Storythread

It's Friday, and two weeks have passed since the last Storythread came into being. Therefore by the mystic laws of thread-reincarnation it is ordained that there be a new Storythread, filled with writings of diverse different characters and settings.

If you have Veeky Forums related stories to post, post them here, and hopefully some kind user will give you feedback (or at least acknowledge that someone did actually read it, which let's face it is what writefags really want).

If you don't have a story ready then I and other anons will be posting pictures throughout the thread for you to test your writing skills on. This is, more or less, a world-building and character-building exercise: two vital skills for playing roleplaying games. If you don't have any pics to post, you could try posting an idea for a setting or a character, and maybe someone will be willing to write a story using it. It's also an exercise in writing though, where writefags can try out their material and gain inspiration, so if you just want to talk about world-building save it for the world-building threads.

Remember that writefags love to have feedback on their work. Writing takes a long time, especially stories that go over several posts, and it can be really depressing when no one even seems to read it (and the writer won't know you read it unless you leave a comment).

And since writing takes a long time remember to keep the thread bumped. Pics are good, feedback is better.

last week's thread can still be found in the catalogue here if you have any comments or anything about the stories there
And finally, don't forget to check out past stories on our wiki page:
1d4chan.org/wiki/Storythread

Other urls found in this thread:

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

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"A Knight in shining armor is a man whose mettle has never been truly tested..."
One foot in front of the other, his legs hurt with every movement. Every step sent a jolt of pain up his spine, his arms burned with pain but he kept walking. Sweat dripped down into his eyes, he blinked against the burning that stole his vision from him but he kept walking. It was damn near impossible to see outside the jousting helm anyway, still he held his sword and did his best to keep walking. The mist shrouded everything and he could hear wraiths and revenants in the distance. If he decided to sit down and rest he'd never wake up again. His sword was battered out of shape, it's edge blunted from battle, the tip flattened, but still he held it. It was his only defence against the horrors that stalked the battlefield looking for new additions to their blasphemous families and food for their twisted appetites.

Mist shrouded everything, the ground was churned to a muddy mess by the feet of soldiers, hooves of horses, and now the shambling feet of undead. Still he'd gotten lucky, found the remnants of an old brickwork road. He followed it, occasionally he'd stumble onto shambler. Sometimes they wore the armor of Baron Lacroix, sometimes they wore the armor of Lady Empris. Either way he cut them down and focused on moving.

'First Star to the Right and onwards till dawn my lad. That'll take you straight to the capital. Keep that in mind if you get seperated from the battalion!'

He hoped the old man was right.

He could hear something, a sort of wheezing whistling noise. He reversed his sword, held it by the blade and readied the grip for use as a hammer point.

But he didn't stop walking.

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good story, good start to the thread

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Marcus was staring at Hector, who was currently covering every square inch of his body with weapons of every kind. Maces, swords, axes - if it was ever used by a man, it was strapped onto him. To see all this on a person felt almost...insane.

"So..." Marcus struggled to comprehend, "You're taking all this to fight the forces of Hell?"
"You betcha!" Hector's grin was wide, almost too wide. "With all this, there's no monster that I can't beat!"
Marcus took a peer around. These were real weapons, all right. That had to cost a fortune to buy them all. "Did you lose a bet?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Are you serious? You're taking enough weapons to fit your entire party and then some!" Marcus' voice resonated with concern as he made one key observation, "I mean, how the hell are you even carrying all that around?"

"I can totally carry it all! See?" Hector began flexing his muscles, only to now realize the dilemma: He was immobile. He began struggling to heft the massive axe he had across his shoulders, but it failed to move and he began developing a strain on his back. He tried to lift a leg, but all he could get was a pitiful wobble. Even shaking his waist, in the hopes of shaking even one of those instruments off of him proved futile. "Um...give me a moment..."
"How did you even get here?" Marcus asked. The fact that he got no response from the struggling warrior only served to emphasize his disappointment. "Really, how are you going to fight like that?"
"Shut up!" He begins flailing ineffectually again. "I am totally gonna show those guys what's what and beat all the demons by myself!"
"And how are you gonna do that?" Marcus wondered. "By breathing on them?"
"I'll show you! I'll show everyone!" It was clear none of this bothered Hector. He kept on struggling, and Marcus just stopped caring and left the adventurer alone, trapped in a blunt and pointy metal coffin, struggling to even walk.

"Um...Maybe I could use a lift!"

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Based of this from drawthread Commissar and guardsmen cleaning a leopard 2a7 tank.

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He can feel it surging inside of him.

Not thoughts so much as emotion.

The Dragon WANTS and honestly it's a relief at this point. Years going through the motions, getting passing grades when he knows deep down he could be top of the class. But why bother? Why excell, what is there to earn? A few numbers attached to the end of his Personal Identification Code? Some paltry luxuries passed down from their masters in recognition of being on the higher end of the bellcurve? He knew he was different, no one needed to tell him that. He'd thought he was just crazy at first. But the dreams came. None of this urban sprawl nonsense. Forests, Plains, Jungles, Ocean. Before widespread pollution. Giants, Strange Animals, men in armor straight out of an RPG wielding swords and spears and clubs. In his dreams he was something else. His dreams gave him what he'd never had in life.


So he started excelling, crunching numbers, parsing code, getting involved in training excercises and programs. That all lead to this day, this moment, this pure realization.


Enough, if Megacorps wanted to rule the world there wasn't much anyone could do to stop them at this point. Too much ground had been given, too much damage had been done.

But if you're going to live in hell why be a servant? He was a dragon reborn, he wouldn't live in the shadows of small, pathetic men who were too busy posturing to fix the world they'd destroyed.


He is Fireborn and the world will awaken to the coming dawn.

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"Every year we've held the military parade inside the actual city, so whose great idea was it this year to hold the damn parade outside of the city?" The squad captain's complaints went ignored by her two subordinates and the procession continued on regardless. Granted, all they had to do was sit tight, smile, and wave to the civilians watching from the city walls. But it was a thankless task and moreover, a boring task.

"Well captain, after last year's parade with the commotion over the gargantuans and the property damage, it wouldn't take a genius to conclude that holding the parade inside the city again would be a bad idea." The second lieutenant was still awake, that much came as a surprise to the captain. The magitech gargantuans had been the research department's love child, so their addition to the parade lineup was only to be expected. What had defied expectations was the "playful" nature of the gargantuans, something that had nearly put an end to the parade altogether. If only they could be so lucky this year...

"In all honesty, we should probably count our blessings that this only happens once a year." Even if there was some truth to the second lieutenant's words, it didn't make their current situation any better. The sunny weather would have been fine any other day, but it was precisely at this very moment that the captain wished for the sun to go away. The wide brimmed parade hats kept the sun's glare out, but it did nothing for the blistering heat.

"Is Charles already asleep?" The second lieutenant looked over and saw her partner's blank expression. "Yes captain, sleeping with his eyes open as usual." Under any other circumstance it would have warranted a firm reprimand but right now she could only envy the first lieutenant for his ability to sleep anywhere, anytime.

Next year, next year for sure she would request a transfer to the airship crew, even if it was just for a single day.

How long should I give The Bard Quarterly before bugging them? It's been a month now.

"Captain, are you sure we can even synchronize with the gargantuan from this distance? Didn't those brains back at the research department say we should at least be within a kilo of the thing?" The gargantuan stood motionless as a breeze kicked up across the wasteland. There was something more unnerving about it remaining motionless, especially after it had led the squad through the wasteland on an aimless chase for the past week.

"Charles, if you want to get any closer to the thing, you can drop Sue and I off here, and you can go up to it yourself. You might remember that the brains also neglected to tell us that it had an active particle cannon." The entire squad froze inside the car as the gargantuan turned its head. The center eye was pointed towards them now. If it raised its hand...one blast would completely erase any trace of them from the wasteland.

In any case, the clear and present danger suddenly made Charles reconsider his stance. "There's no harm trying to synchronize with it from this distance, right captain?" The captain simply waved for him to get on with it. If the synchronization worked, if they brought the gargantuan back under control...then she could look forward to the first shower in a week. But right now a shower was the least of her worries.

A moment passed, perhaps the silence in the car made it more tense than it should have been. At last, it was the research department's synchronization device which broke the silence. The captain recognized the sound, the same sound that she had heard several times over the several days. [Authentication Rejected]

Charles and the captain peered out from the car window, at the gargantuan in the distance. The glowing red eye wasn't a good sign. The deployed combat armor wasn't a good sign. The audible hum of the particle cannon, even at this distance, was definitely not a good sign.

"Charles...do you think you could out drive a particle cannon blast?"

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Once... once, I had been renowned. Not globally, not even nationally. If I am honest, perhaps I was never really a person of great importance. But I had memorized many passages of the Quran, and my mother told me time and again that my needlework was as fine as any. Perhaps the word I was looking for is "accomplished." Or maybe I mean that once I was in a position to accomplish things, good things, things dictated by tradition to be wholesome. Once I could have been a wife, a mother, someone to care for and take solace in.
Lately, solace, like so many other things, is in short supply.
I do not remember much of the last month or so. Most of it is a blur of starvation and destitution, of callous existence and nothing more. I had a family. I had a home. Now... well.
No I have a calling. And if that calling is mere survival, then I shall survive the best I can.
>Short I know, but comments/criticism welcome

You can see them if you go out to the edge, don't think anyone's ever seen one of the shadows up close. Most try not to walk the streets at night when they come out to gawk at us. Not just the shadows that keeps us inside, there's the jellies with their acidic spittle and the flutterbites that like to harass anyone wearing cloth products. (I.E. everyone in the city who isn't some kind of insectoid or reptile)

So yeah, the shadows. That fucking wall goes up for ten miles and is smooth on every surface. Only way into the city is via that portal gate in the center. Had a bitch of a time getting a hold of a pair of looking glasses but I managed it. Wish I could say more about them that's uinsightful really but I didn't get much insight on them via simple examination.

I was bored one night so I got a candle and a mirror and flashed some light at them. They flashed back at me, their eyes do glow after all.

Gonna see if we can communicate properly.

not BAD per se but there's not much to judge. Decent narration at least.

Everybody in the company liked Bao. Not because of his personality, not strictly anyway. Surlier than a bull and as tight lipped as a priest's purse, Bao never said or did anything that would endear anyone to him. At least, not until he broke out Bobo. Turns out before the war Bao once worked as a traveling ventriloquist, been part of one big circus family. Traipse artists, clowns, sword swallowers, the whole tent and then some. His job was taking care of the little stuff, entertaining the kiddies and the easily amused little shows inbetween the big ones. He'd make his audience giggle like madmen as Bobo, with his big googly eyes and little black fedora, blabbered jokes while Bao kept up that mask of stoic, contemptuous bravado. He now did the same for any teary faced refugee kid the company came across, in the many camps that dot the countryside.

He was quite the popular act before the war came to his neck of the country. When a military unit from the "Glorious Revolution" came around, they shot up Bao's circus, proclaiming that such frivolous distractions had no place in what would be the New World Order. Plenty of folk escaped, fortunately, Bao included. But he could not get past the fact his old life was gone. Done in by ignorant thugs belonging to a vast but futile movement. The world would never accept the Revolution, so the Revolution lashed out at everything it touched. It hoped to bring as much as the world down with it, targeting in particular those who would play to "foul southern continent influences."

Like Bao's circus.

Bao talked about the day his way of life was taken from him many times, and just as many times he talked about how he'll get the Revolution back for what they did. For himself, for Bobo, and for all those got done in like them.

Hi IronQuill, curious if you're still gonna continue this story?:

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Oh yeah, that one. Forgot where I was going with that one, but alright.

Halsey could not bring himself to like Anselme like he did Jonesy. For all his laziness and apparent better luck with women, Jonesy at least put effort into his work. Flirting included. Anselme, on the other hand, never acted like he had to try. Blue blooded, naturally skilled, classically educated, well trained militarily (for this world anyway), Aselme du Camille never had to work a day in his life. The only comfort Halsey got out of working with the native noble was that everyone thought he was a twat. Naive young women aside.

"'Pick a noble for your interpretor, they said, a noble would have a better feel for the locals...'" Halsey spat. "Better feel my ass..."

Anselme reminded him too much of the snooty suburbanites who make up the Legion's officer corps, thumb up their upturned noses and never caring for the average joes. None of them ever having to operate a protein cultivator or welding torch in their prim and proper lives. Speaking of which, one such snoot likely had Anselme in her quarters.

"Captain Bannon, Staff Sergeant Halsey reporting!" He knocked on the door to her portable with the same harsh knuckle smashing he did with everyone's door. Through the thin cheap polycarbon door, he heard the thrashing of bodies and blankets. A ghost of a smile appeared on him, he took the love birds by surprise. A moment later, the door cracked open, a dusky skinned woman in her mid twenties glared at him through the opening.

"What is it Halsey?" She made a visible effort trying remain professional, even if such a attempt was futile. Halsey already knew what went on between her and his interpreter, most of the village too.

"A girl from a nearby settlement has request my squad's help in investigating multiple thefts. They have cause to believe it is goblins." His speech was curt and professional as ever, a constant reminder to the Captain how she and her sergeant compared in their qualities as soldiers.

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>old soviet heatwire dials
awesome

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"I'm sorry ma'am but it looks like your motivators shot. This replacement is a bit bulky but it will last till Earl can get a replacement unit from the back room. Should only take a few minutes."

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bump

The villagers gave the man a wide berth when he moved in. There were the usual whispers of witch craft and demons but those were shouted down quickly enough by the men who'd come back from the Avelynn Campaign. A whole kingdom turned to barren wastes and deserts full of wild magic in an instant with maybe a hundred men left who'd seen it first hand.

Shwarz was one of them, though if you asked him his cat Jaeger was also a witness. The two settled in quickly enough. Shwarz bought a cabin on main street from a widow at a price that let her move away and do whatever she pleased. He spent his days from there on loitering at the taven, nursing mugs of ale and sharing plates of sausage with his familiar. The cat spent it's time making kittens, picking (and winning) fights with the local dogs, and occasionally punishing children foolish enough to throw rocks at it with magical revenge that could last for months on end.

The villagers would make signs of the evil eye at the 'old' man and mutter behind his back but the war veterans would spend every couple of months drinking with him, sharing tales of the campaign and generallly commiserating.

No one asked him about the day Avelynn City went up in a flash of light that turned the most populous kingdom in the region into a barren, magic scorched wasteland. No one asked him why he carried the enlistment medallions of enough war mages to form a small battlegroup. No one asked why a man of a mere twenty five years looked so much older than he was.

When the bandits came the usual folk locked themselves inside and prayed for help from gods that were far to absent for anyone's liking. The war veterans gathered up their old armor and weapons and formed a little militia and...

The bandits never returned after their initial demand for ransom from the town. One of the shepherd boys said they saw the old War Mage go into the woods. Said he heard a whole lot of screaming. Everyone saw the smoke.

Nobody ever asked Shwarz what happened that night.

He never offered any details.

But after that he went on a little trip to see the lord who's soldiers were supposed to be looking after the village and when he came back word was sent that our taxes would be a bit lighter that year.

The boy who took over as blacksmith worked up the courage to speak to the wizard and he agreed to take time out of his busy schedule of sampling ale, wine, whiskey, and beer to enchant the occasional item.

When the taven owner's daughter asked to be his apprentice whispers of witchery started up. They stopped after the brewmaster made it clear that he'd personally silence those whispers by cutting off the flow of booze, or using his old war sword if he had to.

Shwarz liked the village quiet and lazy, he kept it that way. So did the witches and wizards who came after him. That suited the villagers just fine.

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Each sentence has issues with its own prose, I think. It seems a little uneasy to read it through.

I can't help but think of the german "Schwarz (black)" every time I read "Shwarz". Translations are easy pickings for sometimes cool sounding names, but always end up being bitter to anybody who recognizes the origin. Got the impression you were going for a 'lightless' guy who didn't give much away about his personality and what-not, but that's just my impression.

The introduction of the cat familiar was butchered and nearly non-existent. Had to re-read the second paragraph a few times to put together random 'shes' and 'cat' and 'familiar' to realize the reference (kept confusing he for shwarz and she for the cat). Footnote: Try writing "picking - and winning - fights with..." rather than over-using parenthesis with prose.

>the usual folk
Perhaps 'common folk' would be more appropriate here. There is no precedent for 'who' the usual folk is, since it's a short novella.

>formed a little militia and ...
While some may understand your tacit insinuation about the deliberate silence and what it meant for the bandits, leaving parts of context blank is incredibly crude, especially with periods.

>Said he heard
Who said? Try not to start a proper sentence with said without actually definition who is speaking. If you're running on from the previous sentence, combine the two instead of leaving it broken up in that manner. (use of ; may do you some good here).

Hate to be a nitpick, but points like "Everyone saw the smoke." and "saw the old War Mage go into the woods." is generally sloppy using the statements also as a way of introducing the terrain itself. That is, you appear to be not only referencing the woods, but introducing the woods as a factor near this village where it hadn't been introduced beforehand. It's quick and slapstick and comes off feeling hurried. (is 'War Mage' a proper title since it's capitalized? have to wonder).

Damn character limits!

>liked the village quiet and lazy, he kept it that way.
Grammar doesn't read very well when you substitute a comma for 'and'. If in doubt, use both. Verbose text is still readable text.

Overall, abusing line breaks when you're still describing an event taking place without moving onto the next event tends to have a bad effect on the ability to get engrossed in a story. In example:
>Nobody ever asked Shwarz what happened that night.

>He never offered any details.
There is no reason for the line break. You aren't starting a new paragraph, nor moving onto a new and separate event in the story. It has nothing to do with character limits or trying to make the story larger than it is. Try not to do this too much.

Sorry for the heavy handed critique. I did enjoy reading the story.

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The idea of being alone while investigating an abandoned Romanian castle was the opposite of what the Wild Dingoes mercenary company wanted to think about, let alone sign up to even consider. It was freezing, the intel was dubious at best, and there was absolutely nothing wrong that happened on the way there. No delirious citizens, no cryptic warnings over the mutilated remains of their coworkers, absolutely nothing tried to stop them from reaching their destination.

It went without saying that these hired guns were entirely expected and that unsettled them. Even for a pack of fourteen armed soldiers, the sensation of being outnumbered was prevalent.
"So, recap me on what the hell we're supposed to find here?" one of the five rookies asked. Nobody really remembered their names, and none of the senior mercs really cared to.
"We're just supposed to look inside, find whatever treasures this conservation society's looking for, and get 'em out before this place gets leveled next week." Sergeant Gideon recapped it all pretty well. "Only issue was that we never got any clue what these 'treasures' were."
Recon Specialist Donner shared the sentiment of unease. "I don't like it at all," the camouflaged scout muttered. "It's gotta be a trap. The society has to be a front."
The clean-cut sergeant agreed. "It's been far too easy. Team, keep constant radio contact. Safeties on, don't fire unless threatened, and keep in pairs. Vasquez, you got the flash?"
Vasquez, a twitchy noodle-limbed veteran, opened his vest. Strapped to the inside was 24 flashbangs. "Got it all, Sarge! Everyone, take one. Use it only when something's about to charge." The team accepted their explosives.
"So, pairs of two, Sarge?" Private Rosco snarkily asked. "Who gets the scrub?"
Gideon pointed at Rosco. "How about you, joker? Or did you think I forgot about what happened to your last partner?" The stinging question angered Rosco, but he had no comeback for it.

He grabbed one of the rookies by the arm and left as soon as the other groups broke off. Gideon came with Vasquez, Donner with another veteran, the rookies with each other, and that was the last time they would all see each other.

Two hours later, Gideon called for another group-up. Out of the fourteen, only nine returned. Three of the rookies were still alive, including the one that was with Rosco, whom was now absent. Gideon and Vasquez were still alive, as was Donner, now partnerless.
"Alright, explanations, people," the sergeant sighed. "How the hell did you guys lose your partners?"
The rookie spoke up first, explaining that Rosco was charging into some closet in upper levels in the castle, but when he checked in a second later, the closet was emptied.
Donner was investigating the massive dance hall. They found a room that stored tables and chairs. He advanced to find out what was further inside. His screamed when he must have felt something and fired his grenade. Though deafened, Donner's visor was more than enough to let him notice that he was somehow gone in a second. He couldn't even find a trace of the vanished vet.

While disappointing, this confirmed Donner's fear of it being a trap.
"So what's our next move?" the scout asked.
Gideon was about to mention falling back, but that was when they were met by some...unusual company.

"Greetings!" one of the sudden pack of women appeared. They definitely looked unnatural, exuding an air of inhuman beauty and innocence. Despite their fantastic clothing, definitely too light for the weather, they walked with grace. "Are you the ones they call Dingoes?"
Gideon answered, "So who're you?" He kept his gun in his grip, as did Donner. The others were already disarmed as these vixens began approaching them.
"We are the protectors of this estate," their leader replied with an eastern European accent, probably Serbian. "We are agents of the people who called you here."

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I started writing a story for Veeky Forums months ago. It was a stupid concept (intrusion fantasy where a dragon comes to earth) with some fun twists (dragon believes Earth is hell, dragon is actually the first and his entire race is going to get banished). I've been working on it on and off since last December.

The concept has changed a lot over several re-writes, and it's honestly become kind of frustrating to write. I like the characters and concepts, but I can't help but feel like I'm making no real progress. I just keep seeing flaws, rewriting to fix them, seeing more flaws, and repeating. I know I should just say "fuck it" and keep writing anyway, but if there's a fundamental flaw with my story it's all just wasted effort.

How do you guys deal with this?

Is that the 'out the dragon to twitch stream so the government aren't able to vivisect him' story? It had so much promise!

Regardless, this is a normal process for writing a story. It's easy to look at accomplished writers who sit down and punch concrete for seven hours to rapidly construct an entire three hundred page book, but that doesn't say anything about the quality of the story.

The one resounding common denominator with aspiring writers (and those who finally managed to publish their first book) is that you *will* go through several versions, hundreds of corrections, and dozens of re-writes before you can just... feel... that it's ready. The best advice after learning that fact is it's extremely helpful to allow the story to air out over a period of time, gain some distance or perspective, implement new ideas, and be okay with writing the entire thing again from scratch so you have the rhythm down correctly.

And uhh... don't give up. Heh.

Czechfag here. Advice based on both personal experience and a bit of theory I've read on this subject:

If you seriously want to write, and are willing to make a bit of a commitment:
You deal with this by forcing yourself to write on. That is pretty much the only way to deal with it. Writing is a craft - and like any craft, there is virtually no other way to learn to do it well than by lots and lots of practice. If you don't feel confident in this story, write something else - write writing exercises, character studies, practice descriptions or dialogues. Leave the story alone for a few weeks to let it fester and mature in your head, then revisit it - but KEEP WRITING IN THE MEANTIME. Just start writing something else. Anything will do, actually.
One of the easiest way to get yourself writing is to practice automatic writing, which means that you'll essentially start writing your stream of consciousness without even paying attention to the fact that you are writing.
To practice that, just force yourself to write at minimum 2000 words a day. Anything, any bullshit, any thoughts that come to your mind. You can write a re-telling of a story you've read, or a funny memory you had with friends, and if everything else fails, write about how you can't think of anything to write. Just force your fingers to keep moving and your eyes fixed on the screen. Practice that for a couple of weeks and you'll suddenly find how much more fluent and easy the act of writing will become for you.

That is probably generic, broad advice for people struggling with their own writing.
Since I love to hear myself talk (type), I'll give some other more marginal pointers in the next post.

Cont. from A more marginal advices:
A) get used to the idea of rewriting. When you write, don't ever think of what ever you just wrote as "finalized" text. It's always a working version. Make peace with that. If you write something that does not sound satisfying, think of it as a placeholder text to bridge more completed parts for now. Don't get stuck. If you want the text to be good, you WILL be rewriting most of it, sometimes several times over anyway. Since you are not on a deadline, you can ALWAYS IMPROVE AND POLISH YOUR TEXT LATER, SO STOP SWEATING OVER CURRENT FLAWS, GOD DAMMIT!
Sorry. This such a frequent problem I'm running into when I talk to starting or aspiring writers that I'm starting to get frustrated over it.
B) Get used to the idea of cutting stuff too. Trust me - give the text a one month long rest, revisit it, and you'll immediately see parts you thought were the best will probably be completely wasted space, while parts you thought were shit are actually some of the best of the work.
C) SHITTY STORY COMPLETED IS ALWAYS HUNDRED TIMES MORE WORTH THAN AN UNFINISHED STORY OF GREAT POTENTIAL.
Think your story is shit? Who cares. Finish it. The exercise alone is worth more than the text itself. Learn to force yourself to finish your stories, even if you lose hope in them. Trust me, this was the single most painful lesson I've ever learned about writing.
D) Good planning helps most writers. Use a thinkmap, or a sketchbook, lay out the elements of the story.
E) Don't overdo your planning though. Sketch out the outline, then FORCE YOURSELF TO WRITE. Ad previous post.
F) You are NOT the one person in a million with an unnatural gift for writing. That means your first works will suck. That is a fact. You will first need to write several works that suck before you write anything that won't suck.
Don't worry, you can always cannibalize your earlier works for ideas later.

That was your daily preachy message from Czechfag.

"The conservation society?" Already, some of the soldiers jerked their guns up. "Nobody said they'd be coming to greet us."
Donner added in, "Nobody said anything about what we were looking for either, so how about we get some answers now?"

The leader raised her arms. "Now, now, men. No need for violence here!" She took particular attention to Gideon, tracing his arm until he jerked it away. "My name is Bridgith. Please, lower your arms." The women's eyes glowed for almost an instant, and after that all the soldiers complied. "Good boys... Now, how about you let us...accompany you?"
Donner's goggles shielded him from their temptations, and he was getting even edgier. "I don't like this one bit, Sarge. We do it in threes." His gun was still aimed at the intruders.
Bridgith nodded. "We mean you no harm."
"Donner," the sergeant calmly replied, "relax. They're friendly."

That was more than enough for the veteran to open fire, splattering the head of one of those enigmatic women. That alarm suddenly shuddered whatever influence was held over the soldiers as they suddenly snapped their guns up and realized that they weren't surrounded by scandalously-clad women, but literal demons. Each of them sprouted wings and razor-sharp claws. Darkness suddenly shrouded the castle and inhuman howls of bloodthirsty harpies flooded the room.
That was the last anyone heard of the Wild Dingoes.

>Van Helsing International, Germany Branch
The Projector goes dead. The lights turn on and the masked man turns to the other, identified by his massive hat.
"So how'd you survive all this?" the man in the hat asks.
The masked man shudders, but he answers. "I take no pride in knowing what happened. I got lost, took a turn downstairs. I tried to call anyone, the sergeant, HQ, whoever could pick up. I found one of those...those demons eating Donner's arm. She tried to attack me, and I...well, I got lucky and fired a bullet through her heart. She died."

as much as I appreciate going to the effort of critiquing a little green text story you'll notice several issues.

For starters Veeky Forums's character limit makes putting together a coherent narrative a real bitch. Especially when you're typing something up in the small hours of the morning on a PS3 with a keyboard. So I'm not really concerned with keeping the smoothest narrative possible for a handful of paragraphs that many people probably won't even comment on.

Secondly I'm experimenting with my narrative and uh...results vary on readibility and I do appreciate I could do a better job in that department.

Thirdly I reject everything you have to say about naming as I've done some research in this department. The preponderance of weeaboos on this sight makes me feel the need to mention Boku No Academia's mangaka and his naming habits which are usually unapreciable without a translator. But there's a side character with the ability to harden his skin into iron. His name is Testutetsu Tetsutetsu. Basically the word for iron/steel repeated fourtimes with certain kanji tricks to mess with it's meaning. Part of the reason is that the character's power is metal based,the other is that he's redundant. That is he's a side character with a similar apperance and power to another character in the story with a rpominent role.

So the name is a joke based on kanji meaning and repitition.

Shwarz, Black. I've known people whose name is literally 'Mudd.' (He was a total jackass but that's not really important.) In stories names tend to be significant, a way for a clever author to imply things about people. In real life? They often don't mean much. I've known guys who've literally forgotten their own names because what their parents named them is so ridiculous that they chose to just be called John.

So yeah, I'll take the German word for Black, slap it on a vaguely germanic looking wizard and call it a day. Names mean as much as you want them to.

Tl;DR
I take the spirit of the critique with some measure of appreciation. You are however wasting your efforts. This is not my best work. This will never be my best work and I'm unlikely to go into the dozens of revisions that a proper story needs to reach its full potential.

Might want to try a more in depth target if you want your suggestions to be put to better use. They're good suggestions, really they are. I have a hard time taking them seriously when applied to the writing equivilent of a doodle in a notebook though.

Yeah, I totally realize people have names that don't really follow a rule set of 'must not be simple or redundant'. Generally because people tended to have their surname quite literally after their profession. Boy, how many blokes have you met in your life with Smith as their last name?

The point I was trying to make wasn't that it's a super simple name with no thought put into it. Quite the opposite. I got the impression it was a convoluted attempt to apply a name to a character then define the character after-the-fact in a try hard manner. I can appreciate that names can have meanings, but personally I think it's incredibly unoriginal and passe to build a character based on a name instead of the other way around, or have it not be related at all. And bloody hell, that Tetsie Tetsie thing sounds awfully laughable. Then again, I haven't read it, so maybe I shouldn't judge.

As for feedback. It isn't designed to be instructions to follow. You take it or leave it, that's what feedback is. At no point do I feel that I've somehow 'wasted' the feedback I gave to Shwarz oldmate, not being able to take it back and give it to someone else. That's just conceited. Following that, I also don't feel it wasted if my feedback is ultimately never looked into, since this is an open forum and anybody can read it. It's also helpful to keep the mind thinking about writing, even if it's critiquing other work rather than actually writing. It's all useful in some way.

Lastly, even in the Shwarz story there was two posts rather than one (even more) compact post to give it room to expand, so I'm not buying into any character limit bullshit. It's annoying, but not insurmountable.

Not sure if both posts are same person. Anyway, take it as you will.

If they're good suggestions, then you are taking them seriously. Stop making excuses for yourself.

"I ran as fast as I could, picked up Gideon's camera and ran all the way back to the airport. Didn't sleep until I got on a plane."
The man in the hat smirked. "For a rookie, you got lucky. Succubi aren't the sort to attack unless provoked, and this Donner did just that. Succubi can alter the light that enters their eyes, encode subliminal messages through that light. To a guy wearing infrared goggles, that advantage is lost."
"So, you're taking the case, mister Van Helsing?"
Van Helsing stands up from his chair and approaches a door. He slides a key into the deadbolt and as he turns it, the wall next to the door slides open. "I am, but you're coming with me." The masked man pales. "You got lucky. In my field, you don't need luck - you need skills. And if this castle is where you said it is, then you'll have plenty of experience."
"What is in there?" Van Helsing opens a book before entering the doorway.
"Sixty years ago, my great-uncle sealed away the crown of a powerful demon. If the Succubi find it before we do, then Romania's going to be experiencing a new Reign of Darkness worse than anything even the great Abraham Van Helsing ever fought." As he enters the armory to gather some weapons, he grumbles something about calling in even "those damn gloryhog Belmonts".

The masked man looks at the guns, stakes, and bladed instruments on the table in explicit confusion. "Am I...supposed to use all this?"
"You are a soldier, right?" was Van Helsing's only response. "What's all this but your new tools of the trade?"
"But...what about all that about -"
Van Helsing cut him off. "First rule of Van Helsing: You don't question a Van Helsing. Second rule: The tools on the table aren't ever all you'll be required to use. I've got a hundred lessons my family uses. Interested in learning the rest?"

The masked man hesitated again, but he held firm. He had no reason to stay loyal to a dead cause. At least with Van Helsing, he might be able to put that cause to rest.

...

care for anyone to do this elf girlfriend impressing her human boyfriend by wearing human clothing?

The twitch stream concept is dead, after I realized how fucking hard it was to make it realistic. I replaced it with something else.

The dragon is a lot more antagonistic now, which I kind of like, but also kind of hate. I'd love to know if you still think it has potential. It's here if you're interested:

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

Thank you for this advice. I'll try to force myself to write 2K words a day from now on.

Okay, maybe not quite 2K, but at least 1K. Unfortunately I'm juggling this on top of launching a website, so my free time is getting squeezed. Hopefully I can figure it out.

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This...sounds like a good campaign idea.

Gentle reminder that The Bard will still be accepting submissions until August 15th, and that we'll be sending out feedback, acceptance letters and good, warm, fuzzy feelings between August 17th and August 21st.

A couple of weeks ago you said that one of the stories on the wiki that stood out was 124: The Old Way. I'm still curious to know why.

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I have an idea for this but also an eight hour shit in front of me.

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The missive had come at a time most unusual for the agencies of Raina Harriet, Paranormal Investigator, but the urgency of its contents was more than enough motivation to rouse the weary detectives into the dark and chilly Gainesborough night, occupied by thieves and beasts.

The carriage slows into a stop with the investigator asleep. By her side with the reins is her partner of dubious intentions, Marley Karlsson, a blonde ne'er-do-well dressed in men's clothes and identified only by her side-braided hair.
"Psst, Rai," the shifty driver whispers, "I think we're here." Her whispers are met only with uneasy shifting. "C'mon now! It wasn't even ten minutes!" Once it was clear that the detective was fully asleep, a sly grin erupted on her boyish face. "Oh Princess...Princess, wake up. If you're gonna stay asleep, then we'll have to play a trick on you..." Marley's face then slowly approaches Reina's, her grin erupting into a full smile with stifled laughter.

Reina's eyes shoot open before their noses even tap. Marley jerks her head back.
"What were you planning to do with me, Marley?" the suddenly-livid detective asks with an air of bitterness.
Her partner's eyes grow shifty. "Ah, Reina! Was wondering when you'd be up!" Her laughter is strained, almost embarrassed.
"What were you planning?"
"You were falling asleep over there!" The culprit attempts to shift the topic, "You know, maybe you should stop drinking so much tea! Maybe get something with bigger kick, like coffee!"
Reina is unmoved. "I don't drink coffee, and I don't like having my privacy invaded. Are we clear with that, you guttersnipe?"
"Guttersnipe? You wound me!" Marley recoils from the accusation. "Have I not been a most faithful companion, helping you foil countless plots malign, saving your skin enough times to deserve having my name up on your sign?"
Raina pays no heed to the cadence and actually looks disappointed that Marley tried playing that card.

"Aren't you also the same Marley Karlsson who worshipped a pagan witch god whose only goal was the utter destruction of the world beginning with Gainesborough and is also known as a plagiarist, being banned from life from every university mundane and arcane after attempting to invent your own course by only using other peoples' research?"
"And I thought we had something special!" was Marley's only retort.
"Special being that I keep forgetting why I shouldn't turn you in."

Marley hops off the carriage. "Fine! If you're gonna be like that, then -"
"Hello?" A voice squeaks from the edges of the street. From an alleyway emerges another woman in a detective uniform, similar to Raina's, but in blue instead of brown and with a frog's face adorning the hat. The newcomer's hair is similarly tied to the side like Marley's, but is tied together by a charm that looks like a snake. "You're...You're here, Raina Harriet. Thank you for coming."
"What, you're here to be friends with this grouch?" Marley asks with her pride yet to heal. "Don't bother? Miss bossy-britches here thinks she's too good for friends. Or coworkers."
"Shut up." Raina gets up from the carriage and notices the guest's hair as green. "I recognize you. You're Sally Cornelia, that cleric who tried to hijack Gainesborough's mystic fields for the sake of your own divine sources." With a single motion of her hand, the brown-and-red detective pulls out an orb of red and white. "Don't think you can try the same trick twice and expect to get past me."
Sally raises her hands, "No! No, please, Miss Raina! I don't wish to fight you!"
"Then talk. What do you want?"
Sally exhales. "I...am unfamiliar with this city. If you are willing to let me stay the night, I will explain."

"Didn't you hear me before?" Marley repeats, "She's closed for business, N-O..."
Raina grunts as she sits back in the carriage. "You'd best have a good reason to send me something that urgent."

"Thank you," Sally bows her head. "I apologize for inconveniencing you in this way."

The trip back to the Harriet Residence/Office went by without notice and before long, Raina, Marley, and Sally were all sitting in Raina's tea room, each with a cup.
"So you'd best start explaining," Raina begins as she pours the tea while smoking a pipe.
Sally nods. "Yes. You remember well that I did attempt to use the magic of Gainesborough to prevent my gods from dying. By stopping me, you have foiled my best plan in saving them, and they have been even worse off since then." She points to her hair-snake, which looks like it was carved from rough and chipped stone. "This is my link to them. When they were stronger, this would look whole and bright, like a real snake. But after going so long without belief..."
"I warned you about this," Raina cuts in without subtlety. "You're not the first priestess who tried to enter Gainesborough to gather belief for your gods, and I can tell you without a doubt that you won't be the last. You entered a realm where beasts are as real as people and you'll need a lot more than just a catchy slogan to get their attention."
"I am not sorry. They are as much of my family as my mother and father, and to see them pass away..." Sally trailed off, tears beginning to form in her eyes. One of them dropped in her tea, the noise shaking her, "Oh, I'm sorry."
"Hey, you got company!" Marley points out, "Gainesborough has a disproportionately high population of orphans, you're bound to meet company!" The factoid was met by Raina's cold stare. "What? It's true!"
"But it's not what she's asking." Raina points out. "What she needs is someone to believe in her." She stands up without warning and walks behind Sally. "Follow me. We're going to have a rematch. Marley, watch the tea." As soon as the grim owner departed, her guests finally reacted.
Sally could only sputter, the request taking her by surprise.

...

Marley, however, was used to the owner's abrupt plans. "The tea? You're talking about a rematch, and all you get me to do is the damn tea?" She doesn't disobey it, though. After setting up a match to cover the entire table with a warming halo, she also sets off to the Harriet estate's backyard, which is an empty rectangular field.

Raina and Sally are on opposite sides of the court, with Marley taking a seat on the bench. The red detective already tied a ribbon onto her pipe while grabbing her orbs.
"Why did you ask me here, Miss Raina?" Sally asks.
"Because I'm going to test your faith." Raina begins taking her stance. Her feet begin to part and her arms begin to take guard. "If you can't believe in yourself, what's the point of me believing in you?"
Sally picks up the idea pretty quickly. After a brief prayer, she manages to draw a quarterstaff from her coat. "I understand your intentions, Miss Raina! I am ready!"
"Three cards sound fine?" Sally nods and immediately, fantastic lights begin swirling around them.

This is the magic of Gainesborough, the realm of beasts and men. Within this place, the impossible and fantastic come to life, as do the monsters of myth. For those like Raina and Sally (and even Marley), they can tap into this logic and become able to wield magic through cards.
Raina is the first to present this power, as she erects multiple square barriers. Sally hops through the first before it finishes rising, but is trapped between them. From her sleeves fire slips of paper that pass through the barrier closest her, but instead of passing through, they instead appear through the inside of the outer barrier, assaulting Sally from behind. She barely evades the storm, and the detective's orb doesn't make it any easier, but after a tense minute filled with more paper than there is in the treasury, the barriers lower themselves.
"You dodged them well," Raina comments as she hops back, "but when were you going to hit me?"

Sally takes the cue and begins poking furiously with her quarterstaff, but Raina steps into the swing and blows smoke from the pipe, blinding them both. Sally takes this as the cue to summon her own power and suddenly, the sky begins raining down magic pellets like hail. Raina skips between the storm, keeping an eye to keep her distance from Sally. She throws her orbs into the eye of the storm, seeing if she can hit her rival, but the hail proves to be too effective a shield to penetrate. The instant the hail lets up, she fires again, but the orb is parried to the side by Sally's quarterstaff, to the detective's amusement. This round had Sally retain her offensive.

"Now we're getting into it!" Though Raina's face remained stony, her voice could convey her heated emotions.
Sally smiles as the two hold firm, gathering their breaths. "Thank you, Miss Raina!"
"We're not done yet!" As soon as Raina growls this, she pulls out another card and begins firing out spheres of darkness like pulses. Sally was easily able to dodge this all, but things got harder when streams of cards begin jutting forth in staggered patterns, stopping and approaching as if waiting to trace her patterns. The walls start going faster as Sally gets closer, and the orb begins firing. Sally parries the orb with ease and begins calling forth gusts of wind to push Raina off her feet. These gusts prevail and Raina has to flip out of the way. Before Sally could press the advantage of the wind, Raina begins rushing forward with her pipe armed as a stake.

They both stop with mere inches separating their weapons from each other.
Raina scoffs. "How about now?"
Sally withdraws for another poke, which Raina hops over and tries to sweep under, but Sally's staff propels her off the ground to dodge. Sally attempts an overhead swing, countered by an upward swipe by Raina's orb, both halt a hair's breadth short.
"I...I absolutely won't lose! Not for their sakes!" Sally shouts.

Raina drops her guard. "No need to get so uppity about it."
"But..." Sally is confused, but her grip's still solid. "Then, do you...?"
"You don't need me to believe in you," Raina begins walking away. "But...if you're so insistent on it, then I suppose..."
The confirmation made Sally's heart lighter than ever, and she falls onto Raina without even a second thought. "Thank you so much Miss Raina! Thank you thank you thank you!"
Raina, despite the statement, reciprocates little. "Off, will you? Marley, we're going inside!" The crook could only exclaim about it finally being over as they all went back for tea.

The tea was drunk in relative quiet, broken only when Sally asks, "Miss Raina, how do you get that strong? Who is it that you believe in?"
The detective takes a sip before pausing, as if to articulate her response. "It's not that I believe in someone or not." She then points to the window outside. "Perhaps it's more to say that I draw my faith from...believing in this entire realm."
Sally gasps. "Ah, I see! So you really don't mind praying with me?"
"I said yes, so stop pushing it." Raina sets down her tea. "Let's just get it over with."
After a quick prayer, Raina looks at the grandfather clock in the room, seated next to the closet where the teasets are stored. It was already past 11. "It's late. I'll help you to my room."
The green-haired guest stood up, "Oh, I would like that..." She collapsed suddenly after, captured by Raina's quick thinking. "Sorry, Miss Raina. It's embarrassing, but...I think my legs gave out on me!"
"Don't worry." Raina started trudging. "Marley, clean the place up."
"Oh, Marley, mind the tea! Marley, clean the room!" She imitated the detective's tone mockingly. "So when the hell can I be like that?" The stare again discouraged any thought of rebellion. "Fine! But only 'cause we're friends!"

True to her word, Raina led Sally to her room, which was rather stark despite being the master bed.

The bed was a basic set with a nightstand and lamp, on the side was a sofa and an overstuffed desk, and there was a walk-in closet filled with suits and dresses for whatever occasion the detective needed. For the occasion, Raina simply contented herself with setting her new friend on the sofa and draping her with a blanket.
But it didn't seem quite right. Raina tried to figure it out when she almost tripped over herself. It was sleep she was forgetting about. Thus inspired, she went to her bathroom, got washed up, and returned to her sofa wearing a pair of pink pajamas that seemed to have a picture of her orb copied on it. Rather than go to her bed, she decides to instead sit on the sofa with her guest and fall asleep there.

"Raina!" Marley calls out. "Raina, we done here?" She welcomes herself to Raina's room. "So, can I leave now - Oh me, oh my! Oh me, oh my!" She notices the two asleep together. "For such a gritty pain in the ass, you are so defenseless!" A bit of subtle tilting and the flash of a camera later, and she was gone with none the wiser.

The next morning, Raina and Sally wake up to find a note on the desk. In the note was a picture and a note.
>Couldn't miss the chance. Consider this payback for my help.
>Love, Marley
The picture, as it turned out, was one with Raina and Sally's faces turned towards each other to look like they were about to kiss. Needless to say, Raina was furious while Sally was again flustered.
"Why that double-crossing thieving witch...!" She immediately throws on a suit. "When I get my hands on her, I'll...!"

Despite all this, Sally Cornelia felt happy for the first time in a while. She now had friends to help with her struggle to save her gods. That alone meant everything to her.
As for Raina Harriet, she was just satisfied once she found Marley and exact a painful revenge. That and...well, Sally was a nice girl. Maybe she'd make a good partner someday...