Storythread

Storythread: hangover edition. I hope you all had a good Christmas. How many of you made a new year's resolution to write more stories?

This is a thread for creative writing of Veeky Forums-related fiction, so epic campaign greentexts and other non-fiction go elsewhere. 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).

What counts as Veeky Forums-related? Anything someone could plausibly use in a campaign (which means basically anything if you have enough imagination).

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 you may want to head over to the dedicated 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.

There is a discord for writers:
discord.gg/6AwKHGF

The previous thread can still be found in the archive here
if you have any comments about the stories posted there


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/1B6F2xwpFwOzlwxtzf3NTBmG0a2OsRtoQ2ura5F0cciY/edit?usp=drivesdk
pushroom.tumblr.com/
twitter.com/SFWRedditGifs

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Ba-Bump!

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Holy crap bump.

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Bu-bump.

I am really going to have to write something tomorrow. Finally starting to get back into my normal routine now that Christmas is officially over (what with Twelfth Night having passed now), hopefully should have the time to get some stuff done tomorrow.

Praise Chronicler!

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Bump

Rise from page eight!

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I question what sort of story you're expecting from that.

Bump! Also are there any stories from the Storythread that come in installments rather than being one offs that anyone can recommend?

I don't think anyone's yet tried to do a true serial through the Storythreads yet. There are some stories that have had several sequels. You can spot them on the wiki page because they'll have 'see also...' next to them.

Meanwhile it appears that I'm creatively dead for the time being. I just could not come up with a good idea for a story today. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow

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Tentacle Monsters in non-sexual, everyday situations.

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That's enough to start off the thread and give the writers some material to work with.

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Bump

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Bump

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You dingus were supposed to keep the thread bumped! Or was it becuase the thread reached 100 images(did they lower it from 150?)
Shit I hope my crossthread posting doesn't Fuck up.
> robutt girlyman Christmas story

I liked it. As chronicler said it was abit depressing but hey its the grimdarkness of the 40th millenia.

> Thor Frost stuff by Oxide

It's quite rough with a few spelling mistakes. Assassin is two sets of double s'. You kept saying "turned back to the guild member that he was speaking to" when u could have just said turned back to The guild member or his name, "Gale". Sometimes simple is better especially if it starts feeling drawn out

It's not bad except it's quite "coincidental" that Thor Frost has 100 unmarked coins supposedly and that the whore was a virgin willing to fuck a man who just killed two people and Fuck him in the same room as the bodies along with "cumming inside"

I get it it's a story but it seems a little too far fetched desu. You cant have everything work out for him. It sort of feels like Thor is lying. He even gets a cheer from the crowd. Also on the topic of repeating you had the guild member not have his phone and said" He didn't have his phone so he asked Thor frost" then you had him ask in dialogue"I don't have my phone what does the message say" it's redundant.

Not bad though I will enjoy and read it if you continue.

>Link:
docs.google.com/document/d/1B6F2xwpFwOzlwxtzf3NTBmG0a2OsRtoQ2ura5F0cciY/edit?usp=drivesdk

So, for a campaign I was in, two characters ended up in a relationship. We wrote what happened between sessions and explored the relationship and the characters and overall it went pretty well.

The setting is 1995ish Earth, fantasy races don't really exist, magic doesn't really exist (both limited to the PC's), and demons are returning to the world.

Nine is an operator who operates. He was based on a Ghost from StarCraft and was edgy to the max. Nuadha was an elf assigned by her clan to follow the party and killed things with a sword. Both were ordered to watch Raven, a tiefling magic user, Nine by the government, Nuadha by her clan.

Nuadhas character wrote about half of it, Nines (me) the other. It's also like 50 pages. It was a long campaign.

> Dragon In A Stocking

Cute. Green text was abit disorientating but it was fine overall.

> magical hung(ha!) girl and worried wino.

I like it. Once again Chronicler gave some better tips than I can. I didn't find the prose too bad as it didn't stunt my reading but like with everything; Anything can improved.

> the little orphan fanny

I see you're improving on your descriptions. Stories don't always need plots. I like your story it's calm. If you want to add plot that's fine but even now learning things through events and conversations is nice without an overlying plot.

Keep up the good work.

> Cherry Tree Troops

It's not really a story, more like an exposition drop. It read like a consulted wiki entry. You could work it into a story. But as is it's just a load of fictional information.


> Maids and Martyrs

I really liked this story. It might have been abit graphic and edgy(not bad things) but it was written well enough with good imagery. Good job user.

> Donovan The Damned

Amazing.

> kissing men and snakes

Your choice of language was good but your prose was mechanical. It might have been intentional but along with the 1st person perspective(a personal dislike) it was rough.

Also repetition like "x upon x" and "y and y" or "z, z" are fine but I felt there was too much repetition going on. Im pretty sure it was intentional but it was abit chiding to read. The overall story's not bad but your prose can definitely use some work.

time for another bump!

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For six days the hideous grey flames crept over the horizon. For six days we walked back over the ashes that remained, with hardly a moment to lick our wounds. For six days we bled, and screamed, and searched for a sign. A sign of anything.

The radio had been quiet for nine days, on every frequency. The occasional explosion we heard in the distance was the closest thing we had to assurance that the rest of the world hadn't been burned away.

We would watch where the wind was pushing the fire, and follow the sounds as best we could, but in truth? We were just walking the only path there was. The only thing the flames could not seem to burn was the ashes it left behind.

On the seventh day, we awoke to a flurry of snow. Private Karel was so excited he fired six shots into the air to rouse everyone. By the time the unit was up, he had fallen to the ground, sobbing. More ashes. Flakes of it, proof that the flames had found the treeline and taken the forest overnight.

Proof that we had made it home, and the fire with us. That it was not going to stop.

Karel had dug himself a grave in the white ash by nightfall. He did not care leave a note or make a speech. We just heard his rifle fire somewhere in the dark, once, and he was gone. I heard one other private give a prayer, but nobody went to bury him. None of us wanted to see.

The eighth day started well, considering. A warm breeze blew over the ash dunes, and there was moisture on it. Perhaps we were getting close to the lake? Some of the men cheered themselves by discussing taking a swim, despite the bitter chill. Anything not to think about what happened to base. Anything to keep it from setting in.

Warrant officer Mischa saw it first. The strangled yelp she made was like listening to a songbird have its voice torn out and stolen away.
(cont.)

What she saw was a hole.

Where the lake once glimmered was a pit, now full of the same dull white ash we had trudged through since the first flames began to spread. There was no mistaking it. The two massive ash dunes to its south were what we once called the mother and father mountains. The wind was slowly grinding them away, spreading the ashes further until not even the dunes would remain.

Mischa was a beautiful singer. Her voice was loud, smooth and clear like a bell. She had the most wonderful laugh.

This was the first time any of us had heard her scream.

Her scream only lasted a few moments, but the way she howled, the way her throat went raw and she choked on bile before she dropped to her knees told us that she was never going to sing again.

We got her to climb into the back of the AFV, tried to calm her down and get her to drink some water, but by then she had nothing left.

"Chernobog...Chernobog..." she muttered and growled past her chapped lips, her pupils dilated and her eyes darting to every member of the squad.

Project Chernobog. The trump card we had been assigned to guard and keep secret. The wrath of the black god, wielded by men at war.

We were told it was still too early in development, and that we would have to be patient. That it would win this war, and the fighting could stop.

The fighting had stopped. Right along with everything else.

We checked the radio once more. We counted out our rations. Perhaps this was only out of respect for our training. The numbers meant nothing to any of us.

Night came, and the new moon with it. There hadn't been a cloud in the sky since the fires started, but this time it seemed that even the stars didn't dare shine down on us.

And so, in the dark, we began digging.

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>page10
Ummm, no?

Bump

>being this much of an unimaginitive hack

Story coming right!

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It was a typical day in a middle-scool. A sunny afternoon as hall monitor Angela Skinner is just standing guard at the still-currently-empty-hall, which will soon to be filled with students who're on their way home at this three-o-clock in the afternoon. It is dismissal right now as the students have now finally exited the classrooms with the bel still continue to ring and finally after a few more seconds the ringing has stopped and now the sounds of chatter among students fill the hallway. While Angela Skinner just stands at the sight leaning on a wall, waving to a couple of passing-by students who also wave back.

"Good day to you youngsters." Angela said warmly to a group of boys.

"Hey miss Skinner." One of the boys said and waved casually as the walked along minding their own business.

Angela Skinner is actually not a student of this school, but simply a paraprofessional staff member. Angela Skinner; age twenty-six, actually works as part time manager's assistant in a retail outlet from Mondays to Wednesdays, while in Thursdays and Fridays, she's a hall monitor in this school. She essentially works two jobs since one of her current positions as a retail outlet's manager does not earn that much compared to the school she's working for as a hall monitor. But even then she still maintains her two jobs since while Angela Skinner isn't a poor person, she isn't of a higher economic stature. And it does not help her bills and taxes tend to be quite high, so she's a frugal spender and sometimes settles with the cheapest items and products she can get.

So far Angela does like her job as a hall monitor for a middle school. It has mostly been a year and many students have already recognized her as "The older lady of the halls." Since she, along with the custodian staff are mostly the oldest people any student can see frequenting the halls while the teachers spend most of their time in the faculty offices when not currently teaching classes. Not to mention, some of the teachers and even the principal has gotten to befriend Angela Skinner. Admiring the fact that she is a hard working woman, working two jobs despite her not-so-impressive economic stature. Angela has even had a panel in a motivational school event to raise moral for students, specifically in a "work-hard-and-play-hard" panel where Angela went on about working hard, study well to get a good job. And also about never giving up in working for a living and all that which was held a few months ago or so.

And so the usual thing went on. She simply observed the students making their way out of the school, made small talk with a few here-and-there. Even spoke out some reminders here-and-there about wearing proper and appropriate clothing and attire and also wearing their school ID's. Finally all the students have left the inside of the school, while some students continue to hang around with each other just outside the school. And since it is Thursday right now, there no scheduled after-school activities for the students nor teachers during Tuesdays and Thursdays. The teachers on the other hand headed off to the faculty offices and teacher's loungers while also waving off to Angela with small talk aswell.

Angela Skinner was about to clock out since every Thursdays her shift ends as soon as the three-o-clock dismissal hits. Then she heard a bang, a bang which sounded like a door from around a corner was slammed shut. She knew it came from the boy's locker room, which made her suspicious.

(will continue tommorow)

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Bump

Perhaps, again, I'll try. Among these faces of my past, the roads of all the homes I lingered within, perhaps I'll try.
I don't want to, not again, I'll never let that happen. I don't want to forget it all again, and again, and again.
It's times like these I really get to remember and experience life, all the little things that slipped by.
I read that book, and the streets all seem to find their way to it, no matter how fast I run away.
Again I push past my regrets away from that cruel fate, unwilling to let go, not yet.
I run from myself, I hold onto my dreams and wants like sheets to hide away.
Warm things with faces I can't recall, silent as deathless repose.
Eyes to the cobbles, unwilling to recall the black skies.
Unwilling to find myself pulling myself back.
Just like last time, again and again.
I pull myself back to life.
To continue this hell.
This endless cycle.
Again and again.
Falling upward.
Standing up.
Cyclical.
I must.
Begin.
Again.
Lost.
Eyes.
Open.

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Anyone got a source on this? Google/tineye have nothing...

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pushroom.tumblr.com/

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cheers, will post some prompts

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