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Literature
Dragon Below! - Chapter Four: No Rest, No Peace
     On the day of Vane’s funeral the Sorceress Queen called for a holiday. Criers had been sent into the city to inform her subjects of the event, and of her desire that all citizens take this time to remember those lost since the birth of the Gorge. In Dorr, the vast plains-nation west of the plateau a similar practice was kept whenever one of noble blood passed away, declaring a day of the dead. She thought it appropriate, for her consort had come from that stock, the son of a merchant lord out of Hansfil, but too she saw it as a way to give respect for all the rest. Tanum had not rested since that night when the spires crumbled, and she herself, weary and worn, wits frayed, could live vicariously through her people as they enjoyed their day off.
    There was no rest for Karina Karr. Her holiday was filled with meetings with her council, the commanders of her Throneguard, and Chula’s delegation. They began with
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Mature content
Dragon Below! - Chapter Three: Shrouded Hearts :iconmnmccarthy:mnmccarthy 0 0
Literature
Dragon Below! - Chapter Two: Raker's Rock
     Crouched in the gloom of a long-abandoned wolf’s den Lode opened one eye, for one eye was all he had. A sound in the night, like the scuffing of a moccasin against a loose patch of stones and grit, and a sharp, if faint sucking of a hiss cut short. Then a stifled mutter, followed by the scent of brunt leaves. Company; unexpected but prepared for out of habit. He licked at dry lips, easing his dirk from it’s sheath.
    All right, he thought, inching back, away from his approaching hunters. They finally got it in their heads to send out the autumn witch. Great. That shaman’s toy better do the trick. Damn hustler. As quietly as he could he collected his haversack with his free hand. Cinching the strap around his wrist, he timed his movements to his approximation of the intruder’s tempo. Any moment now they should be triggering his trap. Any second
   
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Literature
Dragon Below! - Chapter One: Bad Company
    1103rd Year of the Fragmentation Epoch
    
    Almost a year since unknown sorceries rocked the plateau Tanum still bore the wounds of the violent birth of the Gorge. Her great spires, those still standing, tilted at gut wrenching angles while crews worked night and day to dismantle them and the remains of their counterparts still littered the streets. Entire avenues were blocked by wreckage, homes destroyed, lives crushed by tonnes of stone and mortar. But the people of the city were nothing if not resilient, and as she wandered about in the guise of a hooded penitent woman the Sorceress Queen, Karina Karr was proud of her subjects. New homes had been built from the ruins of spires and houses and shops alike, or at least shelter was made from Tanum’s broken bones. Lives had been lost, yes, but she took some solace in the fact that now with the city’s cleanup becoming the grandest of projects there was
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Literature
Dragon Below! - Prologue
     1102 Year of the Fragmentation Epoch
    
    He met the old crew on the darkened plain, four raggedy and muted figures materializing from the gloom, drawn from cardinal directions. They came unheeded to the appointed spot, to the salient angle of a worn down megalith leaning alone on Corvin’s Plateau. And though pitch ruled the plains beneath the overcast sky, from the cyclopean stone a soft pale glow lit their features, stirring up conceits about the ravages of time.
    Damn, but we got old, he thought, wincing inwardly when he saw how much hair Jacepi was missing from his head, not to mention the extra layers of fat bulging above the thaumaturge’s waist. Tamm hadn’t fared much better, and Mump suspected the shaman had grown that beard to hide a second, or third chin. Shiver seemed to have aged the best of them, a little softer here and there, but sh
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Literature
Ain't No Redemption - Chapter Two
Talents for Trouble


   'Before pistols, the sword was the first choice of the duelist. And before that it was knives. Seems to be we're doing all we can t'get as far away from the killing as possible. Soon enough, folk'll be challenging each other from across country, with rifles so powerful you can pick the eye off a crow from a thousand leagues, never once seeing the looks on the faces on those they gun down.
    Now why do I feel like this is an honest to Olden shame?'
    - Longshot Quade,
    3025 - 3090 AFL
     
     
    The steady rhythm of the train-car's progress, the monotonous rhythm unending, was putting Jairo to sleep. Nothing to see out the window, save for the brown-red eternity of dust and broken land. Even his marvel at the luxury surrounding him, a private c
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Literature
The Danger of Following Dreams
By Marshall Norman McCarthy
In all his life in the Time Before he'd never once set foot in an airport. Never enough money to go anywhere by air, his childhood had been one of hours-long car trips to the wild north, where nature ruled with an ironwood fist. He'd dreamed it, sure, of riding the skies clear across depthless oceans to the distant lands of his ancestors. Now he imagined those lands were just as empty as his own.
Leaning one filthy hand on the concrete barrier of the overpass, the other holding binoculars up to his eyes, he studied Pearson Airport with the cautious scrutiny of survival. He hadn't seen anyone for days, and that last pact of Ravers had no doubt torn themselves apart by now.
He remember going to Pearson once before, ten years old, with his Ma to pick up Grandma.  She'd just come back from visiting family way down south, where, an Uncle had told him, Canadians go to die. Florida, he recalled, the name of the Heaven where the elderly are transf
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Literature
Ain't No Redemption - Chapter One
Of Gunpowder Deeds


    There are many ways to kill a man. A blade in the night, poison in his drink, or hands around his throat. For the unjust, who ride the wastes on malignant steeds, the question of death had many answers.
    To those who sit on the thrones of justice, with scrutiny in their eyes and the word of the law upon their tongues, the answer was the hangman's gallows or the headman's block.
    For he who stalks this Fragment, where the Deadman himself comes to play, the question of death has but one answer. But he is willing to repeat it six times.
    -From, The Lay of the Gunfighter,
    Thibian Crass, 3092 AFL
     
     
    The Deadman's Waste,
    The Fragment of Tume,
    3090
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Literature
Just Have a Good Day
By Marshall Norman McCarthy
Just have a good day. He dragged the razor across his cheek, wincing as it tore instead of cut. Just have a good day. Were his eyes always this sunken; were the bags beneath them always so dark? Just have a good day. How was his wife still able to look at him with that old spark, the one that hadn't guttered out over the years?
'Just have a good day,' he repeated his mantra to his reflection, putting down the razor and checking his work. Free of stubble, yet his face seemed haggard, worn; another day's journey towards the end.
All his life he'd been told that men age gracefully, that they get better, more handsome with age. Thinking on that as he scrutinized the ever unfamiliar man in the mirror, he believed he understood now the word conceit.
'Just have a good day.' Now he was speaking to the cat, who sat on the little table near the front door watching him pull on his coat. How many times had he wished, in childish fashio
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Mature content
Ain't No Redemption - Snippet One :iconmnmccarthy:mnmccarthy 4 7
Mature content
Of Raw Deals and the End of the World :iconmnmccarthy:mnmccarthy 3 6
Literature
Malcolm's Last Moon
By: Marshall Norman McCarthy
 
'By the next full moon, you'll be nothing more than buzzard feed.'
The Cree woman's words were more than a curse; they were a promise. A promise that settled between Malcolm's ears to fester, to eat away at his nerves and tug at his superstitions. Could the words of a dead Indian still hold such power? Could he be justly punished for an accident? He didn't mean to kill her, to gun her down in the snow.
Dusk fell around the cottage and birthed weak shadows that reached in from the outer walls, reached for him. But as they stretched, those shadows deepened. Standing at the point where they would meet, Malcolm's gaze burned through the door. Out there, beyond the safety of walls and the warmth from the fireplace, he knew the Last Moon was rising. He licked dry lips with a pasty tongue and adjusted the gun belt hanging loosely around his hips. Fingers found cold steel and Malcolm started for the door.
Every night for the past month h
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Literature
A Happy Burden (Edit)
By: Marshall Norman McCarthy


Toronto, Ontario, Canada - 2048
Tracking a Shifter wasn’t easy, but let me tell you, it’s not overly complicated; not when you’ve got the right tools. Shifters, for some reason that I’m not qualified to accurately describe, give off a kind of “psychic radiation”. Something to do with their heightened brain power.
The processor affixed to the base of my spine gave my brain the ability to perceive this radiation as an aura. All I had to do was follow the glowing woman as I paced her through a river of drenched, bustling humanity.
The aura staggered, from left and then to right, drunkenly, or like someone who’d been wounded. I felt for my pistol, tucked under my arm, nerves tingling. I could almost feel her now, her vibrations like a distant call on a dark winter’s night.
Something was wrong, and trepidation caught in my heart. Rent was due weeks ago. I couldn’t ignore this much money
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Literature
One Last Salue (Edit)
By: Marshall Norman McCarthy
Bates knew by the way she walked - hips sashaying and eyes hunting - that trouble followed the woman in the black gown. From the bar, neat-whiskey tilted in his hand, he watched her pass by the other louts filling the tables and chairs in Buntin’s Refuge. Her face was rigid in confidence, but he noticed how she clutched her handbag as if it was her lifeline.
To his surprise – and grinning delight – the woman in black sidled up to the bar, beside him and ordered a drink.
‘Rum, spiced and on the rocks. And another rye­ for my friend.’ Without looking, she waved to Bates.
Smirking, he downed the last of his drink and slid the cup back to the old barkeep. ‘Much obliged, Miss?’
‘Evelyn,’ she glanced at him and Bates was warned by azure eyes.
'Evelyn?'
Those eyes narrowed on him and the warning deepened. 'Really?' she turned to her drink, sipped it with delicate purpose. 'I was told you were
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Literature
'For My own Sake.'
By: Marshall Norman McCarthy
The bells rang out no more from St. Mary’s Catholic Church, not since the Advent. After thirty years, Connor figured that time had left enough rust up there to prevent any soul from provoking them to shout out again and assure the world that the Son of God was still listening, still cared about his wayward flock.
Standing in his Sunday’s Finest, much as he had in the early days of his life, Connor stared up from the sidewalk, recalling the games that he, Timmy and the Burk Twins would play; sitting in a line together on the lacquered pew, each of them desperate to get the rest to laugh, to see who could incur the wrath of teachers, the priest, God himself. It had been a game of pointless mischievousness, and they had revealed in it…
But then the Advent came and they’d been informed, at an assembly in their High School’s Cafetorium, that in fact, God was dead and that, within the halls of school or church, there w
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Literature
Polar Musings
By: Marshall Norman McCarthy


Little human, peering through the barrier of my world, tell me what you see? An exotic specimen; a cuddly friend; or a captive of this manmade sea?
Do you even wonder, tiny one, at my thoughts, my feelings on living such a life? Am I happy, am I pleased, to live in a land so far from home?
I will tell you this, diminutive man, it could be worse: I could be rolled out before your father’s mantel.
Always keep in mind, wee creature; life is perspective. And salmon…you can’t forget the salmon
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Favourites

Mature content
Revel :iconmeggie272:Meggie272 50 32
Literature
to everything there is a season
I.
as a flower or a man,
i shall burst,
and scatter.
as a corpse, i shall
peel away, and
return to the earth,
the air. i'll be in
your lungs yet.
II.
look, it’s not that i’m not
a little bit charmed
by the concentric circles
of existence, and the love,
the bitter, bright and
stinking
love.
it’s not that i don’t like
carrying this body that is a miracle,
a miracle in the sum of its parts.
kahlo got it, she knew what
she was talking about –
but i won’t put words
in a dead woman’s mouth.
and the hot sweat of it here,
the pain, the fuck and the sour wine
of it here,
it isn’t really chaining me
down. i’m thinking of
floating away.
III.
did i ever tell you
i’d like to die on my back,
looking at the sky?
in one of those faraway places
i saw from the car as a child, the top of a hill
seen from a distance; someone else’s farm,
someone else’s land. someone else’s emptiness,
a thin line of grass between
dirt and the inf
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Literature
Immune
I do not pretend
the earth loves me.
Darwin breathes down my neck.
The ocean breathes down my bones.
I am a flute hollowed
by spittle and rain. And I am not
special, nor alone.
I had an ear infection when I was newborn. Two
hundred years ago I would have died from it. I
would have been cut short -
small and screaming.
Every time I step outside at night, the trees tell me:
you’re not safe. A thousand antibiotics
can’t make you safe.
I’m not frightened.
I would lie myself down and wait for the tide.
I would do it any day.
:iconMeggie272:Meggie272
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color me challenge by Sapphira-Adi color me challenge :iconsapphira-adi:Sapphira-Adi 16 22
Journal
Help us Fund our new Zombie Apocalypse Anthology
Help us put out the most awesome Zombie Apocalypse Anthology EVER and get some truly awesome prizes too.
Click the link below to see the fundraiser.
http://igg.me/at/dna2014/x/6333003
Check it out, and help us bring you the best Zombie Apocalypse Anthology in existence.
And maybe even find your new favorite author before they're famous.
There's also still time to get a story or illustration into the collection until the end of March.
submit entries here http://deviant-nightmares.deviantart.com/ and find out more about the anthology. Feel free to ask any questions.
:iconGotZombie:GotZombie
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Journal
Lit Contest: The More Things Change
...the more they stay the same.
Iiiiit's contest time! All original literature welcome.
This is a speculative fiction contest—the technology requirement could cover steampunk, 'John Carter,' 'The Windup Girl,' 'Watchmen,' '2001: A Space Odyssey' or about anything else you can think of. The one thing that isn't permissible is magic.
That was a joke.

RULES

Your story must center around the development of a relationship between two entities.
Some things to consider:What kind of relationship is it? (No, "relationship" doesn't have to mean "romance.")Who/what is it between?Is the development positive/negative?
The relationship must be noticeably changed at the end.Distance/death don't count if they're still besties or whatever.I don't mean changed personalities. I mean a changed relationship.
Plausible but (currently) nonexistent technology must be integral to the development of this relationship.Time travel goes forward.Nothing goes faster than light, a
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Literature
Barmaid's Quest - Chapter 1
chapter one
of pewter mugs and guides to acceptance
SLAM!
The misshapen pewter mug was, well, slammed forcefully on to the bar, beer sloshing over the rim and pooling on the wooden surface.
In the cloud of smoke and voices and people that filled the tavern, no one was really paying much attention to the little drama unfolding. Travellers from many miles away were enthusiastically having their first try of authentic Piddling cider, followed by foggily wondering if the drink was just named after the town, or if Piddling had a different meaning altogether. Locals were discussing their farms, smoking, gambling and leering at unfortunate young ladies. A yellow-haired bard sang with his eyes closed in the corner, plucking away at his harp and looking attractively tousled. The cold night had brought everyone in the little village inside to the noisy, convivial warmth of The Stubborn Donkey tavern.
This little drama in particular involved a swarthy young newcomer to the fa
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Mature content
Pinching nerves :iconmeggie272:Meggie272 7 15
Literature
to you, to you
well this could be okay, this
could be all right, i can be bitter
like lime to you, sun burn
on your neck to you, a
heat mirage, a sand grit
lullaby in the sticky hateful
nights to you
yeah this could be good, a
thousand little ways i
can hurt you, a thousand little
blood-tipped feathers i
can give you (sweet thing)
a thousand little winces
i can collect from you, a thousand
little flinches as you pull
the needles from
your skin
not enough of me left to
tear myself to pieces over you,
and someone’s gotta burn
this time around, friend
it’s gotta be you,
friend.
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:iconmeggie272:Meggie272 9 11
Literature
The day that robs a child of his parents
       It was night and there was a fire. Wood crackled nearby, but he could not feel its warmth. Neither could he smell the sweet scent of it. His head throbbed terribly and he felt it was fit to burst. There was an uncustomary weightlessness about his wrists. So accustomed was he to the irons that in its absence, it was nothing short of peculiar. He lifted his hand, but was met with such pain in his shoulder that he gasped audibly, and his stomach clenched.
       When he could ease a single breath out, he unclenched his fists, the damp sheet he had gripped remained crumpled beside his face. Strips of pale cloth had indeed replaced the fetters, and it rubbed and pulled at the raw skin.
       He licked his lips, but his mouth was parched. He had no recollection of what had happened—nor when and continued to stare at the wrapped cloth as if through some divine revelation, the answers would be disclose to him. Why now? H
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Journal
Writing Tournament 2014 ~ Round I
Come one and come all, raise your pen take part in this grand literary battle! There are subscriptions, points, art, features, and more to be won! You all have until February 12th to enter.
The time is nigh for the Fourth Annual Writers--club Literature Tournament!
This is a tournament for all writers welcoming prose and poetry! :la: It will be a grand competition spanning three rounds of literary challenge! :typerhappy: First of all, you must be willing to write for each of the rounds over the coming months.
There will be judging at the end of each round and those who progress to the next round will have to write a new piece for the next round's theme. A new participants list with the surviving writers will be released upon the announcement of the new round.
To sign up, join the group as a member and add this blog entry to your favorites. From there, feel free to submit your entry to the Tournament Round 1 Folder.
:spotlight-left: :bulletred::bulletre
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Journal
How to get a traffic boost on your site
This deviation was created for the build-your-platform group.
This one applies to artist and writer alike. We have no choice but to operate online now, and the barrier for entry is very low. This means that there's a lot of junk out there, and the people who are looking for your stories and art (whether they know it yet) need a helping hand to find you.
How it works
Following the below instructions you will temporarily compound the attention to your site. This will give you the spike in traffic you want just before a major promo or event. And it's not just for you - it will help every single person you've asked to participate and link, too.
The most important lesson is that cooperative sites are much easier to run and promote than competitive sites. Competition is not the way of the web if you're looking to get a few more eyes on your work. You have to collaborate by exchanging content with other sites, then linking them together and sharing eac
:iconRipleyNox:RipleyNox
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Tomb Wader by Gato88 Tomb Wader :icongato88:Gato88 153 11 Chrono Trigger by ohmonah Chrono Trigger :iconohmonah:ohmonah 1,263 77
Literature
LIFE AT THE CLEAR SPOT, Part 1
On a Clear Spot deep in a thick forest, there stood the remains of a sad log cabin. Its high rotting front porch swayed precariously on what was left of the wide stairs. The jagged holes in the windowpanes were stuffed with useless rags. The entire cabin consisted of one room and all cabin-life activities were performed in this room. All, that is, except the cooking which was done in the yard as far from the structure as possible for fear of setting fire to it. Ironically, the only thing still standing and usable in the drear, dim little room was an unusually well preserved hearth. It was made of large brown bricks held together with an unattractively thick helping of coarse mortar. It was an ugly piece of work, built for function only.
At the sides and back of the cabin, fast growing trees had sprung up and had grown so close to the cabin they threatened to block out what little sunlight there was, even during the best and brightest times of the day.
Severe weather, neglect and time h
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:iconmelalina:Melalina 6 16
Journal
Daily Lit Deviations for September 25th, 2013
Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff Openings
Daily Lit Deviations for September 25th, 2013
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.

Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!
:pointr: For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one
:iconDailyLitDeviations:DailyLitDeviations
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:iconpearwood:
pearwood Featured By Owner Mar 8, 2015  Hobbyist Photographer
:cake:
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:iconsleyf:
Sleyf Featured By Owner Mar 8, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Happy birthday! :cake:
Reply
:iconsleyf:
Sleyf Featured By Owner Nov 23, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks for the fave!
Reply
:iconmnmccarthy:
mnmccarthy Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
You got it! I've got a lot of catching up to do now, since you've gone and wrote a whole freaking novel! :D
Reply
:iconsleyf:
Sleyf Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Lol, it's just little chapters for fun really, nothing serious :D (or at least, it's not meant to be...professional lol)
Reply
:iconmnmccarthy:
mnmccarthy Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
You know, I've come believe that this whole writing thing, no matter what level you want to attain, is pointless if you can't have fun. I seem to recall you being hesitant to show your writing before (or am simply remembering things wrong, which, knowing me, could be the case). It's good to see your stuff is what I'm saying. The visual stuff included, it's fantastic . For what it's worth, I think you're pretty talented. There, I say it.
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconthe-raven-soul:
The-Raven-Soul Featured By Owner Mar 9, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Happy Birthday sir! :meow:
:iconsparklesplz::iconcheerplz::iconsparklesplz:
Reply
:iconmnmccarthy:
mnmccarthy Featured By Owner Mar 9, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you kindly :D
Reply
:icondailybreadcafe:
DailyBreadCafe Featured By Owner Mar 9, 2014   Writer
Happy birthday to you, squashed tomatoes and stew, you look like a monkey, SO GET BACK TO THE ZOO!!
Reply
:iconmnmccarthy:
mnmccarthy Featured By Owner Mar 9, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks! That has to be the neatest/cutest birthday wish I've ever received. :D :D
Reply
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