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[TD1]

Minor 3rd book GoT spoilers.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

"I am the lion!" roars the knight
With emerald eyes that lust for saphires.
"The lion loses hand, but never pride;
He runs for fires but never liars."

"I see them in my memory
Amongst the ruins of chivalry.
I see them in my hand,
That laid then 'neath the land."

"Those brave old men of yester days
Who tried to teach me all their ways;
Would that they could, and would they had-
For all my gold, I'm never glad."

"Oh, oaths! To kings they're sworn,
By time they're worn.
I took his head to save from fire this land,
This land which later took my hand."

The knight stands in his cloak of white,
A glowing, brilliant sight.
"I was made for nothing but to fight,
And yet I wear this pearly white."

The lion roars his name at darkest night
And hungers for the fight;
I names his claws for chivalry
And dons the cloak of memory.

"Honour, the staple of the fool...
I want it, fool I am,
I want my honour back;
The lion wants to help the lamb."

A golden hand that wears too thin,
A golden sword besmirched by sin,
A golden head that lost its way,
The last of Lannister's sight of day.

"I am the lion!" he cries, snapping at his foe:
And on his cheek is writ his woe,
A silver line to help redeem
The lion, once so gross but now grown lean.

He craves to stop his feast on flesh,
To take the white and leave the gold-
He wonders just when he had started
Feeling quite so old.

The lion calls his claws great names
And gives them crimson hue-
He knows that honour's dead
But hopes it is not true.

"I am the lion" calls the last great man
To bear the golden sword.
He is the kingkiller, feared by all
Yet truth he makes his word.

"I am the lion, King of beasts and men;
Put up your blade and face me if you will,
I fight for justice and the past
For honour's living still.

Forgive the quality. Written at 4am. Probably edit it in morning.

[bahihs]

Well, for what it's worth, I appreciate the time you put into looking at my piece bahihs - thanks.

Looking over your edits, I've got a problem with using too many adverbs - it's a known problem, which tends to come up in my first drafts. I also tend to repeat words, although it looks like I managed to mostly avoid that particular pitfall this time around.

No thanks necessary AlStar; its what we're all here for, after all

I have a bit of a cognitive bias against adjectives in that I think that the more you use them the more you tell and don't show. There's some basis in fact in it, but mostly it's just being picky. It is however, a good exercise to partake in; wherever you see an adjective in the story see if you can describe the action in a sentence or two to paint a more vivid image.

If you don't like poetry, take some flash fiction:

I've already had a workshop on this last piece and it's become apparent that there are some errors in paragraph formatting, which I have yet to fix, and also that it needs some cleaning up. But I figured i'd post it anyways. The original story was just about Diego and his sandals, but thing just kind of changed. I think I might rewrite it to focus more on the sandals and fix some POV problems.

Anyways, have fun, go to town, etc. etc. always looking for critique.

Spoiler: My edits to the story (click to show/hide)

       
“Take those off this instant, young man!” scolded(said) the nun as she stiffly strode across the spartan waiting room. “God is watching.” Diego just sat there idly, swinging his feet back and forth, feeling his loose sandals bounce off his soles. He sat hunched over, all the weight in his shoulders; the chair was too big for him and he sat on the edge looking bored.

   “What?” Diego asked with big eyes, “Take off what?” he spouted(said/asked) as he frantically looked himself over. He kept pulling the back of his shirt trying to feel if someone had left something there. The nun stopped advancing on Diego for a moment to grab a pair of clunky shoes hidden away in one of the few drawers scattered around the room and explained,

   “Your sandals. They are an affront to god, and I will not tolerate them…(not on my watch)#Cliched, but its dialog so *shrugs*, still you could use something else#.” (Practically shoving them in to Diego’s lap)#I think you're missing some text here#. They looked(were) blackish and gritty, like(as if) some unseen dirt was ruining the glossy finish. {Without thinking, Diego quickly put them on leaving them unlaced and looked hopefully back at the towering nun.}->{Diego put them on without thinking, leaving them unlaced; he looked hopefully back at the towering nun} “That will have to do for now.” she said and hastily returned(dashed/rushed/scrambled/etc) to her desk in the corner, sharply placing her prescription glasses on her nose and looking very hawkish. Diego tried swinging his legs again, but it felt all wrong and he soon stopped. He looked all around at the blue-green, felt-padded walls for something to pass the time, but they seemed(#seems? Nay, it is! I know not seems!#; were) {even more strict}->{stricter} and [more] unforgiving than the attendant nun. Every few minutes or so Diego glanced at her[,] in that way when you are trying to grab someone’s(her) attention even though you(he) {don’t}->{didn't} want to(it). Around After the third or fourth time she began to {notice}->{noticed} and eventually caught him (square in the act)#Cliched, recommend replacement# stunning him with (a stare that could pierce your soul)#Cliched, should be replaced; how about: "...piercing him with a stare to his soul"?. “Well?” She asked poignantly, like(as if) Diego was going to ruin her evening with his presumed question, “What do you want? Spit it out.” (Truth be told)#Cliched; you can do without it#, Diego didn’t know what he wanted to ask, or that he wanted to ask anything at all, but he felt(was) terrified about(at) what the nun would do if he didn’t say anything. So he asked,

   “Why is my mom here?” watching the nun from beneath his brow.

   “Well if you want to talk, you had best come over here young man.” The nun stated matter-of-factly(said). “It’s rude to talk across a room.” So, Diego pushed himself off his chair and walked to the nun’s fortress-like desk, climbing back up on to a nearby chair. “So you want to know why your mother is here, hm? Well, I’ll tell you my child.” Diego, didn’t like how she said that, and hoped that this terrible nun did not think he was her child, but [he] said nothing. “Your mother…” She began in a polite-enough kind of way, “Is a whore.” Diego frowned. He didn’t know exactly what it meant to be a whore, but his mom had always been amazing. “You see, she is possessed by a demon, and she came here to have it exorcised. Do you know what exorcism is? It’s when the demon is cast out of the body and she is brought back in to the light of god, child. Doesn’t that sound magnificent?” Diego was unsure of what to say so he just said,

   “Yes.” but he didn’t think his mom was a whore, she always made him food and played with him. How could she be a whore? Diego sat head-down for a while and thought about this, but eventually he [glanced?went?looked?] back at the nun who had resumed reading some unknown book. Diego was going to ask another question, but the nun looked[was] so flushed and bothered that he thought that another question might make her explode. Instead he just looked at his feet. After what seemed like hours, Diego looked around for something to do, surely there was something to distract him for a few minutes. He looked at the nun’s desk, he didn’t see anything fun right away, but eventually found a few old tin miniatures lined up on the edge. He considered them for a moment before reaching out for them,

   “Hey!” he heard, causing him to look at the red-faced nun, “what do you think you’re doing?” she questioned, before lunging forward to reprimand him. {In the process, her left hand slipped and she half fell on to the table}->Her left hand slipped in the process and she half-fell on to the table. While the nun(She) was fine, [but] a few of her ‘books’ slid off the table. Diego glanced at them. Some in latin, others with boring titles, but one caught his eye. It fell off the desk slowly and late, and came to a halt on top of all the others. It read “HUSTLER” in large, bolded print. Diego looked back at the nun, who had also since (frozen in her tracks)#Cliched; replace# and looked at the magazine. She snapped back to him and they met each other’s gaze. Diego still didn’t like her and knew that she would beat him for this and that she didn’t like Diego either, but an odd sense of understanding came over them, a perfect clarity of the relationships between Diego, his mother, and the nun. “How dare you, I’ll teach you to-“ the nun began, interrupted by the timely jangling of the nearby door handle. She glared viscously at him and then swept all of her fallen items under the desk and straightened her robes, trying to look presentable. {Out of the door way came Diego’s mother followed closely by a flushed priest, who was beginning to sweat.}->{Diego's mother came out of the door way, followed close by a flushed, sweaty priest}

   “I think we’re done here sister Margarine, Francesca is pure once again.” He said with some snark and a shake of his body, “Please! See her out for me?” he said and returned to the inner chambers of the building. Francesca scooped up Diego with a roar and made him(he) laugh[ed] heartily. She asked sister Margarine,

   “How was he?” To which she angrily replied,

   “Perfect.”

No comment on the poetry (untamed animal, poetry).

Once again the critique is divided into two parts, writing and story.

See the above edits for the writing. I'll have to take another pass at it to be thorough but my initial impressions are: too many cliched expressions (I consider any metaphor which I've seen at least once, to be cliched), use of adverbs where a more descriptive verb would do (once or twice), too much vacillation ("seems" or "looked" instead of just "was"), use of passive voice in some places, and replacement of "said" with other verbs or adverbs. The descriptions are top notch, however.

As for the story, very interesting. I'm not 100% sure what the ending entails (if it's what I think it is, then it was a great twist) but everything is nicely paced (despite the length). Too short to say anything more.

[bahihs]

@Th4DwArfY1

I'm curious, what or who are your favorite poems/poets? Your poems are very advanced when it comes to meter and rhyme; I'm curious to know who has bled on you.

[Urist McScoopbeard]

Thanks for the critique and the compliment! Super helpful actually. Just have to collate with with what my teacher has written now.

As for poetry, its cool that you don't want to critique it, but if I may ask, do you like more classical structure in poetry or are you all about that free verse poetry?

[bahihs]

Thanks for the critique and the compliment! Super helpful actually. Just have to collate with with what my teacher has written now.

As for poetry, its cool that you don't want to critique it, but if I may ask, do you like more classical structure in poetry or are you all about that free verse poetry?

No thanks necessary, but your very welcome

I wish I could say I love both but having tasted both, my tongue prefers classical rhyme and meter. There has only ever been two exceptions: the KJV bible (psalms, song of Solomon and Ecclesiastes in particular) and Whitman (who's stuff eerily reminds me of the KJV bible).

The more lyrical the poetry is (while still retaining its meaning) the better IMO. Poe,  Tennyson, Blake, and Kipling are some of my favorite poets.

[TD1]

@Th4DwArfY1

I'm curious, what or who are your favorite poems/poets? Your poems are very advanced when it comes to meter and rhyme; I'm curious to know who has bled on you.

I finished Lord of the Rings two years ago about this time of year, and my favourite parts were the poems. So I started trying to write, and read some poetry too.

I love Tennyson's Forward the Light Brigade,
Some of Yeat's stuff,
Do Not go Gentle Into That Good Night. (The only Thomas poem I like)
Walter de la Mare's The Listener's
Wordsworth (Daffodils!)
T.S Eliot's Wasteland.
And for a bit of variety, the odd Gerarld Manley Hopkins.

As a rule, I like ordered poetry with good rhymes that interweave well with the plot/story/theme. As a result, I suppose I try to shadow the classical greats. I'm particulary fond of some of the Romantic era poetry. The idealised view of the world is refreshing given today's cynicism.

[Urist McScoopbeard]

I posted this one a while back, but I don't think anyone gave me any critique on it. It's significantly more rhythmical with more consistent meter. Though the last verse diverges from the format entirely. But you might enjoy this one more. So here:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

It seems to me quite strange,
from where I cannot say,
that the burning of the torch is to last all night and day.
It’s bearer’s burden’s strain,
mania in closely followed suit,
that the brighter it may burn shall darkly brightness’ colors mute.

It seems to me quite strange,
that from this we cannot stray,
but without that night, then there can be no day.
That night does cause us pain,
but in darkness lies our route,
that whether we shall find the light once more or ever dark dispute.

Hardened, and bed-weary, we travelers do obey:
Our skins, our hides, and brightest gems
do a shell develop.
Saddened, crossed, and most of all
a feeling of fetid, rearing hatred,
we do a shell develop.
But in the end, the strangest thing
is to these lonesome strangers:
The flame is trapped inside them.

What then do we carry?

On the topic of structured versus free verse, I think I agree with you Bahihs, but what I write is generally a bit more free verse-y. In terms of actual structure, rhythm, and rhyming though I love Poe, Dickinson, and also Whitman. I also like tolkien's poetry. Once poems become aggressively rhyme-y or repetitive, even if they maintain their meaning/story, they lose me.

EDIT: Though I think I feel like writing something I little more well structured and rhyming.

[bahihs]

@Th4DwArfY1

I'm curious, what or who are your favorite poems/poets? Your poems are very advanced when it comes to meter and rhyme; I'm curious to know who has bled on you.

I finished Lord of the Rings two years ago about this time of year, and my favourite parts were the poems. So I started trying to write, and read some poetry too.

I love Tennyson's Forward the Light Brigade,
Some of Yeat's stuff,
Do Not go Gentle Into That Good Night. (The only Thomas poem I like)
Walter de la Mare's The Listener's
Wordsworth (Daffodils!)
T.S Eliot's Wasteland.
And for a bit of variety, the odd Gerarld Manley Hopkins.

As a rule, I like ordered poetry with good rhymes that interweave well with the plot/story/theme. As a result, I suppose I try to shadow the classical greats. I'm particulary fond of some of the Romantic era poetry. The idealised view of the world is refreshing given today's cynicism.

I find your fondness of Romantic poetry hilariously ironic, considering that poetic cynicism arose, in part, as a response to Romanticism becoming too stale. How the wheel turns! And the cosmic ballet goes on...

May I recommend the poems of Poe (so poetic he's a poet to the "t"), if you haven't read them already? I personally like "Israfel" and "The Conqueror Worm". I consider Poe to be one of the true masters of rhyme and meter.

I posted this one a while back, but I don't think anyone gave me any critique on it. It's significantly more rhythmical with more consistent meter. Though the last verse diverges from the format entirely. But you might enjoy this one more. So here:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

It seems to me quite strange,
from where I cannot say,
that the burning of the torch is to last all night and day.
It’s bearer’s burden’s strain,
mania in closely followed suit,
that the brighter it may burn shall darkly brightness’ colors mute.

It seems to me quite strange,
that from this we cannot stray,
but without that night, then there can be no day.
That night does cause us pain,
but in darkness lies our route,
that whether we shall find the light once more or ever dark dispute.

Hardened, and bed-weary, we travelers do obey:
Our skins, our hides, and brightest gems
do a shell develop.
Saddened, crossed, and most of all
a feeling of fetid, rearing hatred,
we do a shell develop.
But in the end, the strangest thing
is to these lonesome strangers:
The flame is trapped inside them.

What then do we carry?

On the topic of structured versus free verse, I think I agree with you Bahihs, but what I write is generally a bit more free verse-y. In terms of actual structure, rhythm, and rhyming though I love Poe, Dickinson, and also Whitman. I also like tolkien's poetry. Once poems become aggressively rhyme-y or repetitive, even if they maintain their meaning/story, they lose me.

EDIT: Though I think I feel like writing something I little more well structured and rhyming.

I think the main thing with any sort of rhythmic structure is to ensure that there's no (what I like to call) "rhyme strain". That is, when the word choice or order is made awkward to fit the rhyme and meter. This is the hardest thing about writing structured poetry (I find) and its elimination is the best proof of poetic mastery.

For example, consider this stanza from Poe:

But see, amid the mimic rout,
   A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out   
   The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs   
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
   In human gore imbued.

The line breaks are chosen to retain rhyming but also to prevent rhyme strain. Consider also, Tennyson:

A man upon a stall may find,
   And, passing, turn the page that tells
   A grief, then changed to something else,
Sung by a long-forgotten mind.

But what of that? My darken’d ways
   Shall ring with music all the same;
   To breathe my loss is more than fame,
To utter love more sweet than praise.

Again, the line breaks are chosen carefully to ensure "flow". The best poems are those that couldn't be written in any other way; where the rhyme scheme seems almost accidental, and the words fall in place like hummed notes in a half-finished tune. If the poet can push structure into the background, he has mastered it. Of course all this is merely my opinion, like I said, poetry is an untamed animal. It's difficult to find a foothold in a hurricane.

Its why I don't "measure" poetry; I don't believe poetry is written for anyone other than the poet (or shouldn't be, anyway). If the poet is satisfied, it is enough.

 

 

[Angle]

So I wrote a thing. It seems kinda meh, though...

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

My day began like most days, with the soft sound as my alarm clock radio stirred to life, then rose in volume. The song today was one I hadn’t heard before, but I liked it. It throbbed with energy and power, and brought me straight up to instant wakefulness. I sat up, feeling like today was going to be the best day of my life.

Then my alarm clock let out a warbling screech and died  with a puff of blue smoke.

I jumped out of bed with a barrage of cursing and unplugged the thing, but it was too late for that. The smoke drifted lazily around the room, until I pulled open a window and waved it out. I sighed in relief - it’d be really embarrassing to have the fire alarms go off. Once I was finished fanning the smoke out of my room, I sighed and went to go get myself some breakfast.

Breakfast was going to be warmed up leftovers, but my microwave died in the same fashion as the alarm clock, so I made do with a bowl of cereal. I sighed to myself over my food - It was looking like I’d have to talk to my landlord about the wiring. I went ahead and unplugged my computer and everything else electronic beside my fridge, just to be on the safe side, and hurried off to work.

The ride to work was interesting - the subway stalled out on me no less than three times. When I finally got off and tried to call my boss to tell her I’d be late, my cell failed to get reception for the entire walk, and then died on me. I sighed to myself and started jogging. If I was fast enough, I could probably get there only a few minutes late.

I wasn’t fast enough. I got to work to find my boss Clara, a solid old woman, glaring at me over her glasses.

“And where have you been?” She growled at me. “I expected you here twenty minutes ago!”

“My apologies,” I gasped, leaning over with my hands on my knees. “The subway stalled out on me three times. I ran as fast as I could.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked me over. “Three times? That’s awfully bad luck.”

“Tell me about it,” I replied. “I also had my alarm clock and my microwave die on me.”

She raised the other eyebrow. “Why didn’t you call me and tell me you’d be late?”

I cringed a little. “My phone also died.”

She snorted. “And you expect me to believe this?”

“Well… It’s true,” I replied. “I can show you my phone if you want.”

“Just go man the register,” She said with a huff. “We don’t have all day.”

“Yes’m,” I replied, and marched off.

But of course, you can probably guess what happened next - Within twenty minutes, the register had itself given up the ghost with a puff of blue smoke. I looked up at Clara’s angry eyes and put my hands up placatingly.

“I didn’t do anything! I swear!”

She shook her head. “I believe you, too - but the pattern here is clear. Why don’t you cache in some of your sick time, take the rest of the day off. See if you can figure this out. Call me tomorrow or something if you figure it out, okay?”

I hung my head. “Yes ma’am.”

[Cheesecake]

@Angle. Seems really interesting. Either he's bad at electronics or it's all really bad luck. I'm not good at scrutinizing stories, but I managed to find a few small errors: you wrote 'do' instead of 'due', and 'over her glasses' instead of 'through her glasses'. You'll probably have to wait on someone else to get a full critique.

[bahihs]

So I wrote a thing. It seems kinda meh, though...

*Cracks knuckles* Lets get to it!

Spoiler: My edits to the story (click to show/hide)

My day began like most days, with the soft sound as[of] my alarm clock radio {stirred}->{stirring} to life, {then rose}->{[and] rising} in volume. The song today was one I hadn’t heard before, but I liked it. It throbbed with energy and power, and brought me straight up to instant wakefulness. I sat up, feeling like today was going to be the best day of my life.

Then my alarm clock let out a warbling screech and died with a puff of blue smoke.

I jumped out of bed with a barrage of {cursing}->{curses} and unplugged the thing, but it was too late for that. The smoke drifted lazily around the room, until I pulled open a window and waved it out. I sighed in relief - {it’d be}->{it would have been} really embarrassing to have the fire alarms go off. Once I was finished fanning the smoke out of my room, I sighed[,] and went to go get myself some breakfast.

Breakfast was going to be warmed up leftovers, but my microwave died in the same fashion as the alarm clock, so I made do with a bowl of cereal. I sighed to myself over my food - It was looking like I’d have to talk to my landlord about the wiring. I went ahead and unplugged my computer and everything else electronic beside(s) #unless you meant "next to"?# my fridge, just to be on the safe side, and hurried off to work.

The ride to work was interesting - the subway stalled out on me no less than three times. When I finally got off, and(I) tried to call my boss to tell her I’d be late, [but] my cell failed to get reception for the entire walk, and then died on me. I sighed to myself and started jogging. If I was fast enough, I could[might] probably get there only a few minutes late.

I wasn’t fast enough. I got to work to find my boss Clara, a solid old woman, glaring at me over her glasses.

“And where have you been?” She growled at me[asked]. “I expected you here twenty minutes ago!”

“My apologies,” I gasped, leaning over with my hands on my knees. “The subway stalled out on me three times. I ran as fast as I could.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked me over. “Three times? That’s awfully bad luck.”

“Tell me about it,” I replied. “I also had my alarm clock and my microwave die on me.”

She raised the other eyebrow. “Why didn’t you call me and tell me you’d be late?”

I cringed a little. “My phone also died.”

She snorted. “And you expect me to believe this?”

“Well… It’s true,” I replied. “I can show you my phone if you want.”

“Just go man the register,” She said with a huff. “We don’t have all day.”

“Yes’m,” I replied, and marched off.

But of course, you can probably guess what happened next - Within twenty minutes, the register had itself given up the ghost with a puff of blue smoke. I looked up at Clara’s angry eyes and put my hands up placatingly.

“I didn’t do anything! I swear!”

She shook her head. “I believe you, too - but the pattern here is clear. Why don’t you cache in some of your sick time, take the rest of the day off. See if you can figure this out. Call me tomorrow or something if you figure it out, okay?”

I hung my head. “Yes ma’am.”

As usual two parts, writing and story:

Writing: Avoided most of the cardinal sins which was good. Some tense shenanigans but general avoidance of unnecessary qualifiers. Some cliched expressions, but the dialog is simple and to point (i.e good) as is most of the writing.

Story: Pretty cool. I'd like to see more before I do any serious critique (i.e where are you going with this?).

EDIT: I'm going to use a different set of marks for the edits as [] seem to have strange effects with certain characters. So the new set is:

(string) = Add (string)
string= Delete string
{string}->{nstring} = rearrange/replace string as nstring
#string# = string is a comment

[Cryxis, Prince of Doom]

So I'm trying to work on my descriptiveness, help wanted, coments and criticism welcome.


The Mantle Falls: Introduction

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

I am a forerunner, I know those reading this may not know who or what we are so I will enlighten you. The forerunners were, I say this because we will not be present when this is read, a race of great power by comparison to anything in this galaxy. We were handed the Mantle of Responsibility by the Precursors. Maybe handed isn't the proper term, we took the mantle from them and drove them from this galaxy. The Mantle of Responsibility is this,"The protection of all sentient life in the galaxy" or some may extend that to the universe but we were only worried about local issues.
We held the. Mantle as the single purpose to our existence in this world and do please note that while we protected sentient life we also had to protect all other life forms needed to keep said sentients alive. This being said we came into a problem that would plague us for a period of time and force us into making the most drastic and violent decision our race has ever made, creating the Halo installations.
Before I get to the violence and salvation of whoever is reading this I should start with what caused us to make the decision, the problem. It was a plague that outsmarted us at every turn because we underestimated it. The flood, a parasite that infected anything with enough neural synapses and calcium to support the parasite. We thought it a mutated disease that could be destroyed by normal means of quarantine and, when it came to it, destruction. We acted too late to kill it, it had already infected much of the galaxy and we even had to give up some life forms in it's path to secure control and defense of the ones behind. Those we gave up were countless in importance to our Mantle as all sentient life is, but those we saved were more important than those we could not.
We formed a defensive line and produced automatons, soldiers, in numbers higher than that which one could count to defend the line. We produced advanced intelligences to operate and run the defensive while we searched for a cure.
Many proposes were made and many experiments were run. Ones of interest were those tested on humans, some were found to be immune to the flood but we could not figure out why. How could the flood wish to destroy us but not those whom we would pass our legacy on to? We could not figure out, even after extensive testing. After many years could not find an answer and our forces, while massive in numbers for any sentient race, were too few to combat the surge of the flood as it pelted our defenses and all our attempts at destroying them in their tracks only slowed them down. We even attempted as much as forcing stars to go nova but even that only slowed them.
One answer was found, and while not popular, it was agreed as the only solution. We must starve the flood. How would you starve a parasite? By killing any and all possible hosts. This is how the Halo array came to be, it would fire a blast, ring to ring, that would destroy any life with enough neural capability to sustain the flood. To keep with the Mantle we created shield worlds and the Ark. These installations would house countless specimens, embryos, and DNA/RNA samples to be used to reseed the galaxy by our machines. We ensured that all our machines would recognize humans as Reclaimers and allow them access to our facilities for they are the race whom shall receive the mantle next. The Halo's were activated after the flood had created a sentient hive mind that convinced our defense AI to stand down and allow them to attack. I was on a shield world when this happened, I was supposed to be dead. When the burst past by the shielding the artificial lighting gave out for a moment and the whole planet shook.

End section 1: Introduction-continue to section 2: Later Missions of Seeker of Eternal Moonlight.

Any specific grammar that needs work or just all of it? I understand it was painful to read but thank you for whoever reads it and can give helpful comments.

[bahihs]

So I'm trying to work on my descriptiveness, help wanted, coments and criticism welcome.

Any specific grammar that needs work or just all of it? I understand it was painful to read but thank you for whoever reads it and can give helpful comments.

Two in one day? *Puts on shades* Here we go. Yeeeeaaaaahhhh!

Spoiler: My edits (click to show/hide)

I am a forerunner(.) I know those reading this may not know who or what we are so I will enlighten you(them). The forerunners were (-) I say this because we will not be present when this is read (-) a race of great power by comparison to anything in this galaxy. We were handed the Mantle of Responsibility by(from) the Precursors}#Passive, but making it active destroys flow; maybe add some context before you say this?#. Maybe handed isn't the proper term, we took the mantle from them and drove them from this galaxy. The Mantle of Responsibility is this,"The protection of all sentient life in the galaxy" or some may extend that to the universe(,) but we were only worried about local issues.

(I know you probably copy+pasted this, but please add blank lines between paragraphs; do it for my eyes, they are so bad as it is)

We held the Mantle as the single(sole) purpose to(of) our existence in this world and do please note that (And) while we protected sentient life we also had to protect all other life forms needed to keep said sentients alive. This being said we came into a problem that would plague us for a period of time and force us into making the most drastic and violent decision our race has ever made, creating(the creation of) the Halo installations.#This sentence feels out of place, you need to add more context before it#

Before I get to the violence and (the) salvation of whoever is(those) reading this I should start with what caused us to make the decision, the problem. It was a plague that outsmarted us at every turn#Cliched# because we underestimated it. The flood, a parasite that infected anything with enough neural synapses and calcium to support the parasite(it). {We thought it a mutated disease that could be destroyed by normal means of quarantine and, when it came to it, destruction}#Redundant phrasing#->{We thought we could treat it by normal means - quarantine, and, if it came to it, destruction.} (But) We acted too late to kill it, (and) it had already infected much of the galaxy(.) and we even had to give up some(the) life forms in it's path to secure control and {defense}->{defend} of the ones behind. Those we gave up were countless(measurable?) in (their) importance to our Mantle - as all sentient life is -but those we saved were more important than those we could not.
 
We formed a defensive line and produced automatons, soldiers in numbers higher than that which one could count(without number) to defend the line. We produced advanced intelligences to operate and run the defensive(hold the line?) while we searched for a cure.

Many proposes(proposals) were made and many experiments were run. Ones of interest(Interesting) were those tested on humans, some were found to be immune to the flood but we could not figure out why. How could the flood wish to destroy us but(and) not those whom we would pass(who would inherit) our legacy on to? We could not figure (it) out, even after extensive testing. After many years (we) could not find an answer and our forces, while massive in numbers for any sentient race, were (still) too few to combat the surge of the flood as it(that) pelted our defenses(.) and all our attempts at destroying them in their tracks only slowed them down. We even attempted as much as {forcing}->{to force} stars to go nova even( that only slowed them.

One answer was found; (it was not) and while not popular, it was(but was) agreed as(to be) the only solution. We must starve(d) the flood. How would you starve a parasite? By killing any and all possible hosts. This is how the Halo array came to be, it would fire a blast, ring to ring, that would destroy any life with enough neural capability to sustain the flood. To keep with the Mantle we created shield worlds and the Ark. These installations would house countless specimens, embryos, and DNA/RNA samples to be used to reseed the galaxy by(with) our machines. We ensured that all our machines would recognize humans as Reclaimers and allow them access to our facilities for they are the race whom(that) shall receive the mantle next. The Halos were activated after the flood had created a sentient hive mind that convinced our defense AI to stand down and allow(ed) them to attack. I was on a shield world when this(it) happened. I was supposed to be dead. {When the burst past by the shielding}#Don't really know what you're trying to say here, so I will guess#->{When the burst passed through the shielding} the artificial light(s)ing gave out for a moment and the whole planet shook.

End section 1: Introduction-continue to section 2: Later Missions of Seeker of Eternal Moonlight.

[Cryxis, Prince of Doom]

Thanks .-. I can't grammar...

[Angle]

Spoiler: My edits to the story (click to show/hide)

Then my alarm clock let out a warbling screech and died with a puff of blue smoke.

I jumped out of bed with a barrage of {cursing}->{curses} and unplugged the thing, but it was too late for that. The smoke drifted lazily around the room, until I pulled open a window and waved it out. I sighed in relief - {it’d be}->{it would have been} really embarrassing to have the fire alarms go off. Once I was finished fanning the smoke out of my room, I sighed[,] and went to go get myself some breakfast.

Breakfast was going to be warmed up leftovers, but my microwave died in the same fashion as the alarm clock, so I made do with a bowl of cereal. I sighed to myself over my food - It was looking like I’d have to talk to my landlord about the wiring. I went ahead and unplugged my computer and everything else electronic beside(s) #unless you meant "next to"?# my fridge, just to be on the safe side, and hurried off to work.

The ride to work was interesting - the subway stalled out on me no less than three times. When I finally got off, and(I) tried to call my boss to tell her I’d be late, [but] my cell failed to get reception for the entire walk, and then died on me. I sighed to myself and started jogging. If I was fast enough, I could[might] probably get there only a few minutes late.

I wasn’t fast enough. I got to work to find my boss Clara, a solid old woman, glaring at me over her glasses.

“And where have you been?” She growled at me[asked]. “I expected you here twenty minutes ago!”

Hmm. So mostly you're edits look pretty good, but a few puzzle me. In particular, many of them seem like they're designed to make the writing sound more generic, and less characterised? I went ahead and selected the relevant sections in red. Is this a thing people are advised to do when writing? Because I was actually going in rather the opposite direction with this snippet, and trying to exaggerate that kind of thing.