Messages

1

Writer's Guild / Re: Merfolk: The Depths Prologue [WIP]

« on: November 16, 2010, 01:56:31 PM »

[Continued]

 “It's a world out there, of wonder and freedom. We gots out own society and the other sea dwellers call us landlubbers 'cause we tried human.”
 “Okay...”
I looked at him again. Small eyes, bluish skin, pale, enourmous hands. Built like a steamroller.
 “Why aren't people noticing you?”
 “Tha mutes? Can't see, can't hear. Only the voiced will see.”

***

Free fall. That's the closest I'll ever get to describe what it feels like to swim. Absolute freedom.

*   *   *   *   *

   Till death do us part.
   Or a divorce agent.
   Happily married for six years.
   Then he can't handle the kid.

***

I know this, it gives me a sense of deja vu. I have gone through this before, and it's almost familiar. One day I see that Elliot was like it from the start. And I'm almost relieved. Now I know why he has had such trouble sleeping. Now I get a full nights rest every night in the bathtub. Maybe I should sell my bed.

***

 “Conrad!”
I call out, through the mist on the docks.
 “Yeah, who be calling?”
 “An old friend!”
A large, almost comically stout silhouette appears in the mist.
 “Jasmine?”
 “The very same.”
 “Ai thot yeh'd settled down!”
 “I had.”
Elliot wakes on my arm and gives a squeal.
 “O'll be dammed. Yer a mother!”

***

He looks at me with a grin only a baby can give. We are where we belong, mother and son.

*   *   *   *   *

   It was in may.
   I worked at the dock.
   She was pregnant with our first child.
   But fate thought otherwise, both died in labour, she held my hand.

***

I began drinking, for what else did I have? I ate only poorly, no time to cook. I got a deal with the chief, working less for less pay, now I had no wife to feed. My skin started itching, and I bathed in the sea to relieve it. It was the only thing keeping me sane. The sea. One late sorry night at the pub I complained to the barkeep 'bout my troubles.

***

 “I'm quitting.”
I had already found another job.
 “Oh. Sorry to hear that, is it the wife?”
 “Nah, I'm past that by now.”
 “Okay then. You know you're one of the best loaders we have. Is it your back aching up?”
 “Not that either. My back's never been better.”
 “Then why are you quitting, Conrad?”
 “Going out to sea for a while.”
It wasn't exactly a lie.

***

The best years of my life. Actually creating something, instead of just the same old job. I was building the Railway.

2

Writer's Guild / Merfolk: The Depths Prologue [WIP]

« on: November 15, 2010, 12:20:49 PM »

This is a prologue for a World of Darkness supplement I'm writing.

It's not finished, but my GF kinda likes how it turned out so far. Will update this post. Maybe.

It's about Merfolk in case you didn't notice. :)

---------------------------

Prologue

   I still remember the words she used to say.
   The weird pillow conversations we had.
   The way one of her eyes was slightly bigger than the other.
   Her favourite, slightly faded, purple shirt.
   Her family's odd sense of humour.
   Her sad smile as she told me it wouldn't work any more.

***

I never thought that I would ever get depressed. She changed that. I found myself just staring at her picture for hours on end. My life lost meaning, my colleagues grew worried, my health declined because I couldn't be bothered to cook some proper food for myself.
   Then the weird things started happening. I started dreaming weird things. I dreamt that I was drowning. Every night, for about a month. Always the same. I was underwater and my body was heavy as lead. I would sink and try to scream but to no avail. Then waking up, bathed in sweat. Every night more sweat. It even started having a saline odour, like the sea in summer.
   I found myself enjoying my showers a lot more. The feeling of water on my skin was mesmerizing. I started swimming, just to get more of it. My friends were impressed by how long I could hold my breath.
   I started liking fish. I had hated fish all my life but one day, the smell of fried fish met my nostrils from a small Asian-something food stand. I just had to have a meal there. Also, fish was cheap, so bonus on my budget.
   I started getting worried when my sight deteriorated. I didn't have money for glasses, but a friend with rich parents gave me the money and said I could pay him back when I felt I was economically comfortable.
   Then my hair started falling out.
   One day I noticed four slits on each side of my neck.

***

 “You're obviously new to this kind of thing,” he said.
I stared at him. The big burly man sitting opposite of me. No one in the room but the bartender seemed to take notice of us, and he too had a weird... Presence.
 “We, both you an' me, an' my friend the barkeep are not exactly normal run o' the mill people.”
The room was dark, lit mostly by candles. I wondered why there wasn't any electrical light.
 “Are you listening, lad?”
 “Yes?”
 “Have you noticed those dreams you've been having about swimming or drowning?”
I didn't answer. I had dreams like that all the time.
 “That's your old memories calling you out. Your memories from the more moist part of your past.”
I couldn't make anything of what he was telling me. He took off his fur cap. There was two breathing holes on top of his forehead.
 “I see you're wearing that scarf. Covers the gills?”
 “Yeah.”
 “You tried swimming yet, son?”
 “No.”
We sat in silence for almost a minute. He took a swig of his beer and scratched the barnacles on his chin.

3

Writer's Guild / Re: Cats

« on: August 19, 2010, 04:18:37 PM »

Edited, rewrote phrases, changed names. Extended version:

Nerva... Nerva!.. That's her name... She calls herself out. Focus.
The daze wears off, her hind leg hurts. Tries and fails at standing up. She looks at the source of the pain and finds a paw missing.
Shit.
Well, could be worse.
She lifts himself to her paws and not quite so nimbly takes a few leaps to get to higher ground.
The wound is bleeding, she has lost some blood. She's dizzy, but she's not going to give up now. She can still concentrate, still fight.
Surveying the landscape from atop a moved boulder, she sees smoking craters and thrown trees. In the general vicinity it's quiet, but the thundering booms of combat can still be heard in the distance.
Requesting medic!
Silence.
Wind.
An explosion in the distance.
I'm wounded, movement limited, blood loss. Requesting medic!
Pause.
Another explosion, closer this time.
She picks up a thought in the distance.
Under attack, cannot provide assistance! Requesting backup!
Help is not coming.
She thinks over the situation.
Might as well.
Closing her eyes, she blocks off the pain from her leg.
She concentrates for a moment. Then smells burnt flesh.
She looks at her leg stump. The entire right hind paw is gone, but the wound is cauterized now.
She takes a moment to stabilize her mental condition, falling into the familiar trance, replenishing bodily reserves,  regenerating internal organs a bit instead of trying to heal the missing paw. She stabilizes blood sugar, burns fat reserves and clumsily mends together fractures.
Now for the hard part.
Coming.
She takes a deep breath and leaps from the boulder. From the direction of the distress call.
The soar is below what she can usually do, but with an injured leg and mental fatigue like this, it's above average.
She lands on a tree trunk a few hundred steps away from the boulder, takes another leap.
Can you hold out?
She listens for an answer.
Landing on a hilltop she loses her balance and the stub touches the ground.
Stinging pain.
She curses under her breath and leaps.
Thank reason, hurry!
Explosion.
The sound is crisp with undertones of white noise. She's getting close.
She lands before a hill. Three small steps to the top.
A thousand steps away she sees the battlefield. Smells of scorched earth fill the air.
She senses two presences. One under obfuscation.
The other is a gray Venetian. Black markings on the fur, visibly enraged by her invisible opponent.
That's her you're looking at. She's poor at spotting.
Concealment isn't Nerva's strong side.
But still, an advantage is an advantage.
She goes into cover behind the hill and enters the meditation that is second nature to her.
Her mind is a wreck.
No time to minimize any signatures, just the defenses she can muster and then create a few independent mind threads.
The familiar smell of ozone from the barriers around her meets the nostrils.
What is the plan?
She clings to the feeling of the others thoughts to avoid being detected.
I'll try to get inside her head. On your cue.
Claws slide from their sheaths. She keeps the calm and focus as she exits the meditative state.
Her paws leave the ground of the hillside, this time in a graceful sprint.
She comes around the left side of the hill, weaving a deadly field around her.
The Venetian sits on a boulder, on alert in search of the other one. She immediately notices Nerva's approach, spawning two spheres of light.
One shoots at her with blinding speed.
Nerva sidesteps, dodging with a audible sonic boom, then continues unfazed.
The orb hits the hillside with a crisp crackle, tearing half of the hill away.
One hit and she's done for.
Now!
A golden brown figure emerges from the trees behind the Venetian.
Nerva feels the pressure, rising in intensity over the channel they have established.
The Venetian hisses at her, readying the second sphere.
The distance is half of before.
Nerva puts her mind into it and speeds up. The wind pressure makes her eyes watery.
The other light sphere gains speed, without accelerating.
It's a dangerous attack.
Nerva leaps with explosive pressure.
The orb strikes the ground below her and the shock wave causes her to lose balance in mid air for a split second.
She corrects herself and kicks off against a force barrier foothold, towards her enemy.
Her time perception slows to a crawl.
Close quarter combat is always dangerous.
Nerva strikes the boulder with her mind, splintering it explosively.
The Venetian loses foothold, but not aim. A beam of destruction graces Nerva. The pain is suppressed.
She sees her adversary slowly twisting, correcting herself. Then she vanishes.
Shit. A jumper.
Nerva creates a foothold and with aching slowness compared to her mind, her body turns around.
She reacts just in time with a barrier to counter another beam attack.
The Venetian is not nearly as tired as Nerva. This is bad.
The gray cat pounces at her, shattering the barrier as if it was nothing.
Nerva leaps backwards, using the resulting sonic boom to her advantage.
“Gotcha.”
She strikes the open flank of her enemy.
The Venetian visibly loses composure.
Another strike. This one penetrates the barriers.
Her opponent has a chunk of flesh the size of her fore paw ripped from between her ribs.
She stumbles and blinks, numbed by the pain.
Got it!
The gray hisses.
Then seizures. The foothold beneath her adversary dissolves and a limb corpse falls to the ground.
Took you some time.
Unconsciousness.

4

Writer's Guild / Cats

« on: August 19, 2010, 02:38:35 PM »

Marius... Marius!.. That's his name... He calls himself out. Focus.
The daze wears off, his hind leg hurts. Tries and fails at standing up. He looks at the source of the pain and finds a paw missing.
Shit.
Well, could be worse.
He lifts himself to his paws and not quite so nimbly takes a few leaps to get to higher ground.
The wound is bleeding, he has lost some blood. He's dizzy, but he's not going to give up now. He can still concentrate, still fight.
Surveying the landscape from atop a moved boulder, he sees smoking craters and thrown trees. In the general vicinity it's quiet, but the thundering booms of combat can still be heard in the distance.
Requesting medic!
Silence.
Wind.
An explosion in the distance.
I'm wounded, movement limited, blood loss. Requesting medic!
Pause.
Another explosion, closer this time.
Under attack, cannot provide assistance! Requesting backup!
He thinks over the situation.
Might as well.
Closing his eyes, he blocks off the pain from his leg.
He concentrates for a moment. Then smells burnt flesh.
He looks at his leg stump. The entire right hind paw is gone, but the wound is cauterized now.
He takes a moment to stabilize his mental condition, falling into the familiar trance, replenishing bodily reserves,  regenerating internal organs a bit instead of trying to heal the missing paw. He stabilizes blood sugar, burns fat reserves and clumsily mends together fractures.
Now for the hard part.
Coming.

5

Random Insanity / Re: In this thread: We make lame threats!

« on: March 07, 2010, 03:37:47 PM »

I'll force you to attend a talk on advance computer science, leaving you very confused.

6

Writer's Guild / Re: Posthuman-Post Apocalypse

« on: December 07, 2009, 09:53:50 AM »

A HA HA HA HA HA! I know that book. That book was amazing. I think you should make the trailer like the house.They have the obsession with expansion, because they can't live to accept the empty space around them...

I am not sure I understand. What book is that?

7

Writer's Guild / Posthuman-Post Apocalypse

« on: December 04, 2009, 10:13:43 AM »

I have been writing a little story as of late...

It's about some people riding around in a convoy, scavenging goods and stuff.

The apocalypse is not nuclear or epidemic, but rather technological, eg. they reached a level where technology began improving itself exponentially, and then humans became computers.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 “Rúni, we're leaving,” the radio crackled.
He ran through the old part of the library, picking out books. His brain overworked itself, what should he bring? Old manuscripts? Science journals? History? Something immediately useful? He knew he already had over seven thousand on each of his six pocket-storage blocks, but he might have to wait a long time to see a terminal if his laptop broke. It all added dead weight.
 “Rúni, get a move on!”
He picked out a philosophical work, an obscure horror novel, a collection of children's bedtime stories. Every choice was painful.
 “Rúni!”
 “Roger, coming right over. ETA before you know it,” he answered.
Rúni ran through the the heavy metal door sealing it with a button press. He ran through an office block, taking with him a large stack of blank paper, mechanical pencils, spare leads and erasers.
He emerged into the main hall.
 “Rúni you scallywag, don't you know what a deadline is!”
 “I do, but I can't say I know how to hold them.”
 “We can only delay it because you're invaluable... But this happens every time!”
 “Sorry Marcus, it is in the name of knowledge.”
The large militarily-dressed man turned around and began shouting directions to the other people in the caravan.
 “Damn that bibliophile,” he cursed under his breath, picking up a bag of nondescript goods.
Rúni threw his bags into the back of a truck, putting on a woollen sweater and wind proof jacket, tugging a gun, with the safety latch on, into the back of his pants.
 “You with us, librarian?” The truck driver yelled.
 “Rock and roll!”
The seven trucks left the dome shaped building complex silently in a cloud of dust.

 “You ain't hungry kid?” A very androgynous middle aged lady asked him, holding out a sandwich.
 “Not really...”
 “It's chow time, put down that book and have a tuna sandwich.”
 “I said I'm not hungry Jeanne.”
 “Listen, you're my responsibility here in group three and you're thin as a twig. Eat.”
Rúni reluctantly took the sandwich from her hand.
 “Man can not live by bread alone, Erza.”
 “But it sure helps in the long run,” she added.
Her radio beeped twice, she plugged her ear and answered it. Rúni fell back to his book and absent-mindedly began eating the rather ordinary sandwich. He liked reading. A lot. He did whenever possible, whenever he had time. He had some bleak memories of once having an entire library for himself, but he wasn't sure if that had all been a dream.
   It was a good horror novel. The plot was intricate and challenging to understand and involved many stories woven into each other. A parental relationship, a suicide investigation, an academic review of a documentary and the story of the house that said documentary was recorded in.
 “Good book?” An old man across from Rúni asked.
 “Yeah.”
He became less focused on his surroundings and gradually slipped into his own little world of written words. He barely noticed Erza going up to talk to the driver.
 “Listen up people. Chief has spotted something that looks like a caravan.”
Groans were heard from the other passengers.
“We'll be meeting them in about twenty minutes, so gear up, expect the worst and hope for the best. Rúni, you'll be needed up front.”
He reluctantly put down his book and picked up a military grade helmet Marcus had once given him.

Marcus ordered a full stop just before the other convoy came within firing range. Rúni jumped out of his truck and ran up to the front where Marcus and a few of the gals who was good at diplomacy stood. He noticed some of the military guys unpacking a machine gun in the front truck, ready to tear off the awnings and open fire. Everybody was on their marks, the air was so tense you could cut it with a knife.
 “Hey rookie. You good to go?” Marcus asked in a serious tone.
 “I got about a hundred sheets. I'll be fine,” Rúni said and took out a piece of paper from his satchel.
 “Expect the worst, hope for the best,” Marcus said and took a deep breath.
The other convoy consisted of a single truck with two trailers daisy chained. It came to a halt and the paper sheet Rúni held stopped waving in the wind and became stiff and rigid.
Nothing happened.
They stood waiting for almost a minute before the cabin door opened and a man stepped out. He was dressed in rags an looked at the assembly lazily.
 “Don't slack your guard, this might be a trick,” Marcus hissed.
 “Don't... Go...” The man spoke.
 “Shush! He's going to say something.”
 “Turn... Back... Please.”
Chatter spread through the group, but it was abruptly cut off by the next action the man took. He took out a pistol.
 “Sir, drop the gun!” Marcus yelled and drew his own, taking aim along with every single of the other militants.
The man only gave a tired wave and a smile in reply, he then licked his lips and put the gun in his mouth.
 “Hey! Wait!”
A muffled gunshot was heard.
 “All right... Anyone who needs to get over what they just saw, take your time. Everyone else, come with me.”
Rúni had fallen to a sitting position in the dust of the dirt road. He had not expected to see what he presumed was a sole survivor committing suicide.
 “Rúni, get up and come along.”
 “But he said I could take my time! I'm not from some crazy place where people go around and shoot themselves!”
 “We don't know what's in them trailers. If it's something that shrugs off bullets like water droplets, you're out only chance.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Now the plan is that they find something in one of those trailers, but I am out of ideas to what that something might be...

8

Writer's Guild / Re: The Terrible Tree

« on: September 09, 2009, 04:25:56 PM »

AKA. Nuke, by magical means.

Nice descriptions.

9

Writer's Guild / A bad dream. Zebra Girl/Sandman crossover.

« on: August 03, 2009, 02:02:02 PM »

I wrote this out of boredom while reading the webcomic Zebra Girl. It is also based on Neil Gaiman's brilliant Sandman visual novels.
If you are unfamiliar with any of them this will probably be a little alien, and if so I urge you to go check them out.

Enjoy.

-----------------------------------------------

A tall pale man in a black rope came walking though a long orange void. The very fabric of reality, or the absence of it in this unknown realm seemed to bend to his will. It manifested as an invisible path under his feet. The void suddenly retracted and was replaced by a lush forest with purple trees. The forest was then replaced by a battlefield, then a beach with an otherworldly sunset.

As the beach disappeared, a castle came into view and the man walked up a long path to the widest of staircases.
 “Greetings lord Morpheus.”
Above and to either side the gate was guarded by a wyvern, a hippogriff and a gryphon.
 “Hello my friends,” said the man in an unnatural, deep and ethereal voice. “Has anything happened while I was away?” He asked.
 “Not a one thing m'lord,” the gryphon said.
 “Good.”
Lord Morpheus walked through the corridors of his ever changing castle. He was deep in though of nothing at all, meditating as he walked, observing his realm in a state of complete acknowledging without concious though.
   It occurred to him that he felt lonely and decided to leave his castle to spend a night with his new lover. He went to the library. His new lover was fond of literature and he thought he would surprise her with a book.
 “G'day milord,” Lucien said from the top of a ladder higher than most, ordering the newest arrived books.
 “Hello Lucien. I came looking for a book,” Morpheus said.
 “A specific or just one?”
 “Just one, preferably exciting.”
 “For her?”
 “For her.”
 “I have just the thing,” Lucien said and kicked off the book case sending the latter sliding sideways while he climbed downwards. He stopped abruptly with the wave of a hand and pulled out a book.
 “How I Became a Demon and What Followed,” Lucien said, “imagined by a certain alias 'Zebra Girl.'”
 “Sounds interesting. I'll take it,” Morpheus said.
 “Based on a true story, how nice.” Lucien noted and handed the thick, pocket-sized paperback to Morpheus who hid it in the folds his black cloak which just now seemed to gain a flame design in the rims.
 “Shining yourself up are we?” Lucien noted, but he got no answer.

Morpheus once again set out to tread the chasms of the ever changing dreamscape. He walked through a dream of waking up and going to school, smiling to himself as he took the school bus to the city. He passed a dream without any visuals, only sound, then one with only visuals and no sound. He came to a bar and found what he was looking for, a bottle of fine red wine. He then made his way to the planes of the waking and walked up to the front door of an apartment in a god forsaken city block.

He knocked twice and the door opened.
 “Hello sweets.” He said and a smile lit his face.
 “Come in, I was just about to eat, you want some?” She said and took his hand to lead him in through the dark apartment.
 “Actually I do not take much interest in food. Although I would like to watch you eat if I may.”
 “Of course you silly man.” She laughed a heart warming laugh and went into the living room. Her presence was great and calming, her voice like the rain on the roof windows and her hair like woven copper. Although, he reminded himself, woven copper didn't look that way.
As they sat down by the small table she lit the candles and began cutting out the chicken.
 “You have brought gifts haven't you? I can read you like an open book,” she said giggling with her hands smothered in chicken fat and juices.
 “I have. A bottle of fictional fine red wine. Chârteau-Innomé,” he said revealing the bottle, “and a little reading for you.”
 “Oooh...” she said while wiping her hands in a napkin. She snatched the book from his grasp and studied it.
 “Zebra Girl?” She said as he poured her a glass. “I think I have heard that name somewhere before...”
 “You have?” Morpheus raised an eyebrow in surprise.
 “Yes, I think it is a tech-support site or similar. She's a local.”
 “I am sorry Amy, if what you say is true then I have urgent business. Can you show me the site?” Morpheus stood up and his expression changed from a smile to a frown.
 “Of course dear. Are you all right?”

Morpheus rushed down the street the otherwise calm stars in his black eyes was ablaze. Damn it all that he had left such a monstrosity develop without being aware, and then right next to where he spent most of his free nights. He came to a graveyard and noticed an aura of hell fire.
 “Damn, this is that thing's work.”
He ran now, a thing he had not done in millennia. He entered a dream of a random person in the neighbourhood and quickly found his way to where its source was.
 “Who are you?” A voice spoke.
Morpheus found the dream he transcended suddenly being covered in a red plaid.
 “Answer my question or suffer the consequences.” The voice said.
 “I am none of your business, and you have quite the nerve to challenge me in my own realm.” Morpheus said and dispelled the barrier with a wave of his hand.
He rushed on and found himself in a forgotten dream consisting of a void both white and black. In front of him stood a man figure in the opposite colour of the void around him.
 “Mr. Chalk I presume?” Morpheus spoke.
 “Who are you? No! Not you! Tell me, how you found me!” The creature shouted.
 “You have been a bad demon, Azrael, becoming a nightmare while I'm not looking. I assume you know what happened to the Corinthian?” Morpheus said as he summoned the powers of the dreamscape of which he had omnipotent control.
 “Goodbye, demon, you have annoyed me for the last time.” Morpheus said. The white or black void coiled itself up and in a collapsing motion it crushed the creature in it.

 “What was the problem dear?” She said as he stood in her doorway.
 “A bad dream.”


Morpheus, Lucien © Neil Gaiman
Mr. Chalk, Zebra Girl, Jack the Plaid © Joe England

10

Writer's Guild / Re: The Meadow

« on: July 01, 2009, 07:11:47 AM »

OH THE HUMANITY.


Brilliant writing btw...

11

Writer's Guild / Re: Ring.

« on: June 25, 2009, 10:36:24 PM »

Lemme brak that chunk down for you:


As we scroll down (bubble theory) through the 'verses (multiverse theory) from the ripping edge (big rip theory), we find that they do not differ much in composition. But in 'verse No. -62 (reference, 62 'verses younger than the reference) we find a small bulge in the lower Grid (a 'pocket'). If we pass though that bulge we arrive in a small artificial 'verse with only twenty nine stars a few parsec's (1 parsec = 1.5 lightyears) apart. All of the stars are everlasting, fueled by a Grid-rift (energy tapped from the universe barriers) in their core. This verse in it self is so small that if you travel in anyone direction for one hundred and twenty-one parsec's you will find yourself where you started (hypersphere universe theory). In this place the laws of physics is heavily altered. The speed of light itself is many hundred times higher than the average (c = 3*10^8 m/s) and because this verse is encapsulated in the Grid, there's a certain energy flow through it (mana?) found nowhere else. Around one of the smaller stars we find a solid ring constructed from ultra-dense materials. Spinning at approx. sixty-five kilometers per second (calculated), with what would have been an eternal day if not for sequentially light dimming mechanisms in the rings atmospheric architecture. On this moderate world which could house a full scale map of a standard sized 1g planet six and a half million times (1.5 AU * 2 * pi * 10 000 meters, I might alter the sizes).

12

Writer's Guild / Ring.

« on: June 25, 2009, 09:36:17 PM »

Ring

“I think they will destroy each other without intervention.”
 “No. I definitely believe that with a big enough world, nothing will happen.”
 “They why don't we go test our theories?”
 “Where should we find a world large enough for my calculations?”
 “We'll make one. A ring encircling an everlasting star.”
 “What if they destroy themselves?”
 “What if they do? We can make it best out of a thousand and one?”
 “That will take an awfully long time. I reckon the 'verse would end beforehand.”
 “Then we just put it in a pocket 'verse.”
 “OK. Fine. You win but is still think it is a marvelous waste of energy...”
 “Let's go have some fun.”

As we scroll down through the 'verses from the ripping edge, we find that they do not differ much in composition. But in 'verse No. -62 we find a small bulge in the lower Grid. If we pass though that bulge we arrive in a small artificial 'verse with only twenty nine stars a few parsec's apart. All of the stars are everlasting, fueled by a Grid-rift in their core. This verse in it self is so small that if you travel in anyone direction for one hundred and twenty-one parsec's you will find yourself where you started. In this place the laws of physics is heavily altered. The speed of light itself is many hundred times higher than the average and because this verse is encapsulated in the Grid, there's a certain energy flow through it found nowhere else. Around one of the smaller stars we find a solid ring constructed from ultra-dense materials. Spinning at approx. sixty-five kilometers per second, with what would have been an eternal day if not for sequentially light dimming mechanisms in the rings atmospheric architecture. On this moderate world which could house a fill scale map of a standard sized 1g planet six and a half million times.

-----------------------------------------------------

Small introduction to a new universe I've created. Magic and weird science fantasy ensues.

Feel free to use this base idea. You might wanna read Iain M. Banks' Culture series to undestand the techno babble, but anyway.

13

Writer's Guild / Re: The Overgrown Lands - Under the Apple Tree

« on: June 25, 2009, 06:06:51 AM »

This is a really good story, please, do continue it.

14

Writer's Guild / Re: Fibers

« on: June 25, 2009, 05:44:41 AM »

Really imaginative story.

I like this perspective switching when you don't know who or what is telling the story.

15

Writer's Guild / Re: The product of the hours 0.00 AM through 4.43 AM.

« on: June 14, 2009, 11:39:38 AM »

"My godess, you're soaked!" This one word could go either way, and both ways it would add loads of meaning to the story. Um.....ditto previous two posts. Not much has happened yet. I'll be lurking.

This gives me an idea...