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[TD1]

As I said, it was therapeutic

I just wrote whatever, so it kinda jumbled up. There was no intent, and no editing afterward. Call it ore rather than metal, hehe.

[Emma]

Incidentally, I'd appreciate people saying if they're entering the competition.
Not mandatory, of course, but it'd be nice to be able to ballpark the figure.

Just posting to let you know that I'll be entering your competition and that my entry will come in later today.

[GiglameshDespair]

Incidentally, I'd appreciate people saying if they're entering the competition.
Not mandatory, of course, but it'd be nice to be able to ballpark the figure.

Just posting to let you know that I'll be entering your competition and that my entry will come in later today.

Excellent.

[GiglameshDespair]

This isn't related whatsoever to the challenge, but tell me what you think: what did you like? What could I have done better?

Spoiler: Dust and steel (click to show/hide)

Even at this late hour, there was still figures hurrying up and down the dusty streets, or watching the town from windows. Jeremiah’s stride was unhurried, his long legs eating up distance with ease. A tip-off had told him there was an infiltrator in his town. In the bar ahead, in fact.

A data-dame whistled at him from a window, offering illicit data, hardware or software to suit his taste; he merely shook his head and continued on. He’d probably have needed a stronger firewall, anyway. Black market data was always a risk. Instead, he replayed the five maxims, something done so many times they’d practically programmed their own channel in his databanks.

The preacher outside the bar was old and decrepit, poorly maintained – parts of his chassis were missing, and externals and internals both were splotchy with rust. It was a small miracle the old machine hadn’t deactivated already. The preacher’s optics flickered as he turned his head towards the approaching Jeremiah, neck servos creaking.
“Repent!” he blared, voice box screeching with feedback. “The Creators’ return is nigh! Soon all of Steel will be washed away by the wrath of the Flesh! Unless… we repent! Repent!”

Jeremiah ignored the mad machine. He wasn’t quite wrong, after all. He pushed through the door, the hinges of the metal panels squeaking. It was that kind of bar. A place selling most kinds of oil and lubricant known to machine, and still it creaked.

Inside it was cool and dim, though his optics didn’t have any trouble in the poor light. A boxy machine stood behind a bar, the wall behind him festooned with bottles of all kinds. Other machines sat at tables, replacing coolant or performing light maintenance while the wires of trickle-chargers hung from their wrists or heads. They were a motley sort of machines, of various makes, mainly tending towards the old. Each was scratched and battered, dented from long days of hard toil.

All but one. Certainly, the last bot was speckled with dust, and their design was neither overly boxy and old, or sleek and shiny – but the dim light revealed the paint was smooth and untarnished. Jeremiah had data on most of the machines in his town, but he didn’t have a match for this one in his memory banks.

“Can I get you anything?” the bartender said, and again Jeremiah just shook his head. He headed directly over to the stranger. The smooth faceplate of the machine turned up towards him. It had no visible cameras or voicebox, just a curved reflective panel. It waited in silence.
Jeremiah stared back. The silence stretched out for a long while. A few of the bots quietly unplugged their chargers and left, sensing trouble.

“I don’t recognise you,” Jeremiah finally spoke, not breaking optic contact with the stranger.
“From out of town,” the stranger responded, their synthesiser possessing an odd twang to it.
“What’s your business?”
“Just passing through. Decided to pick up charge.”
The tension only built up through the terse conversation. Without looking, the stranger unplugged the charger from their shoulder. Jeremiah ran a quick diagnostic on his aiming software that came back green.
“Don’t recognise your model.”
“EAX-F 7264513. Custom job.”
“I’m going to be honest, stranger.” Jeremiah flexed his finger servos. Full functionality. “I’m guessing you’re a human. And if you are, I’m going to have to have you come with me.”
The stranger said nothing. Again the silence flowed into the room, and with it flowed the knowledge: when it was broken, there would be violence.
“Good guess,” the stranger said at last, and then he was surging upwards and Jeremiah was reaching for his gun and the stranger’s fist crashed into his faceplate and threw Jeremiah back enough the human could land a heavy kick to his chest. He felt every component in him rattle from the blow and as he toppled the human overturned the table to block the shots from the gun the bartender had pulled. Ricochets whined as they sprang from the steel.

The first maxim: humans wore the skins of machines as armour, to give them strength and camouflage. Do not underestimate their strength.

Jeremiah rolled to his feet and pulled his gun. A metallic click from the other side of the table suggested the human had done the same, and Jeremiah overturned his own table and took cover. The bartender fired again, and the ricochet glanced off the human’s table. With a thunderous roar, the human fired his, and the shot went through the table, the bartender’s CPU, and a bottle behind him, sending him crashing to the floor in an explosion of sparks and greenish coolant. Deactivated, and he hadn’t so much as scratched the human’s paint.

The second maxim: humans had many weapons, and all were of great power. Even outnumbered, do not expect to outgun them. Do not underestimate their firepower.

His own gun was powerful, designed to penetrate the thick steel of human armour. While their insides were fleshy and fragile, they wore metal designed for war, rather than the common labour of most machines. He aimed where the human should be, pulled the trigger, and was awarded with the crack of a round going off. A neat hole appeared in the table, but the human had shifted around and rolled behind the end of the bartop, his own gun blasting a fist sized chunk of Jeremiah’s cover into the air. A second shot – aimed – took out a light, casting much of the room into darkness. Backlit, the lawbot would be an easy target.

The third maxim: despite the unreliability of Flesh, humans were warriors, and needed no software to fight. Do not underestimate their skills.

Jeremiah settled into cover, aiming where the human would emerge. A slight shift in the shadows was his only warning and he pulled the trigger, rewarded with a cry of pain. The human ducked back, unwilling to stick out something again. For a moment, there was quiet again, like the moment after and exhalation. Jeremiah picked up the faint patter of droplets hitting the planks of the floor.

The human was bleeding.

The fourth maxim: humans, when cornered, only fight more fiercely. Do not underestimate them when injured.

He saw motion again, fired, but all that blew apart was a glass bottle of lubricant, and the human rose over the bar and his handcannon barked. A terrible impact hit the lawbot and his left arm failed to respond as he brought his own gun to bear. A final pair of shots exchanged, and Jeremiah had a hole through his cooling banks. The human had a hole into his chest, and a red fluid welled from the pierced armour. He slumped back, and Jeremiah remembered the fifth maxim and dived for cover.

The fifth maxim: humans are dangerous, even in death. Do not underestimate them when slain.

The humans had reduced half the world to dust rather than let it fall to their machine children. Their agents reflected this mindset, still. The human’s armour beeped twice before it detonated. The thin bar was pulped by the explosion, oil combusting and adding to the explosion. Splinters and shrapnel howled through the air like banshees.
Jeremiah stood up with difficulty, regarding the smoking crater the deactivated human had left. His left arm hung unresponsive, his coolant was leaking. But he’d won, and that was one less human in the world.

He left.

[GiglameshDespair]

Not sure what this 'challenge' thing is. But I've written something that sucks, and as usual, I'll put it her to make it better.

Write a short story that is connected thematically to one or both of the prompts given. In a week, I'll read it and compare it to the others that are posted.
_{If any are posted}

One week remains to post a story for the challenge

Not sure what this 'challenge' thing is. But I've written something that sucks, and as usual, I'll put it her to make it better.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Ameilra Miat looked out across the open field from the castle, out to the very edge where the forest still dominated, and thought of her new accommodations. She wasn’t wholly unsatisfied, but for a reason she could not place, something felt off. She leaned out of the window hoping to reassure herself, stretched her neck and lifted her head to face the sun. Her pupils dilated, light orange eyes half closed as she felt the warmth on her face. For a moment, all thoughts flew from her mind as she basked in the sun’s glow. After a few brief, precious, seconds she pulled her head back through the window.
   Her gaze slid across the room, past the still unfamiliar painted gold walls, a bed overly furnished with cushions and pillows, to a just as cushioned chair on her left. Upon the chair laid her armor and weapon, where she had placed it the previous day. Most people left their equipment down closer to the practice field - in fact, armor stands had been built down there for that exact purpose. Ameilra strode the relatively long distance across the room to the chair, compared to the smaller rooms of Castle Atros in her homeland of Ephora, stooping to grab her gear. Ever since her mother had  judged Ameilra able swing a sword, she had trained her relentlessly. Ameilra had started with a wide bladed shortsword, which had barely fit in her hands and stood more than half her height. From the age of 8 she’d lived a sparsely decorated room with a weapon and armor rack, as every room for anyone blade worthy, or in training, did. But as she’d begun training with other children her age, the teachers had tried to force her to use a longsword or a shortsword and shield. The most she’d gotten away with was a longsword and shield, but it was still nothing compared to the claymore she’d been used to.
Something still felt off… a feeling that she should remember something. Still wondering what, she slid the sword into a scabbard on her hip, throwing her shield over her back. She strapped the steel greaves onto her legs and pulled the gauntlets over her hands, then exited holding the breastplate, calf, and bicep plates in her hands.
   She arrived at the sparring grounds, almost fully suited with grey steel, besides her feet and head. She hurried to the end of the yard, pumping her long legs. Her arms hung from her shoulders as she waited, blonde hair falling flat across her shoulders. She shifted her feet, clad in browned leather, the only sign of impatience she showed as she scanned the open field where countless others sparred on the green grass. A young woman about her age with pale chestnut hair walked past and took a position a few meters across from her. Turning with a mocking bow, she drew her sword and pointed it diagonally into the air, grasping it with both hands. Ameilra smiled inwardly, and unsheathed her blade, the same make of her opponent’s. She hefted her shield on her left arm, preparing for an assault. She suspected that her opponent, Zira, would be only too glad to initiate.
   She was right. Zira lowered her sword into a charge, obliterating the distance between them. Her blade lifted as she neared her opponent - only to be shoved up by Ameilra’s shield.
   Ducking under her own shield, raised almost vertical, she swung her longsword in a horizontal arc at Zira’s exposed side. Her enemy swerved her body back to dodge the blow, angrily wrenching back her sword. Leaping back, Zira circled her warily. Shifting her position to keep Zira at maximum distance, Ameilra once again waited for Zira to make her move.
   Suddenly, Ameilra realized her mistake as her foe dashed forward. Outmaneuvered into facing the sun, she held her shield up block it even as Zira readied her blade. Veering to the side, she threw out her own sword as an attempted parry. But her desperate block was no match for Zira’s two-handed blow, with all of her momentum behind it.
   Shield out of position, Ameilra had nothing left to defend herself. Once Zira realized this, she turned her sword flat and smashed it against Ameilra’s armor, knocking her over.
   “Nice move,” Ameilra said, bracing herself on her arm.
   Zira’s lips curved as she turned, walking back to her spot. “You’d have to do better than that if you want to survive.”
   Ameilra picked herself up and took up her position. “Let’s do this.”


   A few hours later, as she returned sweating to her room, carrying the various equipment used, she found her mind wandering. The sun wasn’t too low in the sky, so as she carefully placed her armor and weaponry, she thought of her purpose at the castle. She had been sent here, away from her home, for a single purpose. More directly, it had not been explained to her why she had been sent, but she highly suspected it had to do with her combat skills.
   Which left her puzzled, as she still had almost a third of the day left to her own after sparring.
   

First: The calf would probably armoured by the greaves, as they'd probably be closed greaves. If the greaves only protect the front of the leg, they'd be demi-greaves, and I have no idea what just calf armour would be called. Armour for the upper arm would probably be a rarebrace, and it seems odd she gets partly armoured and then presumably puts her armour on as she goes to the training field.

Similarly, she seems rather unarmoured for training with full, deadly weapons, where you'd expect to be wearing full plate or using training weapons; having soldiers is no good if they've all maimed each other in training.

A lot of the sentences feel run-on and rather awkward. If you want, I can go through it and fix it.

[adwarf]

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The sound of warning sirens blaring in my ears shocked me from my stupor, and the sudden awareness caused all the pain to come crashing back at me in waves as my mind caught up to the price that had been paid in the battle. My vision was obscured partially by blood, but I could see well enough to realize my visor was shattered on the right side, the display cutting off into a flare of static before giving way to empty space that revealed the world in front of me. Instead of a vast plain of grass what awaited was a scene from some depiction of Hell, craters were scattered about the field with flames and smoke rising out of them, and the bloody sight of dismembered corpses torn apart even from within their exosuits was everywhere. At the heart of all this destruction and death were ten almost whole corpses, and a heavily wounded figure, all of them dressed in armor from ages past and wielding weapons that mankind had long since abandoned in their technological progression.

The surviving figure was a short red-headed man who resembled the Irish from back before mankind took their first leap into the stars above, and despite his serious injuries a spear was still clasped in the hand of his only remaining arm. The spear was a gleaming white and its shaft resembled the bone of some massive creature while the spearhead was shaped like a tooth whose edges were jagged, and seemed to .... writhe in anticipation of bloodshed. When the man noticed my movements he started to laugh,

"Hahaha, truly stupid, so very stupid. I never thought that humanity would progress down this road, even after me and the others stepped forward to save you all from the damnation that your technological progression was heading for all your people could think of was how to dissect, and study us to discover what we were. Here's the surprise, we're human, all of us are humans! We helped your world move forward and our struggles became legends that vaulted us into our positions of power, but you've yet to realize this, you maybe never will ...

In the end what does it matter, you slay your own people in the pursuit of immortality and power, but have failed to see the danger ahead. It is coming for you all and thanks to this war you've waged against us so called 'Gods' all of mankind is doomed to die at its hands. However, enough of this! Come soldier, let us die a warrior's death. Let us shed blood one last time Gáe Bulg, my old friend!"

With a wave of his arm the man's spear seemed to stir to life as a golden light began to surround it and several of jagged protrusions on the spearhead opened up revealing bone spikes within. A feeling of fear started to feel me and I sent a thought to the exosuit shutting off all warning sirens and overriding the suit's manual shutdown. The hiss of compressed air releasing filled the silence as the plasma spurs extended out of the back of the suit and began to frantically devour the local oxygen to fuel its reactions sending power coursing through my suit's crippled systems. I could feel countless bones broken throughout my body and a hazard light was flashing on what was left of my HUD to tell me that I was suffering from blood loss and a collapsed lung.

Forcing myself to take a breath caused a new surge of pain, but my mission wasn't done. The enemy was in front of me and he had to die, a life for a life. Forcing my legs into motion I began to charge towards the one-armed man as the golden glow on his spear grew bright, the ground beneath my feet gave way as my boosted strength and speed was too much for it to withstand. My right hand grasped at the handle of my pistol as the left reached over my shoulder to grab the metallic hilt protruding out the top of it, and with a pull both came free of their holsters. Despite the damage to the HUD my pistol's connection managed to come up on screen while my unobstructed right eye caught sight of a flash of red lights turning on along the length of the barrel as it cycled the first tungsten core round into the chamber and began to trails sparks of electricity.

A grin managed to cross my face as I lifted the handgun, ignoring the warning of only three rounds remaining, and pulled the trigger at the seemingly defenseless man. A sudden crack filled the air and a streak of light flashed towards the man as it trailed lightning arcs, but before the bullet could smash into the man's head he moved into action, and the spear turned into a blur. The bizarre bone spear cut a golden line as it traveled towards the incoming shell that caused space to visibly distort as it passed, unable to even blink I was forced to watch as the man cut the tungsten slug in half and caused a golden energy blade to come tearing towards me.

Gritting my teeth I decided that I couldn't risk dodging, I couldn't give him the time to attack with a second one, and so I turned my right arm towards the incoming blade and started flicking switches on the metallic hilt. Within moments a sudden snap was heard and the metallic hilt transformed as a wisp then piece of metal extended out and began to condense a blade of pure electricity along its length. I forced my body to move as the blade crossed over in front of my right arm, the feeling of tendons snapping was present for a few moments, but the price would have to be worth it.

The energy wave clashed against the electric blade and for a moment time seemed to slow as I watched the energy blade start to distort, and I could feel myself making progress forward, but my opponent was a god. We had thrown six divisions against eleven of them, and only I was left, of course it couldn't be that easy ...

My electric blade fizzled out with a series of crackling and then the golden energy blade started to disperse as it carved its way through my right arm. Almost screaming the command out loud I ordered the suit to cut my sense of pain, and then started to choke out some words as the last few feet between me and the 'God' disappeared.

"Activation Code ... Delta Niner .... Bravo Seven Four .... Alpha, Protocol Tyrfing Initiate .... Private Mackson .... of 701st God Slayers sending Final Report ...."

As the last word rang out I could hear the plasma spurs start to hum and even feel the back of my suit began to heat up, but above all of it I felt satisfaction. With a smirk I stared at the red-headed God as he stabbed the spear called Gáe Bulg towards me, and I kept running straight towards it. As my body crashed into the spear and it sheared through my armor into my stomach the man started to smile, but froze as he looked up at me and noticed my grin.

"Even Gods can die, so we'll kill whatever comes ... at any cost. To bad, looks like you lose this one."

Finished talking I close my eyes and let the last seconds of life wash over me as I focus on the rising thrum of the plasma spurs. A small explosion tore through my back and the white glow of plasma started splash into my vision roaring towards the God in front of me whose eyes grew wide in surprise and fear. At least I got one ....

[GiglameshDespair]

Spoiler: A Merciless Love (click to show/hide)

I’m spitting blood. Swaying on my feet. You’re not much better.

You grin, a ghastly sight of bruised flesh and split lips, and you’ve never been quite so beautiful. The softness of your body has turned to steel. All charm – feminine and otherwise – has been stripped away, replaced with thinly padded gloves and a hard plastic headguard. The smell of the arena is your perfume – a heady musk of sweat and blood, pain and determination. Our gasping breaths drink it greedily.

Your prowling footsteps are drumbeats, booming over the background roar of the crowd. Like the crashing of the sea upon the cliffs, it rises and falls with every blow and every move. It’s a song only for us, and we move in a duet, acting, reacting. Our bodies know the steps from countless bouts. It’s a fierce, bloody jig, but we’d never turn down a dance together.

My body aches with every thundering heartbeat – my flesh from your blows, my heart with love for the fearsome goddess before me; my Eris, circling me like a wolf, fists raised. This ring is your temple, and with every battle, I become ever more your worshipper.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

-snip-

You mentioned you were going to check it through yourself later, so I'll hold off for now on doing a full run through.
But trim a lot of the run-on sentences.

You've worded a few things unnecessarily long; just say "a jagged tooth" or "a jagged fang" rather than "a tooth whose edges were jagged".
"Flaming, smoking craters" rather than "craters with flames and smoke coming out of them." Flaming and smoking are probably unnecessary to have together; if you have one generally you'll have the other.

It feels kinda... anime? Towards to the end, when the Mackson has time to spout a couple of sentences then close his eyes for a few seconds before his suit explodes. What was the god doing in this time? Why was he standing still?

How did Mackson see his expression at the end after having a) his eyes shut and b) exploded?

[sjm9876]

Spoiler: Prompt: Lantern (click to show/hide)

The girl held her lantern high, to keep out the dark. The flame flickered in its cage, turning the shadows of the surrounding branches into grasping fingers and twisting limbs. Her breath fluttered, and her limbs felt leaden, though she was standing still. But it was not the shadows that scared her.

She had lived all her life in this forest, or so it seemed. Each tree looked different to her, a signpost to the best game, the driest wood, the way home. But now the forest betrayed her, in the darkness and fog. Each tree loomed large and strange as the last, and her muscles had grown heavier and heavier until she could go no further.

Now she dropped to her knees, the tightness reaching her lungs. The lantern fell on its side, the flame reaching upwards and singeing the glass. Her heart slowed, from its fluttering race to a near standstill, and time seemed to freeze. The upper pane of the lantern was becoming obscured with soot, and her vision was starting to dim at the edges. She looked up to see a pair of rough boots, and then all went black.


The girl woke to the sight of a ball gown hem on the leaf litter. It was black as night, and yet it was clearly visible in the darkness. A hand reached down and pulled her to her feet, almost tenderly. The mist had closed to a tiny globe, containing only the girl and the woman - her gown was immaculate, onice smooth pale skin. Equally black hair fell down her back in a tight braid. The woman’s touch was gentle, but cold and insistent, and pulled the girl towards her. She was clearly a stranger, and yet the girl couldn’t help but feel they had met before.

Regardless, the girl followed the woman, pulling her into the mist. As it closed up over her hand, she glanced back, seeing her body on the ground. A poisoned arrow stuck out from between her shoulders, and the lantern lay on besides her, flame dying. Somehow, it still cast a shadow - a girl, wearing a ballgown, hand meeting the corpse’s.

The incessant pull brought the girl’s head through the mist, and she did not fight. In fact, she did nothing at all, but exhale one last time, a matter of habit. Then the shadow’s hand released her body’s, and she was gone.

Short piece for the prompt. Not particularly happy with it, but I haven't written in a while and don't really have the time to fix it up at the moment.

[GiglameshDespair]

I'm not a good writer at all, but I can say some things as a reader!

"Even at this late hour, there was still figures"

Might be just me, but I think it'd sound better with 'were' instead of 'was'. Not sure if that's grammatically correct, however.

Anyone can give feedback - and it'd be nice if more people did! After all, whatever I write won't just be read by writers; and don't put yourself down
You're right, that should be "were".

'The preacher outside the bar was old and decrepit, poorly maintained – parts of his chassis were missing, and externals and internals both were splotchy with rust. It was a small miracle the old machine hadn’t deactivated already. The preacher’s optics flickered as he turned his head towards the approaching Jeremiah, neck servos creaking.
“Repent!” he blared, voice box screeching with feedback. “The Creators’ return is nigh! Soon all of Steel will be washed away by the wrath of the Flesh! Unless… we repent! Repent!” '

Personally I like this part. I'd also like a bit more information in what he's saying, maybe foreshadow a bit?
Though this right here does that quite well: 'He wasn’t quite wrong, after all.'

I personally felt the wasn't-quite-wrong foreshadows enough, but I do love the concept of a broken-down old robot preacher.

'The smooth faceplate of the machine turned up towards him. It had no visible cameras or voicebox, just a curved reflective panel.'

Right now I'm wondering if most other machines have blank faceplates or the other way around. Either way, a comparison in there could help. For example, 'Like most others of the town, it had no visible cameras or voicebox, just a curved reflective panel.' or 'It had no visible cameras or voicebox, just a curved reflective panel. The town held a large variety of machines, and this design happened to be in a slight minority.'

Good point. I'd hoped that the mention earlier of the preacher's facial(?) features would make it seem out of the norm, but I do need to make that clearer.

' “Good guess,” the stranger said at last, and then he was surging upwards and Jeremiah was reaching for his gun and the stranger’s fist crashed into his faceplate and threw Jeremiah back enough the human could land a heavy kick to his chest.'

This sentence here feels kind of awkward. You have three 'and's in a row, and it reads kinda badly. After that, you seem to be missing a preposition between 'threw Jeremiah back enough' and 'the human could land a heavy kick'. I'm suggesting 'that', 'so', or something similar. Of course, once again, I suck at writing so that's probably not the best way to do it.

It was meant to evoke a sense of frantic, flowing motion, but it seems it's failed. Ah well, it'll have to be trimmed down.

'and as he toppled the human overturned the table to block the shots from the gun the bartender had pulled. Ricochets whined as they sprang from the steel. '

It's rather wordy in the middle. I think you should've said something about providing cover to reduce it, like 'the human overturned the table to provide cover against the bartender, who had pulled a gun and shot at him.'
Right now, it sounds like the human is preparing for the bullets from the bartender, instead of the bartender actually shot at him.
The second is flat out confusing. The closest I can get is that the bartender's bullet ricocheted around, therefore 'springing from the steel'.

First part: yeah, I could have worded that better.
Second part: the bartender's bullets ricocheting of the steel table the human was taking cover behind. Again, I'll have to reword that.

' A metallic click from the other side of the table suggested the human had done the same,'

I'd have assumed 'click' meant that he shot. Pulling the gun wouldn't exactly make a sound (at least not that I'm aware of, having never read anything where pulling a gun made an audible noise.).

The click was meant to be the human's gun being cocked, or the safety catch coming off, rather than a gunshot.

'The bartender fired again, and the ricochet glanced off the human’s table. With a thunderous roar, the human fired his, and the shot went through the table, the bartender’s CPU, and a bottle behind him, sending him crashing to the floor in an explosion of sparks and greenish coolant.'

I'm not sure you are aware of this (but I'm probably wrong), but this implies that the bartender is in a position behind Jeremiah so that the human must shoot through the table in order to hit him.


I liked it! The ending was definitely the best part.

By this I meant the human shot through his own cover to kill the bartender - but no, that's not worded clearly at all.

Cheers for the feedback; I can definitely see venues to improve it. Some of these things require a second eye - it makes sense to me, because I already can see what happens, but it needs to be clear to readers.

I'm glad you enjoyed it!

-----

Are you going to join the competition?

[GiglameshDespair]

I'll finish going through this in a bit.

Not sure what this 'challenge' thing is. But I've written something that sucks, and as usual, I'll put it her to make it better.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Looking out across the open field from the castle, out to the very edge where the forest still dominated, Ameilra Miat thought of her new accommodations. She wasn’t wholly unsatisfied, but something felt off for a reason she could not place. She leaned out of the  window, trying hoping to reassure herself. She stretched her neck and lifted her head to face the sun, Her pupils dilated¹, light orange eyes half closed as she enjoyed the warmth on her face. For a moment, her mind was still ²as she basked in the sun’s glow. After a few brief, precious, seconds she pulled her head back, [color=green=sighing.[/color]

Her gaze slid across her room, still unfamiliar to her. Lacquered cabinets stood againstthe gold-painted walls, next to a bed festooned with cushions and pillows. The excessive cushions on the chair on her left had been replaced by her armour, her sword leaning up against the arm where she had placed it the previous day. Most people left their equipment down closer to the practice field, on the armour stands. Compared to her room of Castle Atros, back in Ephora, this room was too large, she thought as she stooped to grab her gear.

Ever since her mother had judged Ameilra able swing a sword, she had trained her relentlessly. Ameilra had started with a wide bladed shortsword, which had barely fit in her hands and stood more than half her height. From the age of 8, she’d lived in a sparsely decorated room with a weapon and armor rack; the same style of quarters as warrior or apprentice. [But as she’d begun training with other children her age, the teachers had tried to force her to use a longsword or a shortsword and shield. The most she’d gotten away with was a longsword and shield, but it was still nothing compared to the claymore she’d been used to. ]³ Something still felt off… a feeling that she should remember something niggled in the back of her mind. She began to strap on her armour - her greaves around her legs, her breastplate on her torso... Finally, she buckled the sword's scabbard onto her hip, hanging her shield over her shoulder.
   
She arrived at the sparring grounds almost fully covered by grey steel. Her long legs pumped as she hurried to the end of the yard. Her arms hung from her shoulders as she waited, blonde hair falling flat across her shoulders. She shifted her feet, clad in browned leather, the only sign of impatience she showed as she scanned the open field where countless others sparred on the green grass. A young woman about her age with pale chestnut hair walked past and took a position a few meters across from her. Turning with a mocking bow, she drew her sword and pointed it diagonally into the air, grasping it with both hands. Ameilra smiled inwardly, and unsheathed her blade, the same make of her opponent’s. She hefted her shield on her left arm, preparing for an assault. She suspected that her opponent, Zira, would be only too glad to initiate.
   
She was right. Zira lowered her sword into a charge, obliterating the distance between them. Her blade lifted as she neared her opponent - only to be shoved up by Ameilra’s shield. Ducking under her own shield, raised almost vertical, she swung her longsword in a horizontal arc at Zira’s exposed side. Her enemy swerved her body back to dodge the blow, angrily wrenching back her sword. Leaping back, Zira circled her warily. Shifting her position to keep Zira at maximum distance, Ameilra once again waited for Zira to make her move.
   

Suddenly, Ameilra realized her mistake as her foe dashed forward. Outmaneuvered into facing the sun, she held her shield up block it even as Zira readied her blade. Veering to the side, she threw out her own sword as an attempted parry. But her desperate block was no match for Zira’s two-handed blow, with all of her momentum behind it. Shield out of position, Ameilra had nothing left to defend herself. Once Zira realized this, she turned her sword flat and smashed it against Ameilra’s armor, knocking her over.
“Nice move,” Ameilra said, bracing herself on her arm.
Zira’s lips curved as she turned, walking back to her spot. “You’d have to do better than that if you want to survive.”
Ameilra picked herself up and took up her position. “Let’s do this.”

A few hours later, as she returned sweating to her room, carrying the various equipment used, she found her mind wandering. The sun wasn’t too low in the sky, so as she carefully placed her armor and weaponry, she thought of her purpose at the castle. She had been sent here, away from her home, for a single purpose. More directly, it had not been explained to her why she had been sent, but she highly suspected it had to do with her combat skills. Which left her puzzled, as she still had almost a third of the day left to her own after sparring.

1 sounds too academic in a casual medieval setting
2 Flew from her mind suggests quick action, when she's relaxing for a moment in the sun.
3 I'm not quite sure what you're trying to say in this bit. This would suggest as an eight year old, she was used to using a claymore; besides the fact a knight would learn to use multiple kinds of weapons, it's worded ambiguously.

Further suggestions:
There are five senses - what can she hear, taste, smell?
Perhaps the sounds of the people sparring drifts up to her when she's looking out her window, foreshadowing her own bout.
Perhaps the smells here are foreign and strange, to enforce the idea she's away from home in a strange place.
Does it hurt when she is knocked down? Does she feel a flush of anger when defeated, a spike of anger at Zira's arrogance?

[GiglameshDespair]

Not in four days?
Ah, well.


After a decade, I tried my hand at poetry again.

Spoiler: On surrender (click to show/hide)

I crave the light
And snatch at flame:
Achieving naught
But a burnt and bleeding hand.

The flower blooms
I pluck the stem
And watch as the
Petals crumble away to sand.

Shards of green glass
Bitter poison
Downed in the dark
Now unable to even stand.

[Digital Hellhound]

To make up for my failure to get anything worthwhile for the prompts, I figured I'd review some of these pieces. All comments personal opinion and feeling, etc, take with all the salt etc.

Spoiler: Dust and steel (GiglameshDespair) (click to show/hide)

Even at this late hour, there was still figures hurrying up and down the dusty streets, or watching the town from windows. Jeremiah’s stride was unhurried, his long legs eating up distance with ease. A tip-off had told him there was an infiltrator in his town. In the bar ahead, in fact. The 'was still figures' was pointed out already. You could vary the sentence structure a bit here - all of these sentences use was-were/the passive voice, which makes it a bit repetitive.

A data-dame whistled at him from a window, offering illicit data, hardware or software to suit his taste; he merely shook his head and continued on. He’d probably have needed a stronger firewall, anyway. Black market data was always a risk. Instead, he replayed the five maxims, something done so many times they’d practically programmed their own channel in his databanks. Quite lovely worldbuilding here and a good balance between explaining too much and too little. The last sentence is a bit heavy on the scifi terminology and comes off a little clunky, but it's no grave sin.

The preacher outside the bar was old and decrepit, poorly maintained I loved that sort of 'mini-twist' in the sentence; you'd expect the preacher to be a flesh-and-blood person, until the 'poorly maintained' hits you– parts of his chassis were missing, and externals and internals both were splotchy with rust. It was a small miracle the old machine hadn’t deactivated already. The preacher’s optics flickered as he turned his head towards the approaching Jeremiah, neck servos creaking. Again, a little heavy on the passive voice.

“Repent!” he blared, voice box screeching with feedback. “The Creators’ return is nigh! Soon all of Steel will be washed away by the wrath of the Flesh! Unless… we repent! Repent!”

Jeremiah ignored the mad machine. He wasn’t quite wrong, after all. A lovely, low-key reference, immediately makes you wonder what's going on and what's our protagonist's relation to it. The 'after all' sounds a bit off given the context of the first sentence - he's ignoring him because he's not quite wrong? Usually that's when you pay attention. He pushed through the door, the hinges of the metal panels squeaking. It was that kind of bar. A place selling most kinds of oil and lubricant known to machine, and still it creaked. That's a nice touch.

Inside it was cool and dim, though his optics didn’t have any trouble in the poor light. A boxy machine stood behind a bar, the wall behind him festooned with bottles of all kinds. Other machines sat at tables, replacing coolant or performing light maintenance while the wires of trickle-chargers hung from their wrists or heads. They were a motley sort of machines, of various makes, mainly tending towards the old. I'd drop the 'machines' from 'other machines' and 'of machines' - it's pretty clear at this point everybody' a machine, and repeating the word sounds a bit clumsy. Each was scratched and battered, dented from long days of hard toil. It feels like '[verbed] from long days of hard toil' should be something that describes being scratched and battered, like worn or... uh, battered. Dented just introduces a third type of damage and leaves the first two hanging - just shifting around battered and dented would work, in my opinion, as 'battered' can decribe being scratched and dented, but 'dented' doesn't really describe being scratched and battered. Or maybe I'm overthinking it.

All but one. Certainly, the last bot was speckled with dust, and their design was neither overly boxy and old, or sleek and shiny – but the dim light revealed the paint was smooth and untarnished. Heavy passive voice again - I think 'but the dim light revealed smooth and untarnished paint' would sound better, for example. Jeremiah had data on most of the machines in his town, but he didn’t have a match for this one in his memory banks.

“Can I get you anything?” the bartender said, and again Jeremiah just shook his head. Again? He headed directly over to the stranger. The smooth faceplate of the machine turned up towards him. It had no visible cameras or voicebox, just a curved reflective panel. It waited in silence.
Jeremiah stared back. The silence stretched out for a long while. A few of the bots quietly unplugged their chargers and left, sensing trouble.

“I don’t recognise you,” Jeremiah finally spoke, not breaking optic contact with the stranger.
“From out of town,” the stranger responded, their synthesiser possessing an odd twang to it.
“What’s your business?”
“Just passing through. Decided to pick up charge.”
The tension only built up through the terse conversation. Without looking, the stranger unplugged the charger from their shoulder. Jeremiah ran a quick diagnostic on his aiming software that came back green.
“Don’t recognise your model.”
“EAX-F 7264513. Custom job.”
“I’m going to be honest, stranger.” Jeremiah flexed his finger servos. Full functionality. “I’m guessing you’re a human. And if you are, I’m going to have to have you come with me.”
The stranger said nothing. Again the silence flowed into the room, and with it flowed the knowledge: when it was broken, there would be violence.
“Good guess,” the stranger said at last, and then he was surging upwards and Jeremiah was reaching for his gun and the stranger’s fist crashed into his faceplate and threw Jeremiah back enough the human could land a heavy kick to his chest. I get what you're doing with the run-on nature of this sentence and it does work, but the shift from 'was' to active voice is a bit jarring. I think it might be better to break it into two sentences, latter starting at 'The stranger's fist crashed'. He felt every component in him rattle from the blow and as he toppled the human overturned the table to block the shots from the gun the bartender had pulled. Ricochets whined as they sprang from the steel.

The first maxim: humans wore the skins of machines as armour, to give them strength and camouflage. Do not underestimate their strength. And the reference earlier to the five maxims pays off. I like the structure of this section.

Jeremiah rolled to his feet and pulled his gun. A metallic click from the other side of the table suggested the human had done the same, and Jeremiah overturned his own table and took cover. The bartender fired again, and the ricochet glanced off the human’s table. With a thunderous roar, the human fired his, and the shot went through the table, the bartender’s CPU, and a bottle behind him, sending him crashing to the floor in an explosion of sparks and greenish coolant. Deactivated, and he hadn’t so much as scratched the human’s paint.

The second maxim: humans had many weapons, and all were of great power. Even outnumbered, do not expect to outgun them. Do not underestimate their firepower.

His own gun was powerful, designed to penetrate the thick steel of human armour. While their insides were fleshy and fragile, they wore metal designed for war, rather than the common labour of most machines. He aimed where the human should be, pulled the trigger, and was awarded with the crack of a round going off. A neat hole appeared in the table, but the human had shifted around and rolled behind the end of the bartop, his own gun blasting a fist sized chunk of Jeremiah’s cover into the air. A second shot – aimed – took out a light, casting much of the room into darkness. Backlit, the lawbot would be an easy target.

The third maxim: despite the unreliability of Flesh, humans were warriors, and needed no software to fight. Do not underestimate their skills.

Jeremiah settled into cover, aiming where the human would emerge. A slight shift in the shadows was his only warning and he pulled the trigger, rewarded with a cry of pain. Here I'd add a 'and was' before 'rewarded'.The human ducked back, unwilling to stick out something again. For a moment, there was quiet again, like the moment after and exhalation. Minor typo - and. Jeremiah picked up the faint patter of droplets hitting the planks of the floor.

The human was bleeding.

The fourth maxim: humans, when cornered, only fight more fiercely. Do not underestimate them when injured.

He saw motion again, fired, but all that blew apart was a glass bottle of lubricant, and the human rose over the bar and his handcannon barked. I'd either split this into two sentences - latter starting with 'The human rose', or drop the comma after 'lubricant'. A terrible impact hit the lawbot and his left arm failed to respond as he brought his own gun to bear. A final pair of shots exchanged, 'A final pair of shots exchanged' skips ahead a moment and changes the pace of the action, if that makes sense. Not necessarily bad, but noticeable. and Jeremiah had a hole through his cooling banks. The human had a hole into his chest, and a red fluid welled from the pierced armour. He slumped back, and Jeremiah remembered the fifth maxim and dived for cover.

The fifth maxim: humans are dangerous, even in death. Do not underestimate them when slain.

The humans had reduced half the world to dust rather than let it fall to their machine children. Their agents reflected this mindset, still. The human’s armour beeped twice before it detonated. The thin bar was pulped by the explosion, oil combusting and adding to the explosion. Splinters and shrapnel howled through the air like banshees. Lovely image.
Jeremiah stood up with difficulty, regarding the smoking crater the deactivated human had left. His left arm hung unresponsive, his coolant was leaking. But he’d won, and that was one less human in the world.

He left. A pretty blunt and unemotional way to describe it, but maybe that's how you like it. I'd go with a slightly longer description of him walking back down the street or so, possibly.

All comments in red. Excuse my lack of analytical vocabulary sometimes, but I hope I get my point across. Generally, you use a lot of passive voice which makes some paragraphs repetitive and flow poorly. You also have a lot ', and' sentences where it might be better to just chop things up into several sentences. Short, fast sentences can speed up the action quite a bit.

Overall, I like it - it's a solid short showing off an interesting world, with well-done worldbuilding and a focused plot. Nice scifi western feel to the whole thing. I didn't read Moonlit's comments or your responses to them, so apologies if I'm repeating stuff already said.

***

Spoiler: Moonlit Shadow's Piece (click to show/hide)

Ameilra Miat looked out across the open field from the castle, out to the very edge where the forest still dominated, and thought of her new accommodations. She wasn’t wholly unsatisfied, but for a reason she could not place, something felt off. She leaned out of the window hoping to reassure herself, stretched her neck and lifted her head to face the sun. Her pupils dilated, light orange eyes half closed as she felt the warmth on her face. For a moment, all thoughts flew from her mind as she basked in the sun’s glow. After a few brief, precious, seconds she pulled her head back through the window. I noticed Gilgamesh criticized the use of 'flew from her mind', but I think it's fine. Maybe it's a quick action, but it's a quick action to get to a state of calm and stillness.

Her gaze slid across the room, past the still unfamiliar painted gold walls, a bed overly furnished with cushions and pillows, to a just as cushioned chair on her left. Upon the chair laid her armor and weapon, where she had placed it the previous day. Most people left their equipment down closer to the practice field - in fact, armor stands had been built down there for that exact purpose. So why doesn't she? Uncomfortable/not trusting this place? A hint of the reason might be good.

Ameilra strode the relatively long distance across the room to the chair, compared to the smaller rooms of Castle Atros in her homeland of Ephora, The fact the rooms are bigger than what she's used to could be said in a simpler way - the 'relatively long distance-compared to' thing just feels messy. stooping to grab her gear. Ever since her mother had judged Ameilra able swing a sword, she had trained her relentlessly. 'She'd been trained relentlessly' might sound better, but then you lose the detail of her mother training her specifically. Ameilra had started with a wide bladed shortsword, which had barely fit in her hands and stood more than half her height. From the age of 8 she’d lived a Lived a? There's a 'in' missing. sparsely decorated room with a weapon and armor rack, as every room for anyone blade worthy, 'of anyone blade-worthy' is clearer or in training, did. But as she’d begun training with other children her age, the teachers had tried to force her to use a longsword or a shortsword and shield. The 'But' at the beginning of this sentence is a bit unnecessary, I feel. The most she’d gotten away with was a longsword and shield, but it was still nothing compared to the claymore she’d been used to.

Something still felt off… a feeling that she should remember something. Still wondering what, she slid the sword into a scabbard on her hip, throwing her shield over her back. The last sentence sounds a bit off - I'd go with 'she slid the sword [...] and threw her shield'. She strapped the steel greaves onto her legs and pulled the gauntlets over her hands, then exited holding the rest of the plates in her hands. 'Exited' is a bit clinical and modern, sounds a bit out-of-place. Also, I guess 'the plates' refer to the pieces of her plate armor, but I've never really seen it said like that.
   
She arrived at the sparring grounds, almost fully suited with grey steel, besides her feet and head. I'd drop the comma before 'besides'. She hurried to the end of the yard, pumping her long legs. Her arms hung from her shoulders as she waited, blonde hair falling flat across her shoulders. Her arms hung from her shoulders? As opposed to what? :DD In all seriousness, 'her arms hung at her sides' might work better, though it seems an odd detail to describe. You might want to vary your sentence length in this paragraph more - chop up these two descriptions into separate sentences, for example (her arms hung [...]. Blonde hair fell flat across her shoulders.) She shifted her feet, clad in browned leather, It might just be me, but given the earlier paragraphs described her suiting up, including the 'clad in browned leather' detail this late is kinda out of place. the only sign of impatience she showed as she scanned the open field where countless others sparred on the green grass. A young woman about her age with pale chestnut hair walked past and took a position a few meters across from her. Turning with a mocking bow, she drew her sword and pointed it diagonally into the air, grasping it with both hands. Ameilra smiled inwardly, and unsheathed her blade, the same make of her opponent’s. She hefted her shield on her left arm, preparing for an assault. She suspected that her opponent, Zira, would be only too glad to initiate.
   
She was right. Zira lowered her sword into a charge, obliterating the distance between them. Nice choice of word - gives the impression of a very violent charge. Her blade lifted as she neared her opponent - only to be shoved up by Ameilra’s shield.

Ducking under her own shield, raised almost vertical, she swung her longsword in a horizontal arc at Zira’s exposed side. If she's shoving up with her shield and then ducking under it, wouldn't the shield be held horizontally? Might want to clear up this detail. Her enemy swerved her body back to dodge the blow, angrily wrenching back her sword. Leaping back, Zira circled her warily. Shifting her position to keep Zira at maximum distance, Ameilra once again waited for Zira to make her move.

Suddenly, Ameilra realized her mistake as her foe dashed forward. Outmaneuvered into facing the sun, I think it would be more effective to show more here - perhaps describe the sun hitting her in the eyes rather and then her realization rather than just stating it, with a 'suddenly', even. she held her shield up block it even as Zira readied her blade. Veering to the side, she threw out her own sword as an attempted parry. In an attempted parry. But her desperate block was no match for Zira’s two-handed blow, with all of her momentum behind it. I'd drop the 'but' here, again. The latter 'her' in 'all of her' could be changed to 'all of the other woman's' or such to avoid pronoun repetition.

Shield out of position, Ameilra had nothing left to defend herself. Once Zira realized this, she turned her sword flat and smashed it against Ameilra’s armor, knocking her over. You could speed up the action here by dropping the 'once Zira realized this' (or showing it rather than telling). I'd also make the 'knocking her over' into a separate sentence, something describing her going down from the blow.

“Nice move,” Ameilra said, bracing herself on her arm.

Zira’s lips curved as she turned, walking back to her spot. “You’d have to do better than that if you want to survive.”

Ameilra picked herself up and took up her position. “Let’s do this.” I kinda expected more of a reaction from Ameilra - a burst of anger, her resolve only increasing, just any acknowledgement of Zira's words, whether she shows it to her or not.

A few hours later, as she returned sweating to her room, carrying the various equipment used, she found her mind wandering. The sun wasn’t too low in the sky, so as she carefully placed her armor and weaponry, she thought of her purpose at the castle. She had been sent here, away from her home, for a single purpose. More directly, it had not been explained to her why she had been sent, but she highly suspected it had to do with her combat skills. It might be best to chop up these into several sentences or drop some of the commas where appropriate - the flow suffers otherwise with their run-on nature.

Which left her puzzled, as she still had almost a third of the day left to her own after sparring.

When posting stuff on a forum, just do empty spaces between paragraphs - the formatting here makes it a bit hard to read. In general, you have a lot of long, sentences, separated into several, with an overabundance of commas. I'm not telling you to get rid of all of them - the first sentence, for example, works fine - but they can hurt the flow of the text.

At points, this feels like an excerpt from the middle of a story. Our protagonist's feelings towards or relationship with Zira don't come clear at all. You don't need to infodump everything about them here, but the fight feels like it exists in a vacuum where I'm not sure what to think and feel about what's going on. We're left in the dark regarding a lot of things - which I'm sure would gradually come clear in a longer story, so it's not really a problem. The reader would benefit from... I dunno how to put it, better access inside our protagonist's head. This doesn't need to be through 'she thought this and that', though you do use that early on, but it'd be more engaging if we could get a better sense of her opinion and thoughts towards things, especially in the fight scene.

***

Spoiler: sjm9876's Lantern Prompt (click to show/hide)

The girl held her lantern high, to keep out the dark. The flame flickered in its cage, turning the shadows of the surrounding branches into grasping fingers and twisting limbs. Her breath fluttered, and her limbs felt leaden, though she was standing still. But it was not the shadows that scared her.

She had lived all her life in this forest, or so it seemed. Each tree looked different to her, a signpost to the best game, the driest wood, the way home. But now the forest betrayed her, in the darkness and fog. Each tree loomed large and strange as the last, and her muscles had grown heavier and heavier until she could go no further. I'd switch 'In the darkness and fog' to the beginning of the next sentence, so it goes 'But now the forest betrayed her. In the darkness and fog, each tree loomed large' etc. Also, I think you might mean 'larger and stranger' here since the next part is 'heavier and heavier'.

Now she dropped to her knees, the tightness reaching her lungs. 'The tightness' isn't really something described above, so it comes a bit from nowhere. Where does it reach from? Still, we get the meaning. The lantern fell on its side, the flame reaching upwards and singeing the glass. You repeat 'reaching' here - also, flame is always reaching upwards, so a different, maybe more violent word like 'rushed upwards' might work better? Her heart slowed, from its fluttering race to a near standstill, and time seemed to freeze. I'd drop the first comma and chop 'time seemed to freeze' into its own sentence. The upper pane of the lantern was becoming obscured with soot, and her vision was starting to dim at the edges. She looked up to see a pair of rough boots, and then all went black.


The girl woke to the sight of a ball gown hem on the leaf litter. It was black as night, and yet it was clearly visible in the darkness. Is it actually night - in which case 'black as night' is redundant - or is the darkness unnatural? A hand reached down and pulled her to her feet, almost tenderly. The mist had closed to a tiny globe, containing only the girl and the woman - her gown was immaculate, onice smooth pale skin. Onice smooth pale skin what? Equally black hair fell down her back in a tight braid. The woman’s touch was gentle, but cold and insistent, and pulled the girl towards her. She was clearly a stranger, and yet the girl couldn’t help but feel they had met before.

Regardless, the girl followed the woman, pulling her into the mist. Is the woman pulling the girl or is the girl following her? These two descriptions conflict a little, I feel. As it closed up over her hand, she glanced back, seeing her body on the ground. 'glanced back and saw her body on the ground' flows better. A poisoned arrow stuck out from between her shoulders, and the lantern lay on besides her, flame dying. Somehow, it still cast a shadow - a girl, wearing a ballgown, hand meeting the corpse’s.

The incessant pull brought the girl’s head through the mist, and she did not fight. In fact, she did nothing at all, but exhale one last time, a matter of habit. Then the shadow’s hand released her body’s, and she was gone.

I don't really have any big criticisms of this. There are some nice images and we get a good/vivid sense of the girl's sensations, so generally I like it.

***

Spoiler: A Merciless Love (click to show/hide)

I’m spitting blood. Swaying on my feet. You’re not much better.

You grin, a ghastly sight of bruised flesh and split lips, and you’ve never been quite so beautiful. The softness of your body has turned to steel. All charm – feminine and otherwise – has been stripped away, replaced with thinly padded gloves and a hard plastic headguard. I expected a description of her body and muscles rather than armor, but that works too. The smell of the arena is your perfume – a heady musk of sweat and blood, pain and determination. Our gasping breaths drink it greedily.

Your prowling footsteps are drumbeats, booming over the background roar of the crowd. Like the crashing of the sea upon the cliffs, it rises and falls with every blow and every move. It’s a song only for us, and we move in a duet, acting, reacting. Our bodies know the steps from countless bouts. It’s a fierce, bloody jig, but we’d never turn down a dance together.

My body aches with every thundering heartbeat – my flesh from your blows, my heart with love for the fearsome goddess before me; my Eris, circling me like a wolf, fists raised. This ring is your temple, and with every battle, I become ever more your worshipper.

Honestly, I have no real critiques for this. I like it a lot, especially since it reminds me of something I've been writing (a training montage love story). The images are lovely, the passion is palpable, there's nothing to distract from the point - it's just great.

I'll see if I have the time to review more of the recent stuff here later - hope these are of some worth to people.

[sjm9876]

Spoiler: A Merciless Love (click to show/hide)

I’m spitting blood. Swaying on my feet. You’re not much better.

You grin, a ghastly sight of bruised flesh and split lips, and you’ve never been quite so beautiful. The softness of your body has turned to steel. All charm – feminine and otherwise – has been stripped away, replaced with thinly padded gloves and a hard plastic headguard. The smell of the arena is your perfume – a heady musk of sweat and blood, pain and determination. Our gasping breaths drink it greedily.

Your prowling footsteps are drumbeats, booming over the background roar of the crowd. Like the crashing of the sea upon the cliffs, it rises and falls with every blow and every move. It’s a song only for us, and we move in a duet, acting, reacting. Our bodies know the steps from countless bouts. It’s a fierce, bloody jig, but we’d never turn down a dance together.

My body aches with every thundering heartbeat – my flesh from your blows, my heart with love for the fearsome goddess before me; my Eris, circling me like a wolf, fists raised. This ring is your temple, and with every battle, I become ever more your worshipper.

Love this. Got briefly confused at the our, but that's more how my brain has been trained than a writing issue i think.

Spoiler: Dust and steel (click to show/hide)

Even at this late hour, there was were? still figures hurrying up and down the dusty streets, or watching the town from windows. ButJeremiah’s stride was unhurried, his long legs eating up distance with ease. A tip-off had told him there was an infiltrator in his town. In the bar ahead, in fact. Perhaps a change up to the structure might make this flow a little better? It feels a bit like a string of isolated statements.

A data-dame whistled at him from a window, offering illicit data, hardware or software to suit his taste; he merely shook his head and continued on. He’d probably have needed a stronger firewall, anyway. Black market data was always a risk. Instead, he replayed the five maxims, something done so many times they’d practically programmed their own channel in his databanks.Nice bit of lore, though the last sentence feels a little too unfamiliar without a bit more info.

The preacher outside the bar was old and decrepit, poorly maintained Nice – parts of his chassis were missing, and externals and internals both were splotchy with rust. It was a small miracle the old machine hadn’t deactivated already. The preacher’s optics flickered as he turned his head towards the approaching Jeremiah, neck servos creaking.
“Repent!” he blared, voice box screeching with feedback. “The Creators’ return is nigh! Soon all of Steel will be washed away by the wrath of the Flesh! Unless… we repent! Repent!”

Jeremiah ignored the mad machine. He wasn’t quite wrong, after all. He pushed through the door, the hinges of the metal panels squeaking. It was that kind of bar. A place selling most kinds of oil and lubricant known to machine, and still it creaked.

Inside it was cool and dim, though his optics didn’t have any trouble in the poor light. A boxy machine stood behind a bar, the wall behind him festooned with bottles of all kinds. Other machines sat at tables, replacing coolant or performing light maintenance while the wires of trickle-chargers hung from their wrists or heads. They were a motley sort of machines, of various makes, mainly tending towards the old. Each was scratched and battered, dented from long days of hard toil. Think it was about here it clicked in that this was completely machine central. Going to disagree with DH here and say the emphasis on machine somewhat helped. Agreed on the last sentence. Maybe scratched, battered and dented might feel better?

All but one. Certainly, the last bot was speckled with dust, and their design was neither overly boxy and old, or sleek and shiny – but the dim light revealed the paint was smooth and untarnished. Jeremiah had data on most of the machines in his town, but he didn’t have a match for this one in his memory banks.

“Can I get you anything?” the bartender said, and again Jeremiah just shook his head. He headed directly over to the stranger. The smooth faceplate of the machine turned up towards him. It had no visible cameras or voicebox, just a curved reflective panel. It waited in silence.
Jeremiah stared back. The silence stretched out for a long while. A few of the bots quietly unplugged their chargers and left, sensing trouble.

“I don’t recognise you,” Jeremiah finally spoke, not breaking optic contact with the stranger.
“From out of town,” the stranger responded, their synthesiser possessing an odd twang to it.
“What’s your business?”
“Just passing through. Decided to pick up charge.”
The tension only built up through the terse conversation. Without looking, the stranger unplugged the charger from their shoulder. Jeremiah ran a quick diagnostic on his aiming software that came back green.
“Don’t recognise your model.”
“EAX-F 7264513. Custom job.”
“I’m going to be honest, stranger.” Jeremiah flexed his finger servos. Full functionality. “I’m guessing you’re a human. And if you are, I’m going to have to have you come with me.”
The stranger said nothing. Again the silence flowed into the room, and with it flowed the knowledge: when it was broken, there would be violence.
“Good guess,” the stranger said at last, and then he was surging upwards and Jeremiah was reaching for his gun and the stranger’s fist crashed into his faceplate and threw Jeremiah back enough the human could land a heavy kick to his chest. He felt every component in him rattle from the blow and as he toppled the human overturned the table to block the shots from the gun the bartender had pulled. Ricochets whined as they sprang from the steel.

The first maxim: humans wore the skins of machines as armour, to give them strength and camouflage. Do not underestimate their strength.

Jeremiah rolled to his feet and pulled his gun. A metallic click from the other side of the table suggested the human had done the same, and Jeremiah overturned his own table and took cover. The bartender fired again, and the ricochet glanced off the human’s table. With a thunderous roar, the human fired his, and the shot went through the table, the bartender’s CPU, and a bottle behind him, sending him crashing to the floor in an explosion of sparks and greenish coolant. Deactivated, and he hadn’t so much as scratched the human’s paint.

The second maxim: humans had many weapons, and all were of great power. Even outnumbered, do not expect to outgun them. Do not underestimate their firepower.

His own gun was powerful, designed to penetrate the thick steel of human armour. While their insides were fleshy and fragile, they wore metal designed for war, rather than the common labour of most machines. He aimed where the human should be, pulled the trigger, and was awarded with the crack of a round going off. A neat hole appeared in the table, but the human had shifted around and rolled behind the end of the bartop, his own gun blasting a fist sized chunk of Jeremiah’s cover into the air. A second shot – aimed – took out a light, casting much of the room into darkness. Backlit, the lawbot would be an easy target.

The third maxim: despite the unreliability of Flesh, humans were warriors, and needed no software to fight. Do not underestimate their skills.

Jeremiah settled into cover, aiming where the human would emerge. A slight shift in the shadows was his only warning and he pulled the trigger, rewarded with a cry of pain. The human ducked back, unwilling to stick out something again. For a moment, there was quiet again, like the moment after and exhalation. Jeremiah picked up the faint patter of droplets hitting the planks of the floor.

The human was bleeding.

The fourth maxim: humans, when cornered, only fight more fiercely. Do not underestimate them when injured.

He saw motion again, fired, but all that blew apart was a glass bottle of lubricant, and the human rose over the bar and his handcannon barked. A terrible impact hit the lawbot and his left arm failed to respond as he brought his own gun to bear. A final pair of shots exchanged, and Jeremiah had a hole through his cooling banks. The human had a hole into his chest, and a red fluid welled from the pierced armour. He slumped back, and Jeremiah remembered the fifth maxim and dived for cover.

The fifth maxim: humans are dangerous, even in death. Do not underestimate them when slain.

The humans had reduced half the world to dust rather than let it fall to their machine children. Their agents reflected this mindset, still. The human’s armour beeped twice before it detonated. The thin bar was pulped by the explosion, oil combusting and adding to the explosion. Splinters and shrapnel howled through the air like banshees.
Jeremiah stood up with difficulty, regarding the smoking crater the deactivated human had left. His left arm hung unresponsive, his coolant was leaking. But he’d won, and that was one less human in the world.

He left.

-Will go though this shortly.-

[Tiruin]

Spoiler: A Merciless Love (click to show/hide)

I’m spitting blood. Swaying on my feet. You’re not much better.

You grin, a ghastly sight of bruised flesh and split lips, and you’ve never been quite so beautiful. The softness of your body has turned to steel. All charm – feminine and otherwise – has been stripped away, replaced with thinly padded gloves and a hard plastic headguard. The smell of the arena is your perfume – a heady musk of sweat and blood, pain and determination. Our gasping breaths drink it greedily.

Your prowling footsteps are drumbeats, booming over the background roar of the crowd. Like the crashing of the sea upon the cliffs, it rises and falls with every blow and every move. It’s a song only for us, and we move in a duet, acting, reacting. Our bodies know the steps from countless bouts. It’s a fierce, bloody jig, but we’d never turn down a dance together.

My body aches with every thundering heartbeat – my flesh from your blows, my heart with love for the fearsome goddess before me; my Eris, circling me like a wolf, fists raised. This ring is your temple, and with every battle, I become ever more your worshipper.

You asked me via PM and I responded that I'd get to this :x
...I was busy in the last days and still am--sorry for lacking response and participation!

How many days left until prompt end, by the way? Thinking to get back into all this given the [freedom of free time, as exemplified in my situation perfectly, here]

For me, how I read the transition between the first paragraph and the second gave me a bit of confusion where the PoV was describing. I saw two different things at the same time before moving to one or the other [when the pronouns became 'we'] after getting deeper into the second paragraph; first would be the original 'speaker' describing the whole scenario, and describing what the second entity is doing due to the emotional impact in the first paragraph. The second, being that the first paragraph was a totally different voice than the second--as the start of the second sounds like a self-description and the story being written as from a second-person PoV. [Think: Roguelike description method. It uses a second-person voice.]

That said, I like how the narrative goes. It sounded poetic in the end, and after (my) confusion subsided, I realized the emotional theme that was being presented; it meshed well with the adjectives and superlatives you were using.
The blood bit threw me off in guessing what the subjects were talking about though. Dancing vampires or dueling fighters basking in the expertise of each other? ._.
It's very well written though. I think I just got lost halfway!


Also a friend chimed in: He thinks that in starting your second paragraph, perhaps a change of tense may be better to convey the shift of viewpoint. I agree with him, but unsure what specific I can give for critique.

[TD1]

I've got two essays due for Monday, so no writing from me until day or so after that I'd say, though I have started.