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Writing Excercise: Prompt #1
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Dealthagar
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PostPosted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 7:40 pm Post subject: Writing Excercise: Prompt #1 Reply with quote

First Line:

"The man was smiling."
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The Three Truths of Singularity

Do something to the best of your abilty or don't do it at all
Feel to the fullest of your ability, cutting yourself off from your emotions leads to spiritual death
Control your being, your existance, your destiny.

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Dealthagar
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PostPosted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 7:59 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

The man was smiling. After months of waiting, lurking, suffering, things seemed to finally be going his way. Dealthagar stroked his beard, watching the Orthon dissapear on the horizon, pleased at the fruits of his labors.

Leaning back in his chair, he opened his oracular chakra, and watched the strands of fate dance and swirl around him.

The Wonderwork was complete.

Ceinwyn was restored, and he could once again stand with her at his side.

Umbra ran well, the crafters busy, the citizens hard at work.

Allies and friends of the Empire were beginning to see him in the diplomatic light he hoped for.

He scowled, seeing the strands darken and spiral at the far edge of his vision. The dig in the desert was still unfruitful, and Darrien would only tolerate the lack of progress before so long. The Herald enjoyed his position. If he was to keep it, he would need to step things up; hire more work teams.

He closed the chakra along with his eyes, allowing the entropic threads to dissapate from his view. As he rubbed his forehead, he could hear the pitter-patter of bare feet on jade and marble. Ceinwyn was paying him a visit. The smile retured to his face and he sat up, straightening his wrap. She was exactly what she needed to lift his spirits.

He rose and closed the window. Arahim and the gypsies were a few days away. This night would be about her.
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The Three Truths of Singularity

Do something to the best of your abilty or don't do it at all
Feel to the fullest of your ability, cutting yourself off from your emotions leads to spiritual death
Control your being, your existance, your destiny.

www.adriandrake.com
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Adrian Bishop
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PostPosted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 9:27 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

The man was smiling. Adrian rarely saw Arahim anymore that he was not smiling. And what reason would he have had for despair to creep in? The love of his life had given him a bright, beautiful, and obviously blessed son. And the mother of his child was beautiful and strong as well. Such gifts are all a man has a right to ask of the world. And more than most deserve.

Adrian twisted a thin braid of his long reddish hair around his finger, noting how every strand caught with a tiny crackle across the new callouses and healing blisters on his hand. Arahim seemed anxious and excited about this meeting, but Adrian felt something unsettle in his gut.

“And just who is Harold?”

Arahim lowered his mug of strong ale and set it on the table in front of him, looking quizzically back at Adrian. “Harold?”

Adrian took a gulp from his own mug and shook his head, holding the stout brew in his mouth a moment before swallowing. “At least we know Lady, er Her Grace, Lenoir.” Adrian whirled one hand in front of him and feigned a bow as he allowed the title to wallow exaggeratedly on his tongue. Who’s this Harold, and how do we know he’s even FROM Oblivion? And even if he is,” he continued in a voice that became increasingly squeakish, “is this really a good idea?”

Arahim looked, dumbfounded, at Adrian, shaking his head with disbelief. “Herald of Oblivion. Not Harold. Herald.”

Adrian was nonplussed. He set his heavy mug on the table now, as well. His blue eyes were wide, if a little glassy, as he tossed up his hands, palms facing upward. “That’s what I said...?”

Arahim sighed resignedly. “Just be ready on Sunday, I want you there with me.”
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Jonathan Strathmore
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PostPosted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 10:02 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

The man was smiling. The dark, sardonic grin curled in his mind, keenly aware of all he was offering with the one, simple expression.

A man of many faces, many names, and a life in turn for each. Malorn... A name gifted by a student, long passed into the sands of time and obscurity. It was the only name he ever entreated for such a time. Though, he was the only one alive able to connect it to anyone.

His smile refused to falter as his thoughts passed slowly in the recesses of his mind. He never broke character, nor would he do so now.

The brute across the table was growing quickly aggravated by the sick grin with which he was met, looking across at this enigma.

"Are ye' 'ere to play or'ar'yeh jus' gonna sit there grinnin'?" He nearly tore a card in half as he uttered the phrase.

"I do believe, it is your bet... Sir." Malorn's tone was dry, though with a mocking overtone. He was careful to lend perfect diction and enunciation to his sentence. Well enough to make any linguist smile.

His sarcasm was met with little more than a grumble and a "Fold. Ah'm broke, eh." The brute with the terrible accent laid his hand bare on the table. Little more than a pair of Jacks sustaining the already steep bet he had played.

Malorn's grin did not falter as he laid his cards face down on the table. Then without a word he collected the small pile of jewels and departed with a nod and a graceful bow.

Watching him leave, the brute's curiosity overtook his pride, and sweeping up Malorn's hand he gave a quick view. "A straigh'... Louseh foken cheat."

The sick grin twisted into a smirk as Malorn slowly made his way from the card den. "I always had a terrible poker face..."
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Cal Hurst
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PostPosted: Fri Feb 05, 2010 1:16 am Post subject: Reply with quote

[Four Years Ago]

The man was smiling. Despite Cal's repeated punches, the man was still smiling.

"Again," the man said. "Hit me again."

The chains held his arms in place, and the shackles restricted his feat. Alone in the room, Cal and the man stood. Cal paced around, huffing and puffing, increasingly angry that this man's spirit was not breaking.

"WHERE IS SHE?! What have you done to her?!"

The man simply smiled in response.

"TELL ME!" Cal shouted.

The room lay silent. Cal and the man only looked at one another. As Cal's anger got the best of him yet again, he laid into the man with all of his strength, continuously punching him in the face, the cheek, the gut; everywhere that could possibly do any pain.

But the man still smiled.
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Grignag
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PostPosted: Fri Feb 05, 2010 3:59 am Post subject: Reply with quote

The man was smiling. How could he not? How many could succeed in getting 5 Orcs to caper for his amusement by dancing to the same tune as the showgirls in downtown Britain? None. Except him. And indeed this was one of many victories for the man who some could only believe was no more than legend. Yet he was real. It was he who had tamed the bellicose Dark Order. It was he who had lead the forces of light against the numberless hordes of undead and Orcs that had choked the city of Yew for years. But he had never been laid low or stripped bare of his pride and valor by his enemies.

The numbers of his foes could never cause him to cower or bend on knee. How could they? He, who was rumored to have tamed every woman from Minoc to Trinsic and taken them as his lover, could not be beaten by the likes of such brigands. But even that would be only telling part of the truth. Undoubtedly he could claim the heart of any man as well. But not for lust of flesh, but for desire of his name. To march beneath his banner was an honor that every man aspired to. To stand against him in a single combat was suicide, yet glorious that he would even condescend to battle one as low as you. He was inspiring. And he knew it.

The man was smiling. And how could he not? For he was Vaen Swiftar. The ultimate gift of the gods to the lowly peasantry of Sosoria. As he turned his head, his flashing smile caused the women to swoon and his enemies to recoil in terror. As he watched the coming onslaught of the endless armies of existence, he could naught but shake his head knowingly and spur his horse to victory on planes far beyond ours.

So remember to show respect to men who appear from lands unknown, carrying an aura of power and wielding a hammer of justice and vengeance, children. How come? Because he just might be your real father. I KNOW that hair color and goatee certainly didn't come from anywhere in my family.
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Dryzzid
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PostPosted: Fri Feb 05, 2010 7:22 am Post subject: Reply with quote

The man was smiling. He had been serving spirits at the small tent that served as the tavern in Umbra for as long as he could remember, and there were few faces that he could recognize so well as the one staring at him from across the bar. He had wondered, on a few occasions, if he would ever set sight on this particular face again. In Umbra, terror kept the slaves in line; it was rare for a member of the Order of the Ebon Skull to have garnered respect. The man to whom this face belonged had accomplished that long ago, however.

The bartender took a moment to scrutinize the man. He wore long flowing mages robes in a shade of black that was worn by the first members of the Order, when they originally came to Malas. A few lines had snuck their way onto the man’s chiseled face, which was shrouded by long, straight, stark white hair.

The bartender had to maintain his composure as he spoke, fighting back a strange and unusual feeling of excitement. Remembering his place, he finally offered the man a drink.

"Yer usual, my Lor..."

The imposing figure who sat across the bar held up a gloved hand, palm facing toward the bartender, as if to stop him in the middle of his sentence.

"The usual will suffice, though I am far from your lord now."

The man rested his elbows on the bar and brought his fisted right hand into an open-palmed left, then curled his fingers of his left hand around the fist of his right. He then propped his chin on them. The bartender seemed taken aback. Although he knew this man well, the humanity in his voice was uncharacteristic. He recalled a sterner, emptier voice. Feeling courageous, the bartender hoped that his candor would still go unpunished with this individual.

"I'll call you lord as I’m instructed to do so with all of the Order. And I’d think that after all this time you'd find somethin’ better than this troll piss." It felt good to act like his normal self for once. He watched the man intently for a several moments, finally breathing a sigh a relief when a faint smile pursed the man's lips. The man sat up straight and sat his palms against the edge of the bar, stretching his fingers upwards.

"In all this time I have not found a better tasting troll piss. It must be the local trolls. Much more vibrant than the Vesper breed." The two shared a brief laugh and for a moment the bartender felt as if he were not a slave in the city of Umbra, but a free man running his own tavern in the city of Britain. He cringed with complete disgust as he uncorked a dusty bottle that he had kept in the back of his stock for just this occasion. He filled a clean glass with the opaque black liquid contained within the bottle. He wondered if the liquor was still any good. After a few seconds the swill began to bubble, fizz, and change color without provocation. A transparent, light red, effervescent drink was what remained afterwards. To the layman the drink would appear as if it was champagne, but the bartender knew better. He knew that it could put a horse to sleep.

Without delay, the man brought the glass to his nose and sniffed it slowly, breathing in deep a smell that always made the bartender nauseous. As if it were water in a desert, the man drank the glass empty in seconds. He barely flinched. ”Some things never change,” the bartender thought to himself.

”Another, my Lord?” The man held up his gloved hand again and shook his head no.

“Not today. My time in Umbra is limited. I am here to make a request of you, should you be willing.”

The bartender was once again taken aback. “Request? Yer sayin’ that I could tell you no if I wanted?"

Once again, a faint smile crept its way across the man’s lips.

“If you are so inclined to. However, I would not make a request without providing ample payment for your services. An option and a reward, something you are quite unused to, but I assure you that it is in your best interest to accept.”

The bartender was now far beyond taken aback, and left speechless, utterly succumbing to shock. “Of course then, my Lord. If it’s in my ability, I’ll do whatever it is yer askin’.”

The man smiled one last time, this time revealing his teeth, as if by accepting his offer, the bartender provided him with mirth that he had never known.

“Outstanding. Your task is simple. Ensure that this missive…” The man slid a piece of fine parchment paper, folded and sealed, across the bar. “…finds its way into the hands of my former apprentice. Do you recall him?”

The bartender nodded his head slowly. In the past, a boy would often accompany the man to the bartender’s tavern. The bartender believed that he could recognize the boy now.

“Once again, outstanding,” the man started. “Deliver my message, and once you have, merely read this aloud for your reward."

The man stood up abruptly and reached within his robes. He sat a few coins on the bar to settle his bar tab, plus a generous tip. Along with the gold, he sat a scroll on the bar as well. He started to walk away, reaching his right arm out to seemingly grasp at the air. However, when he did, an ebony staff materialized in his hand from nothing. The man paused and turned his head to the side.

“It was good seeing you, old friend."

Without further delay, the man walked off and faded into the seamy backdrop of Umbra. The bartender stood still, unable to move, eyes wide, unable to speak. He was simply amazed. He set out immediately to the north, to Charnel Hill, to complete his task, not even realizing that the bottle from which he poured the liquor he detested so much was gone.


***************************************************************


It did not take too long for the bartender to track down the apprentice he sought. Though various members of the Order questioned why he was not where he was supposed to be, he bluffed his way through them. He found the apprentice in quite a state of inanity and left the message on the ground at his feet before backing away slowly. Once he was done he returned to his small tent-tavern.

There were no customers as usual. Undead have no need for wines and spirits. The bartender dug in his pocket for the scroll that was given to him. Examining it, he felt confused. He did not understand. There were only ten words written on it, none of which he understood.

“How could this be a reward?” he thought. Shrugging his shoulders, he decided to test this perceived deceit. The man was a member of the Order of the Ebon Skull, after all. Deceit was high in their priorities.

“Kal Ort Sanct An Geas Kal Ort Por In Ex!”

When the bartender uttered the final word the world around him began to blur and fade from sight. For half a second he felt as if he was stuck in some unknown void, as he could see nothing but black. “Tricked!” , he thought. Then he could see. At first his surroundings were still a blur but he quickly gained his bearings. He was somewhere else. He was in a room, and from what his instincts told him it was a room at an inn. He was not in Umbra, however. No building in Umbra was made from wood. It was not the dark, ashen stone he knew his entire life.

“Where am I?” he asked himself.

He walked toward the only window in the room and looked outside. To his amazement he saw the bustle of the busiest city in Britannia; the capital city itself, Britain. He had studied the city in great depth, always dreaming to escape his slavery to the Order and open his own tavern there. Slaves were bound to serve the Order through powerful spells, though. They could not leave Umbra unless guided by members of the Order.

Then, the bartender understood. This was his reward. The scroll had broken his servitude and taken him away from Umbra. He had gained freedom after a lifetime of servitude. Tears welled up in his eyes and he took a moment to breath in the salt-laden air that blew in from the docks. After the shock subsided the bartender noticed a small box set on the bed. Thinking that it was all too good to be true, he cautiously walked to the bed and slowly opened the box. Inside were two pieces of paper; a bank check and a note. Examining the check, his breath left him. It was for more than he could ever possibly imagine. The bartender pinched his arm to assure himself that it was not a dream. When that failed he finally looked to the note that was left in the box.

Reading the short, simple letter, his disbelief subsided and the bartender flashed a wide, tooth and gum filled grin.

“I always liked you. Enjoy.”

The note was signed: Your former Lord, Tyranthraxus.
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Cam
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PostPosted: Fri Feb 05, 2010 9:58 am Post subject: Reply with quote

The man was smiling. Camilla returned a slow grin, full of pride in her latest batch of butter. She had been working hard, inventing several recipes to try. Finally she was sure she had it just right and had made the perfect butter! The look on Denzin's face seemed to confirm it.

She hoped she was starting to fit in around Blackmarsh. The mayor was always so nice to her, and always so interested in how her butter recipes were coming out. All his questions and thinking out loud made her feel a little uneasy, but she figured she'd get used to it, eventually. Afterall, it was his job to know these things. Cal Hurst was a little mean. She'd do best to avoid him. And she definitely had gotten off to a bad started with the fire girl. There were some people she hadn't even met yet. She hoped they'd like her more than those two. If all else failed, though, she still had the cows to keep her company.
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Kaelthir
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PostPosted: Fri Feb 05, 2010 7:45 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

The man was smiling. The first actual sign of emotion Zero saw from the Magus, she was proud that her work pleased him. She always strove to complete tasks quickly, and had spent the last few days re-creating her Morgaz Machine schematic so he could understand it. It felt good to be recognized for her work. She sat in the Umbran bakery reflecting on the previous day, with an open book in front of her and a pen in her hand. She had plenty of documentation left to do, there was no time to worry about finding someone to rent a room from. All she needed for her work right now was a table, pen, and paper, and the city provided that just fine.
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PostPosted: Fri Feb 05, 2010 8:21 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

The man was smiling. "Wipe the grin from your face Shihan!" Bishimi demanded. Though truth be told he wished to smile also. It has been some time,but finally they had made enough progress on the other islands to feel comfortable looking at Isamu. The Soke looked at the Empress as she surveyed the land around the gate they just stepped from. "We will have much work here to do." was all she said as she began to walk. The men of the Blue and Iron Lotus did as they always do and walked 2 paces behind her, far enough to give her personal space but close enough to defend her if need be. She stopped not to long into the walk and again looked around. "It will do Soke..." she nodded "..make it be known." Bishimi nodded as he continued to follow her, "It will be as you say empress."



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I plan on using this in the story area, hope im not breaking rules! Very Happy
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Kaelthir
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PostPosted: Sat Feb 06, 2010 1:35 am Post subject: Reply with quote

The man was smiling. He smiled at her, straight faced, as he lied. As he stole. As he used her. And it pained her deeply, having bought into his stories about a technomantic brotherhood, working together as a whole to elevate the art. She sat on her knees before the temple's alter, hunched over with her cloak draped around her arms and body and tears streaming down her face. It stung so deeply, even more than before, to see how casually he could lie. None of his emotions were real, she was simply another tool for him. He made excuses when she could actually see the aura spectrum, clearly just more lies to placate her.

"You don't belong here," she thought to herself, "but where else would you go? Where else CAN you go?"
It was difficult being surrounded by so many heartless beasts. "And yet, YOU are the monster."

Her only hope was in working with the Magus lord, to preserve her work with her name on it. He was cold, heartless, nearly devoid of emotion. But, there was an honesty in that she respected. Dealthagar wanted devices for excavating, no doubt planning to claim their creation and reap whatever would be rewarded. This time, she would document all of her work and have a copy available for the Magus lord ahead of time before presenting the device, so she would maintain her proper credit. She doubted the lich lord would ever reward her anything, but it was meaningful enough for him to know that her craft, the craft he persecuted her for years ago, was bringing results to the Order.
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Cear Dallben ZOG
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PostPosted: Sat Feb 06, 2010 3:19 am Post subject: Reply with quote

the man was smiling
the woman was not
time was going nowhere
the iron was still hot.
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Starfire
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PostPosted: Sat Feb 06, 2010 12:53 pm Post subject: The man was smiling Reply with quote

The man was smiling. She was here again. The quiet and beautiful young lass was working on the forge. He was going to muster his courage and go talk to her. It was hard because he saw so many men coming and going, seeking her help. He didn't think she would pay him any attention. With a deep sigh, he strode towards the shop.
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PostPosted: Sat Feb 06, 2010 1:14 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

The man was smiling. How could he not as he looked down proudly at his newborn daughter, holding her tightly in his arms. His wife, still recovering from the pains of birth looked up at him stary-eyed and exausted. Their eyes met and at the same time they whispered the childs name.

A'mael Auia

Smiles crossed their faces once again as she closed her eyes and fell into a deep slumber. He watched her as she rested, stroking the infants perfect hand wrapped around his finger.
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PostPosted: Sun Feb 07, 2010 4:48 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

The man was smiling. From the corner of her eye Soren watched the old man attend patient after patient. She sat quietly on the bed, her eyes following the figure from task to task. What was only supposed to be an hour in the healer's hut turned into much much longer. Something about possible internal injuries and a bunch of mumbo jumbo that she just didn't understand. It didn't matter anyway. Every time she tried to get up the room spun and it felt as if Mother Nature herself were pulling a rug out from underneath her.

As she concentrated on the healer it became certain he enjoyed what he did. Not so much the ripping off of bandages to replace old ones as his patient screamed. But the tending to new wounds. He enjoyed relieving pain and making things better. Every now and then when an especially difficult case would come in he would stop what he was doing and talk to them. Telling them stories seemed to set them at ease. One day when she could actually tell up from down she would have to have him teach her some of this.
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