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 Story telling

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PostSubject: Story telling   Story telling Icon_minitimeSun Sep 30, 2012 12:21 am


Alright here are the rules

1.You can make your story however long you want

2.No sexual themes, inappropriate language, any language that isn't english

3. you have until October 12th to finish, they will be read on october 13th-15th
Since people have been working really hard I've decided to extend it to
October 13th-14th to turn it in
But we will keep the same start schedule of reading them but extending for how long since alot of people are writing really long stories
October 13th-16th

4.You have to put Me (Cloudy708) and Zathrian (officer) in the story at least once
with at least 2 lines (you can even kill us if you want to)

5.The story setting can not be in the future (sorry i don't like stories take place in a era we haven't lived in)

Those are the rules

1st=400k+beam+armor officer choice



Good luck and happy story telling <3

For those who make a unique character in their story you have a chance to have that character be
in a video game I am making just a heads up <3.

If you make a saying your signature, make sure it fits your personality. If you put a well-known saying and you don't even know what it is, then you think of yourself to highly. If you think putting saying makes you more deep, then let me show you this hole. If you think a saying makes you seem more intelligent, how about you read a book?

"Those who hide themselves in other people words other then their own, are not much better then a coward hiding himself from a bully"


Last edited by GuildMaster on Mon Oct 15, 2012 10:50 pm; edited 2 times in total
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PostSubject: Re: Story telling   Story telling Icon_minitimeWed Oct 03, 2012 9:59 am

ok, so i know this will never happen but here's my story:


“Mmmm, this food is so yummy,” I said as I wolfed down my food.
Zathrian and Cloudy sat across from me chewing their own food while smiling. We were at our weekly banquet for the guild and the hall was filled with guild members. Laughter and conversations filled the air.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a booming voice echoed. “We once again must end another successful banquet. Have a good night and I hope to see you next week.”
The tables disappeared leaving us all standing.
“Zath, Lyli, do you mind coming with me? I need a favor.” Cloudy said, a grin on his face.
Zath and I both nodded and followed Cloudy to the guild hall. Once we got in there, Cloudy faced us.
“Okay so I need to do a special shadow mission and I would like for both of you to assist
Zath thought about it for a minute and I looked over at him, waiting for his reply. “Hmm, sure I don't mind helping you. Lyli?”
“Yeah I can help. Cloudy one question though...”
Cloudy looked at me, “Hmm?”
“I can understand you asking Zath, but why me?”
Cloudy smiled. “Well, I know you need to level up and this mission gives a lot of experience points.”
“Well let's get going,” Cloudy said and started walking towards the door.
Suddenly the roof of the hall was torn off, stone began to fall on our heads. We tried our best to avoid it, as we raced for the exit. A loud roar fills the hall and the three of us looked up. Standing above us holding the roof was a giant stone golem.
We ran faster towards the exit, I was lagging behind. As Zath and Cloudy reached the exit a large stone fell in front of the door, trapping me inside.
“Lyliha!!” Zath screamed.
“I'm okay!” I yelled back. There was another roar and I looked up. A stone hand reached for me and I jumped out of the way. I ran up the golem's arm, brandishing my sword.
Zath and Cloudy ran around and started to hack at the golem's feet. I ran up the arm to the shoulder I saw a glowing, purple orb sitting on the golem's head and I smiled. The golem, distracted by Cloudy and Zath, did not notice me climbing up it's ear, to the top of it's head.
I raised my sword and brought it straight down into the orb. The golem shuddered and started to crumble. I lost my balance and started to fall. I knew I was gonna die, but I wish I wasn't. I closed my eyes, waiting for death to greet me.
I rapidly stopped as I felt arms catch me. I looked up to see Zath looking at me. I smiled and wrapped my arms around his neck. The brief moment happiness was ruined by the pieces of golem falling onto us. Zath put me down and we started to run.
A large stone rushed towards Zath and Cloudy, crushing them. I screamed and ran to pull both of them out. Neither of them moved. I dug in my bag looking for bandages. I got them out, then bandaged their wounds.
I then stood up, my hand started to glow blue and I called on my healing powers. I started with Zath, then Cloudy. They stirred slightly then sat up slowly. I threw my arms around Zath, hugging him tightly.
The three of us looked at the rubble from the hall and golem. How this happened, would forever remain a mystery.
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PostSubject: and this is what i came up with   Story telling Icon_minitimeThu Oct 04, 2012 1:59 am

It was a cold day in mabinogi. I recently got my hot afternoon tea from the restaurant in Emain when I got a note. A guild mage like me always got requests but there was something odd about this one. ‘If you don’t convince Cloud to throw the duel something bad will happen’. At first I laughed at it. I remember thinking “I would like to see you try”. Not thinking anymore of it I head back to the Emain restaurant for more tea. A few hours later another note came to my attention it saying ‘I’m serious. Don’t play with me’. Disregarding it again I proceed to laze around the lake for afternoon nap time. Another note comes to my attention before I rest. ‘I warned you’ before chuckling, I fall asleep.

I woke up in a room. My first reaction is to get my wand and set everything on fire. Seeing no wand and unable to summon pets I curse under my breath. My second reaction is to figure out where I am and I yell “I’m good at bolt magic too. You better hope I don’t find out who put me here.” I quickly try to message someone but it didn’t look like it was going to let me. I try to contact my guild on guild chat but that didn’t work either. I start bolting wall to make a door to only make the walls set on fire making me trapped in a burning room. “Well that wasn’t very effective” as the smoke starts to fill up the room. I start to back up to start to ice bolt the fire only to back into the door. With the fire growing I grab the knob to rush out of the room. I’m in another room. I see the door this time and casually walk up to grasp the knob of this one but it appears locked. There is a puzzle on the wall next to it. It is claiming if I figure it out it will tell me the location of the next. ”you have thirty seconds to solve” a mysterious voice speaks. I scratch my head because puzzles confuse me. I start to feel tempted to set this room on fire because of that. “Hello guild mage. I can’t say I didn’t warn you. You better solve before time runs out”. Seeing the room I set on fire creeping close to me I look around for an answer to the riddle. I start to search for levers or keys to open the door. I even stomp on possible switches on the ground. Thirty seconds quickly come. The room starts to get dark.

I woke up in a room. It seems like the same room I started in last time except there is no fire. I start to wonder how it reset itself. I look for the door that I opened the first time again. Once finding it I get up and open it to get out of the first room. I approach the second room, this time running up to the door to see the puzzle that made me confused ”you have thirty seconds to solve” a familiar voice says. I say another curse under my breath before I look around again “haven’t you already tried that? Didn’t you learn the first time” a voice says. I grumble. Trying to remember what riddle night in the guild taught me. I start yelling out possible words for the door. That not working I rush the door with my body in rage. The door slams itself open. I crash myself on the floor to find myself in another room. It seems smaller than before. I see the door and rush to it when I hear the same voice say “you think you can escape?” I didn’t humor that with a response and I open the door to the next room. As upon opening it the voice says “you’ll have to pvp me first” my loud groan starts to fill the room as I get charged by a shadow. It slams me to the wall and then smashes and windmills me. The room starts to get dark.

I woke up in a room. I whine as I see it’s the same room I started in. This time easily finding the door for it and not stopping, I rush the door in the puzzle room. “You think you can escape?” I charged a fire bolt to full before going into the room. I open the door. A shadow tried to charge me but I fire bolted it back. I quickly charge another fire bolt. I spotted the door and proceeded to run for it, when he came after me I firebolted him the opposite direction to the door. I continued to run to finally grab the door knob but he smashed me. At first I thought it was the end but as flinging back the door open and the light flashed out.

I let out a loud scream. Rolling into water which was the lake. I take a look at my surroundings to see myself back in emain. Guild chat pops up to me. I drag myself back in the restaurant for more tea. Zathrian says in guild chat “wow this is an odd note. Guess what it says? ‘If you don’t convince Cloud to throw the duel something bad will happen’ how ridiculous is that” He mocked it.
Zathrian woke up in a room…

Last edited by windyxflower on Thu Oct 04, 2012 3:24 am; edited 5 times in total
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PostSubject: Clementine Rouge: A romantic odyssey.   Story telling Icon_minitimeThu Oct 04, 2012 2:31 am

Clementine Rouge: A Romantic Odyssey

Once upon a time there was these two barnacles, namely Zathrian and Cloudy. They were so ugly everyone died. The end.

So I decided to repurpose the stories I wrote to troll the contest as fanfictions to play with the fanfiction.net community. I only switched the names out. I'll leave the links here.

Clementine Rouge: A Romantic Odyssey: The Squeakquel (now available in both PAL and NTSC formats!)


Clementine Rouge: Reloaded: Tea-Time with Cthulu (now with no asbestos!)


Last edited by TheRealSlimShady on Sat Nov 17, 2012 4:17 am; edited 7 times in total
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PostSubject: Phase 1: Beginning Act1: Rebirth   Story telling Icon_minitimeThu Oct 04, 2012 5:55 pm

It is a dark and stormy night in the shadow realm of Tailteann while a battle rages on. Our young hero Kazuma Tsuno valiantly leads his squad into the heart of enemy territory. Let us now watch the events that put him on his path unfold.
I run through muddied ground as I reach the destination assigned to me. "Come men we must take up position," I order as the rest of the squad catches up. "Hold your bows steady and aim true!"
The men take up aim as I see shadows emerging from the fog. I run up closer to get a better look.
"Wait, something is wrong, that's jsut a family of fomors not warriors." I say to myself as i head back to the squad.
"Do not fire they are not our targets!" I order the men.
They look at eachother then two of them restrain me while the other one aims at the family.
"I said hold your fire!" I yell at the men as the one aiming ignores the command.
He releases his arrow as he uses Crash shot. It peirces one of them and then explodes releasing shards into all the others.
"No!" I scream as I watch the family fall before my very eyes.
The men all nod at eachother and then release me as they all aim at me.
"We will make it seem as if you killed them and become heroes as we take down a traitor!" One says as he smirks evilly.
"You forgot one thing, I can take you all down faster then you can react." I say as I pull out my swords and take them all out in a single windmill.
A passing batallion sees me kill them all and starts firing on me.
"Damn gotta get out of here before i end up dead." I say to myself as I start running. "If I remember correctly there is a fomorian village nearby."
As I run in the direction of teh village an arrow ricochets off of a nearby overhang and cuts down over my left eye. I scream in pain covering the wound as I keep running faster. Several arrows pierce my body in various places as I approach the border of the village.
"Halt! Who goes there?" A guard says as he sees me walking up.
"Please, help me." I weakly say as i collapse from the combined blood loss and exhaustion.
A few days later I wake up in their infirmary.
"Your lucky to be alive, if we didn't have a superb healer with us you would surely be dead." A nurse says smiling at me.
I look around as I see humans and fomors working together to take care of wounded civilians and soldiers.
"Fomors and humans working together, I never thought it was possible." I chuckle as I watch them work.
"Well they see eye to eye with us here." I hear from beside me.
As I turn I see a beautiful woman kneeled next to my bed with a tired look as if she had jsut woken from sleep.
"Hi." She says as she smiles at me. "My name is Lauren, but everyone here calls me Lolo. And your name?
"Its Kazuma, Kazuma Tsuno. Thanks for healing me." I say to her smiling back.
"Oh yeah!" She says as if she just emerged from spacing out. "The chief wanted to see you, here let me help you there."
She helps me up and helps me walk to the chief's house. We talk as we head there I think i sense a sort of attachment from her.
"Ah! You must be our guest." He says enthusiastically as he emerges from the door with a guard in extravagant armor close behind him. "I am Cloud, but please call me Cloudy as a symbol of our future friendship."
"I am Zathrian." The guard says as he goes quiet giving me a stern look.
"I wish to entail you into our community but before that I want to ask you a question." Cloudy says as he grins.
"And that is?" I ask bewildered.
"Will you use the power entrusted to our village to protect us?" He holds out a charm as he looks at me sternly.
"To repay my debts I will." I stand straighter as a strange energy flows to me from the medallion.
The energy surrounds me and feels like it is bonding to my very soul. A black shroud surrounds me as I float upwards.
"This power, I can feel it coarsing through my very being." I say as I land looking at myself in a black armor that seems to pulsate.
"You are now reborn as a Dark Knight! Wear this mantle proudly Kazuma." Zathrian says as he Kneels before me.
"Now, protect us with this immense new power. Go forth! Dark Knight Kazuma!" Cloudy says stretching his arm outward.
"Yes Sir!" I say proudly as I salute him.
Our young hero now embarks on his new journey. Let us see where this takes him.
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PostSubject: Re: Story telling   Story telling Icon_minitimeFri Oct 05, 2012 2:34 am

Crystal Souls

If there was a time I questioned the ethics of my work, I’m positive I don’t recall doing so. Sure, Alchemy has been seen as practice of the Dark Arts since its conception. Too many people abuse it; too many people like to enjoy playing God. I guess I was one of those people and I’ll be damned long before I’ll regret it. It started not long after I discovered my talent for alchemy and the war between humans and fomors thickened. So many possibilities of alchemy have gone untouched, undiscovered! These crystals we made could harness elements, much like magic and yet so very different. Magic seems stuck in its ways, that’s why the Druids have always been having so much difficulty maintaining any power. Alchemy is not like magic though; we can create so much more with it! A simple cylinder allows me to shoot massive bullets of water, send enemies hurtling away with a blast of wind strong as a hurricane, and ember blazes of fire and explosions turning them into little more than ashes. That’s only the basics, we even learned how to drain a being of their very life essence and it even allowed me to absorb the powers of a god!
And yet, I can do more… so much more. What if we didn’t need cylinders to harness these crystals I asked? What if I could turn a living being into a conduit for its power? I worked endlessly on this hypothesis. I recruited trusted friends and even managed to pool in the leader of my guild. They agreed to help me test my experiments, work out the kinks suffice to say. I figured I had more than enough time to perfect it though; the fomors were in a stalemate with us. Stupid, stupid and naïve of me to not even see the greater threat behind it. I hastened my efforts to the very limit and it was finally time to put everything into practice.
“Are you sure you want to be the first one to test this Zath?” Cloud inquired. “If I die, then we know I’d probably end up killing you guys too and this was never meant to be.” I replied wryly as I strapped myself to the table. If my calculations are correct, the power of a crystal can be broken down and transmuted into a more evolved, symbiotic crystal that would be able to attach itself to a host body and the host could harness the energy from it like a cylinder would without destroying the crystal, thus making me into a weapon with limitless ammunition.
Of course this requires a little surgery, and while I’m quite proud of my work with a surgical knife I can’t perform it myself. “Okay, begin the operation Dr. Windy… and Nurse Sinlace” I chuckled. “I’m sorry, what was that? No sedatives? Okay sure Zath”. Obviously Sin didn’t find my nurse joke very hilarious. Thankfully Windy did sedate me as they began the operation. She made an incision over my chest, fucking painkillers either have very little effect or being cut open while still somewhat conscious is just that painful. It felt like the carved their way in to my chest cavity, which I suppose is expected, they’re using my notes. What felt like hours going by had come to the most decisive moment, Windy took the transmuted crystal I had created and placed it inside me, right behind the heart. Searing pain sets in as if the crystal was burning me to my very soul was I felt it press against my heart. Sinlace closed my chest together as Windy and Cloud held me down. Contrary to popular belief, kicking and screaming does help the pain hurt less, just a very small amount.
At some point I could feel the lights around me fade into black. The crystal and my heart had started to fuse, becoming something else.
I awoke hours later in my room, “Zath! You’re up! We thought you were going to die right then and there! How are you fee-“I push Cloud aside as I get up from my bed and walk outside. “Hey! Zath! Don’t do something reckless you just woke up!” he called out to me. Sin and Windy turned and jumped a little when they noticed me. I moved past them before they could speak. I faced a great oak tree that was taller than the roof of my house. My hand, as if on instinct rose up and I aimed my palm towards the tree. “Exuro ut cinis cineris, Incendia!” A great bolt of crimson and ember shot from my hand and incinerated the mighty tree to a pile of soot.
The others stopped dead in their tracks when they were chasing after me. “It… really worked. You really did it.” Sin stuttered out of awe, and maybe a tint of fear. I can’t blame her, I’m still shaking after that release of energy, I feel strong, impulsive, and bolder than ever. As if the world has revealed a new shade of itself to me. I turned to my friends, “I think it’s safe to say I achieved what I was aiming for. Who’s next?” Cloud stepped up and patted me on the back as we walked back into the house. I can turn the tide in any war now, and face any enemy with new confidence; with each step I took I could feel my heart beating proudly as if it were shining out of my chest, like a crystal.
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PostSubject: Greenboys   Story telling Icon_minitimeFri Oct 12, 2012 1:00 am

Hm... instead of finishing right on the deadline, by some twist of fate I've seemed to have actually beaten it for once. *gives self a cookie* Very Happy

I actually toyed with two ideas for this (both of which were scrapped) - this story seemed to flow the most naturally. Happy reading!!

By Duplicordan

Old Margaret was as constant as the seasons. She would only be found swaddled in a ball of bright cotton, squatting on the apex of a cliff so corrupted by weather it had jagged cracks through its entire length, her pale rheumy eyes fixated on the crooning ocean. Cloudy struggled against the ferocious pull of the winds as they blew around the cliff face, fighting his way to the top where old Margaret crouched. He fingered his daggers warily. Despite her age, she possessed a force, like storm, or flood.

He cleared his throat, loudly.

Watery blue eyes – colourless to the point of silver – latched like a scorpion on him.

“Will-” he started, hands unconsciously starting to twist the coarse fabric of his shirt. “Will I have good fortune in my quest, Ma’m Margaret?” He waited, wanting to pace, but unable to. The cliff dropped away to a steep vertical incline barely centimetres from both sides of him. It ended in a cluster of cruel black rocks torn by frothing waves.

Margaret never moved her ghostly eyes from his. She squatted there, staring at the boy while he fidgeted and the winds tugged both of them insistently to the beckons of the deeps.

“They never returned,” she finally said, and turned her eyes back to the tormented sea. “It was a glorious day – all the ships decked out so fine. The maidens had their hankies and their dresses were lace and buttons and fabric that blew as easily in a whisper of breeze as a hurricane. And all the men and greenboys lined the harbour to watch them, how glorious they all looked! But not one returned, not one returned, none at all…”

Cloudy wore a blank face. “The girls?” he asked, confused. He wondered why Zath had told him to come up here to speak with Old Margaret if all she would speak of were old memories of Summer.

Winter was calling with his long trumpets that blew out hardy icicles mixed in with the snow.

Old Margaret appeared to have taken offense to his comment. “No, fool!” she spat. “The ships, the bloody ships. Five of them, galleys hung so heavy with ropes you’d think they’d sink before they even sail half a mile from harbour.”

Cloudy felt a knot of annoyance grow. “What about my quest?” he said, rather petulant.

“Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you all this time? Go – leave me in peace. The ships have never returned, nor will they – it’s been much too long a time for that.”

Cloudy began to voice protest, but when he reached out a hand to tentatively touch Margaret’s shoulder, the woman whirled, teeth bared in an animalistic snarl. Quickly, he backed away, running the short distance to mainland as fast as he dared with the waves crunching eagerly below him.

Zath waited at the crossroads, as he always did. He was impeccably prepared, handing him a towel as soon as Cloudy was in range.

“What did she say?” he asked eagerly.

Cloudy wiped the ocean spray from his legs, then ran the towel quickly across his face – he was loathe to admit it, but some of the water was not entirely due to the salt monster. “Old woman nonsense,” Cloudy answered, shivering. The wind was blowing stronger. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

Zath looked disappointed. “Alright,” he consented, but Cloudy saw him shoot one last glance at him, a question.

Ever a scholar. Cloudy pinched his friend lightly on the shoulder. “Hey, no news is good news.”

Zath gave him a baleful look. “We don’t want news,” he corrected. “We want wisdom. And when you pinch-” Cloudy yelped. “-do it properly.”

Cloudy scowled. “Come on, we’re leaving at dawn. The wolves won’t wait for us to finish pinching ourselves before eating us.”

Zath patted the sword sheathed at his belt. “They’ll only be eating steel, and not enjoying their meal one bit,” he said, a bit too smug for someone who was beaten twice at duelling not three days ago. The skills of its wielder left much to be desired, but Muramasune was not a sword to be taken lightly. Its edge was tapered thinly, the blade etched with smooth ripples where the metal had been layered and hammered thousand times for strength. Black obsidian adorned the hilt. The entire blade was a slight shade darker than normal steel, and seemed almost black when compared to Cloudy’s own weapons, a set of twin daggers made of metal tempered to the colour of snow.

Cloudy smiled, and draped an arm over Zath’s shoulders, using him as a crutch. “I’m conserving my strength,” he insisted, and they both took a tottering step forward. Zath lurched, and Cloudy almost went down with him into a pit of mud, if his friend hadn’t stabilized himself at the last possible moment.

“You’re heavy, Cloud.” Zath moved to push Cloudy off, but the boy clung tight.

“I’ll let you go at home.” Cloudy suppressed a yawn, and choked on it. “Come on, play nice.”

His friend paused.

“Just this once. But you now owe a debt to the mighty Zathrian. I hope you remember to repay it sometime soon – plus interest. If not, Muramasune wants a word.”

Cloudy wasn’t awake enough to give him an answer.

Zath sighed, and muttered about inconsiderate friends falling asleep on shoulders as he limped unsteadily to Cloudy’s home. The lights shone bright in the port city, as the next day hailed something special. Two of their own were coming of age, able to venture into the great unknown on the other side of the oceans, traverse peaks that speared the sky, run the length of the great green sea, legends blossoming in their footsteps. They would never return – torn apart by the very wolves they were japing of, but their true story would start somewhere a little farther from here…

Wink hint hint
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PostSubject: Re: Story telling   Story telling Icon_minitimeSun Oct 14, 2012 3:35 am

Its not done but its what I have so far Q w Q;; Enjoy!!!

It was a sunny day in the household of the Strifers and the family was stuck with problems all around. Cloud and Pachi had death glares between them about choosing what movie to watch. Windy seemed interested with Obito, playing dress up with the poor boy as Alli assisted with the make up. Sin and Nerz went out to the grocery store due to no more cookies in the house, and the worse case scenario of all, Mother Lyl was on her ‘week’.
Lyl was in the second bedroom, killing the poor Incubus Zath carelessly, while the rest were outside, the twins scared for life. Cloud told Zath, Sin and Nerz about Lyl’s unpleasant behavior while on her ‘week’. It might have been the most horrid thing Nerz’s ears heard in his life.
A feral roar of sheer fury echoed through the house. Pachi dropped the stack of DVD’s she’d been using as shuriken in terror. Cloud peeked out from behind the armchair he was sitting in, blowing feathers from the ruined cushions out his hair. Zath remained unconscious, from lack of blood or oxygen it was hard to tell.
“What…” Cloud muttered, “Was that?”
“…No way.”
“Yes” Pachi muttered, holding on the Blue’s Clues DVD tightly in fear.
“How long has she been like this?” Cloud went on, eyeing Zath warily from his pillow fort, not trusting his twin with the un-hurled pieces of decor if his life depended on it.
“Since this morning” Pachi responded quietly, giving the still unconscious Incubus a quick kick in the ribs. Zath screamed and grunted around the floor.
“Where the hell is Sin and Nerz?!” Zath yelled in agony.

Passing through two red lights, a busted Subaru speed through the streets of the quiet town; they recently received a phone call of a particular matter.
“NO! OH GOD NO! HURRY SIN! I’M OUT OF TEA AND LYL IS GETTING CRANKY!” shouted Windy through the phone.
“WE’RE TRYING WINDY! NERZ HOW FAST CAN THIS PIECE ON JUNK GO?!” Sin yelled at Nerz as he speeds through another red light.
“DRIVE FASTER!!!” Sin angrily stomp on Nerz’s foot where the driver peddle was. Nerz screamed in agony and swerved the car through the streets, almost hitting Shayhime walking in the sidewalks.

Another unpleasant roar came out of the second bedroom.
“I want chocolate icecream now!!! ZATH!!” Lyl yelled. Everyone turned their gaze at Zath, who was shaking to death.
“Well then, good luck! Hope we see you again!” Cloud and Pachi cheerfully patted his back and pushed him towards the doorway of doom.
“Oh no! Not me!” He swiftly moved to the side, turning his body and went behind Obito. With a quick, fierce kick, Obito flew and hit the door.
“Good luck Tailz! You’ll need it!” Zath whistled, quickly running off in the process. Obito, frightened as a fox, cautiously walked into the room and peeked around the corner. Lyl ripped through her closet, clothes flying everywhere with an occasional lingerie. She stomped her way towards the laundry basket and poured the load of dirty clothes on the floor.
“Where is it?! I can’t find it!” Lyl shouted and threw a pile of dirty clothes at Obito’s face. Obito dodged the pile (which hit alli in the process) and slowly walked into the room.
“L-lyl please, calm down. What are you looking for?” He stuttered, avoiding the loose panties and bras around the room as Alli cries in the background, complaining about how the clothes smell bad.
“My dress, I can’t find my dress! UGH!” Lyl threw a pillow at Obito again, getting hit and pushed all the way to the living room. Cloud and Pachi flinched at the thud noise and turned around to see an unconscious Obito on the dented wall.
“Oh god…” Windy gasped as Alli peeked over her arm.
“Is he dead?” Alli asked.
“I don’t think so.” Pachi said while poking Obito. “Twiiinn! What do we do with this thing?”
“I don’t know. Just put him over there or something.” Cloud pointed around where Windy and Alli were, looking out for more objects that might be thrown at them. Pachi shrugged and threw Obito towards Windy and Alli, both of them getting knocked out.
“Oh god, what was that?” a voice was heard over a device. It was Sin, still on the phone with Windy.
Cloud picked up the phone, curious of what’s going on.
“Hello..? Is everything ok over there?” Cloud asked.
“Cloud? Cloud! Oh god what’s happening?! Are you ok?!”
“Yeah, just trying to survive. Where the hell are you two?!”
“Nerz is taking his sweet time dr-“
“SFSDFDEGF (insert spazzing here)”
Sirens were being heard in the background noise as Cloud raised an eyebrow. Pachi walks over, curious of whom it was.
“PACHI MY EARS!” Cloud screamed and punched Pachi in the face.
“Yes Pachi I got the cookie- OH GOD WHAT IS THAT?!”

~Bonds live through lifetimes~
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PostSubject: And This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things   Story telling Icon_minitimeSun Oct 14, 2012 8:52 pm

This isn't your typical "English" story, where you have to analyze symbolism and the significance of events, but just a simple story with a simple plot. So with that, here's my story. :I

Starting Main Point: At Rakion's house, 8:06 am
Ending Main Point: At a regular Californian Wholesale Costco retail store, 10:08 am

It struck me.

Back in the days where people have adjusted to anything, anything to survive.

I was lying on my bed, thinking what to do next.

On a regular basis, I would go throw paper airplanes at my neighbor, while at my school, or do homework, or whatever teenagers from the 1980s would do. Nothing to do at this stupid Thanksgiving break.

"Rakion, my husband and I are going to Staples, then to Costco. Wanna come?" she asked.

"I guess. Can you wait a minute?" I replied.

"We'll be waiting at the door. Don't let us wait for too long."

So, I grabbed my iPod Touch, put my headphones to the jack, and started listening to my music. Now I could list music here, but I'm not gonna. Too many people complaining about music these days, so I'll leave it there.

I arrived at the door, seeing my parents waiting for me and ready to head off to Staples and Costco.

Twenty minutes after we took off from that really creepy woman with a cauldron, we arrived at Staples.

"All right kid, we're gonna get some office supply from Staples. Since there's multiple stores around here, go take a look at them. Just be sure to be here around, back to the car, within thirty 30 minutes, understood? We don't want to lost you ya know." he announced.

"All right."

And with that, we're off doing our things.

I go to that "big time electronics super store" Fry's I've been hearing about. I greeted the Fry's greeter and proceeded to the store.

"Freakin' huge. I guess electronics has evolved rapidly since... Might as well..." I sighed.

I walked, excitedly to the very least. Video games, wireless adapters, computers/laptops, TVs, DVD players, everything imagined in a electronics store, right here. While I was browsing through their merchandise, I see two guys, and I think I know those guys. I lean over to aisle 24 and observed their actions.

"Oh Zath, that won't do, you need something with MORE BASS POWER!"
"Cloudy, we don't want more tickets from our neighbors. And tickets I mean the electricity bills, and neighbors, I mean the electricity company, coming to get us."
"Dude, we're rich. WE. DO. WHAT. WE. WANT. We're gonna party like the people in the 1930s! But no smoking and drinking. Start doing that and I'll drawing to your face and make death threats to your mother."

Then they went to the floor face down.

Well, that's what I thought I saw anyways.

EVERYONE ELSE'S VIEWPOINT: They walked away from aisle 24 and went to the cash register.

"Damn they're good. It feels like I actually wanna be them someday. But not today."

With that out of the way, I went to the video game section, and I saw all the RPG games I wanted, but can't afford to the money I don't have at hand. Discouraged at that point, I left the store and went to the car. My parents aren't there, but I see them at the cash register, so it won't take them too long in there.

Two minutes later, we're inside at the car.

"All right we're off to Costco!"

So after some time, we're at Costco. I grabbed the cart, and proceeded inside.

It's still the same. Food, those sample ladies. Books, from Green Eggs and Ham to Fifty Shades of Grey. Jewelry, electronics, TVs... Dang, and I just went through Fry's too.

Well, I need food so let's get that. I went to that aisle with the frozen food and obtained the chicken pot pie thing. I always loved them, addicted to them, and got sick of them. Overexposure does this to everyone, but now I overcame it. It's time for it once again.

It's probably the only one thing I came to Costco today, so I rejoined with my parents at the cash register. At a distance, I hear a lady screaming. Kids these days, if they start screaming, the parents will too. Well, I should probably get food or something.

I proceeded to the food stand, and then suddenly...

FLASHBACK: 4th birthday: Loved it. Everyone was happy, I was crying with tears of happiness. I actually got a typical toy train set. Those were the days.

FLASHBACK: August 5th: First day of school. I cred. I never knew how to confront with strangers in a place where public education took places anyways. Never did, never will.

FLASHBACK: Feburary 7th: 3 days into my summer break, going to high school, and my parents are dead. What now?

FLASHBACK: October 12th: I actually joined an outside team sport. Dang, my parents were pretty sneaky getting me into this, and I thought 7th grade was the year. Oh well, let's go all out.

FLASHBACK: July 4th: Disappointing. There were no fireworks. Man, I actually wanted to see them too. They're spectacular at the sky, even at night. Yep, illegal fireworks blown in the air at five in the morning.

FLASHBACK: 10th grade: I actually passed my AP exams. I'm very pleased, along with my 4.3 GPA.

FLASHBACK: Freshman year: Easiest year of all times. I never knew I was doing. Loved it.

FLASHBACK: December 26th: I see two strangers with some papers, with my name with it in front of me. I question that, still am.

FLASHBACK: BEST DAY EVER: It was seriously my best day ever. Nothing could ever describe it.

I hear people sobbing, screaming, and yelling. Why would they do that? You can never tell what people are doing these days anyways. I think the return lines are getting pretty intense with all the disappointed customers with their items. Even the TV, the good ones.

I'm at a regular Californian Wholesale Costco retail store, 10:08 am, just here. From the actions I've experienced, here's my final question:


You know what they say, "life flashes before your very eyes."

.... dafuq did I just read

Last edited by Zathrian on Mon Oct 15, 2012 4:31 am; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : Gramatical errors and what not.)
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PostSubject: Re: Story telling   Story telling Icon_minitimeSun Oct 14, 2012 10:19 pm

Setting: Some Guild members of ENNO and friends have gather together to meet once a week. Place, Unknown.

“Does it bother you to come and see your family every week, son?”
“No it doesn’t bother me Mother lyl. It’s just…”
“It’s just what? Hmm?”
“Doesn’t have your name on it!”
“I’m sooo sorry about this Mother lyl… you know how he is…”
“Cloud give that back to your twin, you’re making Sin apologize for you again and what is bother you than Zath? You can tell me, I’m your Mother.”
“Well, lyl…”
“What is it? Come on, SPIT IT OUT!” Cloud impatiently interrupts Zath.
“CLOUD!” Me and Sin yell.
“WHAT! I’m just trying to help!” says Cloud grumpily and takes Pachi’s cookie.
Tailz avoids any eye contact and tries to blend in with the background. I reach over and give him a big Death hug full of love~
While petting Tailz, “It’s ok Plushy, Momma lyl is here.”
“Umm Mother lyl…” Sin says as she tugs at my sleeve and points.
In the moments I had focused on Plushy, Pachi had stabbed Cloud. Cloud attacked back with a few stabs. Pachi retaliated and decided it best to shoot him with her bow. Cloud than charged at her and is now throwing Pachi into the air. Pachi goes flying off and you can hear a faint ‘wwwwweeeeeeeeeeeeeee’.
“CLOUD! What have I said about throwing your twin!?”
“Ummm…” He looks around, “PLUSHY IS TRYING TO LEAVE!”
“HUH?” Tailz says.
“Don’t leave Plushy!” I exclaim as I grab him.
“…. Lyl” Zath says with a somewhat impatient look.
“Huh? Oh yes Zath, what is bothering you?”
Zath pours himself a drink and downs it whole. “The thing that has been bothering me Mother lyl, is that disgusting creature on your lap!”
“Disgusting… creature… Are you talking about little Nerz here?” I say as I pet him.
“You shouldn’t let that thing be anywhere near you! He’s a pointless creature.”
“Zath… this is my pet and your nephew.”
Nerz starts to chuckle, “kakakaka Masta~” For the entire time Nerz has been laying in my lap and had thought that no one had noticed him. I had given Nerz a bag of hobo flavored chips, which of course is his favorite, that he has been snacking on during this time.
“I do NOT accept that thing as my nephew!”
“I don’t accept…. accept YOUR lack of Nerzcat drawings in the forum!” Nerz says as he gets up off my lap. I tug at Nerz collar to let him know he cant run away and that I am in charge.
All of a sudden a huge explosion goes off! Everyone stops what their doing. Well except Cloud since he was flirting with Sin and it looked like they were going to sneak off somewhere to… well you can use your imagination (wink wink nudge nudge). And there was also Zath and Nerz who were still yelling at each other… SOO it was pretty much just me and Plushy who stopped watching everyone else to see what made the noise. As we stared into the chaotic mess cause by the explosion you could see shadows of what looked liked two normal people and one huge figure! As the dust cloud started to settled, we could see Windy, Shayhime, Arch, and on Arch’s back Pachi.
“SHAYSHAY!!! FLOWER!!” I yell out as I jump out of my seat to go and greet them.
“LYL<3” Windy says full of love as she comes running to greet me. Right before she could hug me Shay had tackled me to the floor. “SHAY!” Windy yells upset that he got to me first.
“Hi Shayshay~ Have you been a good boy?” I ask.
“YUP!” he says with a big smile.
“Flower? Shayshay? How exactly did this explosion happen?” I ask with intense curiosity.
“Well, you see lyl. We had come across Arch who was poking Pachi with a stick and asked him where you guys were. He said he didn’t know exactly. We made him carry Pachi and we tried to find the door and couldn’t. I asked Shay to help look. He ended up getting frustrated so he used Thunder to make this big hole.” Windy explained and avoided eye contact.
“I DIDN’T USE THUNDER!! THAT WAS YOU WINDY!” Shay exclaimed as he got up from the ground.
“Did NOT! It was you Shay!”
“Flower… why do you have your wand out?” I say as I stare up at them from the ground.
“umm well… you see…” she says as she still avoided eye contact.
“See!!! She did it not me!” Shay says as he helps me up off the ground.
“Well… at least you guys made it. I haven’t heard a single word from certain other people.” I say as I tear up.
“OH!” windy says as she turns to look at me. “I have a letter for you.” She hands me a letter.
The letter was addressed to me and it was from Tray. It entailed that he couldn’t make it this week due to certain “family issues”. “Oh… well than. I guess you guys are the last ones to get here.” I look up and I see that Nerz and Zath were still arguing and Cloud was still flirting with Sin.
“Hey lyl~” Windy says with a big grin.
“Yes Flower?”
“Why don’t we go and look through Sins’ closet?”
“OK!” I say excitedly.
We run off in search of Sins room to go and play in her closet.

Few minutes later~

“FLOWER!” I cry out. “Sin’s clothes don’t fit me!” I say as I tear up.
“Just try this one on lyl.” Windy says with greedy eyes.
“But but… they keep ripping!” I say as I start to cry. Shay just sits on the bed with Windy as they watch me cry in torn clothes.
From the moment we had stepped in Sin’s room, Shay sat on the bed watching with greedy hungry eyes. Windy would keep handing me clothes watching very intently and taking pictures each time just as they ripped…
“Just try these last ones on lyl and that will be it. I promise<3” Windy says with love. I look at her with tears in my eyes to see what she is handing me. In her hands are black high heels and some lingerie. The lingerie was a somewhat transparent black dress with white lace around the edges and the panties matched it perfectly. I stared at her unknowing of what I should do.
“Flower, they will rip like all the rest.” I sob.
“Not this time trust me lyl.” She says with a big smile.
I crawl over to grab it from her as she and shay watch me silently. I take them from her hands and crawl away to change.
“It’s ok to change here lyl,” She says with a big smile. “Just turn your back and I will cover Shay’s eyes.”
I look at her with tears still in my eyes. She just sits there smiling back at me. I slowly turn around to change. Just before I start to change out of the torn clothing that I am in, I hear loud footsteps coming closer to the room. I turn around to look at the door, but when I turn I see Windy holding the camera, and taking pictures still, Shay watching very intently with hungry eyes.
“Flower!” I sob out and I start to tear up even more.
Than the door slammed opened and Sin stood staring at us. “I knew it! The moment I noticed you were all gone. I just knew you would all be here in my room!” She charged at us and threw us out of the room one by one. She than closed the door and bolted it.
“Sin…” I whimpered at her.
“What is it lyl!? Do you still want to…” and that’s when she noticed. I sat there in the hallway half naked. When she had thrown me out she ripped the clothes even more. She had also noticed Windy taking even more pictures of me. “WINDY! Stop taking pictures of Mother lyl dressed like that!” Sin walked over and took the camera away from her.
“SIN! But but…”
“No buts Windy! And Shay! Stop looking at lyl like that!”
I sat there sobbing. I had no idea what I should do. I had to try and keep the clothes from tearing completely apart.
“Sin why are you here? Weren’t you flirting with Cloud?” Windy asks just a bit upset that her fun was ruined.
“Pachi woke up and they started fighting again.” Sin says with a big sigh.
“Oh, well that makes a whole lot of sense.”
“Yup. Now all of you get back to where the others are.” Sin said with a very commanding and fierce tone.
Windy and Shay looked at her than looked away and retreated back to the main hall. I sat there with tears still running down my face. “Sin,” I whimpered at her.
“No lyl. That’s what you get for going into my room.” She said as she walked away.
“But Sin…” I whimpered as she walked away. I sat there for about a minute and than got up. I slowly walked to join everyone else in the main hall.
By the time I got to every one, there was a group watching Cloud and Pachi fight and another group around Zath and Nerz. I entered the room and walked over to see what was happening with Zath and Nerz, since it was fairly obvious what my twins were doing.
As I got closer I noticed that neither of them were arguing but instead drawing. Windy and Shay were watching them. You could hear them giggle every once in awhile.
“What you guys drawing?” I ask as I lean over to see.
“Huh? Oh well we decided to draw…” Zath stopped talking as soon as he saw what I was wearing.
“Masta~” Nerz said with wide eyes.
“LYL!” Windy exclaims and hugs me.
“Ah!” I say surprised.
“lyl you look so… sexy<3” Windy says as she holds onto me.
“Huh?” I look at her confused. Than it hits me, I am still wearing the torn clothing from Sin’s room. “AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!” I scream in embarrassment and bury my face into Windy.
Cloud and Pachi stopped fighting to see who screamed.
“Mother?” Cloud says as he looks over. “What’s wrong Mother lyl?” He asks as he comes closer. “AHHH!!! Why are you dressed like that!?!?! Windy get off my mom!” He yells as he races over. “Don’t touch Mother lyl! All of you stop looking at her like hungry wolves! That’s MY job!” he says as he pulls me out of Windy’s grasp and puts his jacket over me.
Pachi comes over and sees me crying. “Mommeh! Do you want this cookie?” She says as she holds a cookie out to me. I start to reach out to take it, but she pulls it back quickly. She was staring at it with such hungry eyes. I got upset that she offered the cookie to me but didn’t hand it over!
“Pachi! Give mommeh the cookie.” I begged of her.
She glared at me like I was an evil villain! Then she started to run away from me. FROM ME! HER OWN MOTHER! THE ONE WHO WOULD COME AND BRING PEACE TO HER AND HER TWIN WITH AMAZING COOKIES! How dare she… I charged at her with a mighty battle cry!
I tackled her to the ground and fought to steal back the cookie that was offered to me. Pachi defended the cookie with her life. She started to charge her magic and I pulled out my bow and arrows. We exchanged critical blows. The fight didn’t last as long as you would think. WHY??? Because Cloud snuck over and took the cookie and ate it, SO than me and Pachi ganged up on Cloud! We still aren’t sure who won… we get tired after a few hours of fighting and forget why we fought. The places we fight at will never forget… We leave them in destruction, which is why the places we meet are unknown. We are forced to change them every week~

MORAL: Make sure you bring enough cookies for Cloud, Pachi and I.

Last edited by lyl on Mon Oct 15, 2012 12:34 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: Story telling   Story telling Icon_minitimeMon Oct 15, 2012 12:07 am

Sorry guys but the middle of the story i had to cut off because my paper is lost. Neutral.

Monday-1/1/12: Unbelievable. It was raining on the first day of the year. And I even forgot the dang umbrella. I just wanted to hit it, crash it, and throw it into the garbage. After the last bell rang, everyone went out the school door with their own Colorful umbrellas. But I had to stay in the school so I wouldn't get wet. But I really wanted to get home soon, I just met a person on skype yesterday. I had no idea if it was a boy or a girl but "It" was so funny, gender didn't matter to me since skype was just an online world. While I was thinking about the conversation yesterday, I just noticed that someone
was looking at me. He was the guy that always sat on the last seat on the left of my classroom (while i sat the opposite way). We looked at each other for about 5 longest seconds of my life, then he turned and walked out with his umbrella, well it was just so weird wasn't it?

Tuesday-1/2/12: "Its" name was Zath. Z for short. So Z said that it was raining at Z's place too, and was so cold yesterday. Z said that Z wished to have a hug. Oh trust me I wished that I was there to hug Z too, since I was cold too anyway (o^///^o).

Friday-1/5/12: Z said it was fun to talk to me but Z was always busy on the weekend.It was cool, I meant we knew each other for 5 days already. I meant Z needed some private times to be alone right?

Saturday-1/6/12: What a boring day! I went to a convenience store to buy some coke and chips. I saw
the guy that was staring at me on Monday,he was so different, he wore a thin shirt that I could see mostly everything inside and a cargo short. It seemed like he didn't know I was there. I had to say, he really had a perfect body, thin and high. His name was Ian.

Monday-1/8/12: He sat next to me at lunch. I didn't know why but he just ate his lunch until I said hi o-o”.What a weirdo. Today, I found out that Z lived near my place. Z wanted to meet up at the Mabi coffee shop this wednesday. It would be great, Z was the best person ever known. -w-.

Tuesday-1/9/12: Cloud asked Ian and me to come to his house to watch the soccer show. Honestly it wasn't even fun : |. Gosh, Cloud yelled so much that I thought my ears was deaf after that night. But I didn't know that Ian lived near me. I don't really care much anyway.

Wednesday-1/10/12: Ian and I were talking while walking home together today. He was cool, kind of shy but pretty fine. His home was like 2 houses away from mine. Anyway. When I was about to go to the Mabi shop. I saw him again, he wore a cargo pant with a crimson shirt walking of his home. He said he was also coming to that coffee shop to meet someone. We sat on a table near the window and wait for our “important” people to come. 15 mins, 30 mins, 2hours, ….....

Z: Hi! long time no see. where have you been?
M: been in the mabi cafe shop. And you?
Z: Lyca, I'm so sorry about that day
M: Yeah right
Z: I'm serious. OK there is something I need to tell you.
M: What! Another lie?
Z: I actually was there that day
I wore a dark red shirt and a cargo short.

After that Z logged off skype. Z was there? I think I saw someone with that suit... Where is the diary, come on where are you. I grab the diary and open it so hard, it almost ripped off. Wednesday, wednesday... My mind freezes just by looking at it. Ding-dong. The door bell rings as I bolt out to it. I punch him, right there, as fast as I can. But it isn't hard because of my teary eyes. My tears melts the strength of me away. Random tears?
I don't think so. But why him? Why Ian? Not one out of five thousands people in this world but him?
I don't know. The only thing I know right now is that he's hugging me. My body melts as he holds me up. His warmth chest against mine. The wind is passing by us hugging each other. And he says he loves me.

Last edited by lycafesua on Thu Nov 15, 2012 4:46 pm; edited 4 times in total (Reason for editing : sshhhhhhh <.< >.>)
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PostSubject: The Muse's Price   Story telling Icon_minitimeMon Oct 15, 2012 11:26 pm

AUTHORS NOTE: This may be disturbing to some readers. D: I tried to tone down the violence.

This is the skeleton of a fanfic. If anyone wants to read the fanfic once it's reworked as that, let me know. I'll be adding more in the fanfiction version but I was little rushed with this. ^^"

Chapter One: The Lure of a Spider’s Thread

It looked human, but humans didn’t generally step out of thin air. And certainly not casually, as if such things were something one did every day.

He glances at the silver chain he’d looped and hung in the window, distracting himself from the steady gaze of the being in front of him. Thirteen knots for thirteen muses. It was common thought that there were nine muses, but he figured he’d throw in a few extra knots for the Roman camenae and the völva of Norse mythology. A twelfth knot for the female seiðkona and the thirteenth for the male seiðmaðr, all beings of inspiration in their own right. He wondered which of these was the being in front of him.

“I can help, you know.” Its voice fills the room, echoes bounce off the walls and cascade around him. At once everywhere and nowhere.

He stares at the figure in front of him. Slender-limbed and tall. Dark hair styled in sharp angles, brushing softly against a long neck. A strangely modern style for the old look in its eyes. He shivers. It’s smiling now--mouth stretched wide, sharp teeth peeking out. Red eyes smoldering like embers in an ashen face.

“What makes you think I need help?” The words thin out of his mouth and shrivel. Such a small sound. He winces. He sounds scared, as if the thing before him has muted any cadence of courage. It glides to his desk, dark hair falling around its face as it leans over his laptop. A thin finger points at the screen as if it doesn’t trust him to note the obvious.

“You write,” the statement drops like an accusation. It scans the document. The boy flushes red when the thing sighs, shoulders drooping. It tilts its head to the side,

“But you have no inspiration,”

“I can help, you know.”

The boy opens his mouth, angry at its dismissal, but it’s now inches from him, dark eyes pulling him in. He scarcely notices the smile growing by teeth as the thing tilts its head to the side. He turns his head also, searching black pupils for any hint of an idea. He can feel inspiration lurking at the back of his mind. The beginning of a thought. He leans closer, mind on overdrive, grasping at the spider’s thread of inspiration twirling just out of reach. The thing steps back. The spell is broken. He rubs at the back of his head self consciously.

“I’m a muse. Of sorts.”

Muse? There was no name in that statement and the muse did not proffer one. A word settles in the back of his mind, heavy and dull. The feel of it was intimate, as if it was something he should be holding close. Vital, yet he couldn't recall what it was. Four syllables that slipped to three out of agitation. The weight of it morphs and settles on his tongue. He chases the thought away. He can’t speak what he doesn’t know.

The thing, no, muse is rummaging through his desk now. It examines a pen, flicks the tip, drops it on the floor. It’s muttering. Pens, pencils, highlighters, and a marker follow soon after. It gives a sigh of approval as it twirls a red pen. It holds it high, watching him over the barrel; the cap clatters on the floor as it flourishes the pen at him.

“Of course such things come with a price.” It’s giving him time to think he realizes.

“And what would that be?” he says, wincing again, embarrassment has tweaked the tone high. The muse snickers. It draws a lazy circle over its left hand and inks in thorns. The smile drops as if it had never been. A shadow settles in its eyes, something cruel resting beneath the surface.

“Oh. Nothing you have valued,” It says. The muse pauses. Apparently there is more weight to the words than he can understand. It blinks, goes back to rummaging through his desk as it recites businesslike.

“The stories I give you will be unparalleled. They will bring you wealth, prestige, and fame,”

If you so desire it,” It goes back to the doodling, scrawling a star in the center of a circle. It’s a bad pen. The ink bleeds out of the design and webs into the minute cracks of its skin.

“You can do that much?” He asks. It pauses. Eyebrows nit down and a frown settles low as it waves its hand in the air.

“I can help breathe life into these dreadful words you struggle with.” Its words are tempting, silken as they turn over in his mind. Muses inspire great things, right? He must have looked confused because the muse titters.

“My my, how careless. . . Shall I show you?” the pen clatters on the floor. It searches the document again.

“Tch. There’s not much to work with here,” it chuckles, “If there were I wouldn’t have come.”

“It’s how I found you,” it taps the screen, bright light flares beneath its fingertip, “I could smell it,”

“Smell what?” the hair on his arms rise while a chill crawls down his spine.

“All of that untapped potential,” it trails off, absorbed in the reading. Its hand hovers over the screen, fingers curl slightly, glowing in the artificial light. It smiles dreamily and its eyes glaze over.

“This will do for a demonstration.” Silence.

“Hey!” He waves a head in front of it. It doesn’t react. Doesn’t blink.

“Don’t zone out on me. You were going to help, remember?” He stops.

The back of his hand tingles. The laptop screen flickers once then goes out with a hiss. A wind tugs at his clothes and bites at any skin not covered. The tingling sensation spreads down his fingers, settles in the bones of his wrist, snakes up his arm. What is this? He staggers back and his foot sinks into spongy dirt. Dirt? Where’s the floo- The room is spinning; the colors fluctuate and blend together as the floor tilts sharply. The room disintegrates into darkness.

Chapter Two: The Silent Void of an Empty Page

Knees sink deep into dirt, he spits out moss. The heady smell of rotting wood fills the air. Bleary eyes open. A jagged branch is jutting out of the log an inch from his eye. He shivers, suddenly thankful it’s moss his head is pressed against. His arm is burrowed shoulder deep into a rotting log. He grits his teeth and pulls back with all his strength. It’s still stuck. He watches a maggot wriggle an inch from him. He blows at it, willing it to crawl the other way. The maggot inches closer.

“Go away,” his fingertips tingle. A chill, dank and heavy, seeps through the fabric of his sleeve and forces its way through skin and bone. He pulls again. His arm is still stuck.

“My my,” The muse is sitting next to him. He jerks with surprise, wedging his arm further in. He curses.

“I didn’t think you would struggle at the end,” it’s smiling.

“What did you do?” he snaps. He’s trying to rip the log apart; something skitters over his arm as a slimy thing eases over his elbow. He tugs at the limb near his face. It doesn’t snap. Panic makes quick work of him and he pounds at the log with his fist, desperate suddenly. He pales, trembling fingers scrabble against the rough bark. He hates bugs.

“Me? I did nothing. It’s your own fault you’re stuck in a log,” It snickers again,

“You should have stayed still,” fingertips wind a lazy path around the maggot crawling toward him.

“Besides. This is your story.”

“What?” Another shard of wood comes away in his hand. The muse speaks:

“Once, in the lands of rain, in the Great Isles of Fell, someone found a door. The door was enormous, stretching up into the trees where it vanished in shadows. Tanis stepped back and shuddered.”


“-from your story, yes.” the muse frowns. It wanders away from him letting him struggle alone.

It rests a hand against a tree trunk then pushes hard. He blinks, trying to fathom what it is he’s seeing. There is no sound of branches snagging other trees, no snap of limbs breaking as it falls. The edges of the tree catch against other branches. It pauses, warbling for balance, then falls down with a soft mphhh. It’s a domino effect. In moments he’s staring at hundreds of flattened trees. Cardboard cutouts.

The muse laughs at the look on his face.
“Such a flat world you’ve written.”

He prods the tree trunk gingerly, half expecting it to fall over.

“Oh no, that’s real. As real as anything here can be anyway. I thought you would appreciate something real in your story,” it kicks the log, jarring his shoulder hard against the splintered hole. Something slimy and cold falls onto his hand with a squelch,

That log is something created for your inspection. It is an example of what I can bring to these dead letters you call a narrative.” As he looks closer he sees golden sparkles flickering deep in the wood. They swirl just beneath the skin of the maggot. It’s so close now he can count the thick hairs sticking out of its skin while the faint smell of festering rot makes him gag.

“You!” His face darkens, “You put this log here just so I’d get stuck in it!”

“Would you like to see what I can do with this story?” the muse says, playfully, ignoring him. It pulls him to his feet. The dirt clings to his shirt, golden lights flaring brightly as he flicks a maggot toward the muse. The muse steps out of the way.

“I wrote a character into this story. Tanis. Where is he? And I don't see a door.” He says petulantly, stamping his foot in annoyance.

“The nature of a story is movement. He’s not here anymore.” It waves a hand. The cutouts fade as the forest darkens and the sounds drop away. Dirt and moss swirl around them, a twig scratches against his cheek. He covers his eyes. Silence intensifies before the sounds of a living forest crash around him; the wind in the trees urge lazy conversations between leaves, birds twitter merrily, wingtips rustling against trees, branches snap underfoot.

The air is thicker now. The scent of earth weighs down his tongue. He opens his eyes. There is no doubt this forest is real. It’s more vibrant than anything he imagined.

Is this the magic of the muse?

He catches sight of a doe in the corner of his eye. It vanishes into the underbrush as he turns to look. He presses a hand against a tree trunk. He can’t help pushing against it, half-wondering if the texture beneath his skin is fake. The bark is smooth beneath searching fingers, a gnarled knot catches beneath his thumb, a warped and muted grey. Odd golden lights writhe beneath the surface. Dark green vines loop around the trunk, a haze of fuzz on their flesh. They look soft, like the velveteen skin of a peach. He reaches for one.

“I’d be careful with those.”

The muse appears around the side of the trunk. Red eyes glitter mischievously. A smile is lingering again; this one crooked, spread just wide enough to show off two sharp canines. A vine detaches itself from the tree and curls around the muse’s wrist. The skin of the vine stretches and warps as something wriggles beneath the surface. The surface lightens with the pressure. A tear appears. Smaller vines burst out of the larger and twine between the muse’s fingers. A green liquid bubbles to the surface and beads out of the vine. The sharp scent of cinnamon wafts toward him as the liquid drips and runs over the muse’s skin. A tendril of smoke coils up.

The liquid runs across the dip of its wrist, the trail darkening to black. The skin turns red around the streaking burn. No hint of pain flits across its face. The muse looks bored, features wiped of any telling sign of emotion.

“Agh.” He covers his nose at the acrid stench of burning flesh.

“Didn’t you decide this forest would be dangerous?” The vines wilt off with a hiss. Twinned drops of red and green splatter against a leaf. But scarcely seconds after he watches another droplet splash bright red over green, his gaze is drawn back to the jagged gash that had snicked to the bone. The glint of bone disappears as muscles knit together and skin zips together neatly; a faint scar shimmers for a moment before fading away to smooth skin.

“This story is yours, remember? I’m just augmenting it.”

“What is it you called it? Ah, yes. The Forest of Misfortune. Not the most original name I’ve heard.”

He steps back and bangs his head against something hard. There, nestled in those dastardly vines is a door. He rubs the knot swelling at the back of his head. His free hand closes around the doorknob. It’s cold to the touch; the chill is animate, arcing through the veins of his arm like poison. The door swings open with a creak.

A wall of water swirls inside. Small waves waft by gently, specks of light sway beneath the surface. It’s mesmerizing. He leans closer, he can feel the water cooling the air. It’s refreshing against his skin. He strains his eyes, just as he spots one light, it swirls away, dropping deeper before winking out of sight. How far do they go?

His fingers hover a hair's breadth above the surface. The lights have a purpose now. More appear, swirling rapidly beneath his hand. One comes too close and breaks the surface of the water. Delicate ripples fan out. If he just could touch--

A hand yanks him back, fingers bruising over shoulder and collarbone. The water stops, freezing the lights in place. A fracture appears in the doorframe. He stares at the resulting pile of splinters. He whirls around angrily.

He’s alone. Vines wither in on themselves, the trees drag their heavy limbs down into the dirt. A bird chases it’s mate into the ground near his foot. When he blinks he’s back in his room. The scent of cinnamon grows stale, fades away.

He sinks into a chair. It’s too much to process. He glances at his desk. Resting on the keyboard is a pile of paper. He flips through the pages hastily. It’s his story. Finished. He recognizes his style but this story is so much more than that. This is the story he’d write if he had the best inspiration. This is the story he’d been struggling for months to write, yet here it was, complete and so much more than what he’d hoped it would be.

“That one was a freebie.”

The muse is stretched out on his bed, head dangling off the edge of it as if it’s the most natural pose for a bed. It’s hard to read its expression upside down, but something in its eyes sets off a tiny peal of warning in his mind. The thought is pushed away.

“So tell me,” the thing is smiling again,

“Do you want a muse?”

Chapter Three: The Warrior and the Demon in the Details

It had been three weeks since he’d made the deal with the muse. Aside from the cough that had settled in his lungs, he was happy. It would breathe life into his stories--as many as he wanted to write and in return it would only take the best one.

It was odd having a muse. It didn’t follow him around as he thought it would, pointing out the interesting things he was missing. It didn’t distract him as he dragged himself through his boring life. It came when he was alone, pen poised over paper, aggravated that no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t write a word.

It seemed to relish the fact he could do nothing without it and was sure when it did make its appearance it was when he was desperate. Twelve stories were written this way. He’d struggle alone, give up, then call on the muse for help. The muse would pull him into the world of his story, direct it the way it should go, then return him back; the completed story printed up and waiting on his desk.

He found himself growing attached to the stories the muse would weave. As if it was a part of himself the muse was drawing out and leaving on paper. He always asked if this one was the best one but the muse would only laugh, telling him he would not miss it when the best was taken. After all, the nature of it would be the one he didn’t value. And all the stories that came so far he clung to greedily.

He hurtles a jar against the wall. It shatters, pens roll noisy circles across the floor.

“My, my,” the muse bends over the glass and picks out a particularly jagged shard. It glances askance at him,

“Such little patience you have,”

“Someone could get hurt with these laying around.” it twirls the glass so quickly it blurs, spinning like a pinwheel, light refracting off of it in wild patterns across his room.

He ignores it in favor of banging his head against the desk. Thump.

“You’ve used up all the ideas I’ve had!” thump,

“Those stories,” thump, “are written and done.” thump,

“I can’t think of anything else.” The muse stops his head from hitting the desk again.

“Self destruction is unappetizing,” it murmurs, scowling,

“If you are in need of a story--” He glares daggers at the muse. It was an obvious statement,

“--then I can bring you one. After all--”

“What do you mean?” It ignores the question,

“--the greatest stories are written when the writer invests himself in them.”

The muse pulls a pen from the air and beats a rhythm into the barrel.

“What story do you want to write?” Swaying to the song only it can hear, it tilts the pen and plays it likes a flute.

“Oh?” It laughs, “Can’t you answer even that?”

“I wanted a battle scene.” he mumbles. The muse brandishes the pen like a sword, light on its feet suddenly, balancing en garde.

“I can do that.” The pen drops to the floor, the barrel crumpled in on itself.

He doesn’t panic as his surroundings drop away. He’s standing in a castle room. The stone has been polished so well it reflects the ribbed ceiling high above. A man is pacing at the end of the room. A single stand rests in the center and the echo of footsteps reverberate, caving in on themselves, creating an army in the emptiness. He looks closer. Silver vines coil around the stand, holding up a large black orb. Faint streaks of red and white whirl in the depths of it. Butterflies flutter in his stomach. There’s something vaguely liquid about the red, they way it moves and carries the light deep inside. It looks like blood. A dark mist wells out of the orb and sinks to the floor.

The man hasn’t noticed him. He’s watching a door that stretches high into the ceiling. His clothes are dated, vaguely Shakespearean, yet even from a distance he can see they’re finely made. His outfit is as black as pitch. The buttons on the brocaded jerkin catch the light as he turns on his heels. Light reflects off two horns curling out from beneath his hair. Horns? He pauses mid-step and glances at the door again; black hair brushes lightly over his collar. He continues to pace.

“Muse. Who is he?” he whispers, the air is heavy here. His words feel weighted. Something is off.

“Ah, I believe he calls himself Zathrian now.”

“You believe? Don’t you know?” the words are forceful, he looks over his shoulder again. Gooseflesh spreads down his arm. It’s as if he’s being watched.

“No need to worry,” the muse chuckles, “though he’s taken the guise of an incubus he’s entirely human.”

“I ask for a story and you paint me an incubus,” his voice quivers in contempt, “how crass of you.”

Another being appears. This one a perfect counterpoint to the other. Where black was favored, this one favors white. Their words run together, the echoes smear the conversation, blurring the meaning.

“What are they saying?” he asks, aggravated. The muse laughs.

“That’s irrelevant right now, I assure you. You won’t care about it in a few seconds. They can’t see you but the others will.” The muse says cheerfully. If it had been offended by him earlier it didn’t look it.

“What will?” The room is empty but for the other two. . .

The muse holds a finger up to its lips and winks. Another tendril of smoke bubbles out of the orb.

“Can you feel them waiting?” Its voice drops to a whisper while its hand draws circles in the air.

“What are you--” The words die in his throat.

How could he have not noticed it before? The air. There was something wrong with it. He gasped in a breath. It was as if it had thinned. His head pounds, spots flare in his vision as he staggers against the muse. He can feel something pressing on him. The impression of gnashing teeth and ragged blades dripping blood flash in his mind.

It was as if a gossamer veil was all that separated this room from the truth-- and the truth had claws and a murderous intent. Claws snip close to his ear and he catches the faint tremors of a cackle. A chill cascades over him. If one can sense intent, he was sensing that now. A dark hatred twisting in a dimension just beyond the one he was now standing in.

“Monsters.” The muse clarifies, voice tapering off into a laugh as a fanged smile stretches impossibly wide. Zathrian and the man in white walk toward the orb.

“Cloud, do you want to do it?”

“Sure!” Cloud pulls out a sword, blinding white cape swirling behind him, the blade sings through the air as he draws it from its sheath with a bit more flair than necessary.

“What is he--”

The hilt of the blade crashes into the orb. It shatters. Orb and stand vanish in a cloud of twisting black.

For a second nothing happens and the presence he’d sensed fades. Then the veil tears and monsters appear in clouds of dark smoke.

A burst of fire explodes next to him.

“Are you trying to get me killed?” he screams, ducking behind the muse; it laughs.

“Come now. Live a little. You have to feel in order to progress this story. The best stories are the one writer puts his life into, you know.” The words fall on empty ears as he notices how small the room is with twenty monsters inside. The stench is awful. Raw and bloody. Swords rusty and soiled, years of bloodied flesh dulling the blades.

A cloaked hand reaches for him. Then Cloud moves. He spins with an easy grace. It's a strange dance of blades; sharp edges snick flesh, light shimmers along sharpened iron. The monsters fall dead. His white swords drip red rosettes across the stone floor. The empty hush of death settles into the room.

“That was easy.” Zathrian says. One by one the monsters vanish. More appear in their place.

The muse points at a sword that has appeared on the ground. He grabs it, cursing as he struggles to pull it out of its sheath. The blade thumps awkwardly against his calf. It's heavy. He scowls at the muse chuckling against the wall. He hides in a corner. Maybe they won’t notice him. He gags at the smell of rotting flesh. The skeleton monster’s sword scrapes against stone as it notices him. It has no eyes, but gaping sockets seem to watch him as it moves purposefully toward him. Behind it, he sees flashes of black and white. Cloud and Zathrian are making quick work of the others. But as soon as one falls more appear.

He lifts up his sword as the skeleton begins to charge. It’s heavy, he barely gets the tip up when blade grates against blade in a flash of sparks. The blade slips over the hilt and sinks through his hand and skeletal fingers lock around his arm. Rasping phalanges sink in deep. Hot blood comes to the surface and bubbles out around the bones. It holds him still as the blade rips out of his hand with a squelch. How he’d managed to hold onto the sword is a mystery to him but the hilt slicks beneath his hand and the sword slips, clattering dully against the stones. It was useless anyway.

The pain flares hot, but the bones are cold. The numbness spreading into his arm is almost welcoming. The skeleton jerks him closer, teeth clacking together in the hanging jaw. The stench of rotting flesh burns in his nostrils, so strong it’s a taste.

“There it is.”

“Last one. Want it?” Zathrian is speaking now.

A sword juts out of the creature’s chest, the blade stopping blink from his eye. The tip brushes an eyelash. He sinks to the ground with a groan as the skeleton hunches over the blade. Cloud kicks the monster off with a grunt. It collapses where it lands and doesn’t get back up. He clutches his hand. The numbness is quickly fading and the nerves screaming to life set his teeth on edge.

Cloud pats his sword.

“I love my glory sword.”

Zathrian’s reply is lost as stones dim and the walls crash down into the ground. The two are the last to go. Cloud twirls his sword through the air as the ground rushes up to meet him and then he’s back in his room.

He looks at his hand. The skin is smooth. He pushes back the sleeve, half expecting a row of bloody furrows from the skeleton’s hand. Nothing. Hands splay against the desk as a hacking cough takes over. He sinks into the chair. The phantom pain of the blade running through his hand like butter flares sharply. He wheezes in a breath. Another manuscript rests on the keyboard. The pieces of the jar he’d shattered earlier are in a pile on his desk. The muse had lined up the pens, open ends hanging over the edge lonely, their ink drying away in the warm room. He’ll have to throw them out.

The muse is gone.

Chapter Four: The Cadence of a Lost Song

He settles into the couch and drapes a cloth over his forehead. A headache roars beneath his brow. Another finished story rests on his lap. He sighs. The muse detaches itself from the shadows and the couch dips low as it sits, various items cradled in its arm. He spots a plush toy cat and scowls. It had been spending its free time painstakingly gluing the jar back together. It would sit in the corner while he did his homework, turning over shards of glass till it found the perfect place for one.

“Why are you here?” he asks. A shard catches the light; he hisses as a white-hot pain lances through his head and pulls the cloth down low over his eyes. The muse doesn’t answer and the silence falls sharply. The intensity of it encourages a new rhythm of pain throbbing in his head.

“Oh my. Whatever do you mean?” The cloth has warmed against his skin. He hurls it at the muse.

“You used to come when I asked for you, now you’re here all of the time.”

“Am I?” The muse chuckles, balancing half completed jar in hand as it squeezes a line of glue along a fractured edge. He sighs. He wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of it.

“Do you have a name?”

“You’ve asked me that before,” a smile stretches wide across its face, all sharp teeth beneath soft lips.

“I’ve had many over the years.” It presses a shard into the glue and stays perfectly still, waiting for it to harden into place. Red eyes glint sinisterly above the couch. It drops the remaining pieces into the jar and pulls the manuscript off his lap. It flips through it, eyes darting over the words quickly, pages turning in a blur before looking back at him.

“Perhaps I am conflict. A breath before the storm. The decadent emptiness in a heart,” It twirls another piece of glass as another page turns, “turning itself to stone,”

“But I think muse suits me best at the moment,” The manuscript drops onto the desk and the muse stretches catlike, its arms high above its head, pulling the kinks out of its spine.
A roaring laugh fills the room as the boy curls against the cushions, body shaking from the force of the cough rattling in his chest,

“Don’t you agree?”

It pats the manuscript fondly, lovingly.

“This one is better than the others. This is purest inspiration,” it hands the manuscript to him,

“The result of you,” the words are oily, dripping with a humor he can’t quite grasp. He wonders idly what sort of things amuse this muse so. For a second the black ink on the page shimmers bloodred and the words smear, jagged streaks of red running across the page. He blinks and the page is normal again. Black and White.

“The more you give, the more you will receive.” A cool hand presses against his forehead and the headache recedes.

“Is that the best one?”

“It is not.” The question makes it laugh, water swims in its eyes. It pulls its hand away and returns to the jar, piecing it together meticulously. The headache sinks its long teeth back into him and twists sharply over and down with the ferocity of a lion.

“Such pretty words madness draws from you.” It says. The muse leans close, fingertips slide along skin and settle on the pulse point of his wrist. The muse counts out the pulse.

“My my, you do not have much left in you, do you? You are not well at all, child, now are you?” The grit in its voice belies the words.

“Why should I leave? I’m hardly gone long when you’re calling me back, asking for more.” Suddenly the room is stifling. The headache fades to be replaced by a smothering weight in the air. He coughs.

He runs outside. The door bangs shut with a crack while the air falls cold around him and snaps at his ankles. The chill sneaks in steadily, seeping through sneakers, numbing toes and settling in his fingertips with the easy familiarity of an old friend.

Treetops stand stark against a muted grey sky. Night is dropping in shades of grey; light pollution pulling the ink from the night sky even as time drags its lazy feet past midnight. The yellow glow of streetlights burn in the distance and footsteps crunch against asphalt behind him.

The damn thing had followed.

Color warps around it as it walks. The hint of a flower flares once while it lifts its foot in a step, reality distorting around it, strange colors bend and glow around the muse’s silhouette. Even under the watercolor grey sky his eyes pick out no detail in the muse. It’s a shadow moving. Black, black, black.

The sounds of other worlds swirl around the muse, faint and warbling. A muted cacophony. And when it speaks the words are delicate, stretching thin like the wavering strands of a spider’s web. Before he can protest the muse is drawing him into another dimension.

The streetlamps drop into the ground with a hiss and the world around him disintegrates into darkness.

Chapter Five: A Demon's Mark
“And what is this now I’m looking at?” he asks, watching a dim light undulate beneath his skin. Faint specks of light pull out his hand and float through the air lazily before winking out of existence.

The room is different than the others the muse had made. They appear to be in a manor. Mildewed, black and reeking, teasing his cough to life as he sags against the wall, is nestled into the cracks in the tile. It’s a beautiful design stretched out the length of the room. Byzantine tile. The phrase is foreign in his mind.

There’s a sense of faded elegance in the chipped tile and peeling paper on the walls, in the air tarnishing to a dusty musk. A single chair sits in the center, dust muting the finer details in the carved mahogany. Legs dangling over scratched wooden arm, head thrown carelessly back, sits the muse; a wry smile in place.

“Didn’t you say you were bored?” The muse asks, eyes crinkling in laughter. The boy flinches back against the wall, more lights drift out of him.

“Didn’t you say you wanted more?” Its voice is sharp like razors and he decides he doesn’t like the look in its eyes. It’s rather feral, pupils stretched into slits, eyebrows pushing low, killing any warmth in the smile the muse is wearing.

“More?” The boy echoes dully.

His fingers claw at the lights drifting out of his body. Every time one breaks the surface there is a tinge of familiarity leaving him feeling empty as the lights slowly drift out and away, not caring much for the fingers desperate to keep them inside. As if he was losing a part of himself. They pulse lightly with a life of their own. He had noticed long ago that the strange golden lights would appear when the muse exerted itself and created something but these were different, the were his. He’d often wake screaming in the night,tumbling out of bed, hands grasping at the air.

He’d dream the lights were burrowing into his heart, making him sick. He’d wake, running paranoid hands over his chest till he was convinced it was his own body, only himself living under his skin. The muse clears its throat and he snaps back to reality.

“Didn’t you say you had no more ideas of your own?”

Footsteps echo across tile, each footfall ringing like a death knell in his ears. Cloth rustles as the muse kneels before him. It had chosen a dated outfit, vaguely Victorian, complete with shining albert and pointed tailcoat, as faded and elegant as the surrounding it had dragged him into.

“Didn't you say you wanted more regardless?” It drawls in lazy voice.

“Did you truly think such a service would be free?” Its features soften as it speaks and for a moment there is no tinge of darkness coloring its pretty words.

All the lights that had flowed out of him collect. The orb solidifies and a small marble drops into its hand with a flash of light. The light burns and suddenly hands are sliding against stone and screams are shredding his throat. The sickly coppery taste of blood fills his mouth. Calm down. He forces himself to rasp in a deep breath. The breath quivers and shakes in his lungs.

“My my, such a reaction.” The muse murmurs, admiring the glow of the marble in between two slender fingers. The light is delicate, a jaded off-white, something faintly noble in its glow as it pulses softly.

“This is a part of your soul, you could say.” It says dreamily, eyes glazing over as its face relaxes into the lovely thoughts in its mind.

“What?” the word chokes out on the heels of a cough. The muse pauses as he catches his breath.

“Did you not find it odd,” it winks, smile quirking higher, “how I was able to create such vibrant stories that you would love when we had already exhausted all of your ideas?”

The muse rolls the marble from one hand to the other.

“I was breathing life into the story from drawing from you.” Its laugh cuts deep. It continues speaking its broken glass words, each one cutting a shade deeper than tolerable as it talked and talked and talked.

“Did you really not notice how much weaker you became the more you relied on me?” The muse titters briefly, features pulling into an almost apologetic expression. But the look in its eyes whispers no apology.

“You’ve been draining my life,” he gasps. Stars hover in his sight, a blinding darkness settles on the outskirts of his vision, creeping slowly like a cat stalking a mouse.

“You said you were only going to take my best story.” his voice is weak is weaker now, shaking in the room, the sound barely carries past his lips. The muse leans close. The warmth of the muse seeps through his clothes and skin. It’s a feverish heat. Or maybe he’s just sick? More lights flit out of him, aggravated by the muse’s proximity. A hand rests on his shoulder, the touch scorching through his shirt.

“My dear boy,” the muse whispers, tone stretching somber now, “have I not told you many times?” It tilts its head.

“A story,” the muse pauses, wagging a finger at the boy as his eyes widen, panic dilating his pupils. Blue eyes flood with horror and the color drops from his face as the muse’s earlier words echo in his mind.

“. . .is best when the writer puts his life into them.”

“Are you not your own story? Is not your life worth that? Is your existence not worth more than all of those silly words you strung together playing writer.” Sharp teeth sink out of its smile as it croons its broken-glass words sweetly,

I think it is. To me it’s worth far more than anything else you’ve brought into this world,” its fingers close around the marble, “and what care about your life have you given?”

“You asked for inspiration. I gave it. You asked for life in your dead-letter- prose. I brought it. You asked for more when even your own ideas had dried up and withered. I gave more. You called to me even as your body weakened and rebelled against you. You asked for more when you couldn’t even grasp a single thread of your own inspiration.”

“You tricked me.” The words fall softly, shaking with anger even on the weak breath that carries them out. Yet the words are hollow, a fair-weather friend of a farce. He knows the muse speaks truth.

“I never lie,” another wink, “you should pay more attention.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Few truly do when the end comes.”

The muse starts to whisper. Strange languages spill out, the cadence ragged and biting. It speaks, but the words are cloying and stick together. He can’t understand what he’s saying to him and the darkness in the edges of his vision creeps in a little closer. He sighs, coughing too much an effort.

He clutches at his arm, or tries to, at least, but really his fingers only twitch. The words take form, snaking over his skin in shades of black and red. They burrow deep inside burning through flesh and bone but the pain is only in his mind. Symbols appear. He recognizes the star in the circle the muse had drawn nights ago. Ah. Pentagram. There’s nothing touching him. The muraled walls drag themselves down into the floor, the byzantine design bleeding together before dropping off into nothingness.

Another world bursts into being around him. He’s on the floor, leaning against his bed, the sickness that had intensified in that other place already fading away but he can feel the remnants of it.

Fingers are dancing over him, elegant lined, swirling circles of white and red as they waver between bruising and feather-light. Slender, black tipped, edges razor sharp.

“What is pain but proof you are still living?” The muse murmurs with a chuckle. It licks its lips. Alive. The concept is alien, he thought he had died. Was this what the end would be?

“I’ll paint you in metaphor.” They trail shades of crimson as frenzied palpitations beat red across paling skin. A gasp. Senses collide in a tangle of touch and taste and sound.

“I’ll ease a path,” the touch is soft suddenly, lingering, “of brightest red,”

He screams, or was it a sigh? It doesn’t matter. The light spilling out from him is blinding and the muse takes it all in with a smile.

“Across the delicate planes of your being”.

Words tumble out; disparate gibbering nonsense he is spluttering now, or is it he’s listening? A vibration starts in his throat; the beginning of a name, a word whose syllables won’t come together. An echo of the first time he’d seen the muse flashes briefly.

Yet a thousand words live and die against him, meanings distant and unsearchable. Through the muddled haze in his mind it continues to whisper. The playful lilt in its voice withers and dies. Seven words break through, stark and cold.

“I’ll drag you shrieking into the void.”

The world disintegrates into darkness.
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PostSubject: Re: Story telling   Story telling Icon_minitimeThu Oct 18, 2012 6:10 am

@Era's post:
(didn't quote because Zath would most likely rip me apart molecule by molecule :l)I skimmed across your story and I don't think I saw Zath or Cloudy included (I'm pretty sure that was the rules?) It'd also be nice to add names, I guess it's supposed to be a unique style but it gets a little confusing.

Also no offence (if this even offends you) but your post is at least half that page and took me like 6 seconds to scroll fully down. But good job for determination and not dying of boredom writing that 8D
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PostSubject: Re: Story telling   Story telling Icon_minitimeThu Oct 18, 2012 1:57 pm

Nerzhul wrote:
@Era's post:
(didn't quote because Zath would most likely rip me apart molecule by molecule :l)I skimmed across your story and I don't think I saw Zath or Cloudy included (I'm pretty sure that was the rules?) It'd also be nice to add names, I guess it's supposed to be a unique style but it gets a little confusing.

Also no offence (if this even offends you) but your post is at least half that page and took me like 6 seconds to scroll fully down. But good job for determination and not dying of boredom writing that 8D
They're in there.
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PostSubject: Re: Story telling   Story telling Icon_minitimeThu Oct 18, 2012 10:24 pm

ah, sorry it confused you Nerzhul, but to be fair you did skim it. I tried to be careful to only refer to the muse as ''it'' or 'the muse' , never using any sort of human pronouns (He him, etc).

Cloud and Zath are in ch3 btw. xD I refer to them both by name more than once and they each have a least two lines of dialogue per the rules.

I'm glad I didn't die of boredom either. XD There was no word limit so. . . not gonna apologize for length. <3 Sorry it didn't interest you . ^^"

and WOAH you skimmed it IN SIX SECONDS?!!! OLOLOLOLolol no wonder you were confused XD!
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PostSubject: Re: Story telling   Story telling Icon_minitimeThu Oct 18, 2012 11:42 pm

In other words nerz didn't read shit Very Happy
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PostSubject: Re: Story telling   Story telling Icon_minitimeFri Oct 19, 2012 12:04 am

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PostSubject: Re: Story telling   Story telling Icon_minitimeFri Oct 19, 2012 1:05 am

Zathrian wrote:
In other words nerz didn't read shit Very Happy
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