Cassandria the Assassin: A Jackal"Move!" Raven ordered with a tremor to her tone. "Behind the trees." I almost dropped the orb to her order. Opening the strap to the compartment, I shoved the silent orb inside and went for cover behind one of the trees. Luckily, its width was enough to cover me and my cloak. Raven had to stand tall with her posture erect. The stiffness of her stature caused her to shake. Either that or she was as scared as I was. It made me think what those Jackals could do. I have never seen one up until now. Maybe they were anti-infantry or anti-building with their ability to climb. With some faith left in me, I hoped that they weren't good listeners – I couldn't control my breath. Neither could Raven and I could hear her from ten feet away.
A low green light illuminated some of the grass and soil mounds near the trees we were up against. I held my breath and listened carefully for any footfalls. Nothing. The light grew stronger, and so did my reflex to gasp for air. A leg longer than half a metre t
How to Write a Fight Scene (Guide)What this guide will cover:How to Write a Fight Scene (Guide)1 year ago in Writing More Like This
1) Introduction to this guide
2) What is a fight scene?
3) Why should you have them? Are they needed?
4) The ‘dos’ of a successful fight scene
5) The ‘don’ts’ of a poor fight scene
6) Extras and personal preferences
7) A good-bye and good luck!
Firstly and foremost(ly), I am, by no means, a professional of fight scenes. What this document, or this guide even, should employ is a step up to the dos and don’ts of a successful fight scene that I have learned over the years. You could say that this is me giving you what I know, which it is. Most likely, you already have some knowledge of how fight scenes work because you’ve read books. I’m hoping you have, dear god. Also, you have good grammar skills, or you know the basics at least. By the beard of Zeus and the limitless light of Helios, please tell me you do! You do, good, good. You wouldn’t be here else.
What is a fight
Being the Reader of Your Own StoryBeing the Reader of Your Own Story8 months ago in Editorial More Like This
“If you wait to do everything until you're sure it's right, you'll probably never do much of anything.” ---- Win Borden
I’ve been wanting to touch up on this topic for quite some time and, as many times I’ve had brainwaves of it, I’ve never got around to doing it. It’s a fascinating topic—heck, it fascinates me. The title, too, should make this topic fascinating. A lot of fascination, I know. We are fanatics! The joys of fantastical fantasy—okay stopping.
As the title pompously denotes, I’ll be talking about ‘reading’ your own story… as you write it. But you’re sitting there, or standing, or hop-scotching and thinking ‘well, we read our stories anyway. It’s logic to look over it.’ Not in that sense, no. I’m talking about impromptu. You’re writing but you have no idea where it’s going and as you’re writing you’re reading it and as you
The Small Defiler (Short Story. Inspirational)The Small Defiler (Short Story. Inspirational)2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Setting: Europa - Rising Sun Kingdom (New Released Quarter)
Year: 1009 (After the 5th war)
1st person view: Master Donimix
As every other day, I woke up in my bed to the singing of the spire chimes. "Another day at the New-Released Quarter!" I joyed, stretching my arms over the sheets and hauling myself towards my toes. Ameriyx woke up to my side, her eyes flaring out a subtle green and luscious dainty lips, gleaming a smile.
"Excited today?" She questioned to my side.
"Yeah," I said, swinging my legs out to the side, "Lord Satix is coming. We got a letter from him saying he is coming to visit us and the new-borne."
"Must be something special," She said getting out of bed with me, "Coming to bless the Quarter you think?" She asked rhetorically.
"Maybe-- He's probably just checking up on us." I guessed, fitting into my golden-blue uniform.
I stood, posing stern in the clear mirror and assorted my cuffs to make them more c
Cassandria the Assassin Part 1My body was losing a lot of blood. The white quilt that was loosely wrapped around my body was soaked in the scarlet liquid. I had a battle with my endurance; I tested how much a person needed before unconsciousness took over. My serrated wounds were crossed with black and blue blemishes, each one telling a short story of how they happened in almost an instant without mercy. I gritted my teeth and forcefully shook my head side to side, prolonging my knock out that should have been executed hours ago.Cassandria the Assassin Part 12 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Seeking comfort, I brought my sore legs up to my stomach, curling myself into a frail cocoon position. The pain that existed through my veins never ceased; it felt like my blood was replaced with crippling poison. My heart thumped my chest, wanting and longing for a break from the mixture of lingering adrenaline and hatred. I felt broken, yet I resisted. The smell of iron loitered in my nostrils and a putrid taste of phlegm bleached my throat. Every night after training, I was expected to
Europa: How the first war started pt1Europa: How the first war started pt12 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
***Copyright of Europa and Matsudaria***
Setting: Europa - Lunaris and Solaris Hierarchy
Year: 900 (A few days before the first war)
1st person view: Matriarch Pentadictux. The 1st hand of Khethix.
How calm. The Hierarchy. 'Would you give up everything to live in such a peaceful place?' That's what I was asked, and by the Abyss I don't regret it for a second. I stood proud with my hands cupped behind my back, tickling the acute point of my ebony sabre. I watched from the marble balcony as every knight below went about their daily life. Some ready for sleep; some ready for night duty and some ready for one last martial spar. It was a pleasant sight from up here; a white blanket went on for miles ahead across the mountainous range. I could never tire from its presence; every morning I am welcomed by it, and every night I am silenced by it. So subtle, yet so simple by its enrapturing colour. I stretched my arms to the boreal ledge o
Nullification - Part 2It felt like my feet were cemented to the floor.Nullification - Part 21 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
I couldn’t move. A second hand, even grimier than the first, reached over the edge of the corner. Then its besmirched head staggeringly revealed itself. Its jaw dangled freely and the insides of its mouth seemed charred. Two hoary eyes stared at the ground. Whether it stared with hatred, sadness or wonderment, I didn’t know. As the Defiler strenuously pulled itself from the wall, it lurched head-first to the floor. Its skull split. A line of dark red liquid spilled from its nose and branched out.
That was easier than expected. I lowered my wrench, feeling a wave of relief wash through me.
By now, someone would have come down and found us, but if a Defiler got down here, then I was on my own. Well I wasn’t. Those observers back in the controls’ room were still alive.
Slowly, I turned, my eyes fixed on the still body of the Defiler. Stretching over the discarded boxes and clothes on the floor, I made my way to the h
Nullification - Part 3There must have been something I could have done.Nullification - Part 31 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
I frantically rushed up to the control panel of the door and shot it a long, doubtful look. Locked, in red neon letter, covered the black input screen of the panel. The code was zero-zero-six-nine-one, I guessed from memory. Sometimes, when I got the slightest chance, I saw the guard and the observers punch in them numbers. An attempt was better than nothing. Swapping the wrench in my left hand, I pressed the big ‘zero’ button twice.
‘Error’ flickered on the input screen. “Access denied. Sector is currently on lock down. Please standby for sector administrator.” The mere words from the intercom struck me like a bludgeon to the temple. I glared down the panel with a mixture of fear and rage. There were two screws. One at the top and one at the bottom right of the panel. Two metal binders were on the left side. It can be opened, I figured. Maybe it could have been tampered with inside. I nee
Cassandria the Assassin Part 6I may as well get this gear on. It was inevitable I was going to fight anyway. I walked up the plank to the main deck of the ship and scanned around. For a ship, it was pretty bland. If I could, I would have added some accessories to make the ship more at home, but what a waste of time that would have been. There were crewmen at the ropes, some by some barrels of possible supplies and some mingling as if war never came across their mind. I've never been on a boat before, so it was a new experience. Brutus headed into a brown cabin of some sort, frosted glass made a vague outline of him. Maybe that was the navigation room where the helm to the controls resided.Cassandria the Assassin Part 62 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Raven came up the plank, immediately to my side, "Get your gear on, then." She said, her hate still seeping through her skin.
"Where?" I asked.
"Follow me. Never been on a boat before, have you?" She asked, coming towards a sturdy staircase that went down into an abyss.
"No, it's my first time." I replied, looking out to sea. It
Cassandria the Assassin Part 8It was five to one; ten to one; twenty to one. The eyes stacked up around us, each pair thrashing a baleful glare. Their eyes glowed to the extent that it accumulated enough light to illuminate the ground we stood on. At least we had some sort of advantage. I went for my daggers, pleased by their light weight. I steadily raised one to my chest for defence, the other further in front to strike. Each figure advanced at a different pace, one gaining my aggro more than the other for a short time.Cassandria the Assassin Part 82 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"Don't let them touch you!" Brutus hastily warned. I glanced at the torch bearer to see what would happen if they did. His throat was sliced open, the windpipe and veins were completely severed apart. He was a statue of his last movement; eyes and mouth wide open in blinding terror. What dispirited me more was that he wore plate that only blade could penetrate. The figure downed by Raven had nothing of that sort about him. I looked back, a figure just a few feet away heading for me. Its mouth frot
The Life of a DefilerI’m laughing, cheering, shouting.The Life of a Defiler1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I’m surrounded by friends, family, foes.
I’m charging, running, stopping and resting.
Until the hand of a distant one touches me.
I’m dying, screaming, sobbing.
I’m surrounded by insanity, illness, infirmity.
I’m squabbling, crawling, reaching and fading.
Until the hand of a distant one touches me.
“Defilers!” One shouts.
My heart twangs like a rubber band.
“Necromancers!” One shouts once more.
My brain fizzles like acid.
All until the hand of a distant one touches me.
Now I have swords dangling from my shoulders.
Shivs dangling from my knuckles.
I walk with a new family; under a darker banner that floats from the floor.
Controlled by the invisible hand.
I know your face. I know your name.
You’re dying, screaming, sobbing.
You’re surrounded by insanity, illness, infirmity.
You’re squabbling, crawling, reaching and fading.
Now you’re a part of the cycle.
Using Colloquialisms: Are you down with it? Colloqualism: You down with it?Using Colloquialisms: Are you down with it?6 months ago in Deviant Events More Like This
A word or phrase that is not formal or literary and is used in ordinary or familiar conversation. synonyms: slang, idioms, patois, dialect.
Examples: whatcha, gotta, face on, ovver.
I’m sure you’ve had a good telling off by your teachers for using colloquial language inappropriately in your writing. I’ve had essays returned with the word “too informal” scrawled along the margin or a big red exclamation mark next to a certain word, who hasn’t? What just me? Oh right… my bad!
So WHY would we use colloquial language in our writing, after years of tackling the angry red pen?
I know we’re not supposed to judge a book by its over – or a person by their accent – but it happens. You can tell us a lot about a character by the kind of language they use. Are they all gangsta, dropping hooded verbs
Interprequy - Dragon of FleshThere you are: pure, true. You have hatched through a soft crimson egg and rode the red sea through the scarlet gates. You grow and bare your teeth, your crown of hair. You spout your wings and become free.Interprequy - Dragon of Flesh1 year ago in Emotional More Like This
It is until other dragons with blackened hearts come to you, that you lose your wings. You fall for their deceit. Pressure hones in on your pride, the gift of fire is remorselessly ripped from your heart. Nothing but smoke leaves your lungs. Like broken factory works, your insides breakdown.
Each breath, you unleash the cancerous poison to those who flew by you, laughed and breathed fire. Now, they look down from the limitless sky, eyes staring daggers and failure and hatred. To avoid your now blackened heart, they flee to purer air.
They leave you to rot.
To die on the ground.
As with each breath, the deathly herald draws closer. Its cold, intoxicating touch runs up your spine like fire licking string.
But, despite your black heart, you can grow your wings once more and heal. So wh
Writers' Notes - Fight ScenesWriters' Notes - Fight Scenes4 years ago in Writing More Like This
I have read enough books to find that fighting scenes can be difficult to write. Some of the novels I have read have had painful fighting scenes so this tutorial is an amalgamation of my thoughts on the best ways to do it.
First, let's break this down into aspects to think about:
Before writing fight scenes think about the characters involved. What are their skills, what are their ideas of fighting? Why are they doing so? Is it a sense of survival? Is it to show honour like a duel?
For example -
Does a peaceful man watch his brothers murdered in a slaughter by the king's men. Does he, in a rage, grab a fallen sword and defend the last of them. He holds no skill but the sheer fury at watching his peaceful world be shattered. Afterwards does he vow revenge and ride for the king's castle or retreat to the mountains to get over what he di
The Minecrafter's PrayerOur Programmer, who art above the maximum building height, Notch be thy name, thy cobblestone fortress come, thy code be executed on our computers as it is on yours.The Minecrafter's Prayer4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Give us today our daily bread made of three bushels of wheat in a horizontal line, and forgive us our griefing, as we forgive those who grief against us.
Lead us not into fatally deep mineshafts, and deliver us from creepers, for thine is the coding and the l33tness, for ever and ever.
The Magic PencilThe red lines struck two o’clock – in the morning.The Magic Pencil1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Sleep seemed like an inevitable option. I blamed the horror movie, and the overconsumption of cheese, and the inability to shut the window to rid the terrible draft. Even worse, my daughter Alice, next door, seemed to be the fidget master of this square peg, round hole situation. Nothing but rumble after rumble, knock after knock on the wall.
I bet she was enjoying this. No sugar in her cup of tea in the morning, I thought evilly.
That will have shown her!
The clock turned one past two.
I gave it a baleful stare. At least it didn’t have to sleep. The irony of that, though, was the ‘sleep’ button on the side of the clock. Only if that button really sent me to sleep, then would my world be complete. Heck, that would have happened. I needed a miracle.
The wall knocked; again and again.
“Max.” My wife mumbled. I knew what she was hinting.
“Oh no. No, no, no. It’s your turn.
Interprequy - One dayOne day, one night. Upon when the third eye noiselessly speaks, it alleviates our invisible barrier of inadequacy; the physical barrier of intolerance and the emotional barrier of conscious withdrawal.Interprequy - One day1 year ago in Philosophical More Like This
Upon when the invulnerable, indiscernible herald of one’s inner self bears witness to the cousins of inspiration, light shall spout. Whence darkness is but a pawn; whence light is but your stimulant, allow it to be your parallel’s fuel to drive a mighty sea of innovation through bodiless aspiration.
Upon when the unseen, the unthinkable, and the uncatchable sickness congregates at your feet, see to it with your cousins and emancipate their negative eye; stab their untouchable hearts with your renowned gift of limitless illumination.
One day they will repent; they will follow; to bathe in your soaring sea; to join your legion of light.
Upon when the mortal harbinger is wielding the smallest piece of darkness, be ready with your lines of solitude and light and cousins.
Presentation Evening Award SpeechGood evening ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, lads and lasses, chaps and chapettes. To be truthfully honest, I didn’t intend on doing a speech tonight. But after intense interrogation from my parents on as to why I wasn’t going to do one, I thought ‘let’s do it’. And so after few dozen modifications, adverbs, adjectival phrases, superlatives, verbs, a few cups of tea and a barking dog, I think I have concocted the most greatest speech I have ever, single-handedly I might add, created – and here it is.Presentation Evening Award Speech7 months ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
No, I’m joking.
No, I cast my mind back to when I first came here at this school. I didn’t come here in year 7. In fact I came here in year 9. 2009, actually, in April. The 12th. At 8 o’clock. Yes, it was an emotional time for me; I had to mark the time down.
When I came here, though, I felt like an ant amongst mountains. I felt like an outcast. But that feeling didn’t last long. This ant found frien
Of Little GrimThere he stood hunchbacked, skinny, in fact bony if anything. He weighted an oversized clipboard in one set of phalanges, and a quill in the other, scribbling down gibberish and nonsensical circles and crosses on a three by three grid. He wore an ashen cloak; a baggy hood hauled over his blank eye sockets.Of Little Grim1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
The most egotistic, if not most pompous and slightly comical, of his features was a huge badge pinned into the fabrics of his cloak. It proudly read, in bold letters, ‘LITTLE GRIM’.
His name reflected his weak stature. He was small, petite. A simple toss of a rock, or a pebble, would have placed him on his backside in seconds. In his mouth, where he bared his infamous gap-tooth, which was eye soaring, was a fat cigar. Despite it being unlit, the end smouldered a ribbon-like smoke. People had often wondered how such a cigar could seethe without a light. But after some intense musing, people had begun to suspect his incited anger which heated the cigar.
Little Grim had prob