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The Artefact [NaNoWriMo]

Литературен кът за колективни изяви и разкази, вдъхновени от ролеви игри. Тук може да пуснете разказ за вашите приключения, да пишете историйки с продължение или пък просто да споделите интересни случки и герои от ролеви сесии.
ChoChan
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The Artefact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » пон ное 01, 2010 11:20 am

Тъй-като реших да се пробвам в тазгодишното NaNoWriMo ще си пускам написаното тук, за допълнителен мотиватор. Идеята е да се напише книга от 50 000 думи от 01 до 30 Ноември. По около 1 600 думи на ден.

Книгата е с работно заглавие 'The Artefact', жанр фентъзи.
Сюжет почти не съществува, само разни бегли идеи, така че повечето ще го съчинявам в движеие.
Което ще е и извинението, ако е малко/много слаба.
Прилики в някои имена и събития не са случайни.

Ако имате коментари, забележки и идеи - feel free. :)

trailer

*Редовно едитвам разни неща при писане, така че ако забележите нещо страно, може да съм направила промени. Гледам да променям и постовете, но може да забравям нещо.
**списък на имена
Ashgard - god
Moorgaze - goddess
Garen Irdane - Paladin of Ashgard, First Guardian of the king of Greland
Greland - country
Varn - Capital city of Greland

Adtaw - Second rank Guardian
Deanen - Second rank Guardian
Bolwar Pendragon - King of Greland
Lian Neesan - Deceased former supreme Commander

Gilean - god
Might and Magic - gods

Invane Valar - Priest and Favored Soul of Gilean
Loderon - Floating castle of mages aka University of Loderon

Tyce - thief
Morserv - sorcerer
pixies - pixies
Nathan Lynn - low class noble, father of Tyce
Leyna - mother of Tyce
give me love so that I can kill...she's so unreal

ChoChan
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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » пон ное 01, 2010 11:46 am

PROLOGUE
Like a soft whisper crimson silk slithered across the cold black stones and spread behind the slender shape of the woman entering the hallway. Without even pausing taking slow and majestic steps she moved towards the lonesome dark throne. Faced away from her it almost looked tiny in the vastness of the hall. Walls so far they were lost in the shadows, the ceiling so high one could not tell where it ended and the night sky began, for stars shone high above.
- All this gloomy scene is so unlike you, Ashgard, dearest. – her voice was sweet and soothing. She placed hand on the throne, sliding her fingers along the dark stone as she walked around it. She then sat on the broad armrest and leaned towards the man sitting on it - her hair spilling like dark waves over her shoulder.
Ashgard’s tall and thin figure was relaxed in the huge black throne. Silverly locks surrounding the oval lines of his face. His skin was so pale it almost shone in the darkness as he indulged his visitor and leaned towards the woman who was gracefully perched on his armrest.
- Moorgaze. – He simply said acknowledging the goddess.
She reached out for him and her fingernails traced the line of his delicate jaw. Stopping under the chin she lifted his face towards hers – an image of sharp outworldly beauty meeting his equal.
-I hope you haven’t forgotten our deal. – she purred.
Ashgard signed and gathered her fingers in palm, again relaxing back in the throne. He gave the dark haired vision a sidelong look.
- Could I ever?
Her plump red lips thinned in a pleased smile.
- You better not – she spoke and in an instant her form dissipated in thin air.
Ashgard signed again further sinking into the dark cold throne tightly gripping the armrest. He then waved a tired hand and as a big mirror was summoned into existence stood up and with a hand clutched to his chest walked to it. It was a huge heavy thing seemingly made of wrought iron. Ashgard placed a white palm on the surface and leaned to examine his reflection. He seemed so mortal now. His flawless image cracked with wistful sorrow. He felt it too – old, tired and broken. With slouched shoulders he pressed his forehead against the smooth glass.
He let out a ragged breath and moved back.
- This is all. This is all I can spare. – Ashgard whispered and raising his eyes he let his hand drop. In the cold dark of the mirror his reflection’s palm was still against the glass, fingers slowly curling into angry fist. – Now wake up.

- Wake up, Madam. Madam, please. – Garen Irdane Supreme Commander of Greland’s armies over the Last War, presently in charge of the defense of the seat city Varn and head of His Highness Royal Guard, garbed in his pristine white and gold uniform was now with one knee in the mud bent over a homeless woman. The female was covered in filth and reeked positively revolting of dirt, alcohol and cheap opium drugs. She was lying facedown in a ditch where she seemed to have passed out the previous evening.
The guards accompanying Garen dressed in the same uniforms were nervously shifting from one foot to the other as they watched their Commander reduce himself to such unnecessary tasks. After all there was the local guard that dealt with problems like these.
They were at the end of the city rearing Berzilien Forest in one of the six storey buildings turned into ruins during the Last War. The area used to be trade district and was also the location of the city that was hit hardest and worse. Many houses were turned into mere piles of rubble, from others like this one only skeleton of a building remained. They were unstable, collapsed often and attracted homeless hopeless people and hordes of criminals. It had been almost five years since the Peace was sealed but renovations in this part of town were scarce. Naturally the royal quarters had to be attended first.
The two other guards stood alert even though there was hardly the possibility that someone would take their chances against Commander Irdane and two of his best. However caution was one of the first lessons each of them learnt in the academy and they were all taught too well to get careless now.
- Madam. – Garen repeated his steady voice raising barely a notch up and gave her shoulder another soft shake.
Finally the woman began to stir. With a grunt she slowly rolled to her side and looked up at Irdane. Her face was smeared in more dirt aside from the two lighter streaks across her cheeks where probably tears have run down. Her sight was still clouded with sleep and she took several moments to realize she was awake and had company. Her eyes then focused on Garen’s face and widened slightly. She had recognized him. Everyone who spent enough time in Varn eventually did. And if she didn’t know his face, his epaulettes spoke volumes about who he was. She stared at him for several long moments before realizing he was again speaking to her.
- …you can not stay here. This area isn’t safe. We will escort you to one of the shelters at…
The crisp morning air rang with the sound of her hand slapping across his face.
- Get your hands off me, you scum. – The woman spat through her teeth and Garen slowly released her shoulder. As she stood up on her feet, she now had the full attention of all three guards. The initial shock on their faces was gone and a grim shadow has descended in their eyes. Sensing his men’s mood Garen lifted a stopping hand and raised to his feet as well.
The woman had retreated few steps back and regarded them warily. Her shoulders were pulled back now, her spine so uptight it could break, her chin raised as if she was an empress.
Irdane knew her now as well.
She was of noble blood, one of the many supporters of their enemies during the Last War. When the Peace was signed some of them fled the country, others were apprehended by the law, judged and swiftly executed – their titles, land and riches stripped by the crown. Others were not so lucky, because before the soldiers could get to them – the mob did.
That were bloody terrible times after the war. The general population was extatic with happiness, while others took advantage of the chaos to settle old scores. It took months before the army maintained some kind of order in the country. By that time all the guards could do was bury the corpses, if they even found any.
- You are all so smug and pleased with yourselves. – The woman began in a nasty low voice. – Stealing from my family, taking my estate, my children. – Her voice broke into a sob but she stifled it and gathered her composure.
- My lady, no one wishes you any harm. - Irdane began with soft voice. He took a step towards her but she backed even further away. – You can not remain here.
- Stay away from me, you beasts! – She suddenly screamed, her eyes burning with madness and with hatred as she bore them into Garen. – It is all your fault! – She shouted and pointed at his chest. - You will all pay for this! You will PAY!
Her heels reached the rim of the floor and she just let herself fall over the ledge. With a shout Garen lunged trying to catch her. His extended hand barely brushed against her fingertips.
She fell without as much as a scream. A long moment of silence and then a single horrible thud.
give me love so that I can kill...she's so unreal

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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от Ro#|# » пон ное 01, 2010 1:20 pm

Много увлекателен стил. Keep up the good work!
Windhammer 2012 http://www.arborell.com/windhammer_prize.html
Гласувайте за българското... защото си заслужава!
http://www.arborell.com/datingawitch.pdf
http://www.arborell.com/hwarangandkumiho.pdf

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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от CTAHuMuP » пон ное 01, 2010 1:46 pm

Ами Чочи отново демонстрира завидните си умения в описанието на кратки сцени, на което неведнъж сме ставали свидетели в описанията на героите й, този път даже на английски. Единственото, което щях да хейтя, е употребата на Highness вместо Majesty или Grace за суверена на държавата, обаче преди това погледнах Уикипедия и там пише, че преди Хенри Осми за английския крал се е използвало и Highness от време на време, така че е middle ground положението и няма да се заяждам.

Новелата започва много добре и макар, че знам за какво ще става дума в сюжета пак ми е интересно и ще хейтя, ако спреш преди 50,000-ната дума :)
Какво е това уклон, накъде клони и като клони, пада ли?
За разлика от отмъщението, наредбата е ястие, което се сервира най-добре горещо.

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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » вт ное 02, 2010 7:55 pm

- Careful. – Came Adtaw’s voice – one of his men – and his iron grip on Garen’s shoulder stopped him from looking down at where the woman fell. – The floor is giving in.
The paladin took a careful step away from the edge. He raised his hand in a typical gesture of a sort to run fingers through his hair, but clenched it in a fist and let it drop.
He turned his back on the edge and faced his men. If he was shaken by the incident they could not see this in his expression. Garen Irdane was back to his composed matter-of-fact self that radiated calm confidence. He was over six feet tall and the royal crested uniform complimented his slender and well muscular figure. And he knew it. His neatly shaved face was considered handsome even with the scar along his right eyebrow – square set jaw, thin mouth, high cheekbones. His auburn hair was short and well kept. At his side he carried a long sword that clattered softly with every step.
- Send for the Criers and clear everything before the demolition of this area begins. –The paladin said and moved towards the exit. - I am heading back to the Citadel. Stay here and make sure everything goes accordingly. – He added fast as Deanen – his other guard - moved to follow him. Without turning back or stopping, Garen disappeared down the stairs.
The paladin stepped out of the building, headed down the ruined street and out of the old trade district. The walk to the Seat and the Citadel was a lengthly one but he didn’t mind it. Garen quite enjoyed being on the streets of Varn. To him it was more home than anything. He hated seeing it ravaged during the war.
Taking a stroll across the streets was a breath of fresh air after the long and tedious hours he had to spend in court watching the endless games the nobles played. Irdane rather despised it and never understood the pleasure they took in the constant scheming, pacts and betrayals.
His own family had been playing the game for generations. Garen himself had been fed intrigues and cunning since childhood. As soon as he reached age to be presentable in society he was expected to take part of it as well. And when with maturity he showed no inclination and interest in any of it, their Lord and Ladyship decided him daft and diverted their attention to their other children.
House Irdane was an old and noble family who through the years had lost considerable amount of its fortune, and with it a great deal of its influence. Still old noble titles were asset to be used most practical and they intended to do the best of it. They spent most of their lives striving to restore the lost glory and status of the Irdane name ensnaring themselves in foolish plotting, armed with unbecoming arrogance. It was all very fitting for the circles and the acquaintances they shared.
Garen was more than happy to be rid of it all when he entered the Guardian’s Academy and Ashgard marked him as his subject. He only had to answer to his king, his god and his conscience. The years in training were happy ones for him. He met people and made friends from all circles, for as a child he was strongly discouraged to mingle with the common folk.
The Guardians heeded no origins or connection or so they fancied. Many young men had their way in the Guardian ranks bought for them. Still common people - if worthy - were never refused.
In his years of training Garen excelled in everything he did, which soon caught the attention of the high ranking Guardians and made him one of the elite. He was nearly considered a prodigy amongst his fellow trainees. His parents insisted that it was the result of his pure noble blood and proper breeding. He never commented on these declarations, but humbly accepted the praise as they came his way.
Little did anyone know about the hours on end he trained and studied alone in secret in the dead of the night. All this so that he could perform his tasks without flaw and seemingly without any effort. He would train till his fingers bled and his muscles screamed with fatigue and could not stand upright on his feet a second longer. He would study on barely candlelight till his vision blurred and rendered him unable to see a single word.
As much as Garen refused to admit to anyone including himself, his family’s raising has had an effect on him. He wanted, he yearned to make a name for himself. He fancied leaving his mark in the history records, to be remembered and revered. And he was intent to make this mark the result of a good reason.
Soon after graduating from the Academy the war began.
Like all other newly graduates he and his fellows were kept away from the hot frontline as long as possible. Eventually they all entered combat.
Garen thought he would never forget the first time he took away another person’s life. His enemy’s eyes wide open in surprise as the sword slashed at his chest and split it open. The blood that splattered over them both. The painful screams and the last heavy sigh when the soul left his body. He thought this scene would haunt him forever.
Then another enemy fell. And another.
Over the next ten years he conquered his way up in the army ranks. He took major part in few very notable victories that indeed made it into Greland’s history. Soon he took the right hand position of his Academy mentor and Supreme Commander of Greland’s armies Commander Lian Neesan. It was only natural that when the Commander fell in battle Garen was granted the title by king Bolwar Pendragon himself.
When the war ended and the Peace was signed he was welcomed in Varn as a war hero. Almost one year took for the chaos in the country to settle a little. Enough for the people to slowly start gathering the remnants of their lives and rebuild them anew.
Garen Irdane took the position of first guardian of His Highness the king, overseer of Varn and mentor in the Academy.
While crossing the Wizard’s district Garen turned his head to eye one hideous new building that seemed to have popped out overnight. It was nothing uncommon for whole houses to be blown off when two sorcerers had scores to settle. The paladin slowly shook his head. All magic wielders were prone to drama, and obviously to horrible architecture tastes. They simply adored to make a show of their feuds with flashy duels in the middle of the street.
Varn was an enormous city. Originally the capital of Greland was what was now called The Seat. It lay on the banks of two rivers, whose beds were bent and reshaped in canals ages ago to encompass the city in a shape of a star. The Castle, the Guardian’s Citadel and all the other important state buildings were situated there. With time the capital expanded greatly, swallowing several small towns banked along the rivers. As a result the whole city was a mish-mash of old and modern buildings.
give me love so that I can kill...she's so unreal

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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от CTAHuMuP » ср ное 03, 2010 10:03 am

Commander Lian Neesan, хахахах :love: Дори тук се появява за 5 секунди, менторва някого и умира :)
Какво е това уклон, накъде клони и като клони, пада ли?
За разлика от отмъщението, наредбата е ястие, което се сервира най-добре горещо.

ChoChan
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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » ср ное 03, 2010 6:53 pm

It was nearing midday when he crossed the Red Bridge and entered the Seat. He headed for the temple of The Flame – the order that gathered all the gods humans worshiped.
The temple was a grand building made of white marble and gilded domes erected towards the sky. It was a beautiful construction of wonder, where everyone no matter origin, status or race was granted entrance. Here people could find peace and solitude and worship their gods in undisturbed tranquility. As soon as they crossed the threshold calmness descended upon their souls and bodies. All thoughts of violence and malice were banished from their minds. Priests in white robes quietly roamed the hall offering help, soothing word or their time for a friendly conversation.
The ground on which the temple was built was sacred. It was place where centuries ago one of the Old Gods had fallen. Or so the legends told. Most people were prone to believe that the place carried Ashgard’s blessing, for Varn had chosen him for patron deity. On the central and highest dome magical golden flame shone like a beacon day and night.
Garen ascended the wide marble stairs and entered the temple. The noon sun touched the tall windows and submerged the temple in a soft illumination.
Along the walls each deity had its own designated altar. At the end of the long hall were the altars of the five major gods. In the middle was the altar of Gilean, represented by marble scales, to his left and right were the altars of Ashgard illustrated with rising sun and Moorgaze – closed eye. And the last in line were the Twins – Might and Magic – the spear and the candle.
The paladin gave few short nods to the clerics that greeted him as he entered and headed for the altar of his god. He stopped in front of him and for several quiet moments contemplated the carved sun with its winding rays. He thought about his life so far. Garen was favorite of his king, champion of his god, beloved by his people. He had achieved all the goals he had set for himself, he thought. And yet there was some restlessness inside him. Ashgard had not been responding his prayers in a while. Vain as it sounded even to himself he felt abandoned.
People worshiped the gods because it was the natural thing to do, most of them did not truly believe the gods cared or did much about them. Still they said the prayers and presented their offerings and the gods were pleased. Idrane knew better. He knew the gods were quite real and took keen interest in the lives of mortals. They have spoken to him, offered him things as a reward for servitude. He was after all chosen of Ashgard and the god has granted him his paladin powers, that so many have witnessed on the battlefield. He had saved lives and banished the wicked and spilled his blood in Ashgard’s name.
He sighed and reached for the offering urn filled with golden dust at the side of the altar. Took a handful of it and scattered it over the smoldering embers in front of the sun. With a soft hiss the dust was consumed in the heat. He sank his palm in the bowl of water standing on the other side and sprinkled few drops over the embers. Light blue smoke emerged from the coal and quickly dissipated. Then Garen set his elbow on the smooth marble and rested his forehead in palm. He was remembering the first time Ashgard had appeared in front of him.
Garen was maybe seventeen years old at that time. As usual he was training on his own in the middle of the night. It was a pleasant summer night and he had been several hours at it – already sweating profoundly and covered in dust.
-Care to spar with me? – Said someone and Garen nearly jumped out of his skin. The man was standing not three steps away from him. He hadn’t heard him approach, but he tended to forget himself while training. Warily he looked around to see if he had more audience. Apprentices were not exactly allowed to roam around the Academy in the dead of the night as they pleased. He fancied he was quite secretive in his occupation. Truth was the guardians saw nothing wrong with his extra training and let him have his way.
The man was actually more of a boy, probably around his age. He was dressed in the dove grey training uniform. Had slim figure, maybe a little too skinny, and short almost white blond messy hair. Garen was sure he had seen him in the Academy, but couldn’t recall for a name. Their trainings were probably in different time of the day, which meant he wouldn’t likely meet him again. Not very soon at least.
-Why not. – Garen said with renewed enthusiasm. He had been practicing few techniques for the last several hours and was indeed itching to test his skills in actual fight. He pointed with chin towards the pile of practice swords – heavy wooden things, that hurt like hell when hit with and took few steps away to let his opponent prepare himself. – You are not from my classes – He began while the blond one was folding his sleeves and unbuttoned the top of his tunic. – Are you in training with sir Neeson?
One corner of the boy’s mouth curved up and he tilted his head to the side. –Something like that. – He said and picked up one of the training swords. Then he took a step towards Garen and nodded. They began with few simple class exercises that the trainees repeated every single day. Then both youths started adding their tricks and feints attempting to catch the other one off-guard. Garen was more reckless, lunging himself in open offence, while the blond boy fought defensive.
He avoided one of Garen’s head on attacks and retaliated with surprising swiftness. He lashed at Irdane’s unprotected head and Garen barely deflected the blow. As a result the wooden sword smashed at his fingers. Garen hissed a pained curse through his teeth and without so much as a pause charged again.
Training was over now - their future-guardian pride was on the stake. They fought with fierce intensity chasing each other around the training ground. Pained shouts, curses and challenges echoed in the night. Their tireless combating took them to the small park between the stables and the senior guardian quarters. In the middle of the park was a fountain with a statue dedicated to Ashgard as god patron in human form. Avoiding one vicious blow the blond tripped and fell backwards directly into the fountain. Without giving him chance to recover Garen chased right after him and both continued their battle, splashing water everywhere. After series of feints Garen finally caught him off-guard and with a triumphant shout swung for his shoulder. Realizing he was tricked the blond boy raised his sword up to protect himself holding it at both ends. Garen’s blow landed with such force that his opponent’s sword split in half sending the boy on his back in the water. Garen jumped after him and held the tip of his sword at the neck of the boy.
Breathless and dripping water both of them panted heavily in the silence of the night.
-Seems like I win. – Garen said with triumphant smug smile.
-It would seem so. – Answered the blond boy with a smirk on his lips. Just then did Garen feel a poke against his ribs, where one part of the broken sword had found him under the arm. Irdane looked down and gave out a disappointed growl, then lifted his shoulders with a shrug.
-Oh well. – He helped the blond boy stand up and climbed out of the fountain. – I thought I got you this time. Your blocks are very odd. Sir Faren never thought us anything like that. – He kept on over his shoulder, and when he heard no response turned back. The youth was standing in the feet of the statue and observed him with outright curiosity. – Hey we should go, before someone comes. What IS your name anyway, it is on the tip of my tongue, but I just can’t remember.
Faintly and slowly the blond boy’s body started glowing with a golden gleam and appeared somewhat incorporeal. Garen blinked his eyes and wiped the water off his face, because it seemed he was seeing things. The boy’s form shone brighter and brighter. His image grew, lifted itself off the water and sank in the statue of Ashgard. With a laud grinding sound the statue came to life and stepped down from its spot.
Garen’s face changed several shades of pale, his sword slipped through his fingers and clattered on the stone.
A beam of blinding light erupted in the night and split the heavens bright as a day. Soon all of the Citadel was wide awake and on foot. Finding Garen in the small park was not a difficult task for he shone with holy light like a torch in the night. A coronet of golden light was swirling around him. A mark of rising sun shone on his bare chest for a while and then sank in. Since that day he was champion of Ashgard.
Pulling back from the memories Garen opened his eyes as he felt someone else’s presence nearby. He turned his head and saw the small figure of a woman praying in front of Gilean’s altar. She had placed her hands one over the other on the marble in front of the stone scales and had buried her face in her sleeves. She had golden hair, cut short under her earlobes that bared a slender white neck. A pair of pristine white wings were softly folded behind her back. They radiated light of their own and gently trembled with each breath she took. The feathers were slowly falling off now, disappearing before they touched the ground. A moment longer and the wings were gone.
She was Gilean’s favored soul. Favored souls were powerful priests - the strongest heralds of the gods they served. They were known to manifest their anima when conversing with their gods.
Garend stared at her with scorn written all over his face. She did not deserve it, but there she was, receiving her god’s blessing, while Ashgard was deaf to his prayers.
give me love so that I can kill...she's so unreal

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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от Асен » чет ное 04, 2010 11:32 am

And Jesus said unto them, "And whom do you say that I am?"
"You are the eschatological manifestation of the
ground of our being, the ontological foundation of the context of our very self-hood revealed."
And Jesus said"what?"

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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » чет ное 04, 2010 11:40 am

I hate Dan Brown :(
give me love so that I can kill...she's so unreal

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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от Yago » чет ное 04, 2010 11:41 am

ChoChan написа:I hate Dan Brown :(
Споко, това приложение е абсолютна глупост, и се ориентира само по контент анализ на всички думи в текста.
ум колкото на замажан синигер

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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от xobgob » чет ное 04, 2010 5:25 pm

Одобрявам това съобщение. Само да не се забравиш. Излизай малко и навън. :D
Siege mode
Tank mode

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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от Асен » чет ное 04, 2010 6:32 pm

ChoChan написа:I hate Dan Brown :(
Спокойно, и аз! Пускам го като майтап.
Както каза Яго, приложението не дава особено реалистични отговори.
And Jesus said unto them, "And whom do you say that I am?"
"You are the eschatological manifestation of the
ground of our being, the ontological foundation of the context of our very self-hood revealed."
And Jesus said"what?"

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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » пет ное 05, 2010 11:42 am

Ако нещо е неясно, има нужда от повече разяснения или т.н, казвайте. И без това трябва да има пълнеж.
give me love so that I can kill...she's so unreal

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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » съб ное 06, 2010 11:54 am

He knew her of course. Invane Valar. Her name was as renowned as his own. They had shared numerous battlefields during the war. Quite glorious battlefields to say the least. Favored souls were power to be marveled and feared. They could often turn the tides of battle with their voices or their mere appearance. For when Favored soul was present, her god was roaming the battlefield as well.
It had been years since their last meeting. Last thing Garen heard about her was that after peace in the country was restored she had ventured in the Scorched Lands to vanquish the endless undead hordes.
As much as people adored Favored souls, they also often made them feel uncomfortable. They were too outworldly too divine for the common folk. Their close proximity to the gods had made them peculiar and odd. Their carriage and their physical features were different, their words filled with mysticism and riddles. Souls couldn’t help the way words sometimes spun from their lips, but their conversation partners often tended to think they were being mocked.
Favored souls truly inspired the best and worse in everyone. They could summon bravery in the despairing hearts, strength to tired flesh, heal both harmed bodies and spirits. But they could also compel envy, disdain and fear. No one really knew much about the Favored souls’ ways. They were indeed champions of good and heralds of the gods. If their deeds were part of a greater purpose, no one could tell.
Garen motioned to leave before she had finished her prayers, but as soon as he made a step, she slowly lifted her head of her hands and looked at him. She had small round white face with slightly tipped nose, tiny pink mouth and thin chin. Standing upright the top of her head would only reach his shoulders. Everything in her was small and petite, almost like a child. She had blue eyes that looked like glass balls that seemed to pierce through his very soul.
-Priestess. – He said with a slight nod.
-Paladin at odds. – She responded and Garen decided to accept it as a greeting. - Shall we indulge ourselves in a contest and see whose stare will gather more poison over a decade? – Invane said and slightly lifted her gold-white eyebrow. Garen was taken aback for a moment and regretted his childish thoughts.
-Forgive me, I don’t have the time.
-Indeed you don’t. – She said with a concluding tone and they sank into awkward silence.
This ominous exchange of words added to his frustration even more. He certainly wasn’t fit to carry civilized conversation with anyone at the moment.
-I will leave you to your prayers. We will talk later at court. – Garen said and after a short not from her he swung on his heels, walked down the hall and out of the temple.
Invane turned towards the stone scales again and with a heartwrenching sigh sank on her knees. She pressed palms to her chest and her head dropped.
-Sorry to interrupt, but after all you ARE praying to me, are you not now. – came a cold voice from beside her. Invane lifted her eyes and set them upon the tall slim woman in dark who had carelessly rested her elbow on Gilean’s altar and had her other hand against her curved hip. Invane motioned to stand up but the woman absently waved a hand and her feet were as good as melded into the marble floor. – Remain like this. I quite prefer kneeling subjects.
-Mistress Moorgaze. – Invane began without a breath.
-You should address me as Queen Moorgaze. – She said with a voice that whipped at Invane. - Your mind is such a mess, who knows what you could’ve summoned, stupid girl. - The goddess bent over the small white figure of the Favored soul and took her chin in palm. – Be mine. – She said with slow seductive and beckoning voice that made Invain wish to lie on the ground, squirm and crawl in Moorgaze’s feet. – It would be glorious to turn you to chaos, you will be magnificent.
-Then again – She added hurriedly and released the Favored soul. – This would be unfair. – And while Invane was looking at her with gaping mouth disappeared.
Moorgaze reappeared in the middle of dark endless place that had no floor, no walls or ceiling. Under her chin crossed and cold against her skin were a spear and a staff. To her left and right stood the Twins. Both tall and muscular beings, with bronze skin and coppery gold hair. Their faces were so identical it was always confusing to look at them. Placing your eyes on Magic one could say her face carried the masculine features of her brother. Turning them to Might he would look feminine like his sister.
-Moorgaze. – They both said in a low reverberating unison. – You know you are not to meddle with the Pick of others. Those are the rules. – Might continued with stern voice.
-I was not meddling! – She protested and pushed at the spear with the tip of her fingers. – I was being summoned.
-We heard the call. She wasn’t reaching out for you, and you know it perfectly well. – Magic interfered.
-Oh, all right.- She said finally with exasperation. - Just a little push, to make things more interesting. YOU should know. – Poking a finger in Might’s chest and then looked at his sister. - It is you two who do the pushing and pulling. Do not tell me this game has lost its appeal to the both of you. Are you not going to make your Pick? – Moorgaze demanded and pressed palms against her waist. – Time is running out. – She added with her velvet voice.
-We can not. – The twins said again as one and crossed hands in front of their chests.
Their bearing displayed grim determination, but she knew them well. She saw the briefest glance they exchanged.
-Ashgards is missing, and who knows what Gilean is about. Others are getting restless as well, especially the Witch of the wild.
- She said letting her voice drift meaningfully.
The twins crossed their glances again.
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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » пон ное 08, 2010 12:21 am

Invane was rising on her feet again, two clerics fussing about her at a hand distance. She waved them off and offered a smile to dismiss their worries.
-It is nothing, just a moment’s fatigue. – She said straightened her shoulders back to assure them she was quite well. The clerics still kept on wringing hands in distress and ask foolish questions. They would not get too close to or touch Invane however, for fear that she would see in their souls. She could learn their deepest secrets, see their past, maybe even their future. Even as these holy men and women had nothing to hide or fear – and mortals always had something buried deep down – they did not want to burden her with needless visions.
As much as she appreciated people’s concerns first for her and just then for themselves it also saddened her. She was spending her life in a glass sphere, divided from the rest of the world to never truly touch them or they – her. Sometimes she would look upon their simple lives with yearning, but only for a brief moment. For Invane knew she had other purpose in life. She had greater battles to fight, for the sake of everyone else.
Garen had been standing at King Bolwar’s right side several hours now while the public acceptance was being held. One day of the week till midday the court opened doors for the common folk to come and present their troubles in front of the ruler and his nobles. The king particularly disliked this event since it proved no purpose whatsoever other than presenting his noble subject entertainment for the morning. Having the undivided attention of the king and that of all the royals in the capital, tended to render people quite inarticulate. Bolwar however could not rescind the acceptance, since it was one of the old traditions. The common folk simply loved their traditions and the king wasn’t feeling particularly revolutionary regarding things like this. So once a week he spent his morning hours trying to appear aloof, calm, wise and attentive – all in the appropriate proportions, while sitting in the uncomfortable monstrosity that was the royal throne.
For the people that were granted the acceptance meeting the king meant nothing to their problems and troubles other than simply meeting the king. If their issues indeed required to be attended to, the district overseers would see to it.
With the years Garen had become accustomed to these weekly happenings. As usual he stood through it still as a statue his eyes roaming the cackling crowd of nobles. He and his other men from the royal guard were required to wear their parade Guardian uniforms and that was another part to the whole ostentation.
Usually the nobles entertained themselves discussing the common people that came to the acceptance. Their trivial troubles, their simple clothing or speech. Today however they had much more interesting subject in the face of Invane Valar, who was sitting at the King’s left side. To them Gilean’s Favored soul was an exotic being, a new kind of amusement and they could hardly reign their curiosity. Dressed in her priestly white and blue robes, golden rimmed at the hems, she was quite the vision.
Invane herself barely hid her distaste from all the flippancy that had been inflicted upon her. Graciously perched on the end of her chair she was piercing the nobles with her glassy blue eyes. In return they answered her with equal intensity absorbing every move that she made. She could almost feel their anticipation for something exciting to happen.
At last the king stood up, which marked the end of today’s acceptance and with Garen and Invane at his heels retreated through the doors behind the throne. In the smaller and more comfortably furnished hall the king would now spend some time in casual conversation with the most esteemed of his nobles. That meant they would slither about him and fawn on him in every possible attempt to gain his favor, while he pretended not to notice.
-I do apologize for this, priestess. – He said after they stopped near one tall window that overlooked the castle gardens. Attentive servants had presented them with glass of light white wine. – My nobles are rather callous, but they are more cunning that I should imagine possible. In this case I find it easiest to simply keep them close in check and in good humor. – The king sipped at his wine and looked Invane over the rim of the glass with bright blue eyes that sparkled with life.
She could already see how all the nobles circled the hall like hungry vultures, pretending they were not looking their way. Gilean’s priestess was an interesting distraction, but the King still topped their list of priorities. Every last one of them was keenly waiting for their conversation to end and for the king to dismiss them. Then it would finally be polite to approach him. It was rather unnerving to watch.
Ignoring all that Invane shook her head and waved a hand with a soft smile.
-Kings seem obliged to follow more rules than anyone else. – She said with understanding.
-Indeed it is so! – Bolwar exclaimed and gave a short laugh. – At least they will have enough excitement with the ten year peace festivities. - Нe quieted down for a long moment as if remembering something from the war. Invane did not imagine it could be pleasant memories. - Already ten years of peace. It almost seems unlikely. - The king finally said the voice rumbling in his chest conveying both his incredulity and lingering pride.
-Many people have already departed for Loderon. The Seat would nearly become deserted while the celebration goes on. – Garen put in.
-Ironic isn’t it. – The king said with a snort. - Celebrating ten year of peace with fighting. One would think they’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.
-It is still a competition in friendly spirit, sire. And no one is expected to get seriously injured. – The paladin said with his usual reassuring tone, then cast a glance at Invane.
-No matter. – The king raised a hand. – Now if you do not wish to gain neck cramps from all the mean looks thrown your way, you will excuse me.
give me love so that I can kill...she's so unreal

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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от CTAHuMuP » пон ное 08, 2010 2:31 pm

Хаха разговорът на Инвейн и Гарен ме изкриви, много е яка ангелката. Няколко дребни грешки (или поне според мен са, може и да не са) ще посоча ся.
Favored souls truly inspired the best and worse in everyone.
Тук според мен трябва да е "worst".
-I will leave you to your prayers. We will talk later at court. – Garen said and after a short not from her he swung on his heels, walked down the hall and out of the temple.
Това според мен трябва да е "nod".
ChoChan написа:
-You should address me as Queen Moorgaze. – She said with a voice that whipped at Invane. - Your mind is such a mess, who knows what you could’ve summoned, stupid girl. - The goddess bent over the small white figure of the Favored soul and took her chin in palm. – Be mine. – She said with slow seductive and beckoning voice that made Invain wish to lie on the ground, squirm and crawl in Moorgaze’s feet. – It would be glorious to turn you to chaos, you will be magnificent.
-Then again – She added hurriedly and released the Favored soul. – This would be unfair. – And while Invane was looking at her with gaping mouth disappeared.
Тук като цяло са омазани italic tag-овете.
Какво е това уклон, накъде клони и като клони, пада ли?
За разлика от отмъщението, наредбата е ястие, което се сервира най-добре горещо.

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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » пон ное 08, 2010 2:37 pm

Obvious правописни грешки можеш и ти да ги едитваш, а не да ги показваш и за по-незаберязващите, fool! :P
:love:
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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » вт ное 09, 2010 2:33 pm

He was talking to or maybe shouting at someone, but couldn’t hear neither his own words nor see the person he was talking to. Running along a dark passage, taking turns that were one moment dead end and in the next winded on or split in several new openings that looked exactly like every other he had entered. Images and obscure forms crawled at the edge of his vision but every time he looked at them, there was nothing there. He was chasing after someone. Without a warning the passage ended in a sunlit warm garden. There was a house, whose opened backdoor lead to the garden. Green grass crunched under his boots as he moved towards the house, but instead his steppes carried him away from it.
Black bird maybe a raven appeared in the sky and he lifted hand for the bird to land on it. The raven soared in circles down and finally sank its talons in his clasped fist. He was talking again but the only sound he could hear was a gentle female voice humming a lullaby.
The bird’s shape rippled, its wings turned into dark hands whose fingers closed around his neck. The blue sky had turned blood red now with thousands of black bird shapes against it. Images flickered one after another in front of his eyes as black spots filled his vision due to the lack of air.
Tyce (Тайс) inhaled a deep breath and his eyes flung open. Sweet fresh air rushed in his lungs. His breathing began to calm down as the dream slowly but inevitably sank in oblivion. His hands were firmly crossed in front of his chest with such a force his muscles ached.
That was why he never slept, sleeping brought dreams and dreams were dangerous. Why was he sleeping just now, he pondered while his mind was clearing from the dreams. His black shoulder length hair was curiously floating up like with magic, he noticed with puzzlement. Thoughtfully he stood like that for a moment and finally looked up.
-Oh. – was the only thing he uttered when he noticed that the reason why his hair was floating up in the air was because he was hanging upside down several miles above ground.
He unfolded his hands and let them drop around his head, then looked at his feet. Tightly his ankles were tied with a rope that hung from a pulley. The rope’s end was secured to a hook on a stone platform that seemed to lead to a cave in the base of the floating island.
Taking a deep breath Tyce pulled himself up and grabbed at his trousers reaching his way for the rope. He bent his knees and pulled out a small thin blade the size of a needle from the side of his boot. The man took a firm hold of the rope and stood like that for a moment to regain his breath. He then cut his legs loose holding himself on the pulley and the rope. Tyce bit his lips not to shout from the pain as blood rushed through his numb legs. Another few moments until he could feel all his limbs again. The platform was not too far so with a few swings he could reach it. He landed with a heavy crash on his chest and remained like that for a while. The stone cold and rough against his cheek. He let out a short laugh that turned into a cough and he rolled on his back. Something painfully stabbed at his side and he slid his fingers over his back, turning his neck as much as he could to find reason for his torment. He finally touched something fluffy and pulled at it. With a hiss through his teeth the blade slit out of his skin and he looked at the object. It was a small sharp dart with green feathers at the end.
-Damn pixies! – He cursed and threw the dart. That explained his sleeping then, he concluded and sat up.
The wind gently blew at his face, and he absently scratched the black stubble while looking down at the world over the end of the platform.
Loderon – the floating city of mages was slowly gliding through the air. It was just passing over lake Ara on its way to where the city used to be when it was on the ground. Centuries ago a group of powerful mages had torn the center of their city out of the ground and lifted it in the air, where they would finally be out of the reach of demanding kings and their wars. Now the floating island was the seat of mages and held the Loderon Univercity - the place where young people with a gift would go and train to become magic wielders.
The Circle of Seven – the strongest mages that ruled Loderon had established their own rules and laws in the borders of the island.
All the mages that lived in the floating city were first and most interested in their researches and pursuit of ancient history and powerful artifacts. They trained gifted children from every part of the world. What the trained mages and sorcerers did when they graduated from the university or who they sided with was of no concern to the Circle. However no one could leave the island before the mages approved of his departure. Young mages were strictly controlled and supervised throughout their training. The power that was magic and the results of its use were stressed to them since the very first time they stepped in the city.
It sometimes happened that a mage or sorcerer was not allowed to leave Loderon. When this occurred his family could not ask questions. They did not need to either, for it meant their son or daughter had failed and whatever the mages did with him, was the best possible course of action
If approved the Circle provided the graduates the chance to leave the island or stay if they pleased and become teachers. They were encouraged to travel the world though. To discover ancient mysteries or items of power before that.
The island also often provided safe harbor to illegitimate children of kings and queens, or others who for one reason or other have rubbed someone real powerful the wrong way.
Tyce knew dragons nested in the base of the floating island – that the mages used for traveling if they could. He wondered if the mages knew they had pixies as well. Pixies were small fairy creatures of various shapes and looks that were born from magic. And since this was a floating university it did not exactly lack on magic flows. They were much like the roaches in a regular household.
With a sudden startle Tyce slapped his hands over the pockets of his vest, then those of his trousers. He cursed and jumped on his feet, charging inside the cave. Random spots of the cave walls were glowing with blue and green pulsing magical light. Without a pause he ran down the tunnel that was oddly build for human size. It didn’t take him long to locate the tiny pixie community, that had formed. Pixies were mindless remnants of magic, but they could manifest some kind of primitive personality if they were left to be unattended. These particular pixies seemed to have been left unchecked for quite a while.
They were no taller than a foot, in remotely human shape – with round heads and oval bodies. Their skin was pale green and Tyce did not like to admit that they had disturbing number of sharp teeth in their mouths. The pixies seemed to have even developed some kind of tribal community, for at the moment nearly fifty of them were gathered in a wider cavern around an altar. On the altar and the object for their reverent worship was a silver flute – the reason why Tyce was on this wretched island to begin with.
The young man looked at the scene with gaping mouth then after a moments pondering grabbed the nearest pixie for where its head connected to its body and lift it of the ground.
-Hey! – He shouted to attract their attention. His voice cut their mumbling and the pixies stared at him. While looking at them he squeezed his hand hard and with a short “puff’ the pixie burst like a balloon. The crowd gave a shocked gasp, but Tyce was already striding at the altar kicking pixies left and right.
Next thing Tyce knew was running down the passage, fifty angry pixies at his heels, squeeking on their made up language. He decided to ignore the ominous fact that his dream had begun the same way as this and charged on. When he saw the platform that stretched in open air he sped up and jumped off.
He did scream all the two some miles free fall and plunged hard in lake Ara’s waters. Tyce expected that his bones would shatter from the fall, but instead the rushing cold water around him felt like cotton. He kicked his feet and flailed hands trying to emerge to the surface, when he was suddenly pulled inside of bubble of air that rapidly moved out of the lake. He was plunged towards one of the shores where he fell hard on his knees gasping and coughing water. It was some moments before he realized someone was talking to him. Or more like someone was shouting at him
-Are you out of your mind?! What were you thinking?! You have better not stolen anything from the mages! – Young man with long red hair that he carried in a braid over one shoulder and dressed in robes was towering over Tyce. He was just breathing in to resume his shouting when a great thunder that echoed all through he valley silenced them both. They looked up at Loderon and saw that the whole city radiated in bright crimson light. The floating island seemed to shake violently for a moment and then quieted down. The red haired sorcerer turned his murderous eyes back on the nearly drowned rogue in his feet.
-That better not be YOUR fault!
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Re: The Artifact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » пет ное 12, 2010 11:03 am

Хаха, не е като да не зарибявам народа с моята книга. Ето какво направи един прятел по повода. :D

p.s Ivlin ми е юзърнейма на NaNoWriMo.org
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Re: The Artefact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » пет ное 12, 2010 1:44 pm

The wizard grabbed the still gaping Tyce by the collar and hauled him up on his feet. He could almost see the rogue’s thoughts turning in his head, considering his words.
-I am pretty sure nothing I did has anything to do with that, Morserv. – He said to the wizard and pushed his hands away.
-Really? – Was the sarcastic response followed with a raised eyebrow. – You know the mages could send for you, and for me as well. If they put their minds into it, no one will ever see us again!
-Bah. – Tyce waved a hand. – They won’t miss something they don’t know is missing. - He pulled out the silver flute from a pocket in his vest and inspected it closely. It was pretty little thing made of delicate silver tubes with different length. Upon them ran carved winding lines that created the impression of sky and clouds.
Morserv’s eyes widened in horror as realization dawned upon him. He pointed a long finger at the item.
-Do you have any idea what this is! – He called out and his voice had become rasp and a little shrill.
-I do. – Tyce responded as he turned the flute around in his hands.
-This thing can put whole armies in slumber!
-Nonsense! This is the one that raises armies from the dead. – He protested and narrowed his eyes to some scribes over the smooth silver surface. After that he put it at his lips and tried to make some sort of sound of it.
With a smug smirk Morserv crossed hands in front of his chest and eyed his friend with amusement.
-I am telling you it is the flute of the Nalish. – He began as Tyce managed some unpleasant deaftone tunes with the instrument. – Besides only the most powerful sorcerers can…- Morserv’s words were cut off by a laud pitched tone and suddenly the ground lifted under his feet and smashed his face.
Morserv woke up to the sound of constant monotonous rattling. He sat up and found himself in the back of a wagon filled with kitchen utensils. It took him several moments to gather his senses about and piece up the last thing he could remember. With a sigh he shook his head and looked around. Somehow they had joined one of the traveling armies of cooks, housekeepers, servants and merchants on their way to the Ruins of Loderon for the celebrations. The young wizard crossed hands behind his neck and relaxed his back on a huge cooking pot that was taking almost half of the wagon. He noticed Tyce in the distance leading a horse by the reigns – and they hadn’t had any horses before – chatting with a pretty servant girl in a neat black and white uniform. She blushed like a sunset to something that he had just whispered in her ear and was giving him a sidelong look from under her lowered lashes filled with promises.
Morserv sighed again – nothing new here, he thought and forgot he should be angry at his companion. He knew it wouldn’t last so he had gotten used to not getting mad at all. They had known each-other since childhood. Morserv was the son of noble and Tyce was the bastard son of a noble.
Tyce’s father Nathan Lynn was a low class nobleman from Varn who openly kept a mistress and their bastard child. He had provided them with a small hut near his townhouse where they lived in relative comfort and he could call upon her at his convenience. He had not much of interest in his son however. His mother Leyna was a pretty woman of rather feeble constitution and poor health. She was often abed with sickness her infant son taking care of her. With his pale skin, dark hair and eyes Tyce was her splitting image. His childhood was not a pleasant one – he had his mother’s delicate weak form and in addition to his heritage he was target of all other kids in the area. Sons of merchants or other low class nobles took great pleasure in torturing him. Every evening he would return home with bloodied lips and bruised body, sit at the side of his mother’s sickbed and tell her stories of how well he got along with his many friends.
It was around that time when he met Morserv – a fat ugly kid with bright ginger hair who like him was the usual target for molesting. Both of them being outcasts and all alone in the world – as they fancied - was what brought them to each other. Their friendship gave happiness to both of them and a little light in their otherwise bleak childhood.
When Tyce was nine years old his mother passed away and Nathan Lynn took him in his house to the great chagrin of his wife. He didn’t do it of love for his son, only to keep face, he would not even notice his existence. Naturally Lynn’s wife would - she despised the boy and would hiss him hurtful words every time she crossed his path. If that hurt him, Tyce did not show it.
He made friends with Lynn’s horseman Sam – good looking tall man with broad shoulders and thin waist. Sam was a cheerful lad without a care in world who always had a joke to cheer the boy up. He taught him how to ride and Tyce often helped him take care of the horses in the stables. He also taught him how to talk to a lady and told him stories that would make Tyce's ears lit red to the tips. To him Sam was sort of a parent he never had.
Time passed by in relative happiness for Tyce as he had Morserv and Sam at his side. Few years later Morserv had manifested arcane gift and was to be sent to The Loderon University. Tyce was on his way to ask his father if he could attend the university as well. Before entering the lord’s bedchamber Tyce heard his wife voice. He immediately stopped and decided to return later when she would be gone, for he knew that as much as she wanted him away, she would refuse to send him in Loderon just out of spite. He set to leave but then heard that the man she was talking to – in lord Lynn’s bedroom was not his father but someone he could not recognize. Among the giggles and kisses he heard that they were planning to poison the lord.
The next day he stalked her all morning and when she went to bring her husband his afternoon glass of wine, Tyce intercepted her. He was nearly fourteen now – almost as tall as she was, still skinny and growing into his limbs that looked too big for him. Tyce crossed her path and confronted her about the wine and demanded that she would drink too. They broke into a struggle and as the glasses smashed on the floor his father came out to see what all the noise was about.
His wife threw herself in Nathan’s arms hiding her crying face in his chest, wailing how Tyce had attacked her for no reason. The boy pleaded with his father to trust him, but in the end it was futile. Nathan looked at him, maybe for the first time in months, and in his eyes Tyce saw no emotion whatsoever. His father coldly informed him that he would leave the house the next morning.
Hurricane of emotions in his heart Tyce had ran away to the gravesite where his mother was buried. He had prostrated himself over her gravestone and wept bitterly. A while later Sam had walked by and hurried to the boy. He had gathered him up and wiped his tears off his face telling him comforting words. Through sobs and cries Tyce told him everything – that Lady Lynn was having an affair and was planning to poison his father. Sam cradled him softly and listened to his story. In the end he hugged him tightly.
-Don’t worry, Tyce. It will be all right. – Sam told him, patting him on the back.
And then with his palm he had covered the boy’s mouth and stabbed him in the heart. Tyce’s body only winced from the strike, without even letting out a shout. He looked at his chest where Sam’s dagger was plunged to the hilt and just stared with disbelief. The horseman softly let him lie on the ground again.
-Do not hate me, boy. – He said looking down at Tyce. – But I can not let you go about telling crazy stories, right? – With a sharp twist he pulled his dagger out and left him there, slowly bleeding to death over his mother’s gravestone.
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Re: The Artefact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от Avatar » вт ное 16, 2010 8:44 pm

Какво стана, от четири дена не са излизали нови части? :)

ChoChan
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Re: The Artefact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » вт ное 16, 2010 8:46 pm

Sorre, тъкмо поства, но е кратичко :р
give me love so that I can kill...she's so unreal

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Re: The Artefact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от Avatar » вт ное 16, 2010 8:48 pm

Окей, чакам да видя. Да не вземеш да се откажеш от начинанието поради липса на окуражение :)

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Re: The Artefact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » вт ное 16, 2010 8:52 pm

And then the demon came. It slithered around Tyce, towering above him till the only thing the boy could see was its shadowy form. It had no definite shape, or maybe it was what Tyce could see through his slowly closing eyes. With curiosity it observed the small being lying in front of it on the gravestone, the life slowly draining away through his eyes together with the blood sinking into the grass.
The demon whispered him things, sweet promises and an offer. Eternal life, the absolute opportunity and time to do everything he could ever wish for. All this in exchange for his heart. The demon needn’t have worked so hard. After all Tyce was a scared, aching fourteen year old, taking his last breaths. He would have agreed to much less in exchange for so much more of himself.
That night Nathan Lynn’s estate burned to the ground, together with all his household.
The years to follow Tyce traveled the world and lived a life full of all the lovliest and most gruesome pleasures. He committed every sin known to men. Every whim he could think of – he accomplished it. And the demon – whispering in his ear was always quite eager to suggest new ideas. The anger in him drove him on and on, the burning hatred he felt for everything. He murdered hundreds and ruined the lives of thousands. And each soul he crushed was chained to him forever. Like a convoy of slaves he dragged them along - angry wailing hopeless souls. Tyce had no care in the world for them and simply ignored them. He died many deaths, every time to return untouched. The demon was pleased.
Tyce became so conceited he often shouted challenges to the gods, daring their wrath. He went so far as to seduce the Favored soul of the Witch of the Wild. The priestess fell so in love with Tyce she submitted to his every wish, throwing away vows and duties. And when Tyce cruelly and intentionally broke her heart she took her life away, shouting his name. The Witch of the Wild – a whimsical cruel goddess became so infuriated she hunted him down and captured him. For months she joyously ripped his body and soul apart, his screams – music to her ears. But worst of all were the dreams. She made it so that in his sleep the hundreds of souls he had ruined could reach him. Their vengeance was unimaginable. And the Witch kept him sleeping for days.
It was months before the Witch of the Wild grew tired of his torture, ripped the spirit of her Favored soul from his hold and threw him away. The demon, that has all this time been quiet if at all present, returned at his side with its whispering. However since that day Tyce would ignore the voice and never again answer to it. The demon would not care – deal was a deal and it would simply subside to a constant presence while quietly observing the souls that Tyce harvested in his path.
Morserv scratched his cheek and eyed his friend. He has known something about Tyce was not right the moment they met again many years later. The sorcerer knew Tyce could not die, but didn’t know why. He thought his friend was under some sort of evil spell or contract – he could only guess for Tyce could not speak for it. It was how demon deals worked. Even if the thief wanted, he could not utter a word on the matter. Once when he was studying him, Morserv saw through the spell. He saw his friend’s body all broken and ruined from all the deaths and injuries he had sustained. He saw vague humanoid shapes gnawing at his limbs.
It had been all just for a moment, but it shook Morserv’s soul to the core and he swore to break the spell Tyce was under.
Now he was again intently watching Tyce, reaching out to him with his arcane sight, softly probing at him, looking for some answers. Chatting with the servant girl Tyce absently pressed palm against his chest and his gaze lifted, searching for something. Their eyes met and the thief offered a weak smile. Morserv’s magical touch retracted and with a sigh he again relaxed back in the wagon.
give me love so that I can kill...she's so unreal

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Re: The Artefact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от Avatar » вт ное 16, 2010 9:00 pm

Добре, кратко, но пък доста добро като замисъл и изпълнение. Браво, давай още.

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Re: The Artefact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от xobgob » ср ное 17, 2010 9:35 am

Супер радвам, се че виждам толкова много постове. Чочан е най - великата писателка която познавам. Нямам време да ги чета сега, но обещавам да критикувам след време.

ПС Ако не завършиш разказа за един месец ще те накажем. В тъмна стая с малко храна и вода.
Siege mode
Tank mode

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Re: The Artefact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от CTAHuMuP » ср ное 17, 2010 9:47 am

xobgob написа:ПС Ако не завършиш разказа за един месец ще те накажем. В тъмна стая с малко храна и вода.
И без УоУ.
Какво е това уклон, накъде клони и като клони, пада ли?
За разлика от отмъщението, наредбата е ястие, което се сервира най-добре горещо.

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Re: The Artefact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от FireDeath » ср ное 17, 2010 10:42 am

xobgob написа: Чочан е най - великата писателка която познавам.
стига се натяга

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Re: The Artefact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от CONAN » ср ное 17, 2010 10:46 am

Незнам как може да прецени че е най-великата, като няма време да прочете каквото и да било... :wink:
The past is a rudder to guide us, not an anchor to hold us back.

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Re: The Artefact [NaNoWriMo]

Мнение от ChoChan » ср ное 17, 2010 10:48 am

Защото след "Чочан е най - великата писателка която познавам" си е спестил наредбата. "Но аз не познавам други, де".
Besides, Вальо е чел първите няколко поста и даже игра в сорт ъв фрий форм по книгата оня ден. :D
give me love so that I can kill...she's so unreal

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