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Literature
Life Sentence
The red dice tumbled and bounced down the green felt and rebounded off the bumper. I held my breath. My head swam. My heart pounded.
The dice wobbled, spun, and settled. Two fours, a hard eight, again.
Cheers exploded from the other players around me. They all had money riding on my throw and it just payed off. Big time!
A few hundred for an old chain smoker to my far right. An even two thousand for a too-tanned gin swiller to my left.
For me, ten thousand dollars. I couldn't believe it.
I had already won five thousand on a wild throw. Then for some reason, something told me to let it stand and do it again. Go for double.
For a fleeting moment I had the lunatic thought "Someone up there must like me. God wants me to win this money."
Yeah, sure. God hangs out in a lot of casinos with a bunch of sweaty drunks and ne'er do wells.
In hindsight, I see that someone wanted me to win...only to lose...and it wasn't the deity I was thinking of.  
I drew a shuddering breath, licked my lips,
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Literature
Nova Sapiens a.k.a. Novae
Nova Sapiens - bright, discerning ones. Aka "Novae"
They are highly advanced beings of consciousness. They appeared suddenly from the heavens in the mid 21st Century - or rather they appeared AGAIN to humanity.
Throughout human history they have been perceived as angels.
Primitive cultures worshipped these Star People as deities.
They have made several visits to Earth over many millenia, watching for a brief time before deciding that the world was not yet ready for them.
Most of the time, they were met with fear and panic. They would try to use their telepathic abilities to soothe the humans, but our primitive brains couldn't handle the sudden flood of information, and many were unintentionally driven mad.
This revelation led men to think they had seen the mind of God(s).
When these "prophets" would then proclaim themselves messengers of the Enlightened Ones, division, war, and subjugation soon followed.
This repetetive aftermath always led the Novae to retreat from the world and try a
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Just Chillin by Realmwright Just Chillin :iconrealmwright:Realmwright 1 0
Literature
Grand Tournament of Summer's Dawn
Reason: held annually, beginning on the first of June (or the sixth month, assuming it's not called 'June').
Length: 10 days
Day 1 - a grand parade and ball for all of the nobles and competitors to size up one another.
Day 2 - is marked by the baking of sweet spice cakes - Scented Day.
Day 3 - a grand feast of many meats - Feast of Beasts.
Day 4-7 - elimination tournaments: joust, melee, archery, and unarmed combat. Then all remaining participants rest and recover until the final day.
Day 5 - a storytelling and music competition.
Day 8 - a circus of acrobats, jugglers, and trained animals. There is also a great chariot race and other horse races and rodeo-like events.
Day 9 - magical displays, finalists from the storytelling and music competitions, and a large display of fireworks at midnight.
Day 10 - the last Grand Battle/Battle Royal.
Awards: first place (ivory), second place (gold), and three honorable mentions (jewels0.
Top Prizes: contest-related: hors
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Literature
Cherry Blossoms in a Field
Goodbye my last friend
It was snowing when we set out
Many boots marched many miles
Mud and cold roads
Leagues beneath our heels
Blood on the snow
Like fallen cherry blossoms in a field
Spring has come
Life begins again
Much new hope for some
But none for us
I do not hope
I dare not hope
So many dead
Friends and foes alike
We are the last of us
Just you and I
And now we part forever
The wind carries us away
We will never be here again
Many tears will flow and fall
Like blood on the snow
Like blossoms in a field
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Literature
Marine Corps Capt Hort Briggs
STR 9
DEX 9
END 8
INT 11
EDC 4
SOC 8
(Retired)Marine Corps Capt: Horatio "Hort" Briggs
Age 42
Pension: 40k per year - wounded veteran officer bonus. It was reduced by half, considering he wasn't a commissioned officer when he sustained his injury.
He didn't make Lieutenant until his 8th year in the Corps, it wasn't until his 6th term (or quarter century in the Corps) that he earned Captain.
Retired with the Silver Exemplary Officer's Cross, an etched Marines' Cutlass, and a Silver Sister (standard issue sidearm) etched with the SEOC.
Proficient in hand to hand, rifle, sidearm, and small and large blade close quarter combat, Capt "Hort" Briggs is a force to be recon-ed with.
His aptitude extends well beyond ground combat, with years of experience in zero-G, helo, and hovercraft operation.
The Marines under his stalwart command all agree that there is no finer officer to have beside you or above you when shit gets ugly. He can out-shoot, out-box, and out-fly any punk jar-head under his g
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Literature
Goodwind Gale Inn and Tavern
Name: Goodwind Gale Inn - Common Inn & Tavern
The sign is a painted blue plank showing a white ship with billowing sails
Menu:
Fried whitefish with asparagus and soft cheese (8 silvers)
Steamed mussels and potatoes (5 silvers)
Oysters and crab stuffed mushrooms (5 silvers)
Eel soup in a bread bowl with baked apples (4 silvers)
Cod stuffed peppers and pickled beets (4 silvers)
Steamed trout and spinach wraps (3 silvers)
Vegetable soup with fishbone broth (2 silvers)
A tall, three storey building that seems to both hunker against and lean into the wind, the Goodwind Gale overlooks the harbor and docks and guarantees some of the freshest fare available. With seating for nearly one hundred, a massive kitchen and a hospitable staff can easily serve a vessel's entire crew or a few dozen travellers. Whether he rides the waves or strides along the cobblestone streets, a man is sure to be hungry and craving steaming sustenance.
The second and third floors have lodgings for over fi
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Literature
Sea Dragon Flagon
Sea Dragon Flagon - Common Inn & Tavern
The sign is hammered pewter decorated with the stencil of a sea serpent coiled around a tall pitcher
Menu:
Boiled barley and oats, mug of brown (15 coppers)
Steamed whitefish and vegetables (25 coppers)
Seared seal steaks and stewed fruits (40 coppers)
Roasted mutton or beef with boiled vegetable medley and sweet pear cider (55 coppers)
Red wine selection is seasonal and limited
A small and simple selection of white wine is common
Sweet mead and cider are the most common drinks on the menu
Accommodations:
The common room features a long bar against the back wall, just in front of the clean kitchens.
A dozen private tables are evenly spaced to assure casual comfort.
A closed, formal dining room with banquet table and seating for up to twenty is reserved for officers, captains galas, or visiting dignitaries.
Upstairs, twenty private rooms offer comfort and quiet. Fourteen shared "crew" rooms offer easy access to the communal co
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Literature
The Dockers' Drink
Dockers' Drink - Poor Tavern
A.k.a. The Anchor 'n Tankard
The shingle is gray, splintered driftwood bound together with old rope and painted with a crude anchor and tankard
Menu:
"Slug and Mug Special" boiled oats with what appears to be snails or sea slugs added for protein, plus a tankard of whichever ale is about to go sour (2 coppers)
Stewed cod and clams (3 coppers)
Salted fish and sharp cheese (3 coppers)
Boiled crab and barley biscuit (4 coppers)
Roasted goat and pickles (4 coppers)
The brown ale is sour
The cheap wine is watered down
The cider is strong
This is many sailors' first stop when they make port.
The food is horrible, the drinks are cheap, and the women are as dangerous as the sea in a gale.
The only accommodations to be had are to be shared - with a wench.
The girls "own" their own beds and need not spend the entire evening with a sailor if they don't fancy to. But the house rules are that the ladies are there for entertainment first and company
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Literature
The Pen is Mightier (Part 1)
I came to an unremarkable door to a non-descript pub. I opened it and descended a few stairs. I noticed a placard.
"What the hell is an Unseelie Accord," I muttered to myself. "Neutral ground? Awfully Swiss."
The first thing I noticed was how barren the place was. Not a soul in sight, beyond the bald bartender and a lanky fellow - I'm guessing the latter was Dresden. I suppose any grown man who thinks he's a modern wizard - or at least poses as one - would of course dress in a black leather coat. I thought it made him look too much like Wyatt Earp from that entirely too quotable western movie. But whatever, this meeting shouldn't cost me more than a couple beers.
I also noticed the haphazardness of the place. One, two, three...hmm, thirteen posts and thirteen tables, apparently arranged by a blind interior decorator. They were all scattered and not even close to what you might call "orderly." I think calling it "asymmetrical" would be an insult to asymmetry.
Whatever. I just wanted to
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Bridge plans ABCD by Realmwright Bridge plans ABCD :iconrealmwright:Realmwright 0 0 TNS Ardent bridge plan by Realmwright TNS Ardent bridge plan :iconrealmwright:Realmwright 2 0
Literature
Not on a Train, Not in the Rain
Time slowed to bare shreds of seconds. I wasn't me anymore. I was someone else watching my life from behind my eyes. Each raindrop fell at forty thousand frames per second, leaving faint, silver trails behind them. The neon lights did their usual, maddening flicker dance, but now they were like a slow strobe with a lifetime between pulses of light.
She was surrounded in a blur of rain misting and splattering from her jacket. The water cascading over the black leather threw reflections in every shade of the rainbow, but it also appeared as though the wet shell was trying to drink in the colors.
She turned her head towards me. The ink of the tattoo on her neck twisted and contorted. Wet tendrils of her hair spun in slow arcs. Her intense blue eyes locked with mine. Her arm uncoiled like a snake striking in slow motion.
I could hear people yelling. My radio's earpiece made it all a muddle of barking and squawking. Instead of sounding like it was screaming in my ear, it was more like someo
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Literature
The Pen is Mightier (Intro)
Ring...ring...
"Hello?"
A pause.
"Hello? !@#$%^&* phone."
"Ahem. Mister Dresden?"
A faint squeak of a chair and boots thudding to the floor - probably having been propped atop a desk.
"Is that a question? Yes, I do in fact answer my own phone. I can't afford a secretary."
"Right. Of course. Yes sir, Mister Dresden."
"Wow."
"Excuse me?"
"That's just not something I'm used to hearing much...'Yes sir, Mister Dresden.' I like it."
"Yes, well, I uh...mean it?"
"Is that another question?"
"Um..."
"Never mind. How can I help, Mister..?"
"Oh, um, Crawford. Lyle Crawford."
"Yes. Mister Crawford. What can I do for you?"
"I'm not exactly sure. Your, uh, listing says you don't do parties and entertainment." Forced laugh.
"That's right. I don't. But I think that's not what you had in mind. Is it?"
"No. No, it isn't. How did you know?"
"I know a lot of things. I've been at this quite a while. I can tell when a prank call is just that. Yours isn't."
"Ahem. Yes. I'm mean, n
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Literature
Distress Call to TNS Frigate Ardent
bing bing bing
"Incoming message from the bridge."
bing bing bing
"Incoming message from the bridge."
Captain Minerva Carmichael groaned and flailed sleepily at the comms speakers next to her bed.
"This had better be good, Wainscott."
"Yes ma'am. Sorry to wake you. Quite the opposite." The first mate's voice had an edge to it. Not exactly panic - not much could fluster the stalwart bridgeman - but she could tell in an instant it wasn't good news.
"What is it, Wayne?" She was awake and alert in mere milliseconds.
"Sorry, Captain, we're receiving a distress beacon. I believe the urgency requires your immediate attention."
*****
"Go on." the Captain insisted, emerging from her quarters before her robe was fully tied at her slim waist.
Ensign Shaw caught a quick glimpse of well-defined abs between a black bra and panties. He snapped to attention and made a conscious effort against doing a double take.
"Lieutenant Wainscott, I trust this is well worth you waking me at 0200."
"
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Literature
It's Not the Size of the Dogg in the Fight...
Her pulse thumped steadily in her ears. She could feel the sweat creeping down her spine. Her upper lip tasty salty as her tongue flicked over it.
Her vision was narrowed to the space between her raised sparring gloves.
She fought to keep her breathing steady, so the grizzled man a few feet away wouldn't know she was tiring.
Hss, huhn Her breath came out in a hiss and a soft grunt as she jabbed a fist between her opponent's gloves, catching him on his right cheekbone.
He was getting tired too if he was letting a shot like that slip through.
"Good shot, girl. But you'll have to hit harder than that if you want to win this."
"Don't worry, there's plenty more. I could do this for hours."
The man tried for a jab of his own, which she swatted away - only to take a right cross that she never saw coming. The blow rocked her head back sharply, but her vision didn't darken or blur. It was fast hit, but not a powerful one.
"Kinda like that?" he gloated.
"No. Harder than that." She shot he
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Literature
(short stories) Soulshine
That superhero stuff is truly everywhere these days. My little brother was always a huge fan, buying all the toys, comic books, video games, etc. Those heroes wear crazy costumes, have insane powers and save millions of people in every arc of their story. But this world, our world, has no such superheroes. But it's not because of the lack of such powers or goofy costumes. It's because, in reality, power isn't everything. Even if it's a superpower.
My name is Evelyn Rook, and... I'm a superhero. Or at least I have everything I'd need in order to become one. I do have a special power. Although it's different than what you'd expect. I can't fly, run really fast, shoot laser beams out of my eyes, nor do I have any special shield or hammer. But my power is something others don't have. I can see souls. Not those dead ones, I'm not some kind of a witch, but the souls of those who are alive. 
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The red dice tumbled and bounced down the green felt and rebounded off the bumper. I held my breath. My head swam. My heart pounded.
The dice wobbled, spun, and settled. Two fours, a hard eight, again.
Cheers exploded from the other players around me. They all had money riding on my throw and it just payed off. Big time!
A few hundred for an old chain smoker to my far right. An even two thousand for a too-tanned gin swiller to my left.
For me, ten thousand dollars. I couldn't believe it.
I had already won five thousand on a wild throw. Then for some reason, something told me to let it stand and do it again. Go for double.
For a fleeting moment I had the lunatic thought "Someone up there must like me. God wants me to win this money."
Yeah, sure. God hangs out in a lot of casinos with a bunch of sweaty drunks and ne'er do wells.
In hindsight, I see that someone wanted me to win...only to lose...and it wasn't the deity I was thinking of.  
I drew a shuddering breath, licked my lips, and howled in triumph.
"I want to live just like this forever!"
I'd been winning more than I was losing tonight, which was not the usual for me. While the rational part of my brain was warning me to quit while I was ahead, the vodka fogged part of my brain shouted it down. Any seasoned gambler - especially one seasoned to the point of addiction - will generally ignore the little voice telling them to walk away. But walking away when you're riding high is like trying to do jumping jacks in quicksand.
The was a busty blonde in a low cut red dress, if that shimmering shred of fabric can be called a dress, to my immediate right. I grabbed her and kissed her, hard and sloppy. At first she tensed and made to pull away, but then she gave in and kissed me back.
Poor thing. I know I wasn't the first randy gambler who has stuffed his tongue in her mouth and copped a feel of her obviously fake rack. I wasn't going to be the last either. I was just that one tonight. The one she'd help stumble back to his room and share a bed with, tolerate his drunken pawing, and leave soon after with a double handful of hundred dollar plastic chips.
What kind of life is that to live, night after night?
When our kiss finally parted I looked into her eyes and saw something...nothing. Regret, maybe?
"Sorry," I whispered. "Just got caught up in the moment."
"It's okay, sweetie. Happens all the time."
I scoffed. "Yeah, I bet it does."
She smiled. "A winning bet, yet again. Keep it up, slick. I'll go get us some drinks. Another dirty martini?"
"Yeah. Thanks. Two olives and an onion."
She threw me a wink and disappeared towards the bar.
I thought about my order and contemplated. Vodka, olives, and onions. I exhaled into a cupped hand and sniffed my breath. Gross.
I'd have to remember to get some mints or gum if she and I were going to be seeing more - or all - of each other tonight.
I turned back to the table and stared down at my pile of chips.
The stick man raked the gleaming red dice toward me. "Another throw, shooter? Place your bet."
The scent of smoke loomed near and a gravely voice whispered "Go on, son."
The pile of chips in front of me seemed to grow. I blinked twice, gave myself a shake, and looked again. It was still "only" ten thousand dollars. It must have been a trick of the light, or smoke in my eyes or something that made it look bigger a second ago.
A strong hand fell heavy on my shoulder, more like a gentle shove than any kind of reassurance.
"Go on, kid. You're on fire."
"Huh?" I looked at the hand and saw black-lacquered nails and a silver skull ring on the middle finger.
"Um, dude. How about a little breathing room?" I shrugged off the offending grip.
"So sorry, son."
"I'm not your son." I might have put a little more bark in my voice than I meant to. Something about this guy just really got under my skin. Maybe it was his sudden familiarity, the way he got in my space like he knew me or something.
He flashed a grin and me and muttered "That's quite right. You're not one of mine." Then I swear he mumbled "yet" as he quaffed something dark and smoky from his glass.
"What was that?"
He eyes glinted at my challenging tone. He didn't speak, just raised his brows. The simple gesture terrified me. My soul shivered.
"I mean, um, that. In your glass. What is it?"
He chuckled low in his throat. Like he knew in that moment I was a frightened child, trying to backpedal after sassing his dad.
"Relax, kid. It's only whiskey. It's not like I'm standing here drinking the blood of the damned."
My soul shivered again at the mental image. It seemed like it would have been perfectly in this guy's character to be doing exactly that.
"Smells kinda like cinnamon...and brimstone."
He chuckled. "It's Fireball. And the fine cigar I just finished. Would you care for one?" As he reached into the breast pocket of his fine black suit, I noticed that his leather vest was a deep crimson, with glittering silver skull buttons. He extracted two slender cigars and held them out to me.
"Um, no thanks. I don't smoke. Those things will kill you, you know."
He chuckled, placed one back in his pocket, and lighted the other.
"What, do you want to live forever, kid?"
"Long enough, I guess."
"That's not what I heard. Be seeing you." Then he turned and strolled away, grinning like he was the only one in on some kind of joke.
A shimmer of red caught my eye. When I looked back, the guy in the black suit was gone. Only some pungent smoke remained where I'd last seen him.
"Here's your drink, baby." The blonde pressed another glass into my had and pressed her too-perfect breasts against me, and kiss my neck. It felt incredible.
"Were you just smoking? You smelled kinda different."
"Uh-uh. It was this other guy. But he just left."
"Oh. Friend of yours?"
"No. I've never seen him before in my life. But he was acting awful chummy. Kept calling me 'son' and 'kid."
"If he comes around again, you'll have to point him out. Maybe I know him."
"Yeah, maybe. Crazy thing is, I almost think I know him too."
Someone behind me cleared their throat. "Excuse me, sir," the stick man said "You'll need to make a bet or pass it to another player. What will it be? Are you still feeling lucky?"
I shook myself and looked around for the guy in the suit again. No luck. It rattled me how quickly he'd come and gone.
"Um, yeah, no. I think I should cash out. Fun's all over for me."
I tipped the stick man a hundred and dropped a few other chips on the floor as I stuffed my winnings into my pockets.
The blonde knelt, picked up the chips, and slowly, purposefully, pressed herself against the front of my pants as she stood.
She slipped one had into my bulging pockets and kept it there. She gripped the front of my shirt and whispered "Is the fun all over tonight, or is it just getting started?"
"Mmm...just like this, forever."
She slid a hand to the back of my neck and pulled me in for another long kiss.
I thought I heard a deep chuckled and opened my eyes.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him at the bar. The guy in the black suit, with the silver skull buttons. He had a cigar pinched lazily between the fingers of one hand. In his other he had a full glass of whiskey. He smiled, lifted it to his lips, and drained it in one long gulp.
I could only imagine how that must have burned.
I hissed through my teeth the same time the blonde bit my lower lip with hers.
"Sorry. Was that too hard? I'll try to be more gentle."
"No, it's okay," I told her. "It wasn't you."
"Sometimes a little pain is a good thing, no? You know you're still alive if it hurts."
"Yeah. Something like that," I muttered noncommitally. My eyes were still on the guy at the bar. He still stared back.
He took a long drag on his cigar, and I swear his eyes glowed like the ember on the tip. Then he winked at me.
"Baby, you sure you're okay?" The blonde put her hand against the side of my face and pulled me to look at her.
I think she saw a flash of the fear I was feeling because her blue eyes widened a bit. "You look like you need to lie down. Do you want to do it alone, or together?"
I glanced back toward the bar, afraid he might still be there, staring at me. Relief flooded me when I saw that he was gone again. Only a little cloud of his cigar smoke hung in the air.
"We should go lie together. It sure beats lying to myself."
Life Sentence
This idea suddenly came to me as I was going over conversation topics of a couple of other (unrelated) characters.
The question was if you'd want to live forever, on the condition that you couldn't possibly kill yourself to escape immortality. It kinda freaked me out the way that stipulation was posed. It implies that you're doomed to live. I answered 'I wouldn't want to be condemned to live any more than I'd want to be condemned to die.'
And this story is the result.
A young man makes a foolish proclamation in the heat of a triumphant moment. And the exact person you wouldn't want to make a bargain with decides to take him up on the offer.
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138 deviations

Pride

I AM PROUD

Made with pride by the DeviantArt community BROWSE ALL ART

  1. How long have you been on DeviantArt? I've had an account for a couple of years, but that was after probably something near a year of just lurking. Eventually I just had to scratch the itch and start building a Favorites collection.

  2. What does your username mean? I'm a hobbyist worldbuilder. It dawned on me one day that there are Cartwrights and Wainwrights and Woodwrights and I thought 'Hey, I craft realms.' Thus, Realmwright.

  3. Describe yourself in three words. Tall, bald, beardy.

  4. Are you left or right handed? A little of both. I write right-handed, but I use some tools as a southpaw.

  5. What was your first deviation? Theron Darksun by Realmwright

  6. What is your favorite type of art to create? I suppose you'd call it "conceptual." Most of what I've posted has been based on impulse or an idea that I had to see "fleshed out." I have a lot of ifs and maybe and I wonders rattling around the old brain pan and it helps to have somewhere to put them.

  7. If you could instantly master a different art style, what would it be? Wow. That's a really good question! I guess if it was just *POOF!* I'd want musical talent: instrumental, singing, composing. I say that because I've dabbled in pencil, charcoal, sculpture, photography, and writing, but never music. 

  8. What was your first favorite? I've organized and shuffled and faved something over 4,000 pieces. I can't remember what was the very first. I'm sure it was fantasy based. Probably a ranger or monster or sword or something.

  9. What type of art do you tend to favorite the most? It just depends what I'm in the mood for. It's usually fantasy or sci-fi related, but lately it's just been whatever strikes my fancy. Sometimes a landscape photo or a piece of writing that captures my attention. In fact, I recently meshed the two in a collection called "Worth 1,000 Words" where something I see generates an idea (be in flash fiction or something more substantial) and I grab it.

  10. Who is your all-time favorite deviant artist? That's not fair...making me decide...making me pick one over others. I refuse to make anyone who has shared and inspired and moved me feel like I chose someone else.

  11. If you could meet anyone on DeviantArt in person, who would it be? Again, that's not fair. There are different deviants for different reasons. If I wanted to talk Tolkien, it would be one. If I wanted to talk BSG and spacey navies, it would be another. Can I just say I'd like to raise a glass with any and all of my faves?

  12. How has a fellow deviant impacted your life? They make me think. They make me laugh. They make me cry. They make me share something powerful and brilliant and squeal "Hey, come lookit!"

  13. What are your preferred tools to create art? I don't have a tablet and my drawing table is piled with junk. I feel quite left behind with the advance of digital everything and I'm too lazy to commit to doing anything about it. But I type really fast and I'm a wordsmith and storyteller by compulsion, so mostly I just string letters together in the right order and hit Enter. I haven't wielded a simple pencil in many years, but that was how I started oh so long ago when life was more simple.

  14. What is the most inspirational place for you to create art? Sometimes it's my dank, little hole in the basement, lit by a 60 watt bulb and my monitor, that my dog thinks is the designated "fart and leave" room. Sometimes it's my gray, uninspired cubicle at the big office building that I get paid to occupy. Sometimes its sitting in traffic and telling myself sweeping epics or quite fairy tales because there's nothing on the radio. Or about once a month it's my brain getting an idea at 4:00 AM on a Saturday that makes me get up, make coffee, and slink to my aforementioned "fart room" to squint over the keyboard for hours and hours - after which I feel guilty for not getting dressed, mowing the lawn, and/or going to work for overtime pay. Neil Gaiman said it best.

    "You get ideas from daydreaming. You get ideas from being bored. You get ideas all the time. The only difference between writers and other people is we notice when we're doing it."
  15. What is your favorite DeviantArt memory? Being taken by surprise and WHAM! Inspiration strikes. It happens quite a bit. When it does, I love it! Even if it's 11:39 PM and I swore I'd log off and go to bed hours ago, but just one more Page Down....pleeeeeeease. When it doesn't happen, I curse myself as an ignorant, no-talent clod, and drag myself off to bed. Those are usually the Friday nights after a long week when what I really need is sleep. They're generally followed by my insulted subconscious saying "I'll show you 'clod.' Now get up at 4 and go write! You can sleep when you're dead. That's the part where your kids find your piles of half-finished manuscripts and constructed worlds, and sell them to make you posthumously famous and live off your unrealized dreams. Bwahahahaha!!" Sometimes my brain is a really reciprocal jerk.

deviantID

Realmwright
Realmwright
Artist | Hobbyist | Artisan Crafts
United States
I've always had an interest in arts and humanities. I don't do much in the way of sketching anymore and my photography gear is gathering dust in a closet. For the past several years my focus has been the written word. I'm super into worldbuilding and everything that goes with it. I'm just starting to get into tabletop RPG play and design.
Interests

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:iconpajunen:
Pajunen Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2018
Thanks for the +fav
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:iconmaria-schreuders:
Maria-Schreuders Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2018  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you so much for faving my photo´s :+fav: :heart:  I really appreciate this
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:iconyuukon:
Yuukon Featured By Owner Jan 23, 2018   Photographer
Thank you for watching me, I appreciate your support! La love 
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:iconhubert61:
hubert61 Featured By Owner Aug 13, 2017
merci pour les favs :)
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:iconaneurysmguy:
AneurysmGuy Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the fav! :D
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:iconpajunen:
Pajunen Featured By Owner Jul 1, 2017
Thanks for the :+fav:
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:iconlaurenipsome:
LaurenIpsome Featured By Owner Jun 14, 2017
Thanks for the :star: on "Cast Off Characters"
There is a sequel if you're interested:
<da:thumb id="681479105" format="200H">
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:iconrealmwright:
Realmwright Featured By Owner Jun 17, 2017  Hobbyist Artisan Crafter
I loved it! It's quite reminiscent of Neil Gaiman's Endless.
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:iconlaurenipsome:
LaurenIpsome Featured By Owner Jun 18, 2017
Thank you so much!
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:iconwaynebenedet:
WayneBenedet Featured By Owner Dec 22, 2016
Thank you for the :+fav:
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