/crit/ - Writing Critique General

Kevin Macdonald edition.

Post your shit here and other anons will give feedback.

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The knight clanked from his destrier and drew his blade.

‘Demon, leave this innocent man’s body’, he said.

The river was the only thing that separated the villager from the knight. But littered with rocks as it was, and that strong current; he couldn’t cross it until the demon-possessed villager let down the drawbridge. As it was, he couldn’t see that happening. There was the portcullis and walls after it, too, and he wasn’t sure if he could face a dozen possessed villagers at once.

‘Let me explain’, the villager said. ‘No, I’m not possessed. And I suppose you came here to slay the vampire in charge of the village. While the village does look spooky, it really isn’t something you should be afraid of—’

‘Silence. Can’t you see that he’s mind controlling you?

‘Alright’, he said, pointing a finger towards him. ‘I see you won’t listen. But let me show you’.

A blue sphere of magic engulfed the knight’s rusting armour and he panicked, saying things like: “unhand me” and “you’ll die for this”, but the villager paid no heed and he lifted the sphere over the town’s walls.

‘You see?’, the villager said. ‘It’s alright, the vampire isn’t hurting us’.

From the knight’s visor he could see the courtyard and in the courtyard he saw the “lord” of the village playing ball with the village’s youth. But somehow this didn’t get past his dense skull.

‘Let me go’, he shouted.

‘Ok’, the villager said, and the knight dropped.

He dropped into the water and he reflected on how it probably wasn’t a good idea to ask him to let go at that particular moment. His armour weighed him down and so he struggled and thrashed in the water until eventually he stopped, beached by a rock.

The lord of the village, the vampire, chose that moment to appear in front of the villager appointed in redirecting misdirected strangers.

‘Everything alright?’, he said.

‘Yeah. Same old—but it does get frustrating at times. They never seem to learn’.

‘Keep up the good work’, he said, patting him on the back, and he flipped his cloak and disappeared.

Posting more of a story from the last general

“My man Bacchus, you look concerned; this robot shall be easy to fix. Is there something that troubles you?”
Bacchus rattled forth from his daydream; surely, he could not concern himself with the ramblings of some treacherous street-crawler.
“It is nothing, my liege. Prepare the machine for its reset,” he responded, but the thought hung at the back of his skull. He beckoned to his servants for more powder while furiously scratching his brow.
As Little Ricky and his mechanics began the procedure, the machine roared into action and bucked them aside.
BOOTYWARRIOR.EXE BOOT SUCCESSFUL
INITIATING HOE-TOCOL 1
PRIME POSTERIOR DIRECTIVE
A large and oscillating antenna sprang from the machine, calling the hoe-bots to him; Bacchus now could see the source of the alterations: this hypnotic appendage lured all of his hoes together, and, upon gathering, they would begin to gyrate fiercely, perfectly in time with the swaying of the rogue robot’s rod. To the shock of Bacchus, the machine spoke, in a metallic rasp:

Here is my ”hook” for the thing I have been writing on and off over the past few days.

Mr. Olenyev: At this point in my life the Italian sweet cream in my morning coffee and 5 camel cigarettes were my sole daily source of sugar for the day. I often wonder if that could have in some way contributed to the ever present thinning of my hair that accompanied this stage in my life (knowing that the primary cause of my hair thinning was no doubt a mix of the stress caused by lack of direction and the shocking and oft sudden halts to my relentless 45 minuet sessions of masturbatory fantasy revolving around the idea of becoming a non-tactile entity of exclusively optical purpose). This period in my life was my second semester at State university of my nondescript Mid-Western State, where I would be infected by an awareness of the aethereall nethermind idea of Degeneration.

Warning: Furry Stuff
But I did it because I thought it'd fit closer to the theme of showing man's anamilistic masculinity and how it can be sometimes toxic, yet, be noble at the same time (though this page won't get that far.)

"I should have known better when I heard its, y'know...roar, of sorts."

Roger was immediately taken back to that afternoon. The first thing he remembered was the chunks of gravel pelting his face. Jeff had tossed them at him playfully, the warm laughter filling the audio of the memory. Roger had let out a faux cry afterwards, falling onto the tracks and pretending he was dead.

That was one of the things he regretted most. Yelling "Argh! You killed me!" Holding his hands over his eyes and sticking his tongue out -- it was stupid, but the fun kind of stupid. From there, he took his hands off of his face and looked up at the sky. Broken clouds filled its horizon, only a small pocket of sunlight escaping its grasp. Not the perfect day to be hanging out on the far end of town, but serviceable nonetheless. He laid there for a little while longer, soft breaths escaping from his body.

"Hey! Get up, you stupid son of a bitch!"

Roger was taken out of his moment, all at once realizing where he was, hopping up apace and kicking gravel behind him. He began to wrestle with Jeff, joking about something that involved "doing whatever he wanted to do" -- Roger didn't remember all the details. Jeff let out an "aww, shut up!" and hit him on the nose, knocking him backwards.

Roger held a hand over the point of impact. "I-I think it's broken, man..."

"What? I can't hear you," Jeff said, their voices slowly starting to drown out in the growing whine of something in the distance.

Roger raised his voice. "I said I think it's broken!"

"O-Oh shit, really? Hold on -- " Jeff dropped the tough guy attitude and approached Roger, offering a helping hand.

"Yeah, c'mere..."

The fish had taken the bait. Roger kicked Jeff down with a sportive laugh, his friend landing on the gravel below them. Jeff wasn't laughing, however -- he tried to pull himself back up as he let out a scream.

"Get me up!"

In that moment, Roger realized what'd he'd done. His sole option was to watch, his arm held out in vain as the clatter and the blaring horn of the train drowned out Jeff's screams.

>O-Oh shit, really

what?

What does the lord of the village look like? I think it's a good opportunity to describe the attire when the knight is up in the air even if he is still in denial. And when he draws close to the bridge a little description of his facial features.

What the fuck is going on? / 10

”The critique had gotten to page 5 so I decided to bump it. Fuck for not posting in the critique thread. Fuck him for not following the rules.”