Storythread

Come rain or snow or sleet or fog, the Storythread continues on. Been having a rough couple of weeks, threads barely breaking 200 posts. Let's see if we can change that.

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

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I will write something for this. Give me time and keep it alive until then.

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Hey Veeky Forums. Lately I've been working on my fictitious world and would really like some feedback on my important characters' journeys. First up is Valmin Elsing, human mage currently studying under the High Elves of Teerius

Excerpt from "Studies of Magic Under Elves" by Valmin Elsing

During my stay with the Elves of Teerius, I have found that a large portion of the daily lives of only the "older" Elves are devoted entirely to the study of magic. Magic, being studied by normal men over generations with little fruit, these Elves have devoted nearly their entire lives, centuries of collective time to the practice and pursuit of the uses of Magic. Perhaps it is not that they simply have a greater affinity for or liking to it, but that they have grown past the means of life that mere mortals have so carefully developed, leaving little else to accomplish other than the mysteries of magic.

1-2 next

As I walk the city's massive library, the sections particular to magic and the study of it are magnitudes larger than the sections of say, history or geography. As I pull books from shelves to attempt to understand them with my already mild understanding, I find that I am but a child looking upon the teachings of an immortal race with untold amounts of experience and understanding. As I inquire the brilliant mentors of training for myself, I find myself outclassed by experience and knowledge I cannot hope to ever meet in my short life. It may be but a drop of light in a sea of darkness, but I hope that I might discover ways of extending my lifespan to continue my pursuit of magic, and an even smaller drop that I may meet or even surpass even the dullest of the Elves one day. Though I continue my study under one of the lesser Elves, looked down upon for even considering the notion of teaching a human, there may be some glint in the light that is the hope of extending my lifespan.

RIP real chronicler
fuck shitty story thread guy

Part 2
During my training with Mentor Aelfan, I have been taught magic I could seldom use in any form of combat or militaristic confrontation, not quite the training I had initially imagined learning from the Elves, nonetheless it was not something I had mind in learning upon setting out for my journey. The core study of Elven magic is not the brutish understanding and use of magic as a weapon as Humans have come to see it as, but something as part of everyday life and the improvement of it. Not only improving life as a whole, but knowledge for the sake of understanding and learning that which so many have only glimpsed upon and saw nothing but the power to lay waste to his fellow man and stand above the rest.
However, this is not to mention that I have yet to learn anything with possible uses on the field of battle. Although many of the Elves deny magic being for battle, they have such a grasp of battle-magic that would show most human battlemages' combat abilities to be nothing more than a meddling of children. The principles the Elves hold for battle-suited magic are far and above the manic ideas of Man to obliterate his opposition through might, and with these principles I have learned wisdom in the use of magic for war. I feel that through my teachings from the magic scholars and battlemages of Mankind I have been led astray from laying

2-2, sorry about the cuts, I didn't plan for this to be 1500 characters a piece

-foundation of the proper use of magic, and at my level, however mediocre in comparison to the Elves, I find it difficult to tear away everything I have been taught.
Through magic, one reaches a connection with the forces of nature, and without a connection the use of magic is simply toying with forces one could not likely hope to ever grasp full control. Although control is a strong word to use, my mentor explains it as a way of giving oneself to nature as if it were a being far above and hoping that a mutual relationship can be made. Far unlike Man's vision of controlling magic akin to a rider controlling his steed, the Elves have reached an enlightenment, and thus have a grasp for magic well beyond Man's minor understanding of its use.
My training and study continues early in the day and late into the night, yet my understanding moves as though time has stopped, but I continue not even for the purpose of controlling, but to understand what I have been blind to for so long.

Part 3-1
Excerpt 3 from "Studies of Magic Under Elves" by Valmin Elsing

As I study the texts in the great library of Teerius, I find much to dwell on of the use of channels. My previous understanding is that a magic channel allows one to closer bridge the gap between corporeal and ethereal, making one able to cast spells and incantations of greater power. How wrong I was. Almost as if being struck for ignorance, the tomes I read reveal that channels are physical items that endure the deterioration of magical channeling. There are plenty of documents detailing the use of certain materials to achieve greater resilience, greater power, enhancement of specific elements, and more. This poses the question; if I have been using my own body as a channel, just how much has it suffered? I always shrugged off the pain in my joints to be age, and the ever-growing weariness to my long sleepless nights. I fear for those who do not understand this and would explain so much of why the elves show much greater power, and little, if any, effect from it.

Part 3-2

I asked my mentor today of the damage my body had sustained, and he directed me to the healer. The healer spoke as though it may be recoverable, but I could see the concern in his eyes for the ignorant neglect I have shown my body. The elves have allowed me to attend the healer, so that he may assess the damage and hopefully reverse the effects. Though I doubt even through centuries of knowledge they may not know how to fix what I have done, as I've yet to find record of an elf so foolish as to use his body as a channel for magic. Still, my search continues to find a method to lengthen the time left for my aging body and mind, and with this news my regard for that time has become even more noticeable.

What's wrong with him?

This all seems rather cliche and I'm not digging the diction used.

I have titled this: Sarah Smiles

The band called themselves “Concrete Gravesite” and they were Sarah’s favorite group. They weren’t the most popular band in Gulvermet, but they had a small following to keep them making music. Sarah liked them because they sang about the city and life within it, living from day to day in the middle of an urban entity the size of an entire continent.

Sarah had lived in the city her entire life, of course. Like so many others, there was little chance of escape from the enclosing walls of the myriad buildings jutting up from the ground everywhere you looked. Lights from their windows glowed in different patterns all throughout the day and night as the people inside bought and traded life and livelihoods like so many AR-cards. Way up above like that they were disconnected from the people they were trading. It wasn’t a job or a company, it was a name on a screen with a number attached to it. It was exactly what Concrete Gravesite sang about, among other things. Death happened high up above, and they didn’t even care about it.

Sarah turned her attention back to her music. The title of the band was what had first drawn her to them, as she felt like all she had left to look forward to was living some kind of life she didn’t want, only to end up in a concrete gravesite. She’d be buried under tons of rubble or have her dust scattered to the wind to settle on one of the urban monoliths. If the latter happened, she thought grimly, maybe she could pretend her life was successful, as she’d finally be on top of one of the towering beasts around her instead of stuck in the shit and slime at their feet.

The song she was listening to launched into the chorus and Sarah shouted along with it. “Will my life be good? Will my death be better? Will someone I know find my last letter?”

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Sarah’s singing, which she knew was poor, drew a lot of dirty looks from people around her. She ignored them. She shouted along tunelessly and punched a fist into the air at the crescendo. Someone shouted something at her but she just flipped off the direction the voice came from and disappeared down a side street.

She passed by hole-in-the-wall restaurants advertising the latest mystery meats and all-in-one meals. The medicinal ingredients put in every meal were listed and what diseases and other ailments they claimed they could cure. Some worked, as Sarah had discovered from personal experience, but most of them were placebos. Finding a reputable place that could afford to always put the right vitamins in was hard, so most folks ended up buying the false ones and died pathetic deaths, ending up, as her favorite band always said; in a concrete gravesite.

Sarah reached a spot nestled between a sandwich shop and a restaurant that sold nothing but eggs prepared in every way imaginable. There was a door between them that was left unlocked at all times. Or at least all times Sarah had come. Inside it was what looked like just another alleyway. A pinched path between the buildings that opened to another door on the other side of the building the restaurants were all nestled within. What Sarah had discovered, however, was a ladder in the ceiling that led further up into the building. It was probably for maintenance, but now it was for her! She didn’t bother looking around before entering. The more you looked like you didn’t belong the more likely someone would stop you. She just yanked the handle down with more force and feigned authority than necessary, and stepped inside.

Within the tiny passage Sarah took hold of one of the cuffs of her coat. She felt along the plastic until she found a rough patch and pulled her finger across it in short strokes. Lines on her clothes began glowing, getting brighter with each stroke until she had a small radius of light around her. Her shoes were lit up along with her headphones, and patterns were glowing on her sleeves. Once she was lit, she searched the passage for the ladder she remembered. When she found it she had to run and jump up the wall to grab the bottom, but she pulled it down to the floor and clambered up into the passages above.

The first time Sarah had come, she had wondered what purpose this all served, but further exploration had revealed that she was now in the tunnels used for wiring the building’s power and network together. She pulled the ladder back up into the tunnel after her and locked it in place. There was a handle for a hatch she assumed must have been covering it at one point, but had fallen off, which is how she had found it. Wires filled the passage up here, and she could only imagine each one’s purpose, but she didn’t want to find that out right now. She had come here for a different reason today.

The path led up stairs back and forth for several floors. It was all very dark, and a long hallway filled with wires was present on each one. Some were more crowded with cables than others, but all of them served a distinct function the higher she got. She amused herself with the thought of cutting them all, but that would bring undue attention to her position, and she needed to remain hidden.

I will finish it tomorrow. I hope you enjoyed this much, at least.

You're trying to sound academic, but a lot of it is coming across as stilted. I would recommend writing it like you would explain it yourself, then go through it carefully sentence by sentence and see if you can't make it sound a bit better.

Besides that it's not a bad idea. Try to clean up your grammar and see how it goes from there.

Sorry about that dude, I hope things are looking up for you now.

kek, nice one. You're good at writing fun, natural-sounding dialogue.

Nothing wrong with me (in fact I feel better than I have done in weeks). Apparently I'm not the only person to use the name, although I'm not sure why is bitter with me that the other Chronicler isn't around any more; it's not like I cut his throat and took his place, he probably just has better things to do than post on Veeky Forums these days.

I think you've gone a bit too far in trying to give your narrator a unique voice; in fact I often see this type of over-written speech from people trying to capture the style of a medieval-fantasy version of English. A good general tip in writing is to never sacrifice readability in trying to give your characters distinct voices - needless to say, this is super-important for the actual narrator. Cutting down sentence length, removing subordinate clauses and making them separate sentences - there are a bunch of simple ways to tidy this up and make it much easier to read.

As for the subject matter, I wouldn't go as far as to say it was cliche, but nothing particular stands out about it for me to comment on either. It's not bad, but I'd reserve judgement until I'd seen more.

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Bump

I think the first half of this is a little too on the nose about its descriptions of the punk girl and the band. I don't know if you're narrating her in the right voice/speech.

Can you elaborate? I think I know what you're referring to, though.
Are you referring to the first half as cutting off here:
>Sarah’s singing, which she knew was poor, drew a lot of dirty looks from people around her. She ignored them. She shouted along tunelessly and punched a fist into the air at the crescendo. Someone shouted something at her but she just flipped off the direction the voice came from and disappeared down a side street.

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Alright, fixed what I think was the problem with the narration, and finished the whole thing.

SARAH SMILES

The band called themselves “Concrete Gravesite”. Sarah listened to them not because they were popular, but because they seemed to speak directly to her. With her headphones on, the city around her was washed just a little bit cleaner by their blaring songs and didn’t seem quite so dirty-grey, and what little of the sky she could ever see from way down below didn’t feel so overcast with smog.

Sarah had lived in or on (depending how you looked at it) Gulvermet her entire life. Like so many others, there was little chance of escape from the walls of the monolithic buildings jutting up from the ground everywhere you looked. Lights from windows high above glowed in different patterns all through the day and night as the people inside bought and traded whatever the hell it was they thought would make them money. Way up above, they were disconnected from the things they traded, and whatever consequences there were only appeared as numbers. It was exactly that kind of stuff Concrete Gravesite sang about. Death was dealt high above the shitty city streets, and they didn’t even care.

Sarah turned her attention back to her music, pulling her eyes from the staring windows that flickered at her like they were blinking in boredom. Whatever death happened was inescapable, and the bodies would inevitably end—as her favorite band’s name implied—in a concrete gravesite. When it found her she be buried like all the rest under tons of rubble or have her dust scattered to the wind to settle somewhere within Gulvermet. If the latter happened maybe her ashes would end up on top of a building instead of the bottom. Then she’d have a view.

The song she was listening to launched into the chorus and Sarah shouted along with it. “Will my life be good? Will my death be better? Will someone I know find my last letter?”

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Sarah’s singing, which she knew was poor, drew a lot of dirty looks from people around her. She ignored them and kept shouting along tunelessly, punching a fist into the air and skipping along. Someone shouted something at her as they passed, but she just flipped off the voice and turned down a side street.

She passed by hole-in-the-wall restaurants advertising the latest mystery meats and all-in-one healthmeals. Healthmeals were supposed to have medicine in them to help cure sickness and disease. Some worked, as Sarah had discovered from personal experience, but most of them were filled with placebos. Finding a reputable place that could put the right stuff in regularly was hard, so most folks ended up buying the false ones and died pathetic deaths, ending up, as her favorite band always said; in a concrete gravesite.

Sarah reached a spot nestled between a sandwich shop and a restaurant that sold nothing but eggs prepared in different ways. There was a door between them that was left unlocked, or at least had been every time Sarah had come. Inside it was what looked like just another alleyway: A pinched path between the buildings that led to another door on the other side of the building the restaurants were all jammed into. Sarah glanced from side to side, then just yanked the handle down with more force and feigned authority than necessary and stepped inside.

Darkness filled the tiny passage, so Sarah took hold of one of the cuffs of her coat. She felt along the plastic until she found a rough patch and pulled her finger across it in short, repeated strokes. Lines on her clothes began glowing, getting brighter with each movement until she was glowing like a neon sign. Her shoes had lights near the bottom and her headphones had circles on them, giving her a small pool of cool, blue light to work with. Once she was lit, she searched the passage for the hole in the ceiling where the ladder hid.

It was easy to find but was a good ten feet up. she had to run and jump up the wall to grab the bottom, but when she had it, she pulled it down to ground level and climbed up.

The first time Sarah had come, she had wondered what purpose this all served, but further exploration had revealed that she was now in the tunnels used for wiring the building’s power and network together. She pulled the ladder back up into the tunnel after her and locked it in place so no one else would get curious. There was a handle next to it for a hatch she assumed must have been covering the entrance at one point, but it had fallen off, revealing the ladder. The ladder led into a passage in the building above, where wires ran along the walls from end to end. She followed them from the ladder down the passage to the end, where a set of stairs led up through the building to more of the same type of passage.

The passages continued upward into the darkness. If not for her glowing clothes, Sarah wouldn’t have been able to see where she was going. Not that it mattered. Every floor was just a long hallway filled with wires. Some were more crowded with cables than others, but there were no side passages, no turns besides those at the end of the stairs, and most important: No people.

It was a long climb to the top. Sarah thought the building had about 70 floors, last time she had counted, but that had been done sitting at its base, looking up at the windows. Inside the building it felt much taller. The stairs continued up and up, deeper into the building, and Sarah had to stop and rest a few times the higher she got.

She stopped when she reached about halfway up to take a longer break. She reached into her coat and pulled out a hard healthmeal bar and bottled water. Her knees were burning and her calves sore, but she pushed ahead and eventually arrived at a door labeled “Rooftop Access”.

She stopped at the door and reached out a hand to touch it, stroking the words. Every time she came up here she got butterflies in her stomach, and today was no different. This was the sole reason she climbed those godforsaken steps through cramped corridors. She took a breath, leaned forward, and pushed the door open.

A cold gust of wind blew across Sarah’s face as the door swung open. The smell of sewage and rot was missing, and in its place was something damp Sarah couldn’t quite place. She peeked out of the door to both sides, checking for others. When she was sure there was no one up there but her, she stepped out and let the door shut behind her. Here was her little bit of happiness in Gulvermet. This was her reward for not letting the city steal the life from her. Her prize for continuing to avoid her very own concrete gravesite: A roof.

Sarah walked out toward the edge of the rooftop. There was a barrier at the edge with handrails and lights on it. The lights glowed a bright white in the darkness around her, marking its place among the other rooftops around the city. She approached the edge, found a spot between two lights, and looked out over Gulvermet.

She couldn’t see much of the city, but it was where she lived, and she called it home. The streets were nearly invisible down below, the smog of the city and the hazy mist that was ever-present in the air obscured everything. She considered that a bonus, though, and turned up the volume of her music while she looked out at the landscape.

The other buildings loomed nearby, dwarfing hers. Some of them went up to 200 stories, great monoliths inside which people worked and struggled to make ends meet. Sarah’s music blared in her ears and she laughed at them. She danced on the rooftop, sore legs struggling to keep her upright as she bounced around. She danced until she was out of breath and wheezing, then stopped, propping herself up on the railing as she panted.

When she had her breath back, she smiled out across the city and switched off her music. The sound of hov-bikes, rail-riders, and the immense number of people all around forced their way to her, and she spoke.

“Hello, Gulvermet,” she said. “We don’t talk much except for these monthly meetings, but I want you to know I still hate you. You’re a mess, a monster, and you grind people up and spit them out without a care in the world. That’s not to say you don’t have good points, like the attempt at healthmeals and the cheap entertainment you got everywhere.”—She pointed to her shirt, which had a picture of a cyborg carrying a huge revolver in both hands firing at the viewer.—“But damn, Gulvermet, you really suck.” There was no response, of course. Cities don’t speak. Sarah shrugged and breathed in the city air in silence for a while longer, basking in a fresh smell that wasn’t saturated with decay and shit.

She finally turned to leave when she saw the sun peeking through the smog in the distance. The buildings would prevent it from ever shining down to the streets, which made this a special experience she could only get up here.

“We’ll talk again, Gulvermet. Someday we’ll talk on even footing.” Her smile faltered and disappeared as opened the door to her passage down. She spat on the ground and glared at the skyline spread out beyond her roof. “Someday. Until I’m trapped in my concrete gravesite.”

The End.

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>The suns never set on the British Empire

Thank you for the tips. But as for the style, I've tried to take on a studious persona ala a mage studying most of his life to a subject and visiting other places to continue his study, hence the "academic" style.
desu I'm new to writing actual stories rather than map-making and world building so I wanted to try and make separate personalities, all very different from each other, to my important characters

(I'm BACK.)
She laid in bed, half-asleep with partly lidded eyes. In her dark room there was a large sliver of light that came from the slightly ajar door, and she watched it with as much attention as her tired mind would allow. She had to make sure he was either gone or asleep before she and her friend went to do important things. The subtle change in the air came first, and then a long slim shadow passed by the door.

“I’m worried…” his voice floated softly in the air. “If I could leave with her, I would. But where would we go?”

Silence, she rolled over under the warm thick comforters and continued to gaze at the light on the wall.

“I don’t think he would agree to her staying,” her father sounded exhausted, his disquiet seeped into her blankets. “If it was feasible I would have her stay with my mother, but given the sorts of appetites over there I doubt even she could keep her safe for long if word got out… no I don’t think anyone remembers that I did those things…”

The tall shadow suddenly blocked out the light, and she squeezed her eyes tight and curled up under the covers pretending to be asleep.

His warm hand gently rested on her cheek, she tried not to sneeze as his dark hair ticked her face. She felt a small tender kiss pressed against her forehead, and then he withdrew. His steps faded quickly, and she dared to perk her head up to listen for the sound of a door, either his bedroom or the one out of their home.

The soft thud of the front door opening and closing felt like the removal of a weight upon her chest.

Sitting up, she threw the blankets off herself and onto the floor. Tuathe slowly crept out from whatever shadow he had been hiding in, dashing quickly to the doorway and peeking out. “Is he gone-gone?”

“Yep!” Fann replied, pulling her boots out from under the bed. “He likes walking.”

Tuathe looked back at her, blinking his white eyes, “I hope it’s a loooooong walk then!”

“Me too,” Fann agreed. She was quite sure that what she and Tuathe were planning was enough to get her grounded for at least five hundred years.

“Alright, lets go! My dad can’t wait forever, he’s got to sleep a lot,” Tuathe reached down to make sure his own shoes were firmly on his little feet before he set off out the room.

Fann grabbed a bag full of snacks and paint out from under her bed, and followed after the boy.

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I get what you were going for, but you've made it sound stilted and strange. As an example:

In the first part of this paragraph, in your effort to make him sound academic, you've confused yourself and everybody with
>During my training with Mentor Aelfan, I have been taught magic I could seldom use in any form of combat or militaristic confrontation, not quite the training I had initially imagined learning from the Elves, nonetheless it was not something I had mind in learning upon setting out for my journey.

Was he, or was he not expecting to learn non-combat magic? It sounds like he wasn't, but then you say it again.
You can say it all in an academic fashion without using as many words, unless using too many words is what you're going for. In which case, you'll need to edit it very carefully.

"During my training with Mentor Aelfan, we studied magic seldom used for combat. It was not the training I had originally imagined learning from the elves, nonetheless, I had decided I would learn everything I could upon setting out on this journey."

The problem, as I see it, is you're using too many words to explain things when a few will do. You're trying to be -too- academic. If that makes sense.

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I love this picture so much, I don't have any tattoos, but I'm pretty sure this would be in the top running for one if I did.

Good work dude. I don't think there's really any flaws I can pick out with the style. I guess the only point I can make is that not a lot happens, but more action isn't always better.

I think I would have just started the story with her pushing the door open to the roof, the stuff before that is just written alright, and you could have gone deeper onto the roof emotions and stuff. I also think concrete gravesite sounds super corny.
>and Sarah had to stop and erst a few times the higher she got.
>She stopped when she reached about halfway up to take a longer break.
>but she pushed ahead and eventually arrived at a door labeled "Rooftop Access".
This needs some work, it just goes too quickly.

Aye, I understand completely. Nothing much happens in the story and it isn't very exciting. But thank you. I appreciate the feedback.

Rise from page nine!

Why just bump without a picture or something?

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"We can't be keeping this up for much longer."
The radio around the dragon's neck screeches. "What do you mean, Juno?"
"I mean we can't be able to hide you from the public for much longer," states Juno. "The world's going to find out about you sooner or later. And who knows how everyone's gonna react to knowing that we've been hiding dragons for as long as we have."
"But why? Why do they fear me?" The radio creaks again.

Juno tugs at the collar of her breastplate. The cool afternoon air calms her neck. "It isn't you, bud. You know that. It's your parents, your grandparents. It goes far back."
"But I am not a bad dragon."
Juno reaches out to the red dragon. She was never sure if scratching its neck ever did anything, but she thought it felt nice and it always seemed to calm down regardless. "It's not your fault, Cal. You're a good boy. It's just...the world's always held those suspicions about dragons being terrifying world-breakers and city-burners. I mean, there's no way the world could just forget what happened to London."
Cal nudges Juno further as she strokes its neck. "I'm sorry, Juno. "
"C'mon, bud." The young woman rubs her cheek on the dragon's head, her hand grabbing his horn now. "I know. You're sweet. You wouldn't hurt a fly. You've never gotten mad at me or anyone. If the world wasn't so scared, I'm sure they'd love you."
"Do you love me, Juno?"
"Course I do. So does mum. So does dad. So does Connor, too." She rubs his neck a bit more, taking care to gently scratch under the scales. "But they're retired now. I'm going to have to make decision soon to tell them about you, and I'm not sure if the world's ready for it. I'd also need to have the consent of the other preserves cross the world."

"Juno is good. Juno is kind to me." The dragon nudges her. "Everyone knows Juno always thinks about us."
She nods. "Yeah. We've always loved dragons. We've been around them all our lives."

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1. I like this, please continue writing more of it.
2. Most writers generally don't write in present tense, it just kind of reads funny.
3. There's some awkwardness in your lines. Like, the dragon says her name, and then you write her name in the next line. Probably don't need it. Sounds a little robotic to me.
4. The "So does"x3 repetition is too many times, I think.
5. The sentence, "I'm going to have to make decisions soon to tell them about you," is murky. Your previous sentence is talking about her mother, father, and Connor, but you shift to using a pronoun of 'them' when I'm pretty sure you just mean the general public world. You need to establish your nouns first, or else it confuses the reader.

(all respect to beckjann, RIP)

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Here's a better one.

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All of Juno's family cared for the dragons of their preserve. Even hundreds of years ago, during the ages of myth when dragons were little more than stories, Juno's family were among the few who knew the truth about these monstrous lizards. They were one of several across the world who dedicated themselves to protecting these monsters from poachers and the like. Once the world became more interconnected, these families formed their own network of preserves, dedicated to the same purpose of protecting the secret of their existence.

"I'll always be here though." The dragon-keeper gets up. "No matter what happens, I'll always protect you. Always."
"I trust you." Cal's radio squeaks again.
"Course you do." Juno begins walking down the hill. "You're like that. It's just that I have...well, I've never had to talk to the other preserves, not as a leader. And then I have to make a press conference to an entire planet that we've known about creatures that have since only been considered fantasies or superstitions...and I'm going to be expected to follow the world's orders if they dislike it."
"But what if you keep hiding?"
"They'll find us sooner or later. With the rate everyone's expanding, it's only a matter of time before someone just chances upon us and then they'll think we've been hiding something." Her feet stop in frustration. "Why is there no way for these things to just be clear cut?"
"Juno?"
She didn't hear the radio. "I mean, how much would it take for people to just give dragons a chance? What would it take to ensure they wouldn't be hunted the instant it's known they exist?" She immediately hugs Cal by the neck. "Sorry. I'm just worried. There's only a few dragons out there, all of them maybe as scared as you. I keep imagining what if something happened to them, and then I think about what if it was you."

The red beast presses in to comfort its master, but in the eagerness accidentally knocks her down. Juno simply laughs the mistake off.

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"I'm so sorry Juno!" The static squeals. "I didn't mean to do that!" She grabs on regardless, her laughter never subsiding.
"Cal, you're such a big scaly bear!" She shouts. "I just wish I could get people to know you more than anything! I want to make the world just forget all the terrible things dragons did!"

It was at this moment that Cal becomes the muse that her owner needed.
"Take me with you." She stops. "If you are so worried about how the world would react to us, then take me with you. They will believe it if they see me, right?" Juno lays there for a while. Though she didn't look like it, she's already putting pieces of it together. Her eyes focus on the dragon's for a good while before something hits her.
"Caldrim, you genius!" She grabs the dragon even tighter. "You wonderful genius! You did it! Geez, how did I not think of it so much sooner?"
"Juno! I did good?"
"Yeah you did!" She already feels beside herself in satisfaction. "I have to show the world that dragons can be nice, so what better mascot for that then letting people get close to you?" Another nuzzle. "Oh my gosh, I love you so much!"
"You're welcome!"

There were a whole well of ideas now coming to her mind. "I need to share this idea with Connor! I need to share this with mum and dad! The other preserves! Oh, I know I won't be able to sleep but I don't care!"
The radio squeaks, "Will you be okay?"
"Okay?" She begins running. "I haven't felt better in a long time! C'mon, Cal! We have to get home!"

Juno and Cal chase each other downhill in bliss before she hops on the dragon's back. They fly off to realize a hope their friendship kindled.

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> (The Dove and the Falcon)

Vocabulary great, actual prose... Needs abit of touching up.

> (Even in death you still serve)
I really like the idea of a story set during the early days of a Liches rule. Insurgents are executed and their bodies forced to flush out their former comrades. Death is no longer a sweat release but rather a guaranteed eternal torment. Life is a privilege not a right. Show that you cannot be trusted and be killed to serve in death.

> (When the cold wind Bites hard)

Was really edgy in the beginning and I didn't think I was going to like it as much as I did. Im not even a fan of the first person but good job user.

> (3-in-1)

First two were pretty good. Third lacked editing I suppose as it came off pretty rough. Perhaps a little too short to stand on its own two feet like the first two.

I liked the 2nd story the most
>His Scarian accent still thick after all these weeks.
It takes more than a few weeks to pick up or soften/drop an accent

> (Lizards in a plane)

Pretty good. Some concord issues but nothing too serious, probably just overlooked in editing.

> (Bugs Strife)

Glad to see you've continued with your space story.

> (Peace Walker)

Abit unclear but I'm sure it was intentional. From what I have read the narrator is a ghost who hunts other ghosts who don't go peacefully right? Like a lone gunman type? Cool.

>(Love can Bloom on the ramparts?)

Pretty smooth. But I have to ask. What is the significance of a solider waving to an enemy solider? Honeypot? Just seems weird to me to end on that note.

> (got Milk?or an erection)

Yandere cow succubus. Nice. Glad it turned out as "placid" as it did. I was abit worried when he started walking to the barn.

> (Was Six afraid of Seven?)

You missed a great opportunity for a shitty joke there. But good job. The story was quite refreshing in a non-linear sense. I enjoyed it alot.

> (Beats sitting in Traffic)

Nice. I actually chuckled.

> (Chasing Butterflies)

I liked it. Your language and prose went together smoothly and the story itself was enjoyable. Thank you.

>Got Milk
John is a good Christian husband, and does not fuck cows. Though his wife is concerned about the attention her husband has been receiving from hellspawn. I almost had the story get dark in regards to her doing SOMETHING to the wife/daughter, but thought it better not go there.
>Chasing Butterflies
I was worried that the story didn't have enough meat in it, as I was writing it I wanted to get to the actual MAGIC part that was happening but I was running on fumes at the time and cut it short, so I'm glad to see that you liked it.

Thanks for reading through all of these and commenting on them, I know I appreciate it, I'm sure everyone else does as well.

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hello, i dont usually post stuff but i kinda wanted some feed back that wasnt biased. Im currently writing up background stuff for the campaign im running. A lot of it wont make sense, but if you've played the game, you will catch the bastion refrences. (The setting is pretty much a post bastion fanfic but 1700's pirates.). One of my pc's is a cleric of Strahl, One of the only gods not taken from bastions pantheon. He asked to go meditate at a shrine for his downtime. Its the first time hes ever rollplayed any cleric stuff. he's level twelve and I've been running this game for almost two years. So i wrote him a story to try and get him more interested in his character.

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Your journey out from Ghustov is a quiet occasion. Though, you are unsettlingly reminded, the last time you were heading down the path in this direction, you were a dead man dreaming. Nonetheless, once you enter the forest, you immediately find a pair of wolf tracks. Following them was a simple affair. Other tracks soon merged, and from the shadows your bolt found the largest wolfs heart, sending the others scurrying away. By the afternoon you reach the camp and hold the wolfs pelt out to Strahls shrine. that night you fast and meditate, keeping your senses keen. Alert to your surroundings.

In the morning you relent. you only heard the passing beasts of the forests. Once again Strahl did not reveal itself to you. As you begin packing up the tent you catch something out of the corner of your eye. something is missing. the wolfs pelt is no longer among your belongings. You search through the camp almost frantically, pausing only upon spotting an arrow resting against the shrines podium. An arrow that was not there the night before.

You are hesitant. This is only the second time you have had true contact with your god. you saw her once as a small child but it was only a barely remembered glimpse. Though you may be able to call on her power, you have never known why. Gingerly, you pick up the arrow and study it carefully. It is a long arrow, suited to the draw of a longbow. And even more curiously, its made entirely of wood. A brackenwood briarthorn sits on its tip, anchored into the roots of a twisted vinelike sapling. Fine leaves jut out in place of fletching. Its just as you begin to question the aerodynamics of such an arrow that you feel your consciousness be pulled out from under you.

You awake in a dream, only, its a dream you have already had. This time more precise. Once again you are in a playground. You recognize it this time, you once lived here. You can't have been more than five years old. You're playing in a playground with a girl. But now you recognise her. She was your friend, the only other girl your age in the town. But you can already remember what happens next. A man with a bloodied blade steps out of the shadows. He does not stop, he does not hesitate. He stabs her as if it was the most normal thing on earth. There's no time for a scream. the girl barely manages a whimper as she collapses amongst the bloodstained ruffles of her dress.

The man turns towards you. he gives no excuse, there is no joy, no sorrow, nor pain. just the eyes of a killer. The man with the bloodied blade approaches you, his steps echoing in your mind. Then silence, the boots footsteps are cut short. You look out towards the shadows. The man lies sideways in the alley, an arrow lodged in his head.

You remember this. You only feel her presence once she is already there. You look up. A monster towers above you made of gnarled and mossy wood, however this time you are not five. There is someone living beneath armour. Her face is hidden behind the wooden effigy of an antlered beast. You can see clearly. She too bares the eyes of a killer, though hers are barely held at bay. This time, you see into her mind just as she sees into yours, she looks down towards you. You reminded her of someone

Suddenly you are back in the tavern. Once again, you are an agent of the Imperial alliance. Standing ten feet away is the most wanted man in alliance history. You planted yourself here for this moment. He is babbling to the members of your party about working together. He's chastising you for your fight with the merman. The merman who not only murdered a quartermaster, but the merman who tried to then frame you for the murder of a quartermaster. Although.. to be fair... You had also tried to frame the murdered dwarf on your party members... But you have heard enough. While his guard is down you grab hold of Gaulds wrists. Sending bolts of life energy coursing through him. To snuff out his life like a controlled fire. But something happens. you feel the energy advancing through him, then recoiling back. You see his face. Tired Callousness rests behind young eyes. He murmurs a word and your dead before you are even aware of it.

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Finally you are in a forest. you can feel the age of the place. You are far in the past, in wilds long forgotten. There is a girl lying amongst the moss. you can see her as well as see through her mind. but her mind is an empty void. There is a horse in war barding lying next to her and she becomes dimly aware of the breath on her face. Suddenly, the girl awakes, her hand grasping for her sword. Her mind becomes a broken levee of flooded memories. She clutches at the fragments. struggling to piece herself back together.She remembers fighting.. So much fighting. And death to match it. Wars following wars each with stakes higher than the last. She remembers orcs from the south, then the dead from the north. Then her own countrymen raised up against oppression and she rallied to them. Putting her life on the line to kill cousins and friends. And now dragons returned to reclaim their home. Only.. that's not the truth.. She remembers the dragons. Beasts tied to the ever-changing fates. Only she dared to approach their lairs where they told her the truth. They came, not for war, but with a message. Calamity was coming

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She remembers warning the Mason King and the Chastened Maid. She remembers the flight to Exiles keep. She remembers the cold, and the surprise and joy upon seeing his face.
Him..
Tears well up as she remembers.
The young man you instantly recognise as Gauld. only its not Gauld. She calls him by another name. Instead of white, his hair is the colour of straw. and there are no scars on his face. youth twinkles in his eyes. but before you can process what's happening her mind begins to shift. she and you feel the presence of the other. The Wilds Wife stirs beneath her as it had done throughout her life. She knows why.. She had died.. He killed her.. through tears she tries to piece together her mind while keeping her instincts supressed. She remembers telling him of the dragons warning.That the exiled archmages could cease their experiments. she remembers the hope dying in her chest. He was going to bring back his loved ones. He was going to bring back all those that had died. He would not listen. She remembers the dawning realization on his face as her hand dropped towards her sword.
Their blade work was magnificent. They had the same teacher after all. Parries countered thrusts and feints, dodges avoided ripostes. their fight was like a dance only they knew the moves too. But she knew his weakness. An old arm injury kept his guard from lowering on his left flank. It was why she always won against him in the past. She whirled her blade over his right for a feint, shifting her weight to his left and slicing towards his thigh. He let out a groan of pain and dropped his guard further. She sensed victory. She moved forward, overextending her reach in an attempt to sever a vein and finish the fight.
But she had been tricked.. All along she had been tricked. Five years of lost spars for this moment. He lowered his blade as easily as she would. With a flick, her blade was out of the way. She remembers the sting as the blade slashed across her sword arm.

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She was losing, She remembers knowing she was losing. The gash on her arm wasn't fatal but blood was flowing fast and it was deep enough to slow her arm. She no longer thought as she moved to block his blows in rising desperation. slowly but surely his blade began to find its mark. a cut there, a gash here. she remembers her instincts stirring. She remembered the fear. She knew that soon, The Wilds Wife would rise from within and kill him without remorse. She remembers struggling in vain against herself. He could see it too. She was just about to give in to herself. He shot out his free arm and grasped her wrist. Twisting her towards him. As was always their way, he did something unexpected.
She remembers his lips on hers. The sudden calm as she was brought back to that moment. The monster within herself fading away. She remembers the sadness in his eyes as he pulled her tight. She remembers the feel of the cold steel as it slips between her ribs.

You are both back in the forest. Only outrage and darkness lay before her next memory. She remembers waking in a chamber deep underground. her body was bound amongst the eight heavenly spheres. There was a cacophony of noise amongst swirling smoke and green light pooling out of a large door. The man who would be Gauld was kneeling before a robed figure. Elves, exiles and the five remaining archmages sat grovelling behind him. He pleads with the figure. Begging it to bring her back. She remembers its face taking in hers. A cracked smile spread across its mask like visage. It Spoke to her. "This boy has succeeded where so many others in life had failed." "Only for him will i grant a single favour of life." "Rejoice in my genorosity, and his." "With only one life to return, he chose yours."

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And then she was there. In the forest. his old horse by her side. Her mind fell back into place, she was herself again. But where was she?
It didn't take long to get her bearings. She had lived in The Endless Forest her whole life and would know its call anywhere. She clambered above the canopy and sure enough could see The Worlds Teeth on the horizon. And there was The Merchants Road. Twisting between gullies like a pale scar. But.. She did not recognise the pinnacles of any of The Teeth. She must have been further east than she had ever been. The thought dwelled with her as she made her way to The Merchants Road. She would only have to keep The Teeth on her right side as she travelled home. Home... Could she really call anything that anymore? The lonely road east lay tantalizing behind her.

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She could just slip away. Leave everything behind. Her friends would be safer with her not around. Already she was losing herself to the wilds more and more often. In that moment she finally understood why The Chastened Maid called the heavenly spheres a curse. She had to decide. To the east laid the unfamiliar. she would be free to explore at her leisure. But to the west lay her friends. The last of her family. If they had listened to her, they would already be setting sail. West, across The Sea of Maws. There was also him. The carefree son. the one she would never name again. She would never forgive him but she could still clean up his mess. She could still save him. It was as she made her first steps on her journey west that The Worlds Teeth exploded in front of her. The Calamity had made the choice for her

You awake from your vision. it is night. you spent the entirety of the day in your trance. you begin to digest just what you saw. Strahl was once just a human. And like you she was once killed by Gauld. or at least the person who Gauld was. So who is Gauld? How can he still be alive after seven hundred and thirty six years? Was he even the same person? The man in your vision was brash and impulsive, yet to you, he has always seemed quiet and pensive. Its only then that you see the arrow clutched in your hand has been replaced with a scrimshawed bone necklace. There is the symbol of Strahl inscribed in the bone. As you make your way back to Ghustov you can feel the difference. Now, for the first time in your life. you have your gods eye upon you.

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And thats it. I know there is a lot of background information missing, but im kind of just wanting honest feedback that isnt from players hoping to get a sweet magic item out of it.

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