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About Literature / Hobbyist Andrew Wincott32/Male/United Kingdom Groups :iconblackinkwords: BlackInkWords
 
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Literature
Long Winter Drabble
“You think anything you say right now, means a Saints damned thing to me!”
The fire chewing away at the eves of the hall listened eagerly as they ate, occasionally allowing crumbs of burning timbers to fall down to smash against the floor. This gave the air at ground level a heavy oder of rotting wood, mixed in with the choking aroma of smoke. It did nothing to hide the evidence of the past few hours, or the years of vacancy that had proceeded it. Broken tables lay against the walls where they had been pushed, hidden beneath the fallen and rotted banners of a forgotten family. The flag stones of the floor were scuffed with the marks of sword strikes, and the regular three tiered scars of massive beastial claws.
What had once served as a scene of final battle played host to it again, bringing the house down as only a aging diva could.
“All the long years we’ve known each other, fought beside one another, never once was I included in the life you made for yourself
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Literature
Melville's Geologist
It seemed almost sacrilegious. But given the time, given the place, it could have been deemed the final act of the Divine Comedy.
“Last bit of ice in all the world that didn’t come out of a machine,” he said softly so as to enjoy the sound of the rocky chunk of ice rattling around the glass. It tinkled merrily, the sound the last vestigial echo of a hundred thousand year journey. Extinction events, the rise and fall of species, and finally here to the shadow of the mountain in Iceland.
He put the glass down on the simple folding camp table and wandered back into the tent. The fuel cell hooked up under the cot kept the mylar bubble warm, if not exactly toasty, but it was enough to make him sweat under his parker. Rummaging through what little personal effect’s he’d been able to trek out into the wilderness, he soon found the bottle and brought it back outside. Putting the bottle down next to the glass and its off white shard of ice, he pondered which of the
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Literature
Long Winter WIP 3
“You could tell it was a Inlander raiding party from the air. I don’t mean there was some pattern of destruction, or perhaps the scorch marks in the fields from where their airships landed. Those were there, but when you got down into the village, and walk among the houses gutted by flame and cannon fire…these people were farmers. Their only connection to the Barony of Boston was a bimonthly tithe. They were, in the grand scheme of things, meaningless peasants. But the Inlander’s found a use for them: they served as useful kindling for their pyres in reverence to their Ever Wrathful Lord. Damn the Church of the Rapture To Come, and may a kinder God than those curs watch over the souls of those blackened bones we found.”
Unknown soldier in service to the army of Lord Garth, Baron of Boston Citadel, report recorded in the Meridian of the year 471 After Summer.
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Stepping onto the floor of The Embassy donated to the use of the Kingdom of Rish
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Literature
Long Winter WIP 2
“Does this darkness have a name? This cruelty? This hatred we distil in our history and teach as tradition? How did it find us? Did it steal into our lives or did we seek it out and embrace it? What happened to us that we now send our children into the world as young people to war, hoping for their safe return but knowing some will be lost along the way. When did we lose our way? Consumed by the shadows swallowed whole by the darkness. Does this darkness have a name...is it our name?”
The King of the Tearaway Rish, his last words at the event of his execution. Recorded by Ramble Story of the Iron People. Recorded in the Brilliant Dawn of Year 431 After Summer.
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It was a somewhat comical sight that paraded down the dock yard slip in the early hours of the morning.
The hustle of stevedores and horses pulling crates and wares up to the dock side gantries that would load the waiting cargo airships was as normal as it ever was for such a busy port. And the dock
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Literature
Long Winter WIP
“The Great War…speaking as a solider who fought in that conflict, I can honestly say I have no idea what was so great about it. The entire Shattered Coast up in arms in a loosely banded coalition that could barely agree on a name for themselves let alone a coherent battle plan: doesn't exactly scream ‘winning side’ now does it? By the time the Hudson Principality got its ship yards creating new airship hulls, and Boston started shipping out its armies to bolster the Copperback States…well things were grim: The Inland Empire was not the sort to let their enimes gain the initiative. Emissaries were sent to the major powers beyond the immediate scope of the conflict: the Dane Jeagers, the Raiders of Wreckers’Vek, even the Iron People. Of all the people we begged for aid, we had expected some sort of boon from the Iron People. But they wanted no part in the conflict, at least not in a active military role. They advised on civil matters,and provided a
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Literature
The Assassin's Guild Of Atlantis (2)
“If we have an ability to do something, then we are obliged to do it.”
The statement was made using a good deal of hope laced into it, but not enough to turn the statement into a question. The look on the other students faces, as the boys words were teased and toyed with by the deepening afternoon shade, were a mix of out right ridicule and sympathy. The tutor, who stood looking out over the waist high stone fall of the garden terrace, sighed slightly and let the breeze steal away his minor outburst.
He turned to look back over his shoulder with the gentlest look of disappointment apparent in his eyes, and surveyed the small knot of didactic souls arrayed before him. Some were dressed in the simple but hardy materials of Artificer apprentices, though for some of the more outlandish Artisans a steam powered chisel was as deft a tool as a brush, so who was he to judge? Warrior acolytes were harder to spot from their choice of clothing, enjoying the chance to expand their fash
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Literature
The Guilds of Atlantis (1)
“Do you see it?”
The man spoke with the quiet intensity of someone trying to be polite whilst pointing out the obvious. This tone of voice worked in his favour as he knelt beside the orphan ward he had taken to call his own, as the child was a stranger to these halls and this land. The man was not long in life himself, and yet he would be quite old and beyond himself by the time this frail and awkward child took the tests. He knew from his own experience, both as a young boy and as a grown man, that the tests were intended to prompt a direction for further guidance, but not a firm boundary for progression. He knew the child, once grown, would see the same distinction in what he was told to do, and what he could do.
Moreover, that first step rested in the mural on the floor.
An artificer might still be an artist, though his works would not be the grand designs of the state but of his state of mind. A philosopher might work to better the state internally, and yet his path mig
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Literature
Merlin Cameos in British Scifi Drama
The sign that hung from above the door read in old gilded gold lettering “Voorta’s Varied & Many Curiosities”. The sign had seen better times, and in fact had only been removed from its hanging perch twice in its two hundred years of residency. But compared to the rest of the store front the sign was a gleaming much beloved thing. The windows were caked in decades of grime and dirt, and one industrious vandal had even spray the thick wooden door with a half hearted 70’s peace symbol. It was half hearted because they had only drawn the circle and the begin of the inverted Y, before like all who passed the shop of curious things, the artists had lost interest.
Any who thought to go near the shop, to enter it and browse as shoppers are want to do, would suddenly loose interest. Something would be reminded to them in the grime of the paint work, or some errand would become important at the viewing of the glimpsed shadows within. The shop was a place that did not so
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Literature
Double Edged Sword: Opening New Angle
“You sure about this?”
Francis Sims was the sort of man who, if you didn’t look to closely at him, might have been mistaken for an accountant or a office clerk. He wore small rounded spectacles, had a pleasant round face on which a smile was often seen, and more often than not could be found wearing a sweat shirt. For a man just entering his forties he looked ready for the pipe and slippers set. But if you looked closer, at the scars criss crossing calloused knuckles, and the way the glasses added a sheen to cold dead eyes, you would know that he was no mere bean counter.
In fact Francis Sim’s was the deputy head of ‘Contract Voidance & Collections’ for one of the most power and influential companies on or off the planet. And whilst he might pull in a paycheque that would make many a upper class business executive’s eyes water, he was really in it for the bonus’s and little work related perks.
After all, if you did a job you enjoyed, you
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Literature
NaNo 19
"So this is the wee little demon that nearly carried me off?" Shamus said, eyeing the contents of the box before giving it a good natured shake. This good nature was not translated down into the feral minds of the sand cat kits that were its contents. When all the hissing and hackle rising was done, they went back to a curled up mass of intertwined bodies that looked more drowsy than sleepy. All bar one with a prominent streak of toxic orange marring its pale sandy scales: this one curled up with its siblings and glared hatefully up at Shamus for disturbing its nap time.
"Don't seem that tough." The Rishlander mumbled, kneeling next to the box of armour plated felines. The room he was in was akin to the sickbay ion that it had beds set up along one wall, but there were a great many more tables and charts that had been erected around and over them. The room had apparently been gifted to the musings of the Scholar Ingram, though what those musings were aimed at was not at all clear. One
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Literature
NaNo 18
Two hundred, forty six thousand, six hundred and ninety seven days.
That's a lot of time to sit, and think, and ponder, and conjugate, and muse upon the finer meanings of a supposed grand design. I've thought about it for quite a bit, as you might have guessed, and I have realised that there is no God/Messiah/Higher Power/Deity Figure involved. If there had been, then serious design flaws could have been rectified before product shipped.
{}Earth 2.0, new and improved, would you like a list of update fixes?
{}Greed reduced to minimal trace elements for fairer resource reallocation.
{}Pride index nullified to avoid hubris overload.
{}Creativity hobbled due to rapid out growing of available resources to meet industrial needs.
{}Humanity removed: virulent code left in the wetware when the world went live so many trillions of days ago.
{}Didn't get reported in early beta testing, our bad.
{}No refunds.
A God would have seen it coming, the end of the world. A God would have stopped it fro
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Literature
NaNo 17 (By Special Request)
The crashing of distant waves were a long time aide and confidant to the woes and troubles of philosophers and kings. For most who heard them over the course of their lives the sound took on a back ground quality, becoming a part of life as necessary to sanity as air or precious sustenance. It became a sound that was taken for granted along with the setting and raising of the sun in its daily trek across the sky.
But for one soul amid the thousands that called the fortress city of Spearpoint home, it was a companion she chose to confide in. The sea could no more challenge her than a rock, or in more recent days a member of the New Way party that acted in a similar capacity in parliament. But where the bull headed disregard for common sense was dressed in very fine words, the ocean’s constant chorus was a steadying beat she could think around.
Thus the mind of Kerri Wallace, by title Mistress Black Tower, by position Minister Of War, and by marriage kin to a future laird past the
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Literature
NaNo 16
The long boat bay of the Lexi was a cramped and narrow affair, to accommodate her cramped and narrow build. Unlike the boat bays on large Rishlander war ships there were no racks of waiting craft prepared for launch and space for the troops to make ready their arms. For the Lexi and her mongrel crew of seasoned veterans and newly minted privateers, there was simply a armoured door that lead into the troop bay of the small vessel. Jump seats of canvas and webbing strung between metal spars, bare grating hiding an intestinal weave of wires and cables.
“Er…this gigs finished right?” he found himself wondering aloud as he found a seat by the door amid the merry band of boarders.
“Should be.” crowed one of the wags up front by the pilots couch.
“Should be?!”
“Well the ship wrights didn’t get much time to fawn over their new born baby before old man Winton stole her for his own personal play room. We’ve been finishing up the work th
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Literature
NaNo 15
“If I was not to know you well Master Rishlander, I’d think you’ve never flown before!”
This play against Remas’s character was made loudly and before many a ear, but for once in his life the warriors pride did to rise to bristle and spit out of its cage. There were more important things to worry about than some minor damage control to his ego. Things like ensuring he was holding on to something solidly connected to the deck, and that he did not think about what the deck itself was connected to.
“Its not that I’ve never flown before!” Remas bellowed back over the din of engine noises and rushing air “Its just been on a craft with a design philosophy not inspired by a mad mans noggin!”
At this the Hudsoner titled his head back and laughed loudly and with evident glee. Like the other people scattered about the bridge of the strange airship they were all tied down to safety lines cinched tightly about their waists. This had been
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Literature
NaNo 14
"My compliments to the chef."
A polite titter of laughter made the rounds as the officers of the Inland Empire War Walker Ajax bid a courteous nod of approval to the figure at the head of the table. Unlike the others at the table, who were dressed in the sun baked blood red leather jerkins of Imperial army officers, the man leading the table in its mid day meal was dressed in the black of the Church of the Rapture to Come. He was not the highest ranking officer on the ship, in fact to slip the fellow into the chain of command had required the creation of a mid-officer level position where none was needed, or desired. Yet despite being among the lowest ranking officers in the ward room, it was the captain of the Ajax who sat to his right and differed to his humour, however droll it might be.
"I'll be sure they are passed along at the earliest convenience, Father Pieter." came the response of the Ajax's second in command, a young officer by the name of Ferris who stood one step below the
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Literature
Nano 13
“You seem to be taking a lot of what I say on faith.” Remas said slowly as he followed the man called Wick through the bowels of the underground fiefdom he had founded for his people.
“A lot of what I do out here is on faith my good man. Faith that the fates smile kindly on rogues and scoundrels, and of the unassuming intellects of the Inlander’s we face.  Whats and extra leap of it when you have a couple of hundred behind you?” he said over his shoulder with a laugh “Besides if I’m wrong about you and your brother, and you are in fact not Rish but agents of a Westerly power…well I’ll just hand you over to Lady Nameless and the other Inlander’s slaves I’ve freed in the last year and a half. The last Inlander that had that pleasure, a very loud fellow with some cast iron convictions about his place in the world, was their guest for a very long time. They breed for stamina and endurance it would seem in the Empire.
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Favourites

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Journal
Here we go!
Surgery tomorrow morning at 9:30am. Glad it's early, so I don't have time to build up anxiety about it during the day. Right now, I'm calm. I had to get to the point where I accepted this was really going to happen and I got to speak with the anesthesiologist about my fears about being put to sleep, but she assures me this isn't the cold hard scary knock out, but rather, a warm fuzzy minute as I doze off on my own to la-la land. Those were her words, lol..but yeah, I guess I can deal with warm, fuzzy doze off. Supposedly the operation takes less than a half hour if all goes well, but they also say I'll probably want to spend at least two weeks laying flat in bed to heal. Ugh. But, I have a lap top...so I'm sure I'll report in. I got to have lunch with my son and mom today which was nice...and I gave them both tight hugs and told them I loved them just in case I die lol. Okay guys, see you on the other side, thanks for all the support. You have no idea how much it helped. :)  
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Journal
I WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS.
Listening to:        Tauren Wells: "Love is Action"
                              NEEDTOBREATHE: "No Excuses" & "Hard Love"
Drinking:              Water, 128 oz a day
I keep telling myself to stop apologizing for everything, but here I go again: I'm sorry. To those whom I was doing stuff here on DA, I kind of just dropped everyone. I did not intend that.


But, I'm sure it's more of a question of why. Am I right?


First, my computer is crap. Utter crap. I HATE PCs with a massive passion. But they're cheap. I upgraded to windows 10 in hopes to elevate some of the issues. It did, but then came other issues, one of which I can't seem to solve: Win10 sucks up all my freaking RAM, especially when I get on the internet. Doesn't seem to matter the browser (but I like my browser, for the most part, for all t
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So...yeah, been a while.
How ya been? Good? That's great to hear.
Am I dead? Boy, were I that lucky I tell you.

No, proud readers, I have not died. But I am hard at work on book 2 (Yes, book two not one, but TWO!) of a saga of stories that myself and a friend very much want to bring out into the world. Its full of magic, dashing heroes, a bouncing heroine, the Spirit of London, and Wick who underwent minor plastic surgery to take the role. Book 1 is currently going through its trial by fire with the Beta Readers, and so far we're hearing good things. Book 2 is coming along a treat, apart from one chapter that left both myself and my co-author a little uncomfortable: the scene needed telling, but strayed a little close to events in our own pasts.

 So...yeah, write what ya know, and live with the consequences.

Do I have plans to return to worlds of Double Edged Sword and Long Winter: A new plan every day. The invasion of Earth by its forgotten colonial children, the Brothers Rish haveing a madcap adventure in the sands of Ik'jue on the hunt for the lost city of Dabi. I even have a new universe to explore: The Bonded Word, a tale of outlaw magicians and the true price of power.

 But they take time away from the fiction that will make my name, so for now they are idle fancies. 
  • Listening to: The Navy Lark
  • Reading: Terms of Enlistment
  • Watching: Jurrasic World
  • Playing: the Witcher 3
  • Eating: To Hot Curry
  • Drinking: Gin & Tonic

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Jake-Sjet
Andrew Wincott
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
I am a writer.

Have I ever been published I hear you ask? Have I ever once had a single piece of my work rejected by a publishing house, or flamed by an editor? I would answer no to these two questions. So what right do I have to label myself as a writer?

I imagine the impossible and make it thus.
I envision strange lands and strange peoples.
I see the world as it is, as it should, and what it might become.
I preform an act as close to magic as a mortal mind might attempt.

Anyone who puts pen to paper, to tell a tale of tavern denziens, or aliens on the far distant shores of a starry isle, shall be known as a writer. A word smith. A teller of tales. Because at the end of the day all of life is but a story being told.

And we the tellers.

Thank you.
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:icondmf0:
dmf0 Featured By Owner Jun 2, 2016  Professional Digital Artist
dmfo-promo-ana-TQW-2015 by dmf0  
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:iconhrwilliams:
hrwilliams Featured By Owner Mar 8, 2016  Professional Writer
So, oops, it would seem I wasn't watching you until now! Sorry about that! (Though honestly my watch gets so full between visits that I usually barely glance at it!) I appreciate you!!!
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:iconjake-sjet:
Jake-Sjet Featured By Owner Mar 9, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Huh. I always just assumed I was already on your list, from the way you kept commenting on various bits and pieces I've posted. Oh well, no matter. I appreciate that you appreciate my continued existence.
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:iconhrwilliams:
hrwilliams Featured By Owner Mar 13, 2016  Professional Writer
:giggle:
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:iconzorroporo:
ZorroPoro Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2015  Student Interface Designer
You're so cool! O.O
I mean, you're like EPIC :O
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:iconjake-sjet:
Jake-Sjet Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
...thanks? Sorry not use to the praise but, might I ask why I am epic?
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:iconzorroporo:
ZorroPoro Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2015  Student Interface Designer
lol I was a bit too random, right? xD
I dunno, your comments are so much fun to read. I just had to receive a reply from you!
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:icontatterdema1ion:
tatterdema1ion Featured By Owner Dec 27, 2014  Student Writer
Goddamn your generosity and general camaraderie; I'm no good at expressing the profoundest gratitude.
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:iconjake-sjet:
Jake-Sjet Featured By Owner Dec 27, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Your verbal verbosity has verily verified your verbal vexations...er...(Damn I should have sprung for the extended dictionary and thesaurus.)

Think nothing of it. Now you can keep writing without those tiresome ADs
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:icontatterdema1ion:
tatterdema1ion Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2014  Student Writer
I swear to God the alliteration in my thanks was unintentional...
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