Post by Skull132 on Jan 16, 2014 17:19:39 GMT
So, I often enough get bored in school/class/at home, and write random things. Sometimes they relate to characters in SS13, sometimes they relate to nothing, other times they're just musings. Last item of the list can also be created in a near delirious state that occurs after having stayed up for a stupidly long amount of time during a schoolday, and refusing to "call it" just yet.
As a result of the aforementioned circumstances, I have a small collection of musings and short writing projects. Some were destined to be a part of bigger things that I just left there, to collect dust. Regardless, I figured that I'd just share whatever decent writing I come up with, and decide to leave there.
And hopefully have some of you leave interesting things for reading as well!
Again, feel free to contribute your own writings, musings, whatever to this thread!
As a result of the aforementioned circumstances, I have a small collection of musings and short writing projects. Some were destined to be a part of bigger things that I just left there, to collect dust. Regardless, I figured that I'd just share whatever decent writing I come up with, and decide to leave there.
And hopefully have some of you leave interesting things for reading as well!
{Keep of Man}(Written as a hurried exercise for English class. Task was to "write about your dream island", but I decided to be creative about it, and neglect the palm trees, and everything else in a classic definition of the term.)
It would be easy enough to dream of peace and nature, tranquility and water. But to dream of metal and industry, of something forged with hammer and flame? I chose to do this.
On the waters of a desolate ocean floats a metal carcass. Firmly gripping the vast oceanic floor with cable and strut. The shell spans miles every which way, only to end with port, fence or vessel regardless of perspective and direction.
On this husk of metal and steel are latches buildings, reaching towards the sky, tall enough to grasp the very clouds themselves. They are constructs of cold steel and clear glass, each set for their own purpose. Tallest to hose who govern, and those who hold power; lesser for the commoner and entities smaller.
On each day, the sun will set with a crimson shade, the final rays masked by the titan silhouettes. The calmness of the eve forever concealed by the constant bustle of firm and man, of industry and progress. The myriad of faces all but a part in the behemoth workings of the isle. For each a class, a purpose, a goal.
And so it will stay, in this keep of man.
It would be easy enough to dream of peace and nature, tranquility and water. But to dream of metal and industry, of something forged with hammer and flame? I chose to do this.
On the waters of a desolate ocean floats a metal carcass. Firmly gripping the vast oceanic floor with cable and strut. The shell spans miles every which way, only to end with port, fence or vessel regardless of perspective and direction.
On this husk of metal and steel are latches buildings, reaching towards the sky, tall enough to grasp the very clouds themselves. They are constructs of cold steel and clear glass, each set for their own purpose. Tallest to hose who govern, and those who hold power; lesser for the commoner and entities smaller.
On each day, the sun will set with a crimson shade, the final rays masked by the titan silhouettes. The calmness of the eve forever concealed by the constant bustle of firm and man, of industry and progress. The myriad of faces all but a part in the behemoth workings of the isle. For each a class, a purpose, a goal.
And so it will stay, in this keep of man.
{An Endless Road} (Written last year, on a series of late nights after school. Expect a decent lot of grammatical mistakes due to the state of writing, I've removed some, but some will surely remain. This has a half-finished follow-up chapter, and I do like the character/idea, consider this as a fan fic for the Elder Scrolls universe, so I might pick it up at some point.)
Before me, an endless road. Behind me, the shouts of my pursuers, and the sounds of their armour-clad feet hitting the hard, dirt path. The weight of my main blade, slung over my back, is getting more and more difficult to deal with. Every so often, I hear the distinct sound of a bow-string being let loose, and it sending an arrow towards me. This forces me to sidestep away, to loose speed, in return for safety, but it also causes my attackers to close the gap even more. I cannot continue this, it must end!
Soon, a strategy emerges - a plan! Returning the fight to the enemy is, by now, the only plan capable of giving me the smallest glimmer of hope. Having ensured that the path to my front is clear of anything I might trip on, I take a look at my chestplate, more specifically, the bandolier running across it. On it, 3 scrolls, and a smaller pouch. I bring my right hand into contact with one of the scrolls, and my left hand with another. An instance after, I feel my hands holding a great amount of magicka within them. Twisting my torso to the right, I release the power contained within the grasp of my right hand, unleashing a fiery burst upon my enemies. A second after, I repeat the motions in a mirrored fashion, releasing another burst of fire and flame. I keep running. The clanking of elven metal is still present, the effects of my stunt were smaller than expect.
It's time to fight. I lessen my stride, and start slowing down. Once fully halted, I remove my blade from it's place with my right hand, resting its tip in the dirt. My pursuers form the beginnings of a circle to my front. At least four archers, twice as many bladesmen, and singular mage. All of them Altmer, all of them dressed in Thalmor armour.
The mage steps forward from the rest, "So, Dunmer, you finally done running?"
He was tired, winded, so were all of them, and so was I. Each of the archers had the bowstrings at full pull, an elven arrowhead ready to strike me. The swordsmen ready to charge, and the mage contemplating my end. The lush forests of Cyrodiil provide a good playground for this event.
"Well then! Dunmer! What will it be?!"
To answer his question, my left hand reaches for the final potent scroll on my bandolier. Its energy quickly caught in my palm, and just as quickly released, to wash over my body. The Altmer quickly notice my move, and respond with their own. The archers release their arrows, and quickly draw new ones, to no avail. The arrows quickly bounce of the layer of magicka covering my body. This is my cue.
I start building up speed, charging towards my foes, foe, my sword in tow. As the distance between me and the mage grows smaller, I lift my sword, and grasp it with both of my hands. My target is stumped, one could see fear in his eyes. Near the end of my charge, I raise my blade, only to have it cut into the flesh of my foe. I push the blade down, into the cut I've created upon his left shoulder, choosing to keep pushing past the bone, deeper into his flesh. Once the act is complete, I push his near-lifeless body off my blade, out of way, and start my charge towards the remainder of the opposition. The next target I simply impale with my main sword, with the unfortunate side-effect of loosing my balance. The result of my weariness, I'm sure. I had no time to retrieve my sword from the enemy that decided to smite me in his final moments. Instead, I opted for my back-up, a longsword. Without a shield, I used my left hand to guard against enemy attacks, while dealing damage with the blade.Note however, that this was a measured danger, I've always kept my left hand in a heavier gauntlet for purposes such as this.
With their leader fallen from my initial blow, the Thalmor posed little resistance. After a few minutes of ferocious fighting, all of them had fallen, while I managed to escape with nothing more than a few new scratches on my blade, and armour. I brushed the blood from my longblade, and put it back into its scabbard. I then retrieved my main blade, and placed it onto my right shoulder, where I had a thick leather patch kept it in place.
I chose to walk until the evening sun was no longer visible. I ended up nowhere, a place where the road just kept on scrolling. I needed to rest. To do, I walk off the track a bit, finding a nice, old tree to sit under. I rested my greatsword on the tree, and dozed off under the star-riddled sky.
Before me, an endless road. Behind me, the shouts of my pursuers, and the sounds of their armour-clad feet hitting the hard, dirt path. The weight of my main blade, slung over my back, is getting more and more difficult to deal with. Every so often, I hear the distinct sound of a bow-string being let loose, and it sending an arrow towards me. This forces me to sidestep away, to loose speed, in return for safety, but it also causes my attackers to close the gap even more. I cannot continue this, it must end!
Soon, a strategy emerges - a plan! Returning the fight to the enemy is, by now, the only plan capable of giving me the smallest glimmer of hope. Having ensured that the path to my front is clear of anything I might trip on, I take a look at my chestplate, more specifically, the bandolier running across it. On it, 3 scrolls, and a smaller pouch. I bring my right hand into contact with one of the scrolls, and my left hand with another. An instance after, I feel my hands holding a great amount of magicka within them. Twisting my torso to the right, I release the power contained within the grasp of my right hand, unleashing a fiery burst upon my enemies. A second after, I repeat the motions in a mirrored fashion, releasing another burst of fire and flame. I keep running. The clanking of elven metal is still present, the effects of my stunt were smaller than expect.
It's time to fight. I lessen my stride, and start slowing down. Once fully halted, I remove my blade from it's place with my right hand, resting its tip in the dirt. My pursuers form the beginnings of a circle to my front. At least four archers, twice as many bladesmen, and singular mage. All of them Altmer, all of them dressed in Thalmor armour.
The mage steps forward from the rest, "So, Dunmer, you finally done running?"
He was tired, winded, so were all of them, and so was I. Each of the archers had the bowstrings at full pull, an elven arrowhead ready to strike me. The swordsmen ready to charge, and the mage contemplating my end. The lush forests of Cyrodiil provide a good playground for this event.
"Well then! Dunmer! What will it be?!"
To answer his question, my left hand reaches for the final potent scroll on my bandolier. Its energy quickly caught in my palm, and just as quickly released, to wash over my body. The Altmer quickly notice my move, and respond with their own. The archers release their arrows, and quickly draw new ones, to no avail. The arrows quickly bounce of the layer of magicka covering my body. This is my cue.
I start building up speed, charging towards my foes, foe, my sword in tow. As the distance between me and the mage grows smaller, I lift my sword, and grasp it with both of my hands. My target is stumped, one could see fear in his eyes. Near the end of my charge, I raise my blade, only to have it cut into the flesh of my foe. I push the blade down, into the cut I've created upon his left shoulder, choosing to keep pushing past the bone, deeper into his flesh. Once the act is complete, I push his near-lifeless body off my blade, out of way, and start my charge towards the remainder of the opposition. The next target I simply impale with my main sword, with the unfortunate side-effect of loosing my balance. The result of my weariness, I'm sure. I had no time to retrieve my sword from the enemy that decided to smite me in his final moments. Instead, I opted for my back-up, a longsword. Without a shield, I used my left hand to guard against enemy attacks, while dealing damage with the blade.Note however, that this was a measured danger, I've always kept my left hand in a heavier gauntlet for purposes such as this.
With their leader fallen from my initial blow, the Thalmor posed little resistance. After a few minutes of ferocious fighting, all of them had fallen, while I managed to escape with nothing more than a few new scratches on my blade, and armour. I brushed the blood from my longblade, and put it back into its scabbard. I then retrieved my main blade, and placed it onto my right shoulder, where I had a thick leather patch kept it in place.
I chose to walk until the evening sun was no longer visible. I ended up nowhere, a place where the road just kept on scrolling. I needed to rest. To do, I walk off the track a bit, finding a nice, old tree to sit under. I rested my greatsword on the tree, and dozed off under the star-riddled sky.
Again, feel free to contribute your own writings, musings, whatever to this thread!
