Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Mr.Zero]

Hello friends,

I'm writing some lore for some kind of rtd and because I like to write and could use some input on what I've written. I'm trying to accomplish somewhat of a descriptive story/view? from a 3rd person standpoint.

Here's a small bit, shortly describing the events which lead to the battle.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The strategists, heroes and Archipel reclused themselves from society while contemplating various ways of defeating Azgul in ways that seemed feasible given the current circumstances.
Pushing into demon territory would be suicide as eventually they’d win by attrition. Calling him out would be dubious at best as he wasn’t just some random demon grunt who would rise to the challenge, let alone walk into an obvious trap.

As days went by, constant news of the demise of villages, cities and castles arrived. Each describing the horrors that were inflicted upon the ones living there. Time was not on their side, so a decision had to be made. In a hurry.

One of the strategists, Arden Meicaller, an up and rising at the time tactician, was a huge admirer of chess. He liked to employ strategies where he’d make sacrifices in order to obtain something of value . Fairly simple, if utilized properly, game changing move. Careless use of this will usually set you back, so it is a daring move too.
His idea was to let surrounding fortifications fall and draw as much attention as possible to Crescenta by fortifying it even further. By giving up favorable positioning, which would buy them time, they’d strengthen Crescenta to fortress like levels. Fending off attacks would be easy and possibly halt the progress of the demons. From there onwards, they could mount counter-attacks and have a stable foothold region for future battles.

Meicaller's idea was met with both vulgarity and agreement as not everybody shared his thoughts. Some said that giving up ground will harm them in the long run. Some said that it would destroy the morale of the troops. The biggest counter-argument was that if they choose not to siege the city, but instead cut off supply routes and starved them out. That there’d be little that they could do about it.
Archipel argued that he could fake that something powerful is hidden in Crescenta. He added that if Crescenta would be the only true bastion of humanity left on the continent, it would be too good to pass up even if it were a trap. The demons could sustain unimaginable until losses, but if Crescenta fell then they’d win regardless of what happened.

After some bickering, the strategists agreed with Meicaller’s plan named ‘Crescenta’s Gambit’ by the strategists. Carefully, the makeshift alliance orchestrated their losses in a way that it would inch Azgul closer to Crescenta with every loss for a deciding battle. Months ahead of time, they started fortifying the capital. When the demons arrived, Crescenta was nothing short of a massive fortified citadel.

[Sanctume]

@Zero

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The strategists, heroes and Archipel reclused themselves from society while contemplating various ways of defeating Azgul in ways that seemed feasible given the current circumstances.
Pushing into demon territory would be suicide as eventually they’d (ambiguos, they as the heroes or the demons?) win by attrition. Calling him (Azgul, him?) out would be dubious at best as he wasn’t just some random demon grunt who would rise to the challenge, let alone walk into an obvious trap.

Suggestion. Archipel with the other strategists and heroes went into seclusion from society to contemplate on feasible plans of defeating the demon Azgul given the current dire predicament of the land.  It would be suicide to fight in a battle of attrition in the demon's territory.  Azgul himself, unlike other demon grunts, is far too clever to come out for a call to challenge, or walk into an obvious trap.

As days went by, constant news of the demise of villages, cities and castles arrived. Each describing the horrors that were inflicted upon the ones living there. Time was not on their side, so a decision had to be made. In a hurry.

Suggestion. The daily news of the demise of villages, cities and castles arrive with horrific details of infliction upon the living.  There is no more time.  An urgent decision has to be made by the Archipel's group now.

One of the strategists, Arden Meicaller, an up and rising at the time tactician, was a huge admirer of chess. He liked to employ strategies where he’d make sacrifices in order to obtain something of value . Fairly simple, if utilized properly, game changing move. Careless use of this will usually set you back, so it is a daring move too.

Suggestion. Arden Meicaller is a huge admirer of the game chess.  He is one of the strategists and a rising tactician of the group.  He likes to employ strategies of making sacrifices in order to obtain something of value.   It is a fairly simple yet game changing move when properly utilized.  However, careless use of this will be costly, so it is a daring if not a desperate move also.


His idea was to let surrounding fortifications fall and draw as much attention as possible to Crescenta by fortifying it even further. By giving up favorable positioning, which would buy them time, they’d strengthen Crescenta to fortress like levels. Fending off attacks would be easy and possibly halt the progress of the demons. From there onwards, they could mount counter-attacks and have a stable foothold region for future battles.

Suggestion.  His idea is to sacrifice the other surrounding fortifications for a much favorable position in Crescenta.  Let the defenders from the others fall back and strengthen Crescenta even further.  This will buy them time as Crescenta will be defended at fortress level which can fend off attacks and has possibility of halting the demons.  From here, they can mount counter-attacks and have foothold in the region for future battles.

Meicaller's idea was met with both vulgarity and agreement as not everybody shared his thoughts. Some said that giving up ground will harm them in the long run. Some said that it would destroy the morale of the troops. The biggest counter-argument was that if they choose not to siege the city, but instead cut off supply routes and starved them out. That there’d be little that they could do about it.
Archipel argued that he could fake that something powerful is hidden in Crescenta. He added that if Crescenta would be the only true bastion of humanity left on the continent, it would be too good to pass up even if it were a trap. The demons could sustain unimaginable until (unit?) losses, but if Crescenta fell then they’d win regardless of what happened.

After some bickering, the strategists agreed with Meicaller’s plan named ‘Crescenta’s Gambit’ by the strategists. Carefully, the makeshift alliance orchestrated their losses in a way that it would inch Azgul closer to Crescenta with every loss for a deciding battle. Months ahead of time, they started fortifying the capital. When the demons arrived, Crescenta was nothing short of a massive fortified citadel.

[omada]

PTWatching to see the links in the first post later. For years i just pile ideas over ideas and never begin(or finish) writing anything. It's a bit hard for me, but eventually i will break this barrier like other. For example i created in a RPG a whole fucking universe and all the events that led the universe to the present situation, but i could create no adventure to my players.

Know everything that must happen in a given story, don't find the words to say.

At least now i have how to write online and not lose all my progress (again) losing my notebooks and formatting the computer as happened some years ago.

[Insanegame27]

I had an idea while I was away for a week and I want to know if it's a plausible idea.


Not-too-far dystopian future. Economic collapse of major nations led to a boom increase in illicit activities. Entire suberbs of major first-world cities give way to drug-ridden slums. It's nigh-impossible to walk within 5km of the slums without getting mugged and/or robbed and/or murdered. America, China, Australia and Russia, all major superpowers in the 21st century, have simply collapsed under 'set too high' moral standards.


In a last ditch effort to recover from the economic impact, politicians from the four ex-superpowers authorise the raising of a none-too-covert task group tasked to mass-murder the scum of the Earth in droves with zero regard to collateral damage. Due to a lack of volunteers in the regular and special armed forces, volatile and dangerous prisoners are fitted with killswitches and sent to augment the ranks of the taskgroup.




Separate idea. "For as long as I can remember, I've always wanted to be an asshole. At age five I Pavlov-conditioned my classmates into running for their recess and lunch with fifteen minutes of class left before the break periods. At age 3 I tacked my first chair and got away with it. My parents won my lawsuit for breach-of-privacy when a teacher attempted to record me tacking his chair. By nine I had watched every episode of CSI, Law and order, the Mentalist and all the other crime and police shows I could get my hands on. I learned to be an asshole and get away with it.
I grew up - Physically, not mentally - and began cutting people off in traffic, became an expert in being the last person to go before the light turned red, splashing pedestrians with roadwater; all without legally doing anything wrong.
I eventually became attracted to the criminal underworld. From attraction came connection, and from that came opportunity. I became involved with a group of contract killers, and quickly acquired a reputation as the guy to call when you want someone ruined - but not dead.
I was 25 when I first failed a hit. It all started with me sitting in front of her in a cinema...

[Parsely]

I had an idea while I was away for a week and I want to know if it's a plausible idea.

Not-too-far dystopian future. Economic collapse of major nations led to a boom increase in illicit activities. Entire suberbs of major first-world cities give way to drug-ridden slums. It's nigh-impossible to walk within 5km of the slums without getting mugged and/or robbed and/or murdered. America, China, Australia and Russia, all major superpowers in the 21st century, have simply collapsed under 'set too high' moral standards.

In a last ditch effort to recover from the economic impact, politicians from the four ex-superpowers authorise the raising of a none-too-covert task group tasked to mass-murder the scum of the Earth in droves with zero regard to collateral damage. Due to a lack of volunteers in the regular and special armed forces, volatile and dangerous prisoners are fitted with killswitches and sent to augment the ranks of the taskgroup.

No. It's beyond the imagination of most people for this to happen in the near future. Have you asked yourself what this means for your story? Understand that implausibility doesn't make it a bad story, it simply signals to the audience that this is fictional. Most of the best stories are implausible and obviously fictional. Hell, a lot of times people fail to recognize the difference between fiction and real life. My point is, your story doesn't need to be plausible in order for you or others to enjoy it. However, if your goal is to make this seem like it could happen tomorrow, you're probably aiming too high by jumping straight to "Total Recall prisoners wearing exploding collars" territory.

The feeling of reality is often closely tied to a good story, and this is usually achieved with internal consistency within your story. This is called immersion. People can read your story and forget real life, and assume the rules of your world. This is why fiction works!

Separate idea. "For as long as I can remember, I've always wanted to be an asshole. At age five I Pavlov-conditioned my classmates into running for their recess and lunch with fifteen minutes of class left before the break periods. At age 3 I tacked my first chair and got away with it. My parents won my lawsuit for breach-of-privacy when a teacher attempted to record me tacking his chair. By nine I had watched every episode of CSI, Law and order, the Mentalist and all the other crime and police shows I could get my hands on. I learned to be an asshole and get away with it.
I grew up - Physically, not mentally - and began cutting people off in traffic, became an expert in being the last person to go before the light turned red, splashing pedestrians with roadwater; all without legally doing anything wrong.
I eventually became attracted to the criminal underworld. From attraction came connection, and from that came opportunity. I became involved with a group of contract killers, and quickly acquired a reputation as the guy to call when you want someone ruined - but not dead.
I was 25 when I first failed a hit. It all started with me sitting in front of her in a cinema...

It's a good premise. I think the backstory could use a little work:
You should try explaining how he conditioned his classmates to leave before it was time to go instead of referencing Pavlov and expecting people to know what you're talking about. Figure out a way to show the audience Pavlov.

Your goal is to establish why this character is clever enough to get away with the stuff you're talking about, and I don't think watching TV is enough. A lot of those shows take numerous liberties when it comes to the way the actual law works. Why not make him a former law student if you want to justify his legal knowledge?

I think some kind of middle example to show how he went from doing petty things like putting tacks on chairs to "ruining" people would be good too. You need to show how he can do something so bad that it's worth people paying him money to do it. He needs to be extremely good at doing this and we need to see him succeeding first in order to have sufficient context for his failure to have impact.

At age 3 I tacked my first chair and got away with it. My parents won my lawsuit for breach-of-privacy when a teacher attempted to record me tacking his chair.

Ever seen The Incredibles?

[Insanegame27]

The incredibles is where I got that idea from

[Urist McScoopbeard]

Have you ever heard of a logline? Essentially, you have to sum up your story in one sentence in such a way that it is both accurate and a great hook--something you could pitch to an executive to sell your work.

Try it out, it's a useful (and fun) exercise.

[Insanegame27]

That was what I was aiming for with the "As long as I can remember, I always wanted to be an asshole."

[Urist McScoopbeard]

That was what I was aiming for with the "As long as I can remember, I always wanted to be an asshole."

That's a good start to an actual logline--however, if you can go on to compress all that exposition being an asshole and then finally finding love(?) into a character spine and shove it on to the latter of that as the character's motivation--add a villain--and you have yourself a story. I like it, this would get me to read the next sentence at the very least.

[Insanegame27]

I had an idea while I was away for a week and I want to know if it's a plausible idea.

Not-too-far dystopian future. Economic collapse of major nations led to a boom increase in illicit activities. Entire suberbs of major first-world cities give way to drug-ridden slums. It's nigh-impossible to walk within 5km of the slums without getting mugged and/or robbed and/or murdered. America, China, Australia and Russia, all major superpowers in the 21st century, have simply collapsed under 'set too high' moral standards.

In a last ditch effort to recover from the economic impact, politicians from the four ex-superpowers authorise the raising of a none-too-covert task group tasked to mass-murder the scum of the Earth in droves with zero regard to collateral damage. Due to a lack of volunteers in the regular and special armed forces, volatile and dangerous prisoners are fitted with killswitches and sent to augment the ranks of the taskgroup.

No. It's beyond the imagination of most people for this to happen in the near future. Have you asked yourself what this means for your story? Understand that implausibility doesn't make it a bad story, it simply signals to the audience that this is fictional. Most of the best stories are implausible and obviously fictional. Hell, a lot of times people fail to recognize the difference between fiction and real life. My point is, your story doesn't need to be plausible in order for you or others to enjoy it. However, if your goal is to make this seem like it could happen tomorrow, you're probably aiming too high by jumping straight to "Total Recall prisoners wearing exploding collars" territory.

The feeling of reality is often closely tied to a good story, and this is usually achieved with internal consistency within your story. This is called immersion. People can read your story and forget real life, and assume the rules of your world. This is why fiction works!

Separate idea. "For as long as I can remember, I've always wanted to be an asshole. At age five I Pavlov-conditioned my classmates into running for their recess and lunch with fifteen minutes of class left before the break periods. At age 3 I tacked my first chair and got away with it. My parents won my lawsuit for breach-of-privacy when a teacher attempted to record me tacking his chair. By nine I had watched every episode of CSI, Law and order, the Mentalist and all the other crime and police shows I could get my hands on. I learned to be an asshole and get away with it.
I grew up - Physically, not mentally - and began cutting people off in traffic, became an expert in being the last person to go before the light turned red, splashing pedestrians with roadwater; all without legally doing anything wrong.
I eventually became attracted to the criminal underworld. From attraction came connection, and from that came opportunity. I became involved with a group of contract killers, and quickly acquired a reputation as the guy to call when you want someone ruined - but not dead.
I was 25 when I first failed a hit. It all started with me sitting in front of her in a cinema...

It's a good premise. I think the backstory could use a little work:
You should try explaining how he conditioned his classmates to leave before it was time to go instead of referencing Pavlov and expecting people to know what you're talking about. Figure out a way to show the audience Pavlov.

Your goal is to establish why this character is clever enough to get away with the stuff you're talking about, and I don't think watching TV is enough. A lot of those shows take numerous liberties when it comes to the way the actual law works. Why not make him a former law student if you want to justify his legal knowledge?

I think some kind of middle example to show how he went from doing petty things like putting tacks on chairs to "ruining" people would be good too. You need to show how he can do something so bad that it's worth people paying him money to do it. He needs to be extremely good at doing this and we need to see him succeeding first in order to have sufficient context for his failure to have impact.

At age 3 I tacked my first chair and got away with it. My parents won my lawsuit for breach-of-privacy when a teacher attempted to record me tacking his chair.

Ever seen The Incredibles?

Also, I never really responded to the criticism.


Ok, so changing it to far-future and having the collapse happen over a longish timespan? Would that be better?


With the 'watching crime shows' was more of an indication to how he knew to get away with it by leaving as little evidence as possible.


And I'm having a brain-fart right now.

[GiglameshDespair]

I can't imagine they'd compell unreliable criminals as opposed to ordering the use of trained soldiers. Conventional soldiers are already trained and more loyal.

It also feels odd - you say the collapse of the countries is due to too high moral standards... but they're also ok with making slave soldiers to just slaughter people? That feels... inconsistent.

As a plot, it's fine. As something plausible... it isn't, really.

[MorleyDev]

More of my trying short texts in weird writing styles out of boredom.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

all you see and think and seem is not a shadow on the wall. so little in scope is this existence. an atom. a photon. a quark. a vibration. a planck. all dwarf you. a tiny voice, the tiniest of voices, crying out for desperation, for meaning, for hope, for love, for pleasure, for pain, for life, for death. We are the answer to your cry.

the universe has not, will not, cannot, hear you. the many you. so many, so alone. the universe sleeps. the universe dreams without thought or knowledge. but We have heard you.

this man that was once one, the man of We, a member of your navy before We graced him with Our essence. the others could not stand the shadow of our splendour, and their hovel on the sea ran with blood and tears from their many eyes and ears and mouths. unworthy vessels for Our unity. We were infused. We drank, We smelt, We tasted. savour the nectar of lesser beings. the ship burned. combusted. consumed by the oceans. a lifeboat. We have made it to your lands. will make them Ours. make you Ours.

We will spread. build. We will contact the core of Our splendor that sleeps in the stars. We will come. We will grant you all your salvation.

We are the destiny of your species.

We will bring you all these things.

We will bring so much more.

Text file found in server root folder during routine maintenance of classified CIA database. Time-stamped 2017-01-15 00:00:00. Source unknown.

[GiglameshDespair]

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

all you see and think and seem is not a shadow on the wall. so little in scope is this existence. an atom. a photon. a quark. a vibration. a planck. all dwarf you. a tiny voice, the tiniest of voices, crying out for desperation, for meaning, for hope, for love, for pleasure, for pain, for life, for death. We are the answer to your cry.

the universe has not, will not, cannot, hear you. the many you. so many, so alone. the universe sleeps. the universe dreams without thought or knowledge. but We have heard you.

this man that was once one, the man of We, a member of your navy before We graced him with Our essence. the others could not stand the shadow of our splendour, and their hovel on the sea ran with blood and tears from their many eyes and ears and mouths. unworthy vessels for Our unity. We were infused. We drank, We smelt, We tasted. savour the nectar of lesser beings. the ship burned. combusted. consumed by the oceans. a lifeboat. We have made it to your lands. will make them Ours. make you Ours.

We will spread. build. We will contact the core of Our splendor that sleeps in the stars. We will come. We will grant you all your salvation.

We are the destiny of your species.

We will bring you all these things.

We will bring so much more.

Text file found in server root folder during routine maintenance of classified CIA database. Time-stamped 2017-01-15 00:00:00. Source unknown.

Too little to build off, to be honest, but it's... eh.

Eldritch space monsters, so superior they're going to destroy/subsume humanity but not apparently superior enough to understand how to use capitalisation properly. The sentences are also often broken up poorly, but I don't know how much of that is deliberate due to the style...

[MorleyDev]

True. That little spiel was mostly me trying to get a feel for a potential 'monster' for a short story I'm working on. The assimilation plot idea is a bit standard though. I want to write a story based on the myth of the Ourang Medan, being the 'real story' of the Silver Star (though with names and circumstances and all that changed from the myth).

This is what I have of the opening draft so far:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

If I speak in vagaries I ask for forgiveness. It is the instinctive reaction of a shocked mind to suppress the memory, if only to limit the spread of knowledge of the thing into ever darker depths of the unconscious. I am old, and my peers are all claimed by illness and time. I should join them soon, I feel, wonder it is that I have held on so long. This event is not one I have shared with any souls in my century of years, save some oblique references drawn from the bottom of a bottle, not even my recently deceased wife knows of the events. Only those which I saw fit to share officially.

It was once a fear of disbelief and mockery, if not confinement in a bedlam house, that silences my tongue. Perhaps that would be fitting, but the mad never fear they are the insane ones. A lack of concern for consequences or judgement is a privilege of the elderly, and I have no plans far enough away from the now to concern myself with such matters.

I have always taken a measure of pride in a preference for the material and rational over the lies and appeals to emotion of churches and deities. It would bring me comfort to believe that creature crawled out of the mortal-crafted abyss of a christian myth. It would mean there is some hope for purpose, some chance at a guiding hand behind this madness. It is a comfort my very nature denies myself, for I cannot find the will or restraint to accept the lie on this matter. What I saw is of flesh, and blood, and at least tangentially of this existence. What I saw was real. Gods, was it real.

But enough preamble, the time has come to steel myself and tell my tale. My name is [NAME], and I was the captain of the [SHIP] from the years of 1952 to 1963, after which date the terror at the prospect of travelling the sea became too great for me to bare. I have not set sail once since the thing, and even have avoided the act of flying afforded to me by the ongoing globalisation of the world. To this day, the sight of that vast expense of unthinkably deep blue fills me with a primitive and unshakable dread, and my dreams contribute to haunt me with the thoughts of that which might still flail around blind in the hidden depths.

I was born to a small village in the East Midlands of England, its population now long drained down to the elderly and decrepit; first by two world wars, and then by the continued escape of the young population to the more prosperous cities. I was a soldier myself the second time around, having been much too young to serve in the first great war, and found myself joining in the activities of the British military on the eastern front.

It was no small amount of luck on my part that kept me alive and spared of the more extreme shell-shock. Though many years passed before the gunfire and barking orders quieted out of in my dreams, and to this day I am plagued by the occasional episode of nocturnal malady. My mind otherwise emerged from the war sound and with some semblance of sanity, and in that respect I fared better than many.

It would serve nothing to retell the history of the end of the war, the successful landings at Normandy, the race to Berlin and the discovery of the depths of depravity to which men can sink when compelled to act en-masse, and the horrors inflicted on an innocent people their own leadership found detestable. I was spared these sights, having received a comparatively minor injury during a trench raid, and to my good fortune and shame was condemned to spend the finale of the conflict recovering in a small field hospital.

Returning home after the peace was achieved, I wished to finally be done with the death. The Americans were left to continue the fight, revealing their shattering of the atom and yet more destruction of innocent lives. My ancestral home had fallen into disrepair in my absence, for I was without siblings and my parents had regrettably perished during a german blitz attack whilst visiting friends in London. I sold what land I inherited, for what little they were now worth, and moved to a quiet coastal town on the western side of the British Isles.

I was contracted to a small fishing firm, seeking to capitalise on the safer waters surrounding the British Isles and the people who desired to enjoy life once again now that there had come an end to the rationing of food. A life of following orders served me well, and combined with timely shortages and excesses of able bodies, led to several promotions and ultimately a position as captain of my own modest fishing vessel. The British people had little appetite for more slaughter so soon after two wars had consumed the world, and when chaos began to again engulf formerly war-torn regions in Europe we welcomed a wave of refugees and immigrants to bolster our own diminished working population.

It was through those that I found myself a captain of a queerly mixed crew. The [SHIP] was a purpose-built trawler with capacity for a full complement of 82 souls, though it never once travelled with such numbers during my years of employment. Amongst the souls who rotated through my responsibility were men from England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Belgium, Hungary, Bolivia, France, several from the African colonies, and one or two delightful men from Jamaica. Many, but not all, of the crew were drawn from Commonwealth countries, and I trusted all of them with my life. I am ashamed of many things, but it is with pride that I confess to having broken men’s noses at public houses for hurling racist insults I shan’t repeat here at my crew, and by extension myself. Those men were close to family for me, and I abandoned them.

Before I tell the truth of the matter, I should recount the story on record.

[Fishbreath]

I'm releasing a new novella soon: Nathaniel Cannon and the Lost City of Pitu, a 1930s action-aviation-adventure in the grand tradition of Indiana Jones and Crimson Skies.

I also worked with a local artist for the cover, and I'm very happy with the result.

Spoiler: The result (click to show/hide)