Storythread

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I am still working on an updated version of
hopefully it might even be ready at some point.

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"Hum ho hum, bored bored~" the echoes resonated throughout the sea. From the mast of one of the countless ruined vessels was a girl. Her dress was loose and flowing, splaying in the waves of the ocean alongside her pale hair. If it weren't for the fact that she was singing underwater, she might have been mistaken for being among the living. Perhaps it might have been for the better, as all she could do down here was wait.

The girl's name was Elin and in truth, she was but one of countless spirits lost at sea. Once, some long time ago, her ship was destroyed, whether it be from storms or a pirate raid. At this point, it mattered little. What did was that the wreck she sat at was all that remained of her gravesite. Her bones were no doubt down there too, resting amidst the sands, her flesh picked clean by passerby fish. Occasionally, she rose to the surface to haunt a passing ship, causing mischief to the passengers of the ships, but eventually, she was forced to return back to this ruin. She was bound to this site with no release. The only thing she had waiting for her was a slow but eventual fading from existence.

"Something something, come on soon~" she continued. Without people for company, all she could do was look at the simple fish, living and dead. None of them feared her, much less saw her, meaning that she had nothing left to do. But she was hopeful. As long as she could find some people to bother, she was bound to survive for a little longer.

It was on one boring day that Elin found perhaps the most peculiar sight her ghostly eyes ever laid upon: A skeleton. From the looks of its tattered remains of clothing (of which were composed of a tattered and muddied tartan, warped leather boots, a red headband, and some rusted gauntlets) and the wheel lodged in its shoulder, it was clear the skeleton was no doubt a victim of its own shipwreck. As it slowly plodded along the seafloor, the ghost felt a sort of envy for the passerby.

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At least the skeleton, whoever it was, could walk wherever it pleased, unbound from whatever grave it had.

"Hey! You!" she finally gathered the nerve to shout.The skeleton kept walking. "I'm talking to you! You know I can see you, scoundrel!" This time, the skeleton stopped. It turned its head to face Elin and for the first time, she saw its eyes. Dim red dots peered from them like lanterns. The sight unsettled the ghost, but she tried to keep her composure. "So!" she almost slipped her tongue. "You can hear me?" Her only response was the silence of the depths. It frustrated her how the skeleton did nothing but stare. "Well, say something! You're in my territory, so you have to explain what your business is!"
The silence was wearing on her. "Can you even talk?" At least this answer was clear. In frustration, she shouted as she dismounted from the mast. "Jeez, you're so useless!" She lazily descended to the bottom of the sea and then walked the rest of the way to see this intruder. To her surprise, this undead thing was quite tall, almost twice her height, and up close it looked even more unnerving. "Look, I'm willing to overlook your transgression...But you gotta help me!" The skeleton leaned its head, but it stayed.
"I need your help. See that ship over there?" She pointed to the ship that was her tomb. "In there's a skeleton wearing a dress like I have. I need you to dig it up and steal it." Elin ordered, "Take it somewhere, anywhere! Just don't leave it here! I... I just wanna go home." For a moment, her facade slipped. She sniffed, almost like a tear in her eye, and pulled it back. Elin only let herself relax when she saw that skeleton finally walk, this time approaching the ship. "That's right!" She boasted, "I'm the boss around here and I want that skeleton!"

They entered through a massive gash on the prow, looking more like the result of a collision than some assault. They entered the darkness, braving the monstrous eels that lived there.

...

Ellie sat up against the tree. She watched the clouds billow in the distance. The rain would be here soon. She fiddled with the instrument. It was small, fitting snugly in one hand. The fingerholes spread out across it in no real pattern, and the strange spout-like mouthpiece made it look like a tea kettle. She blew into it. It produced a shrill, toneless note. Ellie pursed her lips and stared at it. The soldier said the people who played these made them sound beautiful. It certainly didn’t sound beautiful right now. She stuck it in her pocket and stood up.

The breeze picked up and Ellie looked again at the clouds. The nearby waves whispered. She took a deep breath and started walking. She saw another wildberry bush, covered in thick ripe berries. She moved towards it, but remembered she gave away her basket to the soldiers with the last batch. Ellie sighed and stepped back to the road.

It was almost dark when she got home. Papa sat at the table. He rested his head in his hands. The cabin was quiet.

“Papa?” Ellie asked. He looked up. His eyes were red and puffy. Ellie’s heart sank.

“He left,” he said. His voice was rough and quiet. “Roger’s gone.”

“He’s gone?” she asked. Where did her brother go? She scowled. He didn’t even come find her before he left.

Papa stood up. “He went with the soldiers,” he said. “He said he had to. I said no. We fought. Said some things I shouldn’t have,” he said. Then he grabbed her and pulled her too him. Ellie returned the hug. She heard him sniffle, and tears welled in her own eyes.

The rains came that night.

The sky swelled grey every morning. Papa said little. He would wake and set about his work in town. Every morning Ellie walked into the tiny kitchen and found her breakfast waiting for her. Late at night, lying in bed, she’d hear him come in and shuffle to his room. Sometimes she’d take out the funny little instrument. But looking at it, she thought of soldiers and got angry.

Ellie went down to the beach. The rain stopped in the night, but the clouds stayed. The waves crashed and she breathed in the air. She loved it here. She remembered playing in the surf with Roger, swimming and fishing and laughing. Ellie stopped and sat on a log.

Something caught her eye. Ellie stood up and squinted. Something glimmered in the surf. She scowled and took off her boots. Hiking up her skirt, she trudged into the freezing water. When it came about halfway up her shins, she stooped down and sifted through it. She found something heavy, and pulled it up.

It was a sword. Or rather, part of one. The hilt was intact, but the blade ended in jagged metal at what must be a third of its length. It wasn’t rusty, and the blade was still sharp. The grip was thick, black leather. A pearl-like stone the color of the clouds overhead rested in the crossguard, and beautiful patterns weaved their way along the blade. Ellie stared at it.

Cold ran up her body. She looked down. The water was well past her knees. Ellie’s brow furrowed and she looked back at the shore. She hadn’t moved since she picked up the sword, had she?

She turned around and stepped towards the shore. The waves surged higher and higher. Soon they were at her waist, and the beach wasn’t any closer. Ellie’s heart pounded. What was going on? The water crashed against her back. She stumbled forward. Another wave, a big one, smashed into her shoulders. She fell over. Ellie dropped the sword and tried to swim. The water pulled her back, farther from the shore. She panicked and kicked as hard as she could. The waves churned around her. They filled her mouth and pulled her under. She was blind, and the water roared. Papa’s face flashed before her, and then nothing.

Ellie stirred awake. She could feel small hands prodding her back…

Younger dude >Alpha Scale-2 to Alpha Scale-1; Asset is staring at me funny.. Help?

Older dude >Alpha Scale-1 to Alpha Scale-2; You could just ask her to stop, idiot.

Younger dude >Talk to the asset? Are you nuts? She's a fifty thousand ton fire breathing Demi-god, you don't just talk to something like that.

Dragon >It's not nice to talk about a lady's weight little one. But thank you for the flattery. I'll stop staring when you do.

Older dude >*Sounds of heavy laughter*

Younger dude >Bu-.. I. That's not. *Muffled muttering*

Dragon >My hearing more then keen enough to still understand you.

Older dude >*Possibly dying of laughter*

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Though those eels were massive and powerful, Elin's new servant proved to be a surprise as it drew a sword from its belt and severed two of the beasts' heads off. The others turned tail and fled. All the while, the skeleton merely looked at them...and started laughing. youtube.com/watch?v=OZlgOZpYTZM
The laugh unnerved Elin. "S-so! You can talk, right?" Again, silence reigned as the skeleton stared at him. She floated on once it was clear that the laughter had to be from something else. Maybe it was just another ghost, she assured herself.

From the magnitude of things in the halls, it was clear that this was the ship's cargo hold. She vaguely remembered that some of the passengers were also merchants, and for some reason she was involved as well. In that instant, Elin began digging through the corpses and cargo as best she could. She looked at each room and each hall for a body, trying to replay those last moments of her life as much as she could. Even after so long, it was hard to remember where all the passengers were in those last moments. It helped that the skeleton was at least a little more thorough in the search, though she had to wonder if the thing even understood what she was looking for. In any case, she was happy that there was someone with her, not afraid of who she was.

Eventually, after a long time of searching the decks, Elin remembered another detail: she was headed to the upper decks, trying to get onto a lifeboat. Together, the two proceeded upstairs and found more bodies. Some of them were clad in uniforms, while the rest were wearing something more akin to hooligan's clothing. It was clear to both that none of these bodies belonged to a little girl. They continued upward, to finally see the passenger's deck. The deck was split into halls and rooms for the passengers to have some privacy, but to a ghost, those walls might as well have not existed.

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The search was swift here, she knew she was not lying here, but she knew one who did. Near the stairs upwards, she saw a corpse pressed into the walls. From what remained of the clothing, it was likely that this was a rich man. Elin looked at the body for a little before curling up on its lap. "I'm sorry, papa. If I leave, I'm not sure I'll be able to bring you with me."
Her memories of her father at that time were clear. Elin and her parents were running upstairs alongside everyone else as the ship was sinking. The mob then separated Elin from her father. She tried to fight the tied, reaching out, but he insisted that she go on without him, that he'd meet them on a lifeboat.
Considering that she remembered the sound of gunfire and not the safety of a boat, it was clear she never made it. She was curious where her mother was, though. Even after all this time, she never found her body.

The skeleton stared at her curiously. "What? Can't you see I'm spending time with my father?" Elin was defensive of what remained as she curled tighter. "Do you...even remember your family?" It was clear she'd get no answer from the walking dead thing, but she wasn't expecting that very thing to pick her up from the lap of her father. "Wh-what are you doing?!" Her composure was lost. She flailed about to get some dignity back, but it meant nothing to the skeleton. "Put me down! Put me down this instant! I command you!" The skeleton paid no heed and merely carried her upstairs.
Elin was still pouting once it set her down. "You were really impudent to do that to me! I'll ask you when I want you to carry me, got it?" She upbraided the skeleton though from its reaction, it seemed like the same thing would happen again. "If word got out that a servant was carrying her master like that, I'd lose my standing!" Once she was done, it turned and continued looking through the decks. From her memories, they were getting closer to her body.

I got time to kill, here is some rough draft!

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"They're here, sir... They're here..."

Sitting petrified atop Cyprasis' throne, on the highest floor of his central palace, General Psolistrere takes in the words of the magistrate.

"There is no more time, there is nothing else that may be done here."

"I already know that."

Glancing across the courtroom, Psolistrere is reminded of how the chamber has been stripped of all wealth. Wall ornaments, furniture, and various luxury items have all been torn down or destroyed.

"Who is at the gates?"

"Sir, right now it's just messengers of the Thunder Army. They are calling you to the gatehouse to discuss terms of surrender."

"I see. So who sent you?"

"Field Master Erudrane did, sir."

"He's at the gatehouse?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmmm...."

Psolistrere bows his head and sighs deep. Up above on the rafters, several vibrantly colored cockatoos watch him amused. Letting go of the breath, he rises to a stand and flicks his cape.

"I inherited a mess... Fuck! FUCK!!"

Indignant over Cyprasis' cowardice and ineptitude, Psolistrere kicks a leftover helmet at his feet right across the throne room. Then, he reverts his glare to the armored magistrate.

"Magistrate, visit the citadel with my vested authority and instruct the commander there to proceed with Plan A."

"Yes, sir."

"Then, go and see Field Master Diabolus and, once again with my authority, inform him to prepare his men much the same."

"Yes, sir."

"Now be gone."

Leaving with but a bow, the magistrate hurriedly leaves the palace to visit Misura's citadel. Alone once more, Psolistrere exits out the throne room and onto the balcony which overlooks the western cityscape. The sky was blood red, a telling sign of what's to come, and a powerful westward wind sends his cape into a wild flutter. Approaching the alabaster rails, Psolistrere grips it with both hands and nervously looks out across the city.

"Typhas, my days among the living are over now, I know you're calling for me. You gave me the fire to keep the fight alive. I promise you, the projects I've set in motion under the clarity you've given me in this twilight... They will outlive me, and carry on your legacy as rightful lord of Tantazul... You put cowardice in Cyprasis' heart, didn't you?"

There is no answer. Now, Psolistrere looks up to the heavens.

"The gods of the world are angry, they're using Girada as their instrument of wrath. They're right to be incensed, I would be. Had I not been blinded by my oath, I'd have sooner realized I followed a madman. A madman running a failed state, on behalf of..."

The cockatoos fly down and perch themselves on either side of Psolistrere. Seemingly agitated, there were three birds to the left, and two on the right.

"This world is..."

"Choose your next words wisely."

"EH?!"

Looking at the bird resting at his right hand, Psolistrere forms a scowl.

"Get lost, bird! Shoo, pest!"

A swift swat of the hand knocks the bird away. As it scrambles about, circling a few times around Psolistrere, the others caw with annoyance.

"What do you want?! Get lost, stupid animals!!"

"Typhas cannot hear you..."

Astonished, Psolistrere stares down at the green-feathered bird to his left.

"Typhas doesn't know what you are doing, his eyes have been gouged out."

"I've never met a bird who speaks in metaphors... Or who even speaks, really..."

Resigning to the absurdity of his predicament, Psolistrere only smirks and lets go of the balcony rail.

"I don't lie, I'm honest."

"Yes, Typhas has no eyes! They were literally plucked out!"

"And his ears soldered shut."

The birds all squawk to one another before edging themselves closer and closer to Psolistrere.

"The emotions of man are easily controlled... You and Cyprasis, have been guided by one hand of fate."

"As far as...?"

"As you pray before battle, you pray to me. Typhas cannot hear you, I only make myself out to appear as him, as his presence, within your mind."

Shocked and afraid, but determined to press onward, Psolistrere demands an answer from the birds.

"Who are you, then?!!"

"We are the Union."

"EH!??"

"We are all the Union..."

"You've all played the cards we gave to you, some better than others... We do not agree with Typhas."

"But you love him, and if your piety and passion is the thing that will bring you success on the battlefield... We can allow him to take you."

"Why would you even think you have a stake on my soul?"

"It was in your oath."

Psolistrere's heart skips a beat.

"Well, just fight for Typhas... Maybe he can't hear you, but a tree still makes sound in the forest if it falls."

"Yes, he'll take you still!"

Now, three of the birds were inching along Psolistrere's gauntlets while the fourth clung to his plated shoulder pauldron. The last of the cockatoos was perched up on the general's helmet ornament.

"We'll allow him to take you, provided you just do all in your power to win."

"This battle is unwinnable, if I could I'd surrender."

"Surrender, and we'll take what's ours from you."

"You're despicable."

"You misunderstand the nature of your temporal lord."

Leaning over to meet eyes with Psolistrere was the bird roosting on his steel helm.

"Do all you can for us, and when your frayed and chewed up corpse expels your spirit, we'll let you carry on. Give us less, and we'll devour your soul."

"WE?! WE?!! WE?!!! WHO IS WE!!?!?"

"The Union."

Wide-eyed and terrified, Psolistrere can barely take what he's seeing and hearing seriously anymore. Just moments before addressing representatives of Girada's army, cockatoos gleefully chatter about his immortal fate. Worse still, they remain jubilant even as they explain that a misstep on Psolistrere's part may lead him to perdition, if he even has a choice left at all.

"Relax, embrace the emotions we gave you. Embrace the sanctity of mind you've begun to lose."

"How can I?!! You... You're confronting me about... About my eternal soul, and my defaulted role in your TWISTED blood machine..."

"Are we?"

"We are?"

"No, we're not."

"Why did you smoke that?"

"S-smoked...?"

Ringing swells in Psolistrere's head as he flashes back to his freshest of memories. Not half an hour ago, he was smoking hash and drinking blue lotus tea in the presence of the remnants of Cyprasis' harem. Maybe they weren't actually girls from a harem, though...

"I can't believe this..."

Psolistrere blinks once to find the birds are gone, departed from his presence. He blinks a second time and then stares out across the stark red sky. In the corner of his eye he catches five birds flying north, out to sea. Blinking one final time, they are gone, mere phantasms.

"Typhas... I am unsure of my situation, but be my rock... Lead me to triumph... I will inflame the public, they will fight for me, this I can see clearly... Do not soften my heart so that I flee, like Cyprasis did. If I live to see another day... I swear on my life I will feed him to the public."

Turning away from the balcony, Psolistrere goes back into the throne room and contemplates his fate. He didn't understand what it was he just experienced, but there was a certain realness to it that couldn't be ignored. The memory of taking drugs seemed twice the dream as his dialogue with the birds. Still though, he has returned to his previous frame of mind, and it was honestly for the better.

"Whatever..."

Growling, Psolistrere makes for the main hall to the palace's exit.

"I'll do what my heart says is right... I will die a lion and defender of the public... I know you're waiting on me, Typhas, I can feel it. The heavens are calling me. I'm not afraid..."

Rewriting something I've been working on for a while.

Basic premise: A dragon teleports into a modern-day human's room, babbling about Earth being a frozen wasteland and accusing him of attempting to use evil spells. Human has to deal with this bullshit.

docs.google.com/document/d/1fC1TACtbBVL9ko-KOQTrJdxB_s6sIVSCVypU_5C1JL4/edit

Comments and shit would be highly appreciated.

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I think I have to make another major revision to my novel that I thought was done. I don't want to. I want it to just be done. I want to be done with this novel and get it published.

But I think I have to turn my zombies into Ajin esque demi-humans infiltrating society to survive.

Surprisingly enough, it barely changes the plot, but it makes a much stronger world.

If your book has zombies in it, changing it is probably a smart move.

Zombies are hard sells nowadays because they're everywhere.

Once they reached the top deck of the ship, they knew where the one once known as Elin lay. Just as she said, the body was clad in black with a flowing white skirt and loose sleeves. The front of the dress and the ribbons adorning the sleeves may have once been green, but so much degradation had made it unclear if it was always the case.
The similarity was uncanny, though there was one distinct difference: a hole through the right side of the skull. Elin traced the same place on her face to find an eyepatch. She never noticed it before in her years of unlife, but now that she felt it, she was conscious. She never could see her face, the face the ghost had. After a bit of fidgeting, she asked, "You...you can see, right?" The skeleton tilted its head. "Look, I know you must be curious about this eyepatch, right? I mean, everyone does! It's not normal for a girl like me to wear an eyepatch!" She was blushing. "But...well, I've never had an opportunity to ask about what I look like. So...I don't know how I'm supposed to ask you, but...does my eye look weird?"
With a hesitant gesture, she cast aside the eyepatch. It was simple, but on one corner there was a white flower adorning it. She looked upward to see her servant. "So...?" There was no sign of injury from it, but the lack of an eye here made it clear that it was unnatural. "Is it...ugly?"

The skeleton, though incapable of expressing much, was still capable of understanding her new master's plight. It outstretched a skeletal hand and began caressing the empty socket. Elin grabbed the hand. "Thank you." As soon as it stopped, the skeleton then walked over and picked up the body. As soon as it came back, remains in tow, Elin snapped out of her trance. "Ah - Oh yes! My order! Now, I think the ship was meant to head..." she pointed in a random direction, "there! Onward, lackey! And be careful with me there!"

That's most of the motivation for the change.

Zombies were the justification for a dystopic seizure of power by the military, but a plague that randomly makes immortal symbiotes would do that as well. And has more interesting things I can do with it.

Might be something here, but I gotta lay down some harsh truths.

>Pick a tense and stick with it.
You jump around between past and present tense. This got pretty distracting, but it's really easily fixed.

>Tailor your dialogue to your story
Half the time, your characters speak in this arcane style which tells me this setting is "old". But the other half, you get lines which seem anachronistic and out of sync with the mood and setting.
>>"I inherited a mess. Fuck! FUCK!!"
is a good example. Also avoid ALL CAPS and consecutive punctuation marks.

>Speaking of dialogue...
I had a really, really hard time figuring out who's talking in this. You never once use indicators like "Psolistrere said," or "The cockatoo said". The only way I can figure out who's talking is reading the previous paragraphs.

>In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only the passive voice
A lot of new writers use the passive voice incessantly. Some examples here:
>>Psolistrere is reminded of how the chamber has been stripped of all wealth
Who reminded him? Who stripped this chamber of its wealth?
>>"Had I not been blinded by my oath, I'd have sooner realized I followed a madman."
Who blinded him?

>To be or not to be
Avoid "to be" verbs. They're everywhere in this and it's clunky and obvious.
>>has been
>>to press
>>was the
>>may lead

Con't.

>Show, don't tell
You explicitly tell me Psolistrere's emotions and the reason why he's feeling those. You don't have to tell me he's indignant when he kicks a helmet. That's obvious.

>Context
Maybe this is part of something larger, but I have no idea what's going on. If it were attached to a picture I'd have a better clue. As far as I know, it's just a guy talking to birds while a battler wages on somewhere. This wouldn't be a problem if it's obvious this is some weird fantasy world you're sharing.

>Names
So many fantasy writers use these weird, arcane names. I get its' for flavor, but remembering Psolistrere's name is hard when I can't even pronounce it. Also,
>>Field Master Diabolus
>>Diabolus

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Elin's theory was correct: As long as she was near her body, she was free to finally leave her ship. At long last, she was exploring the depths of the ocean, and with the skeleton by her side, she knew she'd be going home.

The adventure was long without guidance or company. Elin would only talk on end about countless topics, some of them about her past, the rest about her afterlife. Sometimes she might drift on to the surface and cause a bit of trouble to a random passing ship, but she never lasted long lest she lose track of her remains. But even in these instances, she felt less frustrated and more like she was freed. The terrors of the deep didn't scare her with the skeleton and its sword by her side, and eventually, after a long journey across the ocean floor, they came to a shore.

It was bleak, storm-wracked, and there was another wrecked ship right next to it, but the skeleton paid little heed to it. Elin, however, could only wonder if the bodies near the wreck were at peace and she hoped that she would rest too.
Their progress was suddenly barred when they came face to face with one of the coast's largest inhabitants: the kraken. It took her only a moment to notice that one of the cliffs actually had an eye on it, but in that instant, a tentacle had already flailed around, slapping the skeleton into pieces and sending her body skidding. "No no no!" She rushed over to the pieces of her servant in panic. "Come on! Get up! We're so close and I want to come home now! Please, I need you!"
The skeleton took heed. Its bones assembled in a flash, as if they were bound like puppet strings, and it rose with sword in hand. Elin's first thought was to run. She tried to get the skeleton's attention, but it instead charged headlong at the kraken. Another tentacle lashed out at the two, but this time, the skeleton knew what was coming. It thrust its sword at the kraken and severed one of its tentacles with ease.

...

The beast flailed in outrage that it was harmed, but Elin had taken hope. It had fought all manner of horrors before to protect her before, and she was confident that they'd survive this too.
"Yeah!" She cheered her minion on. "Hurt that thing! I am this close to being free and I'm not going to spend it in some sea monster's belly!" As if it were motivated by her shouting, the skeleton laughed again. This time, she was sure it came from that undying thing.
It ran again, sword raised high. As the remaining seven arms thrashed about, it never seemed to hesitate. Even slamming it just inconvenienced it as the skeleton stood back up. The kraken then tried to grab onto it, latching onto a leg and ripping it off. All that did was momentarily stall the advance, for as soon as the leg was freed from the kraken's grip with another severing, it returned right back to its socket. By that point, there was not much further. It marched to the kraken's face and immediately began cutting it. Each wound caused it to spasm, to flail harder. None of it made the skeleton stop.

The whole time, Elin was watching. While she was excited at first, seeing the damage her servant caused, but as it mounted, her smile slowly bent to a frown. She was not asking for this much pain, even if it was attacking them. She ran towards the battle. "Stop! Stop!" she cried. "You did it! He won't bother us anymore, I'm sure!" The skeleton stopped its assault mid-swing. The two paused for a moment to see what the kraken would do, but nothing happened. Victorious, the skeleton laughed again. They had nothing left to do but leave.

It took another voyage to find the place Elin once called home. In the wake of her death, the world had changed drastically. No longer were horses populating the streets and now they were run by mysterious carriages. The streets now looked like ink and the buildings now looked taller than she remembered.

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Their passing was met with open screams of fear and terror. Even if they couldn't see Elin, they could see a skeleton dressed as a pirate carrying the waterlogged corpse of a girl in a dress and that turned heads. Their stench just cemented any revulsion the onlookers had.
Men then came in carriages with colored lanterns. They asked the two to stop where they were, but the skeleton never heeded them. "It's so close!" she repeated. "I know this place! Even if it looks different, I can remember this street perfectly!"

She remembered the location, but the location did not remember her. Where once a mansion might have stood, now there was a dilapidated lot, part of one being cleared for a department store.
"I... my home..." Elin's heart sank, as did the rest of her. She had so many memories about the manor that stood here, about playing outside with her parents. She remembered the staircase that she took to go to her room on the second floor. She remembered the bathrooms and how each of them had a different tub her father bought just to describe their personalities. She remembered the smell of her mother making every meal she could recall and the sitting in the dining room in the room over. She even remembered the few years of schooling she had, the friends she made.
So many memories...all lost.
"Bury it." She grumbled. "I said bury it!" She snapped. "Use that sword for something and dig a hole here! Bring me to my family! I want to go home!" She cried for what felt like days, the entire site just terrified of the skeletons. Even the men in uniform, try as they might, were unable to bring themselves to stop something that wasn't even a threat. The skeleton just stood there immobile.
"I...I just want my mama..." she sniffed. "I know I can't bring papa back, but I wanna know... I wanna see where mama is..."

Then the people found someone who might help their situation. This person was the first person among these living that saw Elin.

"Hello, miss." A feminine voice greeted them. "I'm here because...well, everyone's scared of your friend there." Elin looked up to see a woman in a black dress and a red coat. On top of her flowing blonde mane was a massive black hat.
"He's my servant," Elin retorted with bile. "And right now he's the only person who'll listen to me!"
The woman extended her hand. "Well, I'd be happy to listen to you too! I'm Marietta!"
Elin looked at the strange woman talking to her and to her skeletal compatriot before looking back at that hand. She accepted it. "My name is Elin Donovias. I died in a shipwreck."

Marietta was able to convince Elin and the skeleton to leave the construction site and come to a small abode on the outskirts of town. The company was a relief to Elin, who was finally able to have an honest-to-goodness conversation with another intelligent being. Marietta explained that she was a medium and that her cousin was the officer who called for her. She was fascinated by how much Elin knew of the distant past (a whole hundred years past, to be exact!) and how life was back then. It was when they reached Marietta's home that Elin remembered one last detail: The ship she died in was called the Maiden's Endeavour.
The next day, the medium left Elin and her skeletal comrade back home while she went to research the fate of the Maiden's Endeavour. She looked up every library in the city and eventually found not only a manifest listing the contents of that ship's fateful last voyage, but a news report about several survivors washing ashore. Among them was a Kathrine Donovias, bereft of husband and daughter. Though little was recorded of her life after that devastating loss, it was recorded that she died twenty years later, wasted away. That evening, Marietta led them to the cemetery.

The moon was high in the sky, shrouded by the clouds. Elin, Marietta, and the skeleton were all present to see a large gravestone, accompanied by one smaller.

"Kathrine Donovias, 1760-1835, Devoted mother, now reunited with her cherished family..." Elin read it aloud. "Is it true? Is...is mama really there?"
Marietta nodded. "As sure as I can be. I don't think anybody would appreciate it if me or your friend dug up graves, but I'm sure you can check for yourself."
Immediately, she descended below the earth to make sure, and she saw it. The casket was a simple wooden one, lined on the inside. She climbed inside and she knew immediately who it was. She embraced the body of her mother.
"I'm home, mama! I'm finally home!"

The next evening, they came again. This time they had another coffin, this one made purely of wood. Inside was Elin's body. Together, the skeleton and Marietta dug a hole in front of the large gravestone, where Elin's name was listed. Her coffin was buried and the dirt re-piled on before the rain fell. As Marietta opened her umbrella, Elin stood over her grave. "Thank you, Miss Marietta. Now that I'm home, I finally feel...happy." She reached for her eyepatch and removed it again. She felt that empty recess again. "I wonder, when I go to Heaven...will I get my eye back?"
The medium smiled. "Of course you will. Such a pretty girl only deserves to look her best when she finally reunites with her family!"
"And you..." Elin turned to the skeleton, who stared dead at her the entire time. "Thank you for saving me. I know that if I were alive, I would probably be wed to you, but considering how I am...the best I can do for you is to free you. You brought me home, so now you can keep walking and find your home too." It lowered to one knee, and wrapped its arms as best it could around the girl. "I promise, I'll ask God if he can help you, so don't forget about me!" The skeleton simply stood and left to see both girls waving, unsure of where he would go next.

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True to her word, the ghost of Elin Donovias soon faded from this world. With her questions answered, all she had left was to wonder what Heaven felt like. Her invasion became written off as some filming, and the matter soon fell into the grounds of paranormal crack theories. The lot where her manor once stood was eventually turned into a memorial for the 2,543 passengers and crew lost on the Maiden's Endeavour with Marietta's influence. The department store that might have been there instead was instead turned into a smaller strip mall.
As for Elin's skeletal savior, nothing is certain. While it is certain that it still walked the earth, even decades after Elin's passing, it became less clear what it did. Some reports say that it returned to its voyage under the seas, perhaps to find others like Elin. Others believe that it waited on every shore, to see if a ship finally came for it as Elin promised. Another few think that the plight of the ghost was but a small detour for it, and that whatever that skeleton's true purpose was, it still had to be accomplished. Whatever the case may be, there would always be a flicker inside, an assurance that whatever end it met, that she would be there to welcome whoever that skeleton once was.

...

He crept stealthily towards the house; he would have his revenge at last.

He didn't even have time to lift his lantern before the scarecrow the old witch had set to guard her children was upon him.

Urist McAxebeard stands awkwardly in the snow, discomfort growing as the minutes pass.

"You know this pose is ridiculous, right lad? No self respecting dwarf is going to stand legs spread with his axes out like this, even after a fight's over. And as for this stuff you've kitted me out in, it's incredibly overwrought, restrictive and frankly offensively stereotypical"

"You think that's bad? Me an Azog have been lying half naked in the snow for hour now. No sane orc is going to be running about naked, especially not on some mountain. And as for armour, this is practically fetish gear. Don't even get me started on the clubs!" Nurkk growled in discontent, then started to shift a little.

"Now now children, this is art. Some liberties have to be taken, and after all this is what sells." Lul'lam'lelela's lilting tone did nothing to calm his subjects, who continued to mutter as he continued "And please try to avoid moving quite so much, it's making it hard to picture the scene"

Anyone mind giving some feedback? Never really written before, figured I'd give it a quick go.

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I'd just like to say I enjoyed this story alot.

Thank you for posting it user.

The way the world ended was with a bit of a whimper and a bit of a whimper.

Amelia never understood what her mother had meant by that. Her twelve years of life had been split between six spent in ignorance of the phrase and six spent wondering what it meant.

How could the world have ended when everything was so perfect? For as long as Amelia could remember not a single bad thing had ever happened in their village. There was a passing every so often, often someone old or someone frail, but never a bad harvest and never a bad season. She couldn't remember starvation or moments of great fear and even in the stories her grandmother told the village's beginnings was an also an occasion of joy and wonderment at how well everything had gone.

She asked Tommy about it once, in a gap between chores and he also expressed confusion.

"It's stupid." Tommy said."And you're stupid for caring."

He lay in a patch of shade underneath a tree. He watched her pace around ranting about the phrase for a good hour before he had offered up his opionon whih was uniquely him.

Tommy was a respectable ten to her twelve. He was monosyllabic at times, a trait he inherited from his father, rude, another trait he inherited from his father, and quite capable of killing and or murdering any animal he considered consumable on the island. Amelia considered him her equal. He considered her the girl he was going to marry someday but a bit touched in the head but things Amelia didn't know would not hurt her.

She turned to face him and scowled "I'm stupid because I'm not just hungry all the time and I actually think about things?"

Tommy simply rolled his shoulders and took an exaggeratedly large bite of his jerky.

"My mother keeps saying it Tommy." Amelia said. "Can you you really blame me for doing everything I can to figure out what it means."

"You asked her what it means?"

"What?"

"Have you asked her what it means." Tommy said.

Amelia looked away."No."

>He considered her the girl he was going to marry someday but a bit touched in the head but things Amelia didn't know would not hurt her.

While I like the writing so far, this is something no normal 10 year old would ever say or think without something being severely wrong with their head. It honestly comes off slightly sociopathic.

I'm glad this one worked better. Last thread I've had a bit of a rougher going-over and I've been trying to apply what I could on this one.

I guess the lack of comments mean it's bad?

"Then you didn't try did you?"Tommy said.

"You don't understand Tommy."

"What?"

Amelia hesitated.She started to say something then stopped and thought for a moment."When she says it Tommy, she looks sad.

"And when my dad says he misses whiskey, he looks sad too." Tommy said. "But I asked him about it."

"And?"

"Well,"Tommy said thinking, "he said It's something I like more than you."

There was silence and Tommy slowly realized that Amelia was staring at him.

"He says stuff like that all the time Lia." Tommy said.

Amelia gave him another look. It was a look Tommy had come to realize meant he had said something that was normal to him but bizzare to Amelia. Like the time he had told her about hanging rats as a warning to the rest. "He does?"

"Yeah."Tommy said waving her off "Says he misses guns and hookers and killing russians all the time. He doesn't mean anything by it."

"What's a Russian?"Amelia said.

"A bird I think."Tommy replied."Maybe an animal that bit him once. My dad wants to kill a lot of things. You remember how he still has it in for that parakeet."

"He does?"

"Yeah." He took another bite of his jerky and talked around it."What do you think we were doing the last rest day with all those spears?"

There was another silence. Amelia looked at Tommy and he looked back at her. Quietly and at once they both decided to drop the subject before things got any more awkward.

"My mom isn't your father Tommy." Amelia said. "I can't just ask her like that."

Far away a bell began to ring, signaling the end of the rest hour. Tommy swallowed the last of his jerky and stood up. "Well Amelia if you're not going ask her, quit."

"But I want to know."Amelia said.

"You don't sound like it."He said. "Or else you would have asked her wouldn't you?"

He left making his way towards the fields and after a moment of thought Amelia followed.

I have to do something but I swear I will get this done before the threads death so help me god.

>this is something no normal 10 year old would ever say or think without something being severely wrong with their head. It honestly comes off slightly sociopathic.
Yeah. I've given up on the pretense of making them sound like children and I am realizing as I go that he sounds severally fucked up.

Need to fix that the next go round.

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Tommy's words stayed with Amelia for much of the following week. He forgot about the conversation before the days end but a question was now being asked in her head every time she thought of the phrase.

Do I really want to know what it means.

Amelia wasn't Tommy and she knew she never would be. She had to ask questions, she had to think and all there was to think about was what was out beyond the village. There had never been a bad harvest and there had never been a bad season but there hadn't been a harvest or a season before her grandmothers time. The village, their history, the entirity of the world it seemed began and ended just two generations before.

She mentioned that to Tommy once. He replied in the way Amelia came to expect of him.

Another week passed and Tommy started stealing chores out from under her out of worry for her health. Her mother began to notice her angsting and finally, just as she was about to bash her head into a wall, she remembered the grandmother bit of the issue and went to talk with her.

Amelia's grandmother lived on the edge of the village in the opposite direction of the ocean and the planting fields. The reason for this,Amelia had gathered from easedropping was that no house in the village was larger than an other. All homes were of equal size, all people got equal land and although one day the island would be filled with people the houses, built to that standard, made the island infinitely more massive.

Amelia's grandmother took one look at that system and promptly said sod it and went off into the wild to build her house herself. How exactly a woman already in her fifties when the village was founded would manage to build a shack was a mystery to Amelia. How exactly a woman already in her fifties when the village was founded had built a two story house on a hill that took a good half hour to walk up to was a mystery that made Amelia's head hurt.

...

The first twenty minutes of the walk up the hill were easy. Amelia started out jogging in the beginning, the confidence that came from naivete telling her she could do and that she was in no way an idiot for trying to sprint a run that dropped her father.

Around the twenty minute mark the chest pains started. Her legs began to cramp, stars began to dance in front of her eyes and the thirty minutes found her crawling the last few vertical feet to the front of the house. She dragged herself up the porch steps, muscles screaming and with the last of her strength hit the button her grandmother had installed in the floor.

Chimes sounded from within in the house and Amelia waved at the little peephole her grandmother had installed at knee level. A moment passed and nothing happened. She hit the button again and waited.

Amelia opened her mouth to scream and a voice from behind her said "Amelia what are you doing?"

Amelia tried to turn over to look at the source of the voice. Eventually after a few tries where her arms buckled out from underneath her a pair of soft hands grabbed her by the shoulders and helped her over.

"Grandma?"Amelia said. "W-why aren't you in your, what?"

Amelia's grandmother was breathing evenly and dressed for a day out on the town. She wasn't even wearing boots but a pair of slim sandals. If the sun or the hill had given her any trouble she wasn't showing it. "I was in the village love."

"You were?"

"Yes." Her grandmother said. "I was actually looking for you."

"You, you were?"

Her grandmother nodded her head.

"Oh."

Amelia smiled and passed out.

I never liked this place. I learned to hate it only after my parents died.
My parents were part of an expedition to finally reach the mythical city of Atlantis. With the backing of the United Nations, we were supposed to extend an olive branch of peace to whoever lived down there and perhaps integrate them to our society. Turns out that centuries of waste-dumping and overfishing kinda ticked them off. The vessel the diplomats were in was destroyed within seconds. On that day, I was made an orphan without even being able to say goodbye to them.
In wake of that act of war, the people of the world began researching ways to kill the denizens of Atlantis. It's funny, after so many years of talks trying to stop all these wars in the middle east or trying to remove the threat of nuclear arms, it's the menace of a species bent on annihilating humanity that brought us together. I became a poster child of the brutality of those things, an orphan caused by the insidious machinations of the fishmen. It certainly helped keep me out of the streets, but I was instead evacuated from my apartment to the massive lab they once worked at. I now live with their coworkers, get taught by them instead of going to school, and talk as their publicity tool in the campaign against Atlantis.

And then they finally kidnapped a specimen.
Of course, I was allowed to know that they kidnapped one of the Atlanteans because of my parents, and I was one of the first to see it. The strange thing was that despite the fish-like lower body, it almost looked like a girl. Perhaps it actually was a girl.
Regardless, my only 'job' here was to watch the specimen as they began chalking up how they'd inevitably torture it in hopes of understanding it while disguising it as 'forced diplomacy' and eventually kill it.
I didn't care about any of it. Nothing they'd do would bring them back. I don't even want to be involved in all this. All I want... All I really want is to be left alone.

"Eddie? What are you doing in this corn field?"

The zombie clicked its pointed teeth in response, the occasional bit of straw falling from its overalls.

"God damn it, Bruce has been looking for you all evening. You know you have to be on stage in like two hours, right?"

Shaking its head, the zombie's straw hat fell off, floating to the ground next to the remnants of the humble scarecrow he'd disassembled.

Steve ran his fingers through his long, black hair, looking thoroughly disappointed. "This isn't cool, man. I have sound check, you get yourself in costume and meet me backstage, okay?"

The zombie growled something unintelligible, its rotten vocal chords turning every word into a slur of garbled nonsense.

"I know the tube lights are hot, Eddie, Bruce says the same thing. It's only for a couple hours."

Crossing his arms, the zombie turned his back on the man, the flap on the back of his overalls sagging open slightly.

"Look, man, if you don't get in costume, you don't go on stage.The fans are paying good money to see this show and I'm not gonna have you be some prima-donna about it."

Looking over its shoulder, the zombie garbled something else, this time with a keen look in its hollow, dead eyes.

"What did you say about Paul!?" Steve took another step towards the undead creature, his hands balling into fists. "Get in costume, suck it up, and don't let me catch you talking like that again."

The zombie grunted, but as Steve walked back towards the bus, he loosened up. Picking the straw hat up with a grumble, he stomped towards the bus, a piece of grass between his decaying lips.

But yet, here I am, in this cold, unfeeling facility of science, looking at the last thing my parents ever gave me: a pocket watch. Inside is the only picture I have left of them that hasn't been blown up and made as a mural for martyrdom. Even though I thought it was dangerous for them to try something like this, especially when I was supposed to graduate soon, I loved them and I wanted to make sure they were happy. Now how am I supposed to do that?

"That looks pretty."
I turned my head. The thing was talking to me?
"Those people, are they family?" It was talking to me! These things actually spoke human! I tried to hail over one of the scientists, but it was pretty clear they'd long since gone to one of their countless conference rooms just to discuss how they'd perpetuate this pointless war further.
"Why does it matter who they are, murderer?" I was stuck here with this thing. Its eyes looked blackened, like nothing resided in them.
"I...sorry. I want to talk." It's pretty clear that it probably learned our language from an old textbook someone threw into the ocean. It sounded stilted. "My name is Pera."
I tried to look at it and hate it. I don't know how everyone came to hate it so easily, but I wish I could too. These things are the reason my parents are dead, they're the reason I became this idol of a purpose I don't even believe in! I should want them dead! But...why don't I...?
"I sorry," it apologized again. "I do not think you will hurt me. I look at you eyes and I see...someone in pain. Someone like me."
"Pain?" That bitch... "What do you know about pain? What do you know about seeing your parents die and having everyone in the world see that happen? What do you know about having people make fun of you because your parents died trying to make the world a better place? You think you have it bad in that little cage? At least you'll die knowing what your cause is, I won't ever die because I'll be paraded around as a casualty!"

Honest question. Is it bad that I kind of don't care for writing females?Not morally but skill wise and prospects wise. I just struggle with it.

Every writer struggles with something, user.

I can guarantee you it's all in your head. Women aren't aliens; they have likes, dislikes, hopes, dreams, fears, flaws, strengths , weaknesses , and insecurities just like any man. Femininity plays a part but just because you can't empathize with that doesn't mean you're shut out.

When writing a woman, focus on how you think the characters should act . Not how you think a woman should act.

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I've managed to avoid writing any women that aren't cliche anime bullshit so far.

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I couldn't control myself, but shouting like that felt...good. "My life is now ruined because you people wanted this forsaken war, and you want to feel sorry for me? Fuck your sympathy and fuck you!" I only realized what I'd done when I saw that fish-person's eyes wide open. I think I scared the thing. I also think I'm feeling ashamed because I lost control like that. I don't think I've ever done that. "Look," I manage to sound out after stumbling over my words. "I.. well, it's that I..." Every word's just making me more conscious that I just did that.
"I do not understand this war too," Pera cut me off. "I do not believe that we should be fight each other. My father, he talk lots about how people should be...um, teached, that they hurt the ocean when they drop things in it. It come to us, it hurt home." The thing looked at me, and I could almost see...I could see my fear reflected. Maybe it's just the glass. "I know you do not mean that. I know you are nice person. I know you family, they not come to fight us. My people...they have tried before to warn you about how you actions hurt us, but we did not know where to look. Some of my people wanted to give up. Those people are the ones that...they did that to you people." What did she say? Those freaks just...gave up trying to be diplomatic? "Father wanted to find more people. He wanted to meet...Un." Un? Who's...the UN? She was talking about the UN! "But in my people, a call to war needed everyone to agree. Father did not agree, so...they kill him. They hurt mother. I swim away to avoid that, but then I see...wiry death."

My god...she's innocent. She wanted nothing to do with this war - worse, her dad died trying to prevent the war! She only got caught because she was running away from them!
"Saki!" I was snapped out by one of the scientists. He was friends with my parents. "Ah, good, you're with the subject. We'll take it from here. You just go home, alright?" I could only nod.

...

Anyone else want to tell me I need to make this change?

I think you need to start talking to publishers.

How many times have you changed this? It seems like every thread you're modifying something in this novel. How long have you been writing it? Years?

At a certain point you're just obsessing over random bullshit and driving yourself insane. Get a fucking agent and stop trying to polish this, because it's as shiny as its going to get.

"Oh, you'll find a speech in your mailbox," he told me as I started leaving. "Tomorrow'll be a press conference, we'll be talking about the specimen, so feel free to tell them anything you found out about them!" I honestly didn't care about the speech. I know what they wanted anyway.

The next day I saw Pera had a few lesions on her arms. She tried to hide them, but it was obvious.
"Look," I started, "I know I said some things that I probably shouldn't have. I know you're not responsible for my parents and I should have acted more responsibly. I'm sorry if I scared you."
"Um...thank you," I heard Pera reply. "I sorry too if I scared you. I know you people are scared of us. We have given them reason to."
"They're going to keep finding reasons," I continued. "They want everyone to be scared of you. They're going to use me to make them afraid of you no matter what I say."
Pera looked at me and I noticed her hand on the glass. As I put my hand on the glass, she told me, "I glad you are friend to me."
"I just wish I could get someone to stop thinking about this war."
"If you believe it enough, it will." I wish I had her enthusiasm. I wish I could smile knowing that I might possibly die even if I believed with all my heart. Maybe believing would bring my parents back.

Of course, my words were twisted against me. I mentioned that they could speak human languages, they spun it as a way they could decipher our plans, so they began inventing another code. I tried to warn them that some of the Atlanteans didn't want war, but they just called them "free targets". It wasn't like I was supposed to be believed, just to be a pretty face to support genocide.
The next day I met Pera, she looked a little thinner. I think they were starving her, maybe they didn't know what Atlanteans ate.
"Are you okay there, Pera?"
Her smile was weak. "I am okay, Saki. I will do what I need to so I can see you again." She touched the glass.

This. The easiest way to fuck up a story is neurotically changing every detail.

Broadcasting those changes to Veeky Forums won't help either.

"Oy lads, we missed one" said a soldier to his squad.

"Fuckin' hell mate, we did miss one" said his squad mate and shot the young girl. Her bombs exploded from the bullet impact.

"Fuckin' hell mate, we just dodge a bullet right there we did" said the third squad mate.

"Fuckin' hell we did, mate. Shame nothing was left of her corpse. I needed a good bangin'" said the fourth soldier.

"Bang on. Come on, let's find some more bitches to kill" said the first soldier.

Then they went on their tank and ran over some war orphans. They had fun.