Author Topic: The Forum's Scriptorium  (Read 110432 times)

Oh Deer

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #15 on: April 11, 2015, 12:20:17 AM »
I made this up the spot after a random spurt of creativity. It's the meeting of the two main characters. And it's from the same universe as the Worker Birds!
      His slender form smashed through the window, shattering it into thousands of pieces. The dagger was in his hand, tug against his body. "So, my time hasn't come yet?" He yelled at the horribly disfigured figure following him. I can tell that this 'thing' was once a bear, but never again it would be a bear. Again he yelled something, in a language I can't understand. His blade flashes a bright green, then dies down. The creature comes forward, through the broken store front. Then it promptly gets its head ripped off by the green glow-y guy. "Ha! I knew it wasn't my time yet!" Seeing that the creature was dead, I decided to get a better look at this guy. He was tall, slim, and had short choppy hair. He was also a Bovid, a race of people with antelope type antlers and whispy tails. I've never seen one in real life, and the rumors are true. They're truly beautiful.
      He's wearing a leather tunic, and baggy tan pants, a popular fashion statement in Cau. He must be very far away from home, Cau is almost halfway across the world. In the Southern Hemisphere. I wonder what he's doing so far away when I heard a noise close to me. My perch was being given away! I was currently sitting in the rafters of the building. I looked down and saw bright green eyes staring at me. "Oh crap." I thought. "What are you doing here? This city was supposed to be overrun!" I leap down, hooves hitting the ground. "Well, until you came, I had this building under control." My large ears twitched, and I swished my tiny tail. "Oh! You're a Cervi! (Cervi are deer-like people) Don't get many in the north do we, now?" I replied with "We don't get many Bovid in the north either, like how we stick to the west, you guys usually stick to the south."
     
« Last Edit: April 11, 2015, 12:37:55 AM by Oh Deer »
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SugaAndSpice

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #16 on: April 14, 2015, 04:23:04 PM »
I am going to start a new comic soon, but here is some concept of how it will begin if written.

Ivy stood up. The wind rushed around her face, whipping her long, dark chestnut hair around her. "This is a dream." She told herself. She could tell, because her hair was down,she was standing on a rock in the middle of a vast expanse of water, glimmering like silver. Also, when she stared down at the glassy water, her eyes glowed violet. "Perfect." She said aloud to herself. She stepped back on the rock, backing up untill she was at its far edge, and then strode forward, into a jog, then she sped up and ran as fast as her strong legs could. And then, as she reached the water, she jumped. She flew into the air. . . And stayed there. She put her feet down gently, and when the flattened, the air sort of gathered at her feet, turning violet. She began walking forward carefully. One wrong step in the dream realm, and no more you in the waking world. 'Well, when you have magic.' She mused to herself. Her to younger brothers, Max and Jay, had no magic. She had visited  their dreams often, watching them play, unaware that Ivy possessed powers far beyond them. They only knew that sometimes she would pop in to their dreams from time to time, to play soccer or falling down tree, a game of their own invention. She looked up at the clouded dream sky. 'That isn't right. It was clear a minute ago.' She thought. Ivy closed her eyes, sending out a mental radar. She sensed a disturbance, but not like some stray dreamer in her realm. 'The Dream Council.' She thought.

Sorry, that is all I have time for. I will be back Tuesday!
I say vol, you say tron! Vol!
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SugaAndSpice

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #17 on: April 17, 2015, 05:26:24 PM »
Kind off getting a little wierded out that I posted and then everything stopped on this thread... hello, anyone home?
I say vol, you say tron! Vol!
…Voltron?

Noodles

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #18 on: April 17, 2015, 05:29:07 PM »
I've been lurking, but I'm not much of a one for writing fanfics. IDK where everyone else went.
I'll do art-swaps and beta-reads, PM me!
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Sunflower

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #19 on: April 17, 2015, 05:51:08 PM »
Kind off getting a little wierded out that I posted and then everything stopped on this thread... hello, anyone home?

Actually, this forum doesn't normally get a lot of traffic, day-in and -out.  Don't worry. 
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Adrai Thell

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #20 on: May 21, 2015, 06:19:05 PM »
Last night, I realized I had to write a story for a class this morning. What resulted was an hour of writing and a story I'm inordinately proud of...

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1zKcggEPEr-e4NsPw0alhAUsi1Q4ZAD06De5AH2MjumE/pub

You can probably tell that this didn't go through any other drafts, but darn it I made somebody nearly cry with it, and I 'm proud of that!
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Mélusine

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #21 on: May 21, 2015, 06:35:39 PM »
Last night, I realized I had to write a story for a class this morning. What resulted was an hour of writing and a story I'm inordinately proud of...
It's a good idea to make the reader see by the eyes of a young character. (Huuuuuuu, this end...)
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Adrai Thell

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #22 on: May 21, 2015, 06:39:21 PM »
It's a good idea to make the reader see by the eyes of a young character. (Huuuuuuu, this end...)

Thanks! I've never done anything quite like this one before... and I wish I could've fleshed it out more, but the five-page limit and hard formatting rules are cruel.
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KicknRun

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #23 on: June 26, 2015, 09:37:40 AM »
I found a website where you can make a directory of your characters
So here is the oc i posted in the art thread ages ago

Julia Freeman

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ButterflyWings

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #24 on: June 26, 2015, 10:29:30 AM »
Semi-horror story I banged out in 15 minutes:

Spoiler: show

Idle hands are the devils playground as my grandnanny used to say. I shoveled a bit more dirt over the plastic bag filled hole.

It had been hard work driving out to the forest along old logger roads in the dark. It had been harder work dragging the body the 50 yards to the hole I had prepared before.

My daughter had already fallen asleep in the car, when I returned. She woke up to the light turning on when I opened the driver's side door. She squinted a bit before turning her bright blue eyes on me.

"It's done", I said as the tears welled up in her eyes and I hugged her close, her tears mixing with the dirt on my once hipster rugged lumberjack shirt.

I stroked her hair for a long while, until the coldness of an open door caused me to shiver.

I aimed to look out the steamed windscreen for the blackness of the forest, but instead turned to look out through the door. The smell of heather, pine needles and something that was once dead greeted me.

Anna looked back at me. Long haired, sleek and obviously dead for a dog. It growled.
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W̕e ̀l̵i͠e o̡n bu͏t̡te͘r͞f͟ly҉ ͞win͏gs̸ ìn͝ ̶th́is g͟oss̸ame̵re͡d d̀ecay,͞ ͢st҉ŗi̵n̶g͝s͘ ͝t҉o ͜needles ͠pi͏ęr̨ci̡ng̨ th̀e fles͝h́
Yo̷ù ̨make͘ m͘e ͢st͞r҉i̸p ̨dowń t̷o͘ t͡h̛e͢ bone,͘ t̴h̴en s͟t̕ùm͠ble͘ i̧n my͢ ̕foot́s̡tep̷s ̸seek̨ing ́a̡bs͏o͞lut̛i͠on

kjeks

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #25 on: July 20, 2015, 01:43:45 PM »
So wolfie talked me more or less into writing again. It did not really end nor does it have a certain point. I just let my mind flow and tried to see what happened.

Spoiler: show
Eyes moved restlessly over a rough surface of surrounding walls. Desperetaly they tried to find a point to fix upon but despite being of various pattern the greyish-black stone seemed flowing away and offered no rest. Carved in natural rocks small cracks and grooves shaped the generell look of the wall. Splintered all over shadows moved while constantly changing shapes.

Uncountable time had passed. Was it weeks, years or just days? It was impossible to leave marks on the wall without letting the fingers ripped raw and bleeding. A thin curtain of water had softened all edges and leaving blood had been useless since it was steadyly washed away before it even dried somewhere.

First the heart had been pounding hard and fast. Rapid beats pushed adrenaline through the veines on the search for a way out. Quickly acceptance of defeat gentled the thrusts until apathy settled in. Food and water got replaced but only during unconsciousness. Every attempt of spotting the service of supplies ended in deep sleep no matter how hard the pinches and bites on the bare skin. Not touching the food had no effect and surrender settled in.

So the days, if one could call them that, consisted of wakening, rationing the food for the hours left till sleep and eventually close the eyes. From time to time a rag and a bowl of water stood next to the iron bars and vanished during the next dreaming phase. Aside from own smell of decay near wounds and self produced utterances no sound was to be heard or any colours to be seen. Whatever light there was allowed to see grey in all its might.

Slowly incertainty crept in. Was this the real world indeed? Not a dream caught into each night repeating itself? Daily life continued steadily between servings in the cave. A leading position in job finally reached while friends had kids and the cinema had changed films at least thrice. The doctor praised the health in generall but reminded to check in during the next half term again. The partner had some achievements fulfilled as well and the next journey showed up on the horizon.

But this reality had bleached colours, muffled sounds and numbed tastes. Each night between stone walls felt more real. Family felt distant while friends seemed not listening at all. The cold walls, the hard stone, the aching fingers and the hot flesh around the wounds. Each bite felt more vivid at the taste of iron than anything else happening in the other world. Coughs gave hints that the whole boddy still had muscles left, each sensible when another fit crept in. Fear tried to make an entry but suddenly the eyelids fell and the mind drifted away in the black space between caves and everyday life.
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Mélusine

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #26 on: July 20, 2015, 01:53:37 PM »
So wolfie talked me more or less into writing again. It did not really end nor does it have a certain point. I just let my mind flow and tried to see what happened.

Spoiler: show
Eyes moved restlessly over a rough surface of surrounding walls. Desperetaly they tried to find a point to fix upon but despite being of various pattern the greyish-black stone seemed flowing away and offered no rest. Carved in natural rocks small cracks and grooves shaped the generell look of the wall. Splintered all over shadows moved while constantly changing shapes.

Uncountable time had passed. Was it weeks, years or just days? It was impossible to leave marks on the wall without letting the fingers ripped raw and bleeding. A thin curtain of water had softened all edges and leaving blood had been useless since it was steadyly washed away before it even dried somewhere.

First the heart had been pounding hard and fast. Rapid beats pushed adrenaline through the veines on the search for a way out. Quickly acceptance of defeat gentled the thrusts until apathy settled in. Food and water got replaced but only during unconsciousness. Every attempt of spotting the service of supplies ended in deep sleep no matter how hard the pinches and bites on the bare skin. Not touching the food had no effect and surrender settled in.

So the days, if one could call them that, consisted of wakening, rationing the food for the hours left till sleep and eventually close the eyes. From time to time a rag and a bowl of water stood next to the iron bars and vanished during the next dreaming phase. Aside from own smell of decay near wounds and self produced utterances no sound was to be heard or any colours to be seen. Whatever light there was allowed to see grey in all its might.

Slowly incertainty crept in. Was this the real world indeed? Not a dream caught into each night repeating itself? Daily life continued steadily between servings in the cave. A leading position in job finally reached while friends had kids and the cinema had changed films at least thrice. The doctor praised the health in generall but reminded to check in during the next half term again. The partner had some achievements fulfilled as well and the next journey showed up on the horizon.

But this reality had bleached colours, muffled sounds and numbed tastes. Each night between stone walls felt more real. Family felt distant while friends seemed not listening at all. The cold walls, the hard stone, the aching fingers and the hot flesh around the wounds. Each bite felt more vivid at the taste of iron than anything else happening in the other world. Coughs gave hints that the whole boddy still had muscles left, each sensible when another fit crept in. Fear tried to make an entry but suddenly the eyelids fell and the mind drifted away in the black space between caves and everyday life.
It gives a... disturbing impression. I'm curious :)
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Asterales

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #27 on: July 22, 2015, 07:58:49 PM »
All these stories sound so great!
So I wanted to join, too.  :P
And why not make it my first post here? It is as good a place as any to start!

I translated this form German, so sometimes it sounds a bit weird. But sometimes the formulation is on purpose, to better reflect that the normal expression wasn't used in German.

It's part of the background story of something I have worked on for a long time, but still haven't really started writing.
To be precise, it's the creation story of an imaginary magical people, told by 18 year old Chenean to his 3-4 year old brother Ferusch, who will grow up to be the protagonist of the story. Both of them were born into a troublesome side branch of the ruling family, and they constantly have to prove their right to exist.
If you look carefully, you will find many themes I want the story to focus on. In fact, there is a lot in what they say that has a far deeper meaning than apparent in this snippet and many of the characters personal issues also appear...
"Meïva-ta-Johnë" is the "sovereign of the 900", meaning 900 main families.
In any case, this is also the first draft and susceptible to revision later on. Well, at least the German version is.

Spoiler: show

Ferusch sat in an alcove of the passage running along the main house.
On the trees, snow weighed heavily, encumbering their branches, mushy and wet.
Dainty wisps of haze impended the air and the Mountains of the Souvreign in the distance seemed like relievo on finely woven cloth.
Ferusch pulled his legs onto the ledge and wrapped himself more tightly into the woolen fabric of his cape.
Silently lost in his thoughts and the sight of scenery, intoxiated by the sweetness of the air, the boy did not perceive the footfalls drawing closer in his back and startled  when a warm hand fell on his nape.
His brother’s hand brushed over his hair and shoulder, then he slid next to him into the alcove.
His brother’s warmth on one side, the rigid cold of stone on the other, Ferusch looked at the older’s face.
Chenean’s skin was pale and tenseness made his eyes wan and hungry, his mouth pinched with the bitter taste of adverse words.
Ferusch wanted to say something, but Chenean pushed away the snow at the base of the wall and looked at him with a sudden grin.
„Let me tell you a story.“
His eyes flicked sideways and for a moment the smile vanished from his lips to reveal suppressed fury.
Ferusch closed his mouth, but fondness returned to his brother’s gaze.
„Surely you know it already.“ Chenean searched for his eyes. „But but let me tell it anyway.“
Ferusch looked at the hand between them, as it restlessly drew patterns on Chenean’s thigh and then closed around his fingers with gentle pressure. Chenean stared at the white landscape spread before them and then begann to speak:
„Far to the north and the east, in the lands that were once our homelands, where there is more snow and cold than you can imagine, there was a mother, who gave birth to two children and thereby died.
As She lost Her sight, Her gaze fell upon Her children: Their bodies were frail; their skin so thin their veins painted their flesh into the thousand pieces of breaking glaze. Their hair and eyes were colourless as the land they had been born into and they could not see.
Just as their Heart had entered the world, it wanted to leave again.
The Mother was overcome by horror and sadness and anger and as Her Heart departet from Her body she called upon the Changers and the Wandering for help so that Her children would not have to die.
The old spirits felt for the woman and told Her that there was enough life in Her children that they would not be forced to contiue on, but not enough that their Hearts might abide to give and take.
But knowing this did not give solace to the woman and she bid and pleaded and wept and begged until finally the spirits relented and bestowed a gift upon the children, so that all those continuing on would give them life and strength.
Their gift was so potent, so wonderous, that the twins not only abided in their Heart, but soon learned to command the energies of those continuing on and to use it to their advantage.
This is how our people was born and we came to be called Blessed Children.“
Chenean looked at Ferusch. When the boy didn’t say anything, he smiled and stroked his cheek.
Ferusch looked down.
„You have light hair, too.“
Chenean considered his brother.
„Yes, I do.“
„All Meïva-ta-Johnë have light hair.“
„Not all of them do.“
Ferusch looked up.
„Our mother’s family carries the blood of the older twin, the daughter.“ Chenean was silent for a moment and kicked some more snow to the side. „Our father’s family isn’t relatded to the first Blessed Children. His family was born farther to the east. Weaker spirits gave this family power.“
„But father is powerful.“
„Yes. Each family was free to do whatever they wanted with the gifts they received. To this day new families continue to be born. And some families die. Sometimes because they mix their blood until it is too diluted, sometimes because of their own stubbornness or an unwillingness to cultivate their powers.“
Chenean stroked his brother’s cheek once more, then he stood and offered a hand.
„Let's go back inside. It’s cold out here.“

Native :germany:
Pretty alright :uk:
Not used for longer than learned :spain: :france:
Getting better :japan:
Rather awful :china:

kjeks

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #28 on: July 22, 2015, 08:29:17 PM »
All these stories sound so great!
So I wanted to join, too.  :P
And why not make it my first post here? It is as good a place as any to start!

I translated this form German, so sometimes it sounds a bit weird. But sometimes the formulation is on purpose, to better reflect that the normal expression wasn't used in German.

It's part of the background story of something I have worked on for a long time, but still haven't really started writing.
To be precise, it's the creation story of an imaginary magical people, told by 18 year old Chenean to his 3-4 year old brother Ferusch, who will grow up to be the protagonist of the story. Both of them were born into a troublesome side branch of the ruling family, and they constantly have to prove their right to exist.
If you look carefully, you will find many themes I want the story to focus on. In fact, there is a lot in what they say that has a far deeper meaning than apparent in this snippet and many of the characters personal issues also appear...
"Meïva-ta-Johnë" is the "sovereign of the 900", meaning 900 main families.
In any case, this is also the first draft and susceptible to revision later on. Well, at least the German version is.

Spoiler: show

Ferusch sat in an alcove of the passage running along the main house.
On the trees, snow weighed heavily, encumbering their branches, mushy and wet.
Dainty wisps of haze impended the air and the Mountains of the Souvreign in the distance seemed like relievo on finely woven cloth.
Ferusch pulled his legs onto the ledge and wrapped himself more tightly into the woolen fabric of his cape.
Silently lost in his thoughts and the sight of scenery, intoxiated by the sweetness of the air, the boy did not perceive the footfalls drawing closer in his back and startled  when a warm hand fell on his nape.
His brother’s hand brushed over his hair and shoulder, then he slid next to him into the alcove.
His brother’s warmth on one side, the rigid cold of stone on the other, Ferusch looked at the older’s face.
Chenean’s skin was pale and tenseness made his eyes wan and hungry, his mouth pinched with the bitter taste of adverse words.
Ferusch wanted to say something, but Chenean pushed away the snow at the base of the wall and looked at him with a sudden grin.
„Let me tell you a story.“
His eyes flicked sideways and for a moment the smile vanished from his lips to reveal suppressed fury.
Ferusch closed his mouth, but fondness returned to his brother’s gaze.
„Surely you know it already.“ Chenean searched for his eyes. „But but let me tell it anyway.“
Ferusch looked at the hand between them, as it restlessly drew patterns on Chenean’s thigh and then closed around his fingers with gentle pressure. Chenean stared at the white landscape spread before them and then begann to speak:
„Far to the north and the east, in the lands that were once our homelands, where there is more snow and cold than you can imagine, there was a mother, who gave birth to two children and thereby died.
As She lost Her sight, Her gaze fell upon Her children: Their bodies were frail; their skin so thin their veins painted their flesh into the thousand pieces of breaking glaze. Their hair and eyes were colourless as the land they had been born into and they could not see.
Just as their Heart had entered the world, it wanted to leave again.
The Mother was overcome by horror and sadness and anger and as Her Heart departet from Her body she called upon the Changers and the Wandering for help so that Her children would not have to die.
The old spirits felt for the woman and told Her that there was enough life in Her children that they would not be forced to contiue on, but not enough that their Hearts might abide to give and take.
But knowing this did not give solace to the woman and she bid and pleaded and wept and begged until finally the spirits relented and bestowed a gift upon the children, so that all those continuing on would give them life and strength.
Their gift was so potent, so wonderous, that the twins not only abided in their Heart, but soon learned to command the energies of those continuing on and to use it to their advantage.
This is how our people was born and we came to be called Blessed Children.“
Chenean looked at Ferusch. When the boy didn’t say anything, he smiled and stroked his cheek.
Ferusch looked down.
„You have light hair, too.“
Chenean considered his brother.
„Yes, I do.“
„All Meïva-ta-Johnë have light hair.“
„Not all of them do.“
Ferusch looked up.
„Our mother’s family carries the blood of the older twin, the daughter.“ Chenean was silent for a moment and kicked some more snow to the side. „Our father’s family isn’t relatded to the first Blessed Children. His family was born farther to the east. Weaker spirits gave this family power.“
„But father is powerful.“
„Yes. Each family was free to do whatever they wanted with the gifts they received. To this day new families continue to be born. And some families die. Sometimes because they mix their blood until it is too diluted, sometimes because of their own stubbornness or an unwillingness to cultivate their powers.“
Chenean stroked his brother’s cheek once more, then he stood and offered a hand.
„Let's go back inside. It’s cold out here.“


This story is not DSA-inspired by chance? The names just sound kinda fetched of that genre. I really like that story =)

Maybe you might want to introduce yourself here?. *waves over from middle of germany*
:germany: :uk: :norway:
:sweden: :france: :ireland: :turkey: :kurdish: :sign: =>Learning:
:vaticancity: =>Leftovers

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Asterales

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #29 on: July 23, 2015, 03:53:19 AM »
Quote
This story is not DSA-inspired by chance? The names just sound kinda fetched of that genre. I really like that story =)

Maybe you might want to introduce yourself here?. *waves over from middle of germany*

Naw, not DSA-inspired. My flatmate seems to like it quite a lot as well, but I have not the first clue about it...
It's a mix of approximately five others of my stories that were about to die a silent death and possibly Harry Potter and Howl's Moving Castle. Although looking at it now, not even I can tell anymore.

And thank you for the link to the introduction thread! I was planning on visiting, but still a bit hesitant about it.
*Waves back from the south-east*
« Last Edit: July 23, 2015, 11:52:25 AM by Asterales »
Native :germany:
Pretty alright :uk:
Not used for longer than learned :spain: :france:
Getting better :japan:
Rather awful :china: