transfusions are impossible due to the corruption effect. This makes indefinite detention the only method of containing Black Sunday.
All method of food, book and other utilities conveyance must be done via conveyor system. All camera replacement must be done only with active ESP agents working to hold back Sunday until replacement is complete, a process that should not exceed one half hour. A replacement cell must be constructed once every three months, and Sunday transferred to it with the help of ESP agents. This is a costly and ongoing expenditure that has not proven entirely effective. Sunday can, at random, exceed the bonds of his agent handlers. The intensity of his corruption effect has also been known to tear apart the walls of his cell with little effort. Attempts to terminate the subject have all been ineffective. Like Mr. Amazing, his cellular regeneration capabilities seem to be beyond the scope of normal medical understanding. Gunfire is ineffective due to bullet degradation, as are all physical methods of attempting to kill Black Sunday. Energy based methods, such as lasers, have literally torn his body to shreds, only to have him regenerate. Incineration has only led to his regrowth from the cells that survived the process, with explosive force producing the same result. Regeneration time can take several months, but always occurs.
ADDENDUM
Black Sunday is the perfect counterpart to Mr. Amazing, nearly equal in strength, speed, agility and tactical ability. What Sunday possess that Amazing does not is a corruption effect, which appears like a black smoke coming off of his body. This field of smoke extends at will in what appear to be tendrils, and can begin immediate degradation of all surrounding matter. When contained to a cell, Sunday allows this field to expand to consume almost the entire room, cloaking it in black and beginning a corrosion process. Only those with heightened regenerative capabilities, such as Mr. Amazing, have any place in direct contact with Sunday.
Sunday can retract his corrosion field and regularly does so as part of his role as leader of Lamh Laidir. Uncorrupted, he appears as a male in his late twenties, a consequence of his cellular regenerative capabilities. He stands mid six feet tall, with bright red hair, a broad jaw and muscular frame, the equivalent of any Olympic level athlete or above. When in his corrupted state, Sunday appears to be consumed in black, like a walking ink blot, with no distinguishing features save the outline of his frame and musculature. Even his head appears rounded and smooth. At this time, his corruption field, the smoke tendrils he is typified by, become visible.
Name: Jacob Escobar
Age: 18
Classification: Alpha
HISTORY
Jacob Escobar is a young college student born in Philadelphia. A fifth generation Hispanic male whose ancestors dwelt on the border of Texas and Mexico, he has always been considered bright and fairly athletic. A lifelong fan of basketball and a player himself during high school, Escobar always seemed to have a streak of good luck. With a game on the line, he'd hit the winning three. Running on little sleep, his team would find a way to click. This streak extended beyond even sports. Team projects found ways to get done faster than normal, and people seemed to remember answers to tests better in his presence.
SWORD investigations picked up on this recurring phenomenon and had him brought in for investigation. In his presence, team performances by agents increased in effectiveness 22%. Mental acuity, physical reaction time and overall cohesion seemed to positively benefit. When Escobar was removed from their presence, performance levels dropped steadily over the next few hours..
Escobar was offered a chance to come onboard as a supplementary SWORD agent in exchange for college funding, an offer he and his family were excited to accept. In exchange for his silence concerning the agency and his powers, Escobar is allowed to live a normal life, interrupted only when SWORD requires a tweak to its performance abilities.
CONTAINMENT
No form of monitoring or containment is used on Tweak. Because of the passive nature of his powers, the lack of any negative side effects and the general sense that, as Jacob Escobar, he simply has astoundingly good luck, no ongoing monitoring or transfusion of IRIS blood is required. Jacob is part of the greater population whose powers fall beneath the threshold requiring monitoring or containment, and would nearly be classified Sub-Alpha and outside the agency's attention, if not for his tremendous impact on agent abilities in the field.
ADDENDUM
Tweak creates an aura around him, a passive field he has no role in generating, that causes astoundingly good luck to individuals but most especially groups. His designation, Tweak, is due to the fact that this field tweaks performance between members to optimal capacity, allowing groups to coordinate and function at levels higher than they would outside his presence. Agents seem to be able to anticipate the actions of their comrades as well as their enemies, and act cohesively in response. Devices function better, answers are arrived at more quickly, and agents have generally begun referring to Tweak's abilities as an inverse of Murphy's Law: "Anything that can go right, will go right."
Name: Unknown
Age: Unknown
Classification: Beta
HISTORY
Originally considered to be a myth, superstition or urban legend, stories of The Hatman (or simply, Hatman) increased throughout the 20th century and endure today. Hatman was originally brought to the attention of SWORD via an encounter made between a researcher's daughter and this being in the early 1980s. This was SWORD's first encounter with a paranormal being and a detailed investigation began in order to asses its ability to expand beyond the scope of its original mandate to investigate supranormal humans.
Hatman's various incarnations have been reported globally but for a stretch of the 80s were especially abundant in Benicia, California, United States, also the location of the researcher and a local SWORD facility. A town wide sweep was covertly conducted via the installation of various EMF, Infrared, and Full Spectrum scanners at various points throughout the city.
Activity was initially detected in the residuals form of 'portals', breeches in the dimensional wall. A cluster of activity was traced to a single house, where SWORD teams were deployed. Armed with standard issue weaponry thought to suppress supranormal powers, visual contact was made through full spectrum goggles, but capture was impossible. Hatman is capable of infinitely quick teleportation time and escaped SWORD team members.
It would be another decade before a second chance was had at capturing The Hatman. This time, SWORD agents were accompanied by ESP specialists capable of sensing and predicting paranormal phenomenon, as well as tachyon field generators that hindered The Hatman's abilities to create portals, though he remained almost invisible to the naked eye. Combined with interference created by ESP specialists, The Hatman was detained using a combination of tachyon weaponry and containment cells. His lack of a corporeal body mean that standard Ingles-infused bullets were ineffective.
CONTAINMENT
Hatman is kept at Facility Mezuzah along with a number of other teleportation capable individuals. The cell in which he is kept is surrounded by a number of tachyon fields operating at varying frequencies that permanently inhibit his ability to teleport out. Surveillance is maintained by an observation crew on rotation every hour. All in-cell experimentation is conducted only by individuals in whom chemical suppression of the amygdala has been conducted, and even these individuals are to spend a time period exceeding not more than 20 minutes within the cell.
Hatman is in a small class of individuals known as Emotion Feeders. Specifically, Hatman is a fear feeder, whose powers grow in direct proportion to those in whom he inspires said fear. This emotional reaction seems to be unavoidable within normal humans even when viewed from distant, remote observation points, and The Hatman seems to be able to feed on this fear even from points that are separated by hundreds of miles. Because of this, observation teams are small, and on constant rotation. Even in-cell handlers do not seem able to endure his presence without the fear response for more than 20 minutes, despite chemical suppression of the amygdala. This reaction can occur in even shorter time frames, and all vitals of in-cell handlers must be closely monitored for emotional response. Should this occur, the cell must be abandoned immediately.
However, it is necessary for Hatman to receive some emotional sustenance. Because of this, a single subject is introduced into his cell to invoke the fear response. This requires no more than two minutes within his presence, and must be repeated four times a day. Chemically suppressed handlers are then instructed to remove the subject from the cell. Should Hatman feed for too long on too many individual's fear responses, it is anticipated his powers would grow disproportionately, enabling him to tunnel through his cell and escape regardless of the tachyon fields surrounding him.
ADDENDUM
The Hatman appears as a living shadow, standing seven feet tall, wearing a long coat or trenchcoat, as well as a top hat, cowboy hat or flat brimmed hat. Other elements occasionally gleaned from visual inspection are the appearance of a collared shirt or elements of a suit beneath the coat. However, his appearance shifts at random intervals.
Hatman's primary power seems to be the ability to induce a tremendous sense of dread and terror in those he visits. He then feeds upon this fear, enabling him to create portals through which he can travel to distant places throughout the world. Relatively benign, he is nonetheless worthy of further research in order to uncover the exact source of his impressive teleportation abilities.
Though Hatman has often been described by the public as a ghost, he is better termed an inhuman. An extradimensional being, he does not posses the virulent fury of a demon, nor the qualities and characteristics typical of a human, or even the qualities of a deceased individual persisting within this dimension. His point of origin is unknown, and all attempts to contact him have been met with zero success.
Here lies the grave of someone unimportant that with great merriment people around cheered internally when they saw his corpse. No one will mourn him for he justly received his dues when a ballista bolt impaled him to the ground. It was not this act which brought glee to the people that knew him; rather the fact that said bolt did not actually kill him. Perhaps the days events should be recounted in total so those that read will fully appreciate the cruelty he showed his fellow man and the general hatred he inspired in even the most pious man.
Madness had gripped the community. Like most days in this region it started out as wonderfully as anyone could expect; a light drizzle followed a minor smattering of hail. It seemed like the mood of the weather closely resembled the attitudes of the town; constantly on the defensive due to encroaching monsters. Set in an area of fertile land with fresh water it was the only real…well…anything in a land that was well known for it’s rocky outcroppings, plagues of evil denizens and the ever increasing threat of something worse coming from behind the white veil that enshrouded the north.
“Why me, why me?” whispered Jalyn as she attempted to scramble over the rock faces making her way home. She knew that venturing into the wilds could always be fatal but at times it needed to be done. How else could she get the berries she needed to make the pies and cakes that she was so well known for. Thankfully she had taken the regular precautions which only made some of the more conservative men in the area blush; a lady as fetching as Jayln should not be prancing about the forest wearing mens clothes. Especially since they believed that some of the evils in this region favoured young ladies; though no one could quite tell her if those evils lived beyond the city walls or within them. As Jalyn hurdled a branch she wondered why such a stray thought should enter her mind when in all likelihood she would not live to see another day. It was tempting too to drop the satchel that bore the fruits of her labour. By now some of the berries may be better suited for drinking than eating but she was determined not to drop the satchel; it would provide the money desperately needed for supplies for the coming winter. If the previous winter was anything to go by.
Keilen stood on the wall peering out, well it couldn’t really be called a wall. A gently rise from townside outward to a sudden drop, it was just good old fashioned earth but it was surprisingly effective at what it needed to do. As he looked over the edge he remembered how painful that drop could be, and also how lucky he was that it only claimed a bone in his forearm. As if to remind him not to be so cocky the first bit of hail plunged straight at his nose and ricocheted into his eye. “Of all the...” his thoughts were cut short as he spotted something trying it’s damndest to run at the town. It certainly would have helped not having a tear filled eye and a bruised one from some of the more…exciting activities late at night in the inn. Best thing to do he thought is raise an alarm, let someone else deal with the mess. Or atleast deal with it more accurately. The whistle he brought to his lips was made of bone, their old markings smoothed to almost nothing from all the handling it had suffered, it’s sound though was unique. Something the young ones loved to say was a sleepy baby dragon’s yawn, yet for such a mellow and low sound it cut through any noise and shook the air around it. More importantly it could be heard clear across town without alerting anyone approaching the town. It took a few moments for someone to arrive at which time Keilen had dealt with the offending bit of hail that attempted to blind him to see that the figure was indeed female, that…was the full extent of his deduction. Well he hoped it was female, it ran kinda weird, quickly but weird. The newest arrival with a keener set of eyes, less bruised at the very least didn’t so much pay attention to what was running toward the gate but rather what was chasing it. Instead of calling to the gate guards as he should have since Moraw knew it was Jalyn he was transfixed by the huge badger clawing it’s way across the ground to get at her, it must have come up to atleast his waist, maybe more. The only thought echoing in his head was “Dear god, what the hell is that?”. Thankfully Keilen’s sight miraculously improved, perhaps because of the figures rather close proximity, perhaps more the screams aimed straight at him “You bloody oaf, don’t just gawk! Open the gate!”. “What a curious scream for a monster” echoed Moraw’s thoughts, he was never known for his brilliance so when a rather intelligent thought did come into being it felt rather lonely.
That instantly makes me imagine a juxtapose of something fantastical and something real world (almost the way old childrens stories or old folklore would twist what was real and not) alternating which is which as the story goes given the idea you gave Vainamoinen. I mean the pictures being either real or fantastical then changing as the story progress's or is needed, same with the prose.
Alcoremortis, I think you definitely write well, I enjoyed reading those stories. Chances are though that knowing the world in question brought the story more to life, not so sure what people unfamiliar to it would think.
I love that bit, just makes me imagine a game made on that kind of idea. The player would have to be the person saying that of course and it would have to be cleverly done to keep people in the dark about as much as possible.
Jennifer, I dislike how she knows that she was in an accident but I think that's just personal preference. It would be interesting to see how Julie would cope being trapped in that coma while "helping" out. Maybe more interesting if she ever came out (or lost her abilities) and suddenly people started dieing.
I've got an even more twisty idea worked out for the story, but your last suggestion would make for a great follow-up story.
Definitely a lot of depth and lore to it.
I myself the other day was thinking about a story about body snatchers.
Well... Psychics who could posses other people, and the main two characters were two teens who develop these abilities (by switching with each other at first! XD), and after some goofy hijinks get recruited into a government agency to try to hunt down dangerous "body snatchers".
Their powers would have grown with each others presence, which would have been their main advantage over most other psychics. (So they kinda get stronger over time anyway, but because they are so closely connected they can kind of synchronise that psychic energy with each other as well)
One of their first targets is to track a known "body snatcher" who repeatedly "escapes" custody.
(Intentionally most of the time since he has a tendency to lead the agency to bigger leads)
He is at first hard to deal with because he has a secondary ability ontop of just mind control/possession, in a certain range he can remotely control certain body parts of others.
It's a limited ability and quite tiring of him, so even though potentially dangerous (with enough focus he could stop someone's heart), he normally only uses it to make his escape or gain a cheap advantage.
He's no good guy, but he's no monster. Just a bit of a cowardly rat with a big ego, and big greed.
(Who occasionally has a good idea. Well... Good for him anyway! XD)
So he would be a sort of re-appearing character. Eventually a nuisance, but sometimes oddly helpful.
...
Yeah that's all I got. I was just mulling a little over it at work.
Don't know if I'd want to take that idea any further, but it's decent enough to log for future reference.
Yeah, recently, I've been exclusively been borrowing DnD and Pathfinder settings to write in, since I'm not a fan of world building. I can't even make an isolated town without wondering where the broader infrastructure comes from and such. Luckily Wizards of the Coast and Paizo are pretty good about allowing outside writers to borrow their settings.
And of course, if I ever get beyond the vignette stage of writing, I'll actually make an attempt at talking about the world around the characters. But for now, I find myself more interested in what makes a person tick. And for that reason, I'll probably end up writing mysteries.
I'd go for realism with the art if only I could, that much is for sure. And as to the philosophy of the narrative, the fantastical would be all on the cop's side, while the world around him should be as real as humanly possible.
ES001 - "PATIENT ZERO"
Name: Jessica Iris
Age: 74
Classification: Omega
HISTORY
The original Event Subject [ES] and the one to whom the modern success of the Supranormal World Research Detail [SWORD] is owed. In the early 1950s, a young girl, age 16, was discovered in Irving, Kansas, United States. She was brought to the attention of the United States government due to a series of mysterious incidents occurring in the region. Reports ranged from the mutilation of cows, to the dissaesmbly of machinery, mass hallucinations and the morphing of local terrain. Upon investigation, the source of the incidents were tracked to the young girl named Jessica Iris, from here on referred to as Patient Zero or Zero.
Zero's powers only manifested upon puberty and grew progressively stronger over the next few years, making her early life relatively uneventful. Detention occurred pre-SWORD, among the top military facilities within the United States. It was eventually found that while awake, Zero's powers were so strong that they manifested entirely without her knowledge. She exhibited a powerful ESP influence on surrounding minds and could alter physical reality at a fundamental. Under experimentation, it was found that even a small amount of focus could produce massive amounts of destruction. Two events, Zero Event One and Zero Event Two, were direct results of her active use of her powers.
Zero Event One, which was conducted in an attempt to see if her focused powers could be constructively used, led to the death of all individuals in the experimentation chamber. Upon seeing what she had done, Patient Zero entered a panicked state. In her emotional distress, she consumed the entirety of the military facility and the town site built around it, which was meant to disguise its purpose. All buildings, human, plant and animal life vanished, leaving a twelve mile crater. This larger incident was deemed Zero Event Two.
Unconscious from such mass use of her power, Zero was retrieved from the site and transferred into the custody of the newly developing SWORD agency, charged with researching the escalating number of supranormal reports circulating throughout the United States.
CONTAINMENT
Further research determined that Patient Zero's abilities would continue to escalate as she aged. Because in a conscious state she was deemed too dangerous for either containment or release into the public, Zero was placed into a drug induced state that continues to this day. In her current state she exhibits none of the powerful, reality altering powers she did during her time awake.
Zero is kept at Facility Zebulon under 24 hour surveillance. She is kept within a complex medical and production facility located 2 miles underground. The medical staff and operations are comparable to any standard hospital, with advanced equipment for scans such as MRIs and X-Rays. The facility deviates from a standard hospital facility in its production capabilities, which are meant to use Zero's blood for the weaponry used by field agents as well as transfusion into ESP subjects.
The facility is also under heavy guard. Members of SWORD paramilitary forces are on constant rotation through the facility and are stationed for periods of six months in Zebulon sleeping quarters. The elevator responsible for transportation of staff and machinery is the primary access with a secondary personnel elevator used for the transportation of staff only in emergencies. Access to the facility requires no less than six administrative keycards from the ten overseers of the facility, and the emergency elevator only activates with these same keycards or the engagement of Protocol Zero.
Protocol Zero itself involves a series of nuclear devices implanted throughout the facility, set to detonate in case of Patient Zero's awakening. Should this occur, Zebulon staff has 30 minutes to evacuate the facility. Casualties are anticipated under such circumstances, whether due to Zero's awakening or the detonation of the nuclear devices.
ADDENDUM
Patient Zero's powers are anticipated to be near infinite and is one of only a very few Class Omega supranormals monitored by SWORD. Her ability to change the fabric of reality around her, induce mass hallucinations in large amounts of the population, and control the behaviors of those within her field of influence make her the single greatest threat SWORD monitors to this day.
However, she is also the reason for its success in its battles against other supranormals. Zero's powers include an inhibition field. When active, it is anticipated that her influence causes the powers of all other supranormal beings to become nonexistent. This influence is inherent within her blood, and is the reason it is a component of all SWORD agents' weaponry. SWORD bullets ignore almost all active fields produced by supranormals, be they telepathic, energy created, distortions of reality, and the like. Upon contact with a subject, the casing opens, depositing the blood within the target. This bullet transfusion inhibits the supranormal's powers until a more suitable, long term solution, often in the form of a constant blood transfusion, is settled upon.
It has also been observed that Zero's blood has an active effect on the normal population inverse to its effects on supranormals. Blood transfusion can induce temporary supranormal powers in a typical human, though the effect is random and cannot be anticipated unless performed under very specific conditions, which results in an ESP Agent.
After that, I'd guess the cases would be given by other types of undead ("I suppose she could've been described as having a buxom figure, ruby red lips, and a look that spelt trouble, but only if I'd allowed my eyes to rot out and was going by memory. Well, except for the trouble part, but most ghouls came with that pre-attached.")
Right so imagine a futuristic universe combined with an almost old western twist.
Where entire planets are controlled by mega corporations, and many planets have been almost ruined by a massive intergalactic war.
Where bounty hunting is not only legal, but common place and supported by said corporations, even vital for their operations.
(Because the fallout of war, both the physical and the political (the factions fractioned off after the war was over) attracted opportunists and organised crime syndicates, many of which consist of ex-merinaries and soldiers, and people forced into crime out of necessity due to their livelihoods and homes being ravaged by the war)
Right so the story starts off in a distant world. A dark figure walks slowly through the desert dragging along something.
You see this figure walking past old ruined structures and buildings.
Eventually the figure reaches a massive dome structure.
A close up reveals a cloaked figure dragging a body to the door.
A robotic probe flies towards the cloaked figure and a red eye flashes from the hood.
"Identification please."
The drone scans the figure's face and immediately scurries off.
"Identification confirmed. Deposit bounty and Insert KREDITZ card to receive credit"
The figure then drops the body down a chute then takes off his hood and inserts his card.
Turns out the figure is an ageing human, appearing to be in his late 50s.
The cybernetic components on his body worn, almost antiquated and dirty from the sand.
His body and face covered in scars from years of fighting, but still very strong looking. As if he still works out.
This is our protagonist, a washed up old bounty hunter hunting low life's in a back ally of the galaxy.
He enters this almost utopianistic and ultra clean city, but he doesnt hang around and immediately heads down steps and lifts with purpose.
Down to the old district that's darker and more worn.
He heads to a small arm shop, where the dealer seems to be expecting him.
He turns around and heads back into his stocks and pills out a box of ammunition.
"You know this kind of ammo is gettin' real hard to come by. I had to almost beg the salvagers to sell it to me this time. That pea shooter of yours belongs in a museum. You know I can cut you a good deal on a 5000 serie.."
The old bounty hunter's eye flashes and he pulls out his card.
"Maybe another time then. Jack...."
"....you know... one of these days you're going to need to upgrade that arm holster of yours. It's getting harder and harder to get ammo for that 3260 model of yours..."
"...."
"Look Jack... You're still a good shot, and that arm of yours can still dish out a heavy hit. The ARMONI corporation is looking for as many bounty hunters they can get, and they pay alot better than freelance work, maybe you should sign up and get your kit looked at..."
"I don't work for no stinking corporation..."
He then takes his ammunition and walks off to a dingy local bar.
... So yeah. Alot to flesh out there, but basically the game/story is about this guy getting pulled back into the world of bounty hunting. You get to find out about this guys past ad how it relates to the present, and eventually the story evolves and escalates to epic proportions.
As a game, I'd like it to be a little open-world Ish, story wise, but then the levels/missions would kinda be mega man-Ish, fighting unique bosses and areas.
It would be a tale of survival, of heroism, and eventually revenge.
But so far it's all very basic. I got a kind of idea where I would like to take the story, drawing in those scifi and western influences, but no real specifics on paper.
Seems like it might be real fun to persue though, either way.
Those worlds are rich with detail and very open to writing stuff for. I'm the same with towns, I remember as a kid thinking that building contractors must have been geniuses to build something so perfectly as to position all the needed wiring and pipes for future use. Never realised they just covered up what they needed to later on to make it look good and that it didn't start that way.
Btw, the mummy detective put Lawrence of Arabia in my head. The part where he says "The trick mister Lawrence is not minding that it hurts.".
Well I say fantastical but that also includes anything just out of the norm for the two characters, something unlike what a cop would do, act or say. Would be interesting to see the story the way you envision it.
I feel sorry for patient Zero. It reminds me of Elfien Lied and FEAR, you just know shit will hit the fan one day with those kind of imprisonments.
And something I found, was written a while ago so I'll just blame that for it being the way it is. I think it was meant to give an idea for a game world though I'm really not sure, but I do know it's meant to be a pretty unforgiving story. Yes it's an apocalypse type thing but give a guy a break, wrote it when the news of the Hadron collider first started showing up, a good few years before zombies got to crazy levels.
No one wants to remember how much of it began, perhaps too many bad memories or maybe some that remind of better times. Truthfully I'm sketchy on the details myself and I lived through it. Everything was as it should be, people went about there business content to live their lives in whatever ever way they felt too. In the news it was a historic time, we were possibly going to be able to see and look at things that we as humans never had the capability to until now. Many of course claimed that it was heresy. That we were looking into matters that only god should be privy to. That there wasn't enough caution to temper the insatiable desire to know. Whatever the outlook of many people it didn't affect the basic things of life on what needed to be done nor how to go about living so I always feel that regardless of the outcome now, the tests would always have happened. No one noticed anything on the first few trials of the mega collider, meant to allow scientists a chance to decipher the very beginnings of time and give a greater understanding of what the future may hold for us. All speculation about the dangers died. Life went on as normal.
Perhaps then it really was a shock then that we had actually changed the way physics works in our world. No one had of course noticed anything up till that point since there was nothing to notice. Maybe there was and we just weren't paying enough attention to it at the time. Life for myself had gone surprisingly well, well enough in fact to take that trip to parts of the world I had always wanted to visit. First off a trip to America. While there a strange occurance happened that not everyone seemed capable of noticing. A large distortion that traveled across the world. It was the largest sensation to hit the media for a long time. The questions they asked had valid points. Why were only some people capable of noticing it? Why did it seem to change some things yet leave others intact? Why were some people dead after this wave passed when no identifiable source of their demise could be identified? It was curious, it made us all curious and it probably kept many of the greatest minds occupied. What people should probably have been paying attention to alot more was the outbreak as I called it. It never had a name. By the time it was officially deemed an epidemic it was impossible to control or identify who was infected. Like rabies there was a way to see if a person was infected or not but that meant being able to have access to the said person's brain. Something that anyone alive isn't to eager to part with. The effects of this outbreak was what shocked everyone. They become ravenous, like ghouls or zombies that people had always seen in the movies. Rage and other lower base human functions were all that seemed to drive them. What was terrifying was the footage smuggled onto the news networks that showed not only how difficult these people were to take down but showed how they didn't really die at all. No one, no matter what they are on gets up after three quarters of their head is missing and you can clearly see a major lack of brain in the cavity left behind. Everyone panicked, a mass exodus of people trying to run the other direction broke out. It didn't help though cause these things were everywhere. That was also when the last wave passed over that I ever remember seeing. We had spent days just surviving, fleeing from one place to another. Always being chased, always having more and more people die. Some gave up, others took their own lives. In all the hysteria, all that confusion no one seemed to notice the large mounds of knotted flesh that clung to the darker places of streets. They scared the hell out of me, I knew something was living in them, just waiting to come out.
I remember months must have passed, many of those that once were alive were now dead. There wasn't that much screaming anymore in the night. People were getting used to just surviving, scrounging what you could from the dead. Hoping they wouldn't attack as you pilfered their pockets. The constant anxiety whenever you had to enter a building because you never knew what kind of horrors it held. Recently the latest of these abominations had been released on us. Monstrous being's, hideously misshapen, with great strength, durability and even abilities that no one even knew were capable of existing in our world. By this point much of what was taken for granted as working under our laws of physics stopped working. Atleast that's what I believe, how else do you explain a car with not a single mechanical fault, no damage and with petrol in the tank not working. The petrol still burned like petrol but it's like someone took the will out of the actual metal of the engine for it to function as it should. Solid state electronic devices that just stopped working, electrical wiring that no longer had the desire or maybe ability to carry current. Even ammunition wasn't always gauranteed to work. I remember several people around that time seemed to be making progress into what could only be described as magic. Able to create effects out of nothing with what might only be the power of the mind. Life got harder very quickly, if what had happened in the 3 months before seemed like hell, this was worse. The new horrors that came with seemingly endless numbers didn't always kill, not always did you know what became of the people captured. The few that I remember seeing made me wish I never had. Taken over, ranting to be killed, asking for forgiveness while something seemed to control them and eat them from the inside out. I think all of those controlled must have gone insane, gods I pray they did.
That's when things got hazy for me, maybe it was fatigue or not careing about being alive anymore. Maybe I wanted to die but I just remember feeling so tired. I think I saw some some of the horrors, some of the zombies. I can't remember if it was real or not. Fleshy something's, feelings of things creeping further, tendrils of unseen things that slithered between the nightmares. It felt like time passed, it felt like a terrible sleep that I couldn't awaken from. Next true thing I remember is standing in the street with a woman rushing to my side. I couldn't understand her but I remember feeling cold. I remember the feeling of fresh blood on me. As she draped the coat over my shoulders I remember looking down and thinking it was so strange that I was naked and how weird that big woman seemed to be. Later I was told I was out cold in the hospital beds for almost a week. They say they have no idea how a young boy survived for so long on his own out there but obviously some major psychological trauma must have been inflicted. The fact that I wasn't the age I remember took me by surprise, I looked young. Maybe 10 or so, the doctors said I was severely malnourished and exhausted. Now I'm trying to figure out what the hell happened, where did the time inbetween go? Why am I in this body? I know I have information they don't know about but they aren't too keen to listen to the rambling's of a child, atleast not yet.
It's funny you should mention that because Lawrence of Arabia happens to be one of my favorite movies. I dunno why I came up with a mummy of all things. I guess I just like the idea of sticking undead into genres they shouldn't be involved in and vampires and zombies are overdone.
Also, prebuilt worlds are the most useful things ever. It's a lovely feeling to just research possibilities for where the plot might happen instead of inventing them and then stressing about whether or not the locations seem contrived. You know, as if the characters have been railroaded from the start and if they were to stray but a little, they'd fall of the edge of the plot. Sure, that's how it is, but I like to give the impression that there were alternatives for them. I always worry about it, though.
"With a sudden yank of the rope the gray cloth that had covered the Pyrolith above fell to the ground in a big flop, the sun that had been seeping in from above passing directly onto the stone. For a moment nothing happened and they all could only stand and watch as the stone began to glow brightly, its faces slowly ignited with sparkling energy. With a burst of power, eight beams exploded from the bottom of the stone, emitted out of the eight, carefully crafted facets of the Pyrolith. Beneath the stone, the lens array caught each beam of supercharged light, reflecting them in untold directions, so that a maze of rainbow colored beams were flying around the room. They bounced off lenses attached to the ground, reflected again off of lenses on the walls and columns, crossing and crisscrossing each other like a puzzle until they all converged in a few second’s time on the master lens. For a moment the beams did not seem to reflect back again, instead a halo of rainbow aura circling around the lens before a powerful beam burst forward, streaming toward the eyepiece of the Pyrolith Cannon. With a bizarre and ear piercing sound the beam surged into the final lens, the halo aura sucking into the cannon like a vortex, particles of energy streaming into what had been the eyepiece of the telescope. For a long moment the barrel started to tremble, its joints shaking, bolts popping from its surface as the cannon received the supercharged beam. Then, with a roar as loud as any dragon Max had heard in the Shattered Isles, a beam of incredible power, as wide as the telescope’s broad end, burst out from the tower. It cut over the town and the distant port, over ships and blue waters, the black clouds above seeming to part as the beam crossed the distance to Deja’s Rock, the waves below drawn skyward as it streamed out from the cannon. The room trembled as the roaring noise filled their ears, each man and woman glancing away as the beams of light that filled the room seemed to grow in intensity, the Pyrolith above glowing with such sheer ferocity that the entire chamber glowed with an intense brightness that threatened to blind them. Their ears rang with the sound while miles away, the massive blast of power collided against the black and purple shield of Castle Vazan. The rainbow blast coursed into the dark energy shield, the two powers raging against each other, the shield pulsing as it absorbed the power of the blast, blue green light saturating its dark surface. Finally, in one grand second, the shield became entirely consumed, a detonating boom erupting with such intensity that it carried back across the ocean channel. Waves were rocked, the boats in the harbor cast about like they were in the midst of a hurricane, while a storm of wind smacked the tower with such intensity that the roof above was torn to shreds, holes ripping open all across its surface. A grand surge of light pulsed outward with such strength that it crossed the same distance, engulfing them in a brightness so incredible they could no longer see, the lenses in the room shattering with the impact of the sound wave that roared with ferocious rage. Glass splintered and broke, the Pyrolith above detonating into a thousand pieces that scattered to the ground, metal, stone, tile and glass littering the floor in a tremendous rain that scattered all about, many pieces of it exploding outward from the tower and falling hundreds of feet to the ground below."