Storythread

Good news, everyone: Veeky Forums's fortnightly Storythread is up. Whether it's charming or not remains to be seen, but it's definitely strange

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 archive 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/1BAEzxj3CCOXBhMe4svrBaieCFzIG6QZx7jIIPK32aho/edit?usp=sharing
twitter.com/AnonBabble

Oh, kickass, I thought I was going to have to wait another week for this.

I'm going to drop a link and run (got errands to run, but I'll be back) but I'm hoping to get more opinions on whether this feels like enough exposition to justify/explain what otherwise feels like bullshit magic in my hard sci-fi novel. I'm having some trickery with it because if I explain it too well, it stops being a scary threat but if I don't explain it well enough, it feels like a bad rip off of Akira at the end.

Unfortunately, it's chapter 22, so there's going to be some referential lines that won't make sense and I can't really hope to explain them, but these 10 pages are basically just learning who the big evil guy is (not the main antagonist though)

docs.google.com/document/d/1BAEzxj3CCOXBhMe4svrBaieCFzIG6QZx7jIIPK32aho/edit?usp=sharing

Please let me know what you think! I've got a few concerns mulling in my head, and I want to see if they come up without me leading you into the problems.

And remember everyone, The Bard Quarterly is coming out next week, you all should be excellent gentlemen and support them since they made a point of reaching out to us amateur writers and even picked three of us up for their first issue!

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>Oh, kickass, I thought I was going to have to wait another week for this.
thread starts every other Friday. I know it feels kind of soon to be having another thread, but that's only because the last one was up for over a week.

I've been doing this since March 2015 and, apart from a short break at Christmas, I haven't missed a thread yet. No intention of breaking my streak.

Youre much more reliable than I was when I was making these. I just thought that thread was shortlived not long lived

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My eye is hurt, I must bandage it.

My eyes rotted away long ago.

My body is mortal, I must protect it with armor.

My body has rotten away long ago.

I have been shot by arrows, I will die soon.

Arrows will do nothing to a corpse.

Enemies are here, I must slay them.

Enemies are here, I must slay them.

I live to serve.

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Someone else might be able to help you out more than I can, and I confess I'm not the best at analyzing this type of prose, but for what it's worth I get what you were trying to do but I think you struggled in the execution.

A thesaurus would be useful here, and some more contrasting words between the "alive" and "undead" lines and complimenting words between lines the lines of the same type to tie them together more. I do really like the two penultimate lines, as they show the similarities of life and undeath for this nameless soldier. Maybe it could be expanded on, shown that the "living" lines happened in the battle where he was turned into the undead or something? Make it more significant to this character?
I also like the final line and how it doesn't even get a companion, showing that he will always, even in undeath, live to serve a greater power, and it's the exact same in life as it was in undeath.

Oh, and a follow up.
I think if you polished this up more this could be a really good look into the past life of the nameless undead soldier that everyone sees in fantasy and that's a very interesting concept. I'm sure everyone's looked at a random skele-knight enemy (In a fictional setting obviously) every once and a while and thought "How did that wound get there?" or "I wonder what the ribbon around his arm meant?". Good idea, good first draft!

> Maybe it could be expanded on, shown that the "living" lines happened in the battle where he was turned into the undead or something?

I was actually thinking that with this character its a duality of thought that occurs within an undead. Reacting to things as though they are alive but knowing the truth.

>I also like the final line and how it doesn't even get a companion, showing that he will always, even in undeath, live to serve a greater power, and it's the exact same in life as it was in undeath.

Teehee~ oh you~~ I liked that line a lot too.

At the end of the day it's more of a writing exercise than anything. I've been really lazy and have a lot of shit goin on so I want to get the gears turning. Thanks for the feedback! I might use this concept in something.

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Writing something for and out for dinner. Don't let this die.

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Yo to the user who wrote the Mixed Party stories:

-1d4chan.org/wiki/File:MixedParty.png
-1d4chan.org/wiki/File:MixedParty-part2.png

This image might interest you.

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Anyone want me to write a very short story or a poem about something? I've taken a few classes, and I'm not god awful.

You don't need to ask. This thread goes slow enough you can do it, and we always appreciate new content.

Ohhhh, that kind of story. I thought this was asking for tabletop game recaps. I've been doing threads of my own like this on and off for a few weeks, I didn't know it was a series now.

Oh cool, I'll start contributing fairly regularly. I write in my spare time and I'm looking to get back on the horse.

I was mostly asking for suggestions on what to write about, since I'm rather uninspired in general.

That's what the pictures are for, user

>durr
I'm sorry, I'm the worst. I'll make up for it tonight.

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"Ah, finally. You are the Network Executive?"
"Er, President."
"Fine, fine, Network President. You are the Network President for this planet ... Dirt?" The lead alien squinted at its tiny data screen, then up at the sweating man in his early fifties.
"Wh-what do you want? Is this an invasion?" President Hartley glanced over at his Secretary of Defense, who held formal documents of surrender at the ready.
"Invasion?" The alien glanced at his troubleshooters, "We're not really equipped to invade. Are we? Yob, did we bring our doomsday weapons?"
"No boss, plum forgot 'em." The third alien snek-snekked into his palm.
"Well, what do you want then?" Hartley took a step back, somehow more terrified, "Gold? Jewels? ...Our women?"
"Ugh. We've had quite enough of your 'women' already, thank you." The lead alien held its screen out towards the cowering world leader, "This is an executive order, issued on behalf of the Conglomeracy of Worlds, signed by Hobnob Zegob xcimself, warning you of three counts of disregarding ordinance 34 of the galactic code, and one count of blatant disregard for the peace. If you'll sign here, we'll levy our fine and be on our way."
"Ordinance what? Fine? What?" Hartley felt sweat prickle his spine, which in turn reminded him that he indeed had a spine. He straightened up, stuck his chin out at the lead alien, "I know not of these 'ordinances'"
"I'm afraid ignorance of the law is not an excuse for disobeying the law, Network President." The lead alien crossed its arms, "Your world has been blasting garbage out on all frequencies for decades. We've sent you three translight warnings to cease and desist, you've ignored them, so now we're here to shut you down."
"Transwhat?"
The lead alien shook its head in disgust, "Yob, turn them off."
Yob flicked a switch on its universal remote, and it began to whine and crackle. Hartley threw himself behind his desk. A moment later it aimed upwards, and fired.
Across the globe, all communication ceased.

There's always been talk of a Walker Between Worlds as long as there's been a Gainesborough to speak about it. Monsters speak of the Walker like a sort of elusive alpha-above-alphas among the pack, the humans speak of it as if the Walker was a god.

However, those myths are all that exist. In the centuries that this region has existed separate from the world beyond it, there's never been any other proof that such an entity has ever existed.Nobody ever confessed to actually seeing such an entity, and those reports that do are either impersonators or hallucinating. At some point, I even considered it just another folk tale. Were I to call it an unsolved mystery, it'd be hanging on my conscience.
And yet at the same time, there are too many coincidences, too many tidbits that make it feel so much more than just a story. My adoptive father-slash-Goliath Tortoise proclaims to have been knighted by the Walker once upon a time, but he is so ancient that his memory is far from reliable. There are two strangers that I have personally met who proclaim themselves as the Walker's Hands, who possess a knowledge beyond this world that seems to support the possibility of a Walker existing, yet never once do hey talk about the Walker directly.

Once, I read about an experiment: put a cat, a vial of poison, and a radioactive source together in a box in such a way that there is a chance that the vial could break once the radiation is detected. At some point, one can be led to believe that the cat can be considered alive and dead simultaneously until such a point where the box is opened, confirming that it is either alive or dead, but never both.
In a way, I've come to equate the existence of the Walker to the status of the cat. I could never find out if it were a truth or story, but it has elements of both fact and myth interwoven with such intricacy that it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Hmm that is a nice image. I might I have something for that but I'm at a conference until Tuesday. Hopefully the thread will still be here when I can actually sit down and work on something

I'm writing something about this. Expect it in an hour or two.

I'm opening the floor to poetry requests. Here's some old samples to get things started.


A tiny house! Smaller even than me!

Adventurers, ye be warned to avoid
That crumbly building that looks like a toy,
Because from within its walls diminutive,
Comes a haunting wail most plaintive.
Where it comes from, nobody quite knows,
And why, I can’t say, because nobody goes
Any where near that haunted domicile,
For even small graves, you shouldn’t defile!


Scales of Devastation

Over the horizons they come
Ending all in their path
Storms embodied, nature’s wrath
And a township’s come to end.

Great shapes, against clouds white as bone
Cracking the earth, scorching the earth
Tearing and reaving for all that they’re worth
And a scar’s born on the soil.

A city gone, come to a close
Destroyed with a beating of eldritch wings
As suits of armor lie fused to their wearers
And arrows fall back to earth.

A dark day in history,
One of wild and callous destruction
And all who lived through it look
To the skies in fear, of the dragons,
Horrible dragons, coming back.

Sorry if this is unrelated, anons, but I didn't want to delete a good thread to post a new one just for a question;

Does roleplaying count as Veeky Forums? I figured the storythread would be the best place to ask, since the type of roleplay I'm talking about is basically just online writefagging (some of you will probably know what I'm talking about). Sorry for off-topic.

It would probably be a better fit for /qst/, but id it's only a thread or two long, it probably wouldn't be a bad fit here.

What opened the box was not me, despite my dogged attempts at doing so, but box itself opening.

At the time, I was finished with another case, one involving seasonal spirits being sacrificed to a soul-devouring tree. Despite silencing it and making it clear to the Banshee princess who owned it that feeding the tree would just kill everyone, it felt like the case was far from finished. The gateway between the worlds of the living and the dead still felt open, exploitable. Even with the physical gateway to the Banshee's palace barred, it still felt like something could break.
And then it did.
Right around me.

I felt the barrier around Gainesborough, the barrier my family was charged with maintaining, tear open around me and then seal shut the instant I stepped into the hole. At that moment, I realized that I was in front of an immense castle, the sort that one only hears about in tales of ancient kingdoms.
In front of this castle were two guards, two I recognized from years ago: An older woman with features of a wolf, and a younger boy, bearing features of a cat and in a suit of pure black except for one spot, where the white undershirt was let through - the mark of a Cait Sith. It was years since I last saw them both, but they looked the exact same as they did five years ago, when they came to "congratulate" me on vanquishing the vengeful pagan witch got that was my monumental first case. I asked them what the meaning of this was, and they said that I was being invited to a privilege few in any world could ever claim: a private audience with the Walker Between Worlds. I would be lying if I was completely able to accept this. I was almost terrified at the possibility of not being worthy.
Then those two attacked me. Part of it was the aforementioned test, seeing how skilled I was with the gift of magic, testing my reflexes to limits unseen by most monsters, let alone humans.

I write and edit a lot of poetry. If you'd like a critique I'd be more than happy.

I need an opinion. I feel like I need some dialogue in my story to give the first person narrator a bit more depth. Which of the following would be more interesting from a narrative perspective for my short story:

>our hero goes to a hardware store for supplies, talks to an old friend, and that old friend notices how sickly our hero looks

>Our hero has a heart to heart with the corpse of the guy he's just killed, and tries to rationalize his actions, before going to the hardware store for supplies

>Our hero hears some spooky voices, ignores the body, and starts having a conversation with them

>The police show up and our hero has to awkwardly fumble around, before realizing the police have nothing to do with him

I'd say the last one

The last one is the best.

Thanks anons, that'll work for me. I wanted to have that as the big finale, but a page in I realized that the main character is totally devoid of personality, so that's a good place to continue.

On a different note, I'm struggling a little to find the tone. On one hand, I could have some gonzo supernatural divine retribution bullshit, because I'm edgy like that. On the other, I think it's a bit more sinister to have our hero as just a normal guy, with normal thoughts and feelings, but a dark hobby. Which do you guys like better? I know I could pull off either style just fine.

I like the first one but a little of both could maybe work.

Cool beans, I'll splash in a little bit of both. I'll post what I've got when I finish up something interesting. Right now it's just generic exposition.

Done; First Draft.

“Ah! My brave champion, what has befallen thee?”
A lady clad in white samite lined with silver and gems glittering in all colors kneeled before the wonder at her feet. Golden hair fell from her tiara-topped head over a fair ivory face, and her eyes twinkled with an emotion halfway between pity and enchanted curiosity.
And what she looked upon was curious indeed. For it was a green frog, merely the size of her palm, that stood before her dressed in full knight’s harness. Complete with minute sword and a shield that bore arms identifying him as the Lady’s Champion in the finest detail the Lady had ever seen. His helm, plumed with the crimson feather of humming bird, was tucked under his left arm so that he might look upon his lady with marble-sized glimmering eyes and an amphibian face that displayed entirely human despair.
“My Lady! I beg of you forgive me for appearing before you in this shameful wise, I merely could not bear going another moment without seeing you, lest this tiny heart burst with longing!”
The lady’s face lifted into a sad smile, “It is no shame, Sir Knight, for I would gladly see you in any form, as though still art my brave champion at heart.”
The frog’s eyes gleamed, somehow mirroring the melancholy happiness of his Lady. “It brings me great pleasure to hear you say that, My Lady.”
The Lady spoke in a tone of gentle concern, “Happy as I am to see you again, Sir Knight, I pray tell me how you came to be in such a state?”
“I fell into ill-favor with a sorceress, My Lady. When I bested her champion in single combat and she became so wroth that she worked her subtle craft upon me so that I would appear as a frog.”

The Lady’s face transformed back into curiosity, “What quarrel did you have with this knight?”
“When we met he proclaimed unto me that his lady was the fairest in all the land, and I could not allow myself to take no action on your behalf. For I know you to be the fairest and most beautiful lady in all the world.”
The Lady’s cheeks instantly turned the color of rose petals, and for a moment she could not meet the frog’s eyes, which stared on unflinching with utmost sincerity.
“Y-You are a fool to take such a silly adventure upon yourself, Sir Knight, with such great consequence”
“My cause was true, My Lady! And I proved as much at peril of my body!” Said the frog, the bubble underneath his neck swelling greatly with pride. “I regret none of my actions.”
“Please, Sir Knight, you flatter me as ever, yet I worry for your sake. How may we reverse such a curse?”

“That sorceress acted rashly and in anger, yet her heart went out for my plight after she inflicted it upon me. She is merciful, yet still bears scorn against me, and she has sent me upon a most perilous quest to gather ingredients for a tonic that shall allow me to change form and become a man again. She has made me ware of their location, and I know that all these things are located in a place called the Forrest of Arroy, or the Forest of Adventure, a most perilous place indeed.”
“Yet I could not achieve this great and strange adventure without first receiving the blessing of My Lady who I have undertaken all this for, and for who I would undertake any quest as either man or frog!”
The Lady’s cheeks flamed from pink to scarlet, and she gave the frog a bashful grin. “Your chivalry and courteousness goes unmatched amongst all other knights, My Champion.”

The Lady began untying a silk, white, ribbon from her person, and realized its size would cover the knight more like a blanket than a favor. Her expression turned to contemplation, then lit up into satisfaction as she realized a solution. She placed her hands on the tiara atop her head and laid it upon the floor before the Knight. She picked at one of the small diamonds lining a large, brilliant, blue sapphire in the middle of the precious crown and affixed it to the Knight’s harness above his heart where it shined and sparkled like an iridescent star.
“Where my favor with pride, and return it to me when you are a man again. May you achieve your quest with glory and honor to yourself, brave Champion. . .” The Lady’s voice began to waver, and quickly she leaned over and kissed the knight atop his head.
“Good luck, Sir Knight!”
The Knight blinked rapidly in shock, and surely would have blushed had he been able. Shock was swiftly replaced with overwhelming pride, the bubble beneath his throat inflating so greatly it threatened nearly to pop, and a dignified croak escaped his lungs and echoed around the room.
“Thank you My Lady! I swear upon mine honor as a knight I shall do all that you ask, for you have inspired such a fire in me that I feel as though I could do anything!”
“Fare well, my Lady! I shall return!”
Tears welled in the Lady’s eyes and formed shimmering tracks across her cheeks as they fell down her face. Through the kaleidoscope of tears the Lady made out her Frog Champion turn his back to her with a single jump, and saw him hop across the crimson carpet of the palace and eventually through the door. The Knight leaped onward past the castle with an inferno in his heart for the love of his lady and the glory of his quest; prepared to undertake the greatest adventure any frog would ever know.

The experience was...well, harrowing? Intense? Unbelievable? Perhaps if this test was given to more people, it might go a long way to explaining why so few know about the Walker. It requires senses not many people hone, an ability to predict danger seconds before it comes at every angle, an ability to control magic and use it so efficiently that you have to cast spellcards within seconds of each other. Supposedly, this was all something I needed to learn in order to comprehend their master's sense of humor.

In the end, however, I was permitted entry. I was led to an empty courtyard.
It was only empty for so long. I heard something click right behind me, but the instant I turned around, there was nothing. The sound of footsteps came from the left, nothing still. A series of these seemingly causeless sounds followed, nothing coming or going, seemingly without purpose. At some point, I just stopped relying on my senses and began trying to sense the barrier from my position outside of it. Miraculously, it worked, and I was able to notice someone walking in and out of this place, walking through the barrier like it was a curtain.
I eventually cornered the intruder and found a stranger, bound in a shroud covered in eyes and a hat decorated in a small ribbon. My attempt I had to look at this intruder's face was met with a gun to the face. Our faceoff gave me time to ask the important question: Was this the Walker's face? Was I facing the literal Walker Between Worlds? Predictably, the answer was vague, indecisive. It was laughter. The intruder pointed and the moment I turned back, it was gone.
The next time I saw that stranger, it had another gun. Another evasion, another tactic - this time, a motorcycle.
It was one thing to battle two creatures who were anchored to the same plane with knowledge of its countless weak spots, but to deal with something capable of walking between three worlds, perhaps even more, was even worse.

It knew that I could sense the barrier and in response found ways to fool my senses. Leave me with a gas bomb and fade in the smoke as I had to clear it, throw a massive object at me and as I was evading it, walk away. Perhaps those Hands had a point to their training, I thought. It was simply not enough to just sense danger, just detect the barrier's egresses; I was forced to predict these moves.

Quite frankly, it was something a human mind just wasn't quite up to doing. Or perhaps I was reaching some mental limit.
In either case, the contest ended with a gun aimed behind my head. A click - the barrel was empty. I asked again who this stranger was, and finally, an answer, though it was still vague. This was the single most elusive entity of all Gainesborough, of all the world, and I was looking at them: The Walker Between Worlds. Naturally, I had a lot of questions: Why the tests? Why were the worlds life-side and dead-side still so close together? Why reveal the mask to me? The Walker was amused that my first reaction wasn't complete prostration. Following that comment, however, the Walker discarded the hat. Underneath it was...a face. I had no idea why, but it was a face that I thought I saw before. Doll-like eyes with thin brows, cheeks that sloped to a pointed chin, and dainty lips. She stated that it had taken interest in me, following the observations of her Hands. She mentioned that something in my build, something about the composition in my blood, made me something the likes of which were never seen in the history of my family. It sounded ridiculous, of course; I lucked out on banishing that Witch God, I nearly died fighting it and I was only saved because one follower betrayed the faith. Even discounting my first case as beginner's luck, I was still struggling to keep the agency running. I had no employees, forced to live day to day off whatever petty cases populated the country.
Surprisingly, the Walker didn't mind that at all.

Alrighty, here's what I've got for my story so far. I'm about to have the cops come knock on his door, but before that can happen, I want to introduce you to his art! After the cops show up, I was thinking his paranoia ramps up and he starts hallucinating. For some reason, I wanted to write about a great fleshy tree filled with various limbs and body parts, but I'm still finessing how it's going to fit.

>No title so far

Warm and wet. Even through my thick rubber gloves, I would describe the experience as warm and wet. Careful to avoid staining the cuffs of my shirt, I peeled back my left glove and took at look at my stained wristwatch; 5:47pm, I'm making record time.

Light shot through the squat slat of a window hewn awkwardly into the cool, century old cobblestone wall, casting long shadows across the cobwebs and contemporary furnace. The low-bare beams in the ceiling were the perfect thickness to lash a rope around and suspend something heavy. All in all, I was more happy with myself than I would have liked, but I forced the bubbling nervous newness from my throat, into my gut, and let it ferment for a while. I removed my gloves and smock, placed them in the dry bucket holding down one corner of my tarp, and climbed the rickety stairs into my kitchen to make some dinner.

My basement was an interesting place. When I first moved into my house, I thought it was odd that the footprint was so robust, yet the basement was so small. The basement itself contained a white laundry tub, covered in cobwebs, a cellar door leading up a few steps to the backyard, and a bunch of empty cupboards, home only to mice. The floor was bare cement, stained rust from a long-fixed leaky pipe, and the only thing peculiar was a white-washed door plopped in the far wall. I remember trying to open the door, only to find it stuck shut., and after a few firm nudges, decided it wasn't worth the effort.

At first, I had nothing to do with the basement. It was simply an unopened door sitting beside my oven; a reminder of a time before reliable refrigerators. Then, one day while I was charging my phone, running a space heater, and watching movies on my computer, I tripped a fuse for that part of my house. After 20 minutes of angry fumbling, the realization that only my room lost power, and no fuse box in sight, I decided to skulk down the creaky plywood steps to take a look in basement. In the glaring LED of my phone's flashlight, the fuse box was still absent, but mounted gracelessly on the thick frame of the white-washed door was a light switch. I flipped the switch, and instead of illuminating the basement, the gap between the door and the floor lit up. At this point, with visions of horror movies swirling in my head, I took a few deep breaths to try and build up my nerve. I grabbed the knob, turned it, pulled it towards me, then slammed my whole body weight into the door. With a low rasp, the door popped open and revealed a long, low, empty room. The furnace chugged ominously in the dull sodium light, but thankfully, the room was pleasantly bare. I soon found the fuse box, fixed the tripped fuse, and later converted it into my workshop.

My dinner was completely unremarkable: something chicken, over done pasta, and limp vegetables. As I was cleaning up, I caught my reflection in a large grime-flecked serving spoon. Pallid and sunken, my features were alien. Where vibrant, curious eyes once sat, two dark embers smoldered distant, embedded deeply in the pale folds of my gaunt face. It must have been a few days since I last slept, but my fluttering heart told me there was work ahead. Under my sink I wrestled a box of industrial garbage bags from the clutter, grabbed a clean mop bucket, and climbed down into the basement. As I approached the white-washed door, I felt uneasy, as if something was missing.

Wallet, phone, lighter, car keys and glasses all seemed to be in place. I nudged the door a crack, and felt hot damp air rush out. Despite the charcoal air filter, only so much of a stench can accumulate before it starts to ooze from the pores of the house, like particularly pungent body odor in the sun. At the moment it wasn't a big deal, but before I could have visitors I would need to vacuum seal my workshop.

Pushing through the threshold and into the great low room, I noticed my workbench was unusually clean; this one had been easier than the others. I took a new set of gloves from a large drawer, fished my sullied smock from the dry bucket, and set to work. A quadriplegic torso was suspended by a large meat hook fished through the neck, and in the stale air, it swayed limp against the buffeting fan. Each post-limb stump was tied with rubber tubing as a tourniquet then quickly cauterized by a modified hot-plate. It was a man, once. A large dragon tattoo wrapped from the his lower back up and around, covering the left side of his chest with its gaping maw. His drivers licence was for “Frank Foster”, though it also listed his weight as a conservative 180lbs. I didn't know him personally, but according to my sources, he was a high school gym teacher. It didn't particularly matter, he certainly didn't know who I was. With a small fillet knife, I punctured just below the sternum, dragged the sharp blade past his navel, and pinned open the gaping wound with a pair of callipers. Entrails spilled around my rubber boots, onto the large blue tarp, and unlike last time, I was thankful that I drained most of the blood while the body was still intact. After a few stern yanks, I pulled the last of his innards out, and hastily scooped the slick mass into a garbage bag.

The Agency's goal was never to prosper, after all, only to protect the Barrier. After so many years of prosperity and good business and all that, a bit of mayhem and a child struggling to grow up and fill her parent's shoes was something of amusement to it. Whether or not this was all said in sarcasm was something she left me to figure out. That was compounded with the Walker taking me into her arms and allowing me to see, only for an instant, a vision of what might be my future.

Honestly, I can't quite put it all into words. I saw...many things. A city, just like one in Gainesborough, but so much smaller, the buildings so much bigger and the streets populated by wagons. The second was a child who looked so much like me, running to me. Was that a daughter? Was I meant to be a mother? The last image I saw was of a small porch, out in the field. The sun was setting, and by my side was someone I could have sworn I remembered very well.
When I asked the Walker, all she mentioned was that each of them is my future, but I would have to choose which of them was my future, or if perhaps they all were.

I was eventually walked back to the agency by the Walker herself, donning her hat once again. As I asked what I should say, she only commented that it never mattered whether or not she was real, only that she exists. Before I could ask what that was supposed to mean, she was gone again. In the end, I decided to just keep my visitation a secret from anyone who asked, lest they consider me more insane than I already was.

I suppose I can call this unsolved mystery finally cracked, but I was again reminded of the box. With all the vague half-answers and multiple-choices given, simply boxing it would do the Walker a disservice. At the same time, however, I think she helped me understand that theory better, as that visitation gave me the motivation to think it actually solvable but unsolvable.
Just like the Walker Between Worlds herself.

>Raina Harriet

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Requesting a happily married couple story.

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>first post is an user needing help with his novel exposition
>decently written, question is of a high level of engagment
>long, but not exhaustively so
>no responses

I call into the question how much people actually care about other peoples work in here.

I like this. It's simple and clever.

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It required me to navigate off-site to a google doc. That's a level of commitment I'm not willing to put into a strangers work.

Happy to critique things posted in thread.

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>docs.google.com/document/d/1BAEzxj3CCOXBhMe4svrBaieCFzIG6QZx7jIIPK32aho/edit?usp=sharing

CHAPTER 22
Chase 18:00 27/11/2159 : 6 Days Until FoB

I turned and fought as before.
But darkness had made him so much more.

The roar of rotor blades was deafening. Chase made sure to keep a firm grip on the handrail as the rotor plane slowly descended to the helipad. Every once in a while, the winds whipping across the top of Bastion would line up with the down pouring gusts and nearly knock him off. But the blades died down soon after the landing gear connected. Chase did his best to salute while maintaining his balance, as Commander Sherman stepped off the plane. The old commander returned the salute with one hand, and held his hat down with the other.

“That’s the last of them,” he shouted to Chase. “UAAF better not take offense to Congress being on leave. I don’t know how the hell your father plans on convincing them everything is under control.”

“That’s on his head, not mine. He’s going to try to spin it as a collective boycott of political inefficiencies. A temporary thing while they convene on matters privately. Say that the timing was forced by public pressure,” Chase said as Sherman walked past him to the stairs. He followed behind and quickly stepped into the elevator with two Gulf soldiers.

“Wouldn’t want the War Games interrupted, now would we? Going to be hell to contain things when they get their hands on the Net though. What’s the latest count on people who’ve gotten out of Terra Novum?”

“A hundred and twenty-one million survivors, approximately. Only about one million casualties, though the bodies are piling up. At a decreasing rate I’ll note,” ADAM said through their neural implants. “Fenix’s ability to select targets is simply remarkable. I do not know how he has the hardware to differentiate. But over eighty percent of the casualties have been confirmed to be prisoners, or people with ties to crime. There are certainly worse ways he could have gone about this.”

“One million people are dead, ADAM. They aren’t just a statistic,” Sherman stated firmly as the two of them stared out at the city. Before them was the capitol building, now staffed only by soldiers. Their ride was going lower.

“More people die each year to the flu. It is just a statistic. It’s not even one percent. I’ll wait for people to take to the streets in protest before I call it anything else,” ADAM responded.

“Don’t be callous, ADAM,” Chase ordered.

“Yes, Commander,” the AI responded.

Chase shook his head, and Commander Sherman chuckled. “Still getting used to the title? Commander of the AI Division?”

“A makeshift title I didn’t want and only got for decking my father? If I was used to it after a single day, something’d be wrong with me. ADAM, are you sure it wasn’t just a random sampling? Perhaps biased by the player killing element of the game?” Chase responded as the elevator passed into Beta.

“I’m not a psychology expert, but those predisposed to crime in life seem predisposed to killing each other in the game. Surprise surprise though, someone killed the Horseman just a little bit ago. Just in the game of course. Apparently it had been running around killing everything that moved,” ADAM responded.

“Now that’s fucking impressive,” Chase whistled.

“Ever think that mankind just wasn’t meant to be this populous?” Commander Sherman asked. He was staring dead ahead, at the dull lights reflecting off the capitol building. There was a small crowd of protestors outside, shouting at the soldiers about something. “After a certain point, the numbers just get so large you can’t even understand them. What does it mean for a million people to die? Eleven million people died in the Holocaust, and that was considered one of the worst tragedies in human history. But back then, the world population was about two billion. Bastion is half that by itself. We lost six billion in the apocalypse. As humans, we’re supposed to be upset that a million people have been killed by terrorists, but it just doesn’t seem to add up anymore.”

“I had to make the decision to allow those million people to be killed, because I couldn’t risk the three hundred million people still trapped. I don’t care to play God,” Chase responded.

“Welcome to the top of the food chain. Every other species has built in dieback systems, but we outgrew all of ours. Think we were meant for this?”

“I don’t think we were meant to be anything, Commander. But it’s clear that we have never had enough resources to go around. Every time we increase technology, we increase our population to match the new output. You might say it’s a good thing we never outgrew war,” Chase responded. The elevator shuddered as it changed gears down in Delta.

“War never outgrew us,” Sherman responded. “That’s what they say anyways. We don’t know what is down here, but it sure as shit doesn’t like us.”

“What do you think it says about us that we took a creature anathema to our existence, and have been experimenting on it and pushing the boundaries of science?”

“I won’t consider the boundaries of science pushed until you can tell me how this thing survives in a tank of acid for a hundred years,” Sherman said as the elevator passed into the covered portion of the shaft. The glow of Bastion was replaced by dull yellow lights flashing past them as they descended through Gamma.

“I have to see it. I grew up thinking they were a myth,” Chase responded as the elevator started to slow down.
“Makes you wonder what other myths are real,” ADAM commented as they came to a stop deep in Epsilon. Chase shook his head and didn’t respond. The doors slowly opened up, and the two soldiers both scanned the other side, before taking up positions facing the opposite direction. Sherman nodded and led the way. The elevator closed behind them, letting the two of them input their passcodes to the next set of doors.

A decimeter of steel slowly rose up into the ceiling for them to pass under. The other side of the hall was barren, straight walls all the way down, flush at every angle with nothing to hide behind or even grab on to. “Shouldn’t there be more security?” Chase asked as he followed behind his senior.

Sherman shrugged and reached into his pocket to pull out a packet of imported cigarettes, traditional. “We have all the countermeasures we need to keep people out. Nothing we put in here is going to keep him in if he gets out of the tank. You’ll see some vents when we get further in. We can turn the immediate area into hell with the flick of a switch. Might give us enough time to recapture the damn thing.”

Chase wrinkled his nose as the smoke wafted back to him. “Awfully pessimistic coming from the man who has two gunships circling overhead. That fuel isn’t cheap you know.”

“They ain’t for him. Those are for clean-up in his wake,” Sherman responded as one final door rolled out of their way, a giant gear lodged in the ground. There were two soldiers inside, and a third man in a lab coat. They each stood at attention when the two of them walked in, but Chase didn’t even look over. The tank was in the middle of the room.

Chase walked forward slowly, eyes locked on the decrepit body suspended in the acid. Most of it was dissolved away, leaving the spine, a single arm, and the head. A strange, foam like substance covered most of the body, hanging loose in the acid. The lungs were collapsed, but he could see the creature’s heart beating at the bottom of the ribs. Frayed nerves floated out in every direction, and a dozen cords and cables were spliced into its skull. They led up through the tank to a mass of computers growing like an insect hive.

“Don’t touch the glass. He has a knack for figuring out when new people are here,” the researcher said as Chase took another step forward.

He turned around to the scientist. “He?”

“Oh yes, it’s definitely a male. Used to call himself Ulric. Doesn’t do much talking anymore. He was captured a little over a hundred years ago. I’m sure you know about the Fermi meltdown? Actually a tac nuke that left him disabled for a good long while. Didn’t kill him though, nothing does,” the researcher explained as he walked over. Strangely, he had to use a cane, despite prosthetic augmentations being cheap for military personnel.

“Well,” Chase said as he turned back to the Horseman. He swore and jumped back when he saw that the body had moved from the center of the tank, to the edge, and was staring at him. “Fuck, it’s still alive, isn’t it?” Everyone else in the room laughed under their breath. “Anyways,” he said, trying to regain his composure. “You’re telling me we’ve had this thing for a hundred years and still haven’t found a way to kill it? Just what do you people do down here?”

“Neuroscience mostly. The bastard can remodel his brain how he sees fit, but we can still get away with all kinds of otherwise immoral projects up in his white matter. Dr. Chase, right? I believe you have my research data for the Phoenix Project. We pried it out of Ulric here when we were trying to figure out just what the hell he is,” the researcher said as he casually rapped his knuckled on the glass tank.
“He can’t get out, right?” Chase asked as he stared back into the monster’s eye.

“Nothing he can do, as long as the acid keeps flowing.”

“We’ve been losing control of infrastructure systems. What if it stops?”

“I suggest moving to California.”

Chase took a deep breath. “So,” he said, squaring his shoulders with the Horsemen. “This is what caused the Blight?”

“Actually,” the researcher said as he limped over to a nearby computer and started maneuvering through it. “That was what we believed when we captured it. But while he has similarities to Blighted, he himself is not Blighted. He is symbiotic with the NZ fungus, but it does not produce NZ-17 let alone spores, if he were human he would be perfectly sane,” he said with a shrug as he stepped away from the screen to let Chase see the measurement levels. The spore count was an order of magnitude lower than what made it through the river filters.

Chase had leaned down to study the numbers, and the man apparently took it as an invitation to ramble. “He produces NZ-1 through -16 just like normal, the proteins associated with osmosis control to close wounds. It’s essentially just a stronger variant of what keeps the Blighted moving after being shot full of holes. This is termed his Type I regeneration.”

Chase swiveled his eyes without moving his body. “Is there a Type II?”

The researcher grimaced. “Yes. And if we knew how that worked, he’d be dead by now.”

“A regular Blighted will eventually drop dead from a bullet wound,” Commander Sherman explained, pacing around the tank. He was staring up at the Horsemen, hands folded behind his back like he was in a parade march. “The mycelium only stops bleeding and shock, not organ failure. This is not Blight.”

“No, it is not,” the researcher said as he turned to face the Horseman as well. The living corpse was looking back at him. “This is something much older than the Blight. I believe he was one of the ancient gods.”

“There are no gods,” Chase stated as he walked up to the tank, putting his face right in front of the Horseman’s. “There is no place for them in a world that already died.”

This is good, does a good job illustrating the "humanity not knowing their place" in a fun way. I like the complete failure in communication between them, and not giving context to what the super-made-up words and phrases mean to the audience makes us as humans share the Story!Humans lack of understanding. I also like what are in the stars knuckle-dragging grunts are still so above humanity they can talk down to one of the most powerful leaders on Earth. And the pettiness of an intergalactic noise complaint sparking what would be the most important event in human history (first contact) and promptly shutting literally everything down on earth and (probably) sparking post-apocalyptic scenario for humanity evokes HHGTTG, which is a very absurd sort of humor that I like.

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Are you sure you want this user?
We never did find time for children. Somehow with travelling the stars with him it never happened. I know we weren't of the same species but with modern science that was no obstacle. I found him alone, a trillion miles from home. He was only moving at a fraction of C, there had to be something wrong I thought.


I made myself known to him but that first time, there was no reaction, I thought perhaps he was dead. His primitive body cold and alone in the vastness between the stars. I saw no life in him, but I let myself flow around him, to become one with him, to my surprise it was our first of many times we made love. Later he would tell me his name.

I felt him within me, something moved, something came to life. I let myself be penetrated by it and he filled me with his seed, filling me with his love. They never grew though, though I am fertile. He aged more quickly than I did, losing his voice and his other senses though that heart still beats so strongly within him.

We are old now, to have travelled so widely, we do not make love now, it has been a long time since we did, but I am still fond of those wonderful times of youth.

My lover and I are at the end of our lives now, the universe is ending, but I hope before the light goes out, someone else may learn of the love that has lasted billions of years, betweeen myself and the U.S.S. Planetpounder.

This is a really fun piece.

OK anons, I've had a problem for a long while. I have had this character that needs a story, the issue is they're actually an alien race. I think however I've cottoned onto a story to tell with them.


"You look like I need a drink."
"If I looked like you, I'd need a drink too."
They had just been promoted. Drinks were in order, many drinks. Four o'clock on a Friday found them both outside the "Drake and Chaffinch." Nine o'clock found them still in the beer garden.
"Fine it's probably your round anyway you round dodging bastard." Smirked Sam.
Alvin rose a little unsteadily and tottered inside while Sam lit a cigarette.
It gave same a moment to think about their promotion, he wasn't entirely sure whether it was one but it did mean a pay-rise for him and Alvin would get a new hat. Delia would be extremely pleased about both when he told her tomorrow. He took another drag and smiled. For once, life actually seemed pretty decent. Especially a half dozen pints into a warm August evening in Dunstealin, Oxfordshire.

Alvin had once told Sam at great length over tequila in Baha about his perception of fate. "Nothing is predetermined except that if you tempt the Universe" (he always said it with a capital) "it will find an excuse to fuck you." While Sam thought the whole thing was rubbish, he really should have been better prepared mentally for the sound of smashing glass a moment later.

It had been a while since Sam had been in a proper bar fight but if Alvin was in there, someone - very unlikely to be Alvin, was going to need help.

Inside the Drake Alvin could very easily be seen, gently phosphorescing. The light smashed light fixture that was slowly sliding down his back seemed chose this moment to fall to the ground.

Alvin waved a tentacle meekly at Sam. "Sorry."

I don't understand, like, at all

probably not a good sign.

Oh dear.

Here's some more anyway, I hope it gives some more context.

It took a while to calm down the land lady and to negotiate what exactly should be paid for the damages - a process Alvin helped and hindered equally by quietly discussing with himself the merits of haggling and of efficient lighting unit placement. He perked up somewhat when he realised that now that he was theoretically barred, Sam would have to buy the drinks for the rest of the evening.

"Alvin, I can't take you anywhere." This was mostly a lie, in the last two years the pair of them had been all over the earth. The Xin - of which Alvin most definitely was one, had been here for about two years. They might look like a twelve foot long mantis shrimp and a few dozen of your worst nightmares but they weren't bad guys once you got to know them. Alvin's translator crackled and made some very strange noises as he imbibed the rest of his eighteenth pint.

"You can't take me anywhere?" He belched for dramatic effect. "What about when we were in Siberia?"

"And what about Morocco?" Sam replied, "Or Wales, or Kansas?"

Alvin did his best to pretend to look aggrieved, clacking his mandibles. "Everyone makes mistakes. Even Xin."

That at least was very true. The Xin had brought a whole cornucopia of technology and ideas to earth with them in their flight from their homeworld, but as a very solitary species that did not play well with others, they had brought their own problems too. While humans generally were amusing (and Sam was fairly convinced the Xin word for "human" was pretty close to "pet") Xin were libertarians in the extreme and did not do well with having others of their species impinge on their rights. How exactly society had developed amongst them no one was entirely sure but they generally used their bio-luminescence to converse at distances of about 2.5 kilometres - uncomfortably close for a Xin.

>image thatyou asnwered to is a human married couple; an older middle aged military officer and a Gopnista
>story sounds and reads like its between aliens

I don't get it senpai, user probably requested a story about these two married humans, not ayy lmaos

The earth had welcomed them as a whole but it had meant that Xin had set up workshops, laboratories or offices all across the globe - as long as they were far enough apart. It was Alvin and Sam's lot in life to attempt to wrangle misunderstandings between Xin and human, or between Xin and themselves before anyone got hurt.

Well it was about a happy couple user.

SHOGGY WHERE ARE YOU ARE YOU IN THIS THREAD I NEED MY AGP FILL PLZ DONT BE DEAD

Your hook sucks, start with action not melodrama of characters I know nothing of, not even that one of them is a ten foot tall insect. Start with something happening, set the scene, show us the characters, sprinkle with dialogue.

Consider :

Our celebration ended prematurely when Alvin's color plume shattered the light to the Lost Star bar. I had been trying to change the jukebox, really just staring at song after song from the last five decades as I thought about what to say to my wife, when I heard the crackle of his translator. About ten grams of silicon strapped to his neck was responsible for turning his clicks and hisses into what passed for Queen's English. "Aren't there regulations about light placement in an establishment like this? It shouldn't be possible for a Nix to hit their head on an exposed bulb!" Alvin was almost ten feet tall, but had a wonderful way of folding his limbs down as he backed away that made him shrink and shrink till he was looking you in the eye, it was a defense mechanism so he could spring away like a massive praying mantis.

The old woman behind the bar was having none of his excuses and stared him right down, lovecraftian tentacles or no. "It was in a cage you insect freak! Out!" she ordered, her voice bellowing throughout the entire establishment. And she hoisted up the pint she had been about to give him.

We were out on the curb not even a minute later and I was just thankful the beer thrown at us hadn't soaked my matches. "Man, I can't take you anywhere," I said as I struck the bit of chemical and held it up to my cigarette. The cigarette hadn't escaped the dousing though.

Alvin held out one of his cigarettes, nicotine affected Nixeans just like it affected humans. "Everyone makes mistakes Sam, even Xin."

>but hey, that's just like my opinion, man

Well shit.

Thank you user, it looks like a re-write is in order.

I was trying to let it run without cluing anyone to HE'S AN ALIEN for as long as possible, which on reflection is actually a retarded idea.

you're better than most.

how do I portray a character as autistic?

Just have him act like you

harsh

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