Training Grounds, model D-17

[Janaril]

This looks like the correct place for this, or at least, as a correct a place as I've found here.

So! Partly because I need another creative outlet, partly because I have characters that need to be fleshed out, and partly to see if I can improve my writing, the training grounds have opened! I am going to be using this to focus on individual aspects of my writing, breaking it all down into little blocks before building it back up again.

The characters Kalvek, Neera, Sedge, Nethren, and Tebetha will be featured here, as my go-to guinie pigs when it comes to testing anything out. And the aspects I will be focusing on? Well, we'll get to each of those as they come, no reason to plan too far ahead

However, since I have my first piece ready for the grounds, I might as well post the first Aspect now. And it is...

~-~-~-~-~
Monologues
~-~-~-~-~

[Janaril]

Kalvek[/u]

"Hello. My name is Kalvek. How are you? What are you doing tonight? Where did you get that? Good bye. Have fun! I'm sorry. Just leave...

What do each of these phrases have in common? They're used every day, every moment, thousands of times, usually without being thought about in the least. We expect to hear them, anticipate them and plan our social interactions around these and similar statements. Pretty simple, yes? The building blocks of communication, you could say. However, what these blocks can build, they can also tear down.

For example, you run into me on the street. Usually, a passing conversation as we go our separate ways would sound something like this:

'Hello-'

'-Hey.'

'How are you?'

'Good, you?'

'Good.'

'Later.'

'Bye.'

Simple, yes? The words themselves might change with some variation, but overall it's the same. A short, basic conversation, over in mere seconds, with seemingly no effect on either of us what so ever.

But then, what if this happened?

'Hello-'

'-No.'

How would you react here? How would you be affected by this even shorter conversation? Would you be shaken? Confused? Would you walk by wondering what you did, that I would not wish to speak with you, wondering if I was angry or hated you?

Or suppose I answered with 'lamp', or 'AACK!!' or laughed or cried or yelled, or anything aside from the expected variant of 'hello'? Again, you would be affected by the change, in one way or the other, a feeling that would stay with you even after we passed. One small exchange of words, and the outcome could influence you for the rest of the day, possibly even longer. Seemingly innocent as these pieces are, the very instant you step outside the boundaries of conventional conversation, you become a danger to those around you.

This is what makes language so powerful. Not the words themselves -they are meaningless- but because of the expectations we have when entering conversation. We have a set of unwritten rules and codes that we hold close to our hearts. We try to follow them to the letter when it comes to speech and social interaction, and woe to whatever poor soul accidentally breaks such a rule. For of course they are broken all the time, we are in no way perfect beings. But the lesson I am getting at here is that, if you truly understand these rules and conventions, you can, effectively, control the very moods and thoughts of the people around you.

What, you though 'mind control' was nothing but a fantasy? Oh no! It is alive and well, just not as overblown as a novel might have you guess. I can make you happy or sad, angry or embarrassed, simply by the choice of my words. I can bolster your confidence, or tear it to the ground. One word can mean the difference from the best and worst day of your life, and I control it all. Not you, me, and him, and her, everyone you interact with has a hold on your mind and your heart.

Grim, isn't it? But it is a truth you need to realize, for it brings with it a gift of sorts. You see, once you understand how fickle and easily manipulated your emotions and thoughts can be, you can better guard against such actions, accidental or intentional. Understand the power of social constraints and the codes of communication, learn to recognize when these have been broken, and stay clear of the harmful impact they might inflict upon your psyche.

That is all I have to say, I hope you have learned a thing or two? If so, thank you,

and fuck off."

[Janaril]

Tebetha[/u]

"I've been labeled everything from a whore to a saint, coward to hero, calm to fanatic. I've been praised, cursed, compared to any number of other peoples, real or mythical. It's different every day, never the same, never expected. But that's what I love about it all, this life I have here. For in the end, there is only my name that need be constant: Tebetha, nothing else matters in the least.

You don't understand? I suppose it would be difficult to grasp, but in truth it is simplicity itself. Every day I wake up knowing my name, knowing that it is the same name I have had since birth, and knowing that it is the same name I will have until I die. What other assurance do I need? No matter what I do, no matter what I'm called or what occurs in the world around me, nothing can change my name. It is constant, divine, above all earthly influence. It is because of this that I can live as I do. My name is my constant, the one thing in life I can count on, and so I approach the rest as it comes, a life of impulse, as pure as it can be.

Think of the people who plan their whole lives before them. They know every day what will come next, sometimes down to the finest of detail. They wake and sleep easily, safe in the security of their plans, all their constants, meticulously maintained. A good life? I am certain for some it is paradise itself, but it is not the one for me.

You see, such a life holds one of two inevitable ends. The first is that your life will not follow to plan, that changes will arise unexpectedly, rocking you from your security and smothering you in disappointment and grief. The other path ends in a content life, but always with that small, nagging voice in the back of your head. It questions constantly, wondering why you did not try this, or what may have happened if you did that, the regrets of what may have been haunting you until you're dying day. Call me a pessimist, or condemn my words as cynical, but it is the blunt truth. This world holds more than a mere plan can cover, and what's the harm of spending a year or two in prison? Or serving as a nun or priest for a similar time? Why not try living on the streets, and then in a mansion? I live by impulse, it is my guide and my guardian. I am as likely to strike a man for angering me, as I am to kiss him for allowing me to experience such an emotion. I am as likely to loan you money as I am to steal it, I may confess my love to you one day and attempt to kill you the next.

A ridiculous life? Hah! Hardly! Tell me, who is more wise? The man who reads books written by older men who read books, regurgitating his 'knowledge' to the masses as if it were the undoubtable truth? The man who cages birds and beasts in a padded room, holding contained experiments and declaring them to prove something about us all?

Or perhaps I should narrow my question. Would you ask either of those about what it must be like to spend time in prison, or what it was like to be rich, or poor? Or would you rather seek out a poor man, or a prisoner, or one of the wealthy, and ask them? How can books or experiments hope to compare to the real, sensual experience itself? How do you know fire burns unless you touch it? How do you know what it feels to murder someone unless you try it? How can you then claim to possess such knowledge, to share it with others, when in fact you yourself do not know? Am I a fool for seeking true wisdom in my own way? Am I somehow wrong in wishing to experience all this world has to offer?

To be honest, I really don't care if you think so or not. While I say this in an attempt to help you understand my way of life, your feelings and opinions here don't matter in the least. This is my life, after all, not yours, or his, or theirs. I am Tebetha, not anyone else, and while that remains true everything can come and go as it pleases to. So call me insane, or evil, or wise, or anything your little mind can conjure. If I sleep with you tomorrow, call me your lover, if I curse you out today, say that you hate me. It all changes, more often than you want to realize. And so I stand unaffected by it all, living my life however it comes.

You are you, they are they, I am me. Live your life how you please, by plan or not, but remember this:

You will die one day, either tomorrow or in a hundred years. When that time comes, do you want to pass content? Or burdened by the weight of regret?

The choice, as always, lies with no one else, but you."

[Janaril]

Sedge[/u]

"A so-called philosopher approached me once, interrogating me in some attempt to discover what logic stood behind my actions.

'Sedge, my Lord,' he began, 'Why is it that you do not consult with those such as me, to help guide your actions? A philosopher's knowledge runs deep, and always is used for the good of the whole, would not a kingdom benefit from such wisdom?' Or words to a similar effect.

Could you imagine, a man approaching me with such audacity? But that is the nature of such 'wise' men. They claim to seek a sort of utopian justice that would allow everyone to live the best life that they can. They say that the wise must rule, for they are the ones who can see what is just, and by their guidance the state can flourish. In such a society, no citizen will would be wrongfully judged guilty or innocent. All matters would be weighed upon the scales of justice, high above the bestial emotions and fits of passion that would otherwise lead out state into ruin.

Sounds wonderful, doesn't it? A perfect society, led by the wisest of the wise? Does that not sound like a dream come true?

No, it does not. It's simply arrogant bull shit in the end.

It is only natural that a wise man would say only the wise can truly rule a state well and justly. Likewise, the soldier will say it takes a strong man, that no one less than a warrior could hold the state together. The common people will claim that they all should rule, that the voice of the many rings truer than any single man. In the end, it's simple ego, as human as our body and mind. A wise man could never accept that a warrior could somehow be a better lord than he, and likewise in reverse, nor could the people accept that one of them was somehow superior to the whole. To accept something like that would be akin to accepting your own way of life was somehow inferior, and no man's pride could allow that.

So then, I suppose you might ask, is there such a thing as an ideal ruler?

Well certainly... It's me.

And the fact that I can claim, here and now, with all of my pride and ego, that I am the ideal? That only proves it.

The simple truth is, 'ideal' itself is subjective, it changes to fit the situation. An 'ideal state' simply means a form of government where the people are happy, where they are equal or better off than those living anywhere else. Such an ideal cannot truly exist in the states of wise men, or of soldiers, or of the people, for there will always be someone who is forgotten, and left behind.

But that is not true here, thanks to the very nature of our world.

War and famine, peace and recreation, industry and prosperity, in an endless cycle we are beset by these forces. One after the other, they come and go, altering our very lives in the most drastic of ways. So then, how does one rule in such a world? How does one maintain the 'ideal' when one's life style varies so dramatically? One adapts, of course, performing the best role as the situation calls for.


When war and famine ravage the land, the Lord must become as hard as the times. The laws are strict, the punishments severe, the food carefully rationed. These times are full of uncertainty and fear, and so you must be the constant, as unmoving and cold as the monolithic rock. everything is black and white, no grey can be allowed to exist, lest it spark a panic. Your people must know that they are good, that their foes are evil. They must know that, as long as the law is followed, they will have their life and bread. Those who follow the laws are patriots, those who fight for the state are heroes, and those who stray from the straight and narrow are traitors and cowards, fit nor naught but death. This is how you must rule, for the people will find comfort in your cold visage, knowing that, while the world around them may be going to hell, there are things that will remain unchanging.

Yet of course, while such a stance is well suited for the hardest of times, when peace arrives and rebuilding begins, the Lord must ease his pressure, and soften with the times. It is here where the laws are relaxed, where grey becomes the dominate shade, where food is made plentiful and rebuilding made swift. After the age of strife, it does the people well to be indulged, for they have been starved of all but fear for so long. Allow them their fun, show leniency in your judgments, let the people savor their reward, for staying with you through the hard times. It is now when the well-being of your citizens surpasses all else. If word arrives that a neighboring State is enjoying a greater way of life than yours, people may leave, or become discontent. If you try to remain hard, the people will revolt, as your attitude runs contrary to the times. Abolish fear wherever it may be found, and foster in your people a love for you and the state, a newborn pride in having survived such hard times before.

And then, we approach the final age, of industry, prosperity and advancement. This is likely the hardest time to rule, for it is here that the traditional fades in the face of the modern. New wonders are discovered, new technology and new thoughts, it is enough to strike fear into the hearts of the most confident Lords... but do not allow it! Far too many Kings have survived the first two times, only to fall in the end, because they feared the new would become their downfall. In truth, it is the successful Lord that capitalizes on the modern, who takes advantage of the passing of tradition and the newfound wealth of his people. Allow your people to discover, to invent, to learn, while remaining secure in the fact that your rule is indeed greater than anyone else's. Do not become over-avaricious in your taxing, for the more money your people have in their pockets, the more they spend, and the happier they will be. Likewise, to not try to control the flow of knowledge too much, in fact, foster it instead, and allow your people to realize that you are indeed the best they could have. Now is the time for you to truly cement your ruler ship, and also, it is the time to take your advantage. Through craft and cleverness, attempt to move the people away from traditions that may undermine your rule, replace them or twist them so that they will instead serve to your benefit. For as long as your place is secure, you can act without fear or hesitation. It is the confident ruler who is ideal, for the moment you begin to wonder if you might be overthrown, you have already ruined yourself.


You see, a static ruler is a failed ruler, and this is why I claim to be Ideal. As the times change, so do I, ever adapting to serve the people for the good of all. Do I take advantage of my position? Why of course, because one must secure their rule if they are to secure the good of the State. The individual exists at the will of the whole, but the whole is influenced directly by the individual. As I control the people, as I ensure their contentment and loyalty, I ensure my own place as Lord and leader.

So as you can guess, I answered the philosopher with little but derisive laughter. For in the end, since I am the Ideal ruler of the Ideal state, what use have I of advisers? Obviously none, and if you need that explained to you as well, I suggest you leave now, before you approach the end of my leniency."

[Janaril]

Neera[/u]

" I'm a very 'down to earth' person, according to some. I'm also 'reclusive', 'temperamental', 'kind', 'mean', 'funny', 'dull', and probably half-a-dozen other things that others have not yet built up the nerve to speak in my earshot. It seems that everyone has a different idea of who I am, of what I'm like, of why I say what I say and do what I do. Now yes, there is certainly some overlap, a sort of 'baseline Neera' that almost everyone who's met me could probably agree on. But then, is that me? My actual personality and who I am?

You might say 'yes', in which case I would have to tell you to get the hell out of my sight.

Oh, was that a bit harsh? So declare me so then, and argue with the person you'll run into somewhere who is somehow convinced that I am the kindest person to ever grace this earth. It doesn't matter what you claim to know me as, it won't change my reaction. Why? Because you've allowed your first impressions of me to color your view of my every action, and the truth is that nothing you 'think' I am is actually me.

For the same matter, my impressions of you are almost certainly false to your true identity, it's the same for everyone, a grand deception that we are all quite skilled at performing.

And the reason? For survival, of course, because of the very rules and regulations that come with living the social, civilized life under government that we all strive for.

I'm sure you know of these 'unwritten codes' of sorts, as they dictate our every thought and action. When someone greets you, you greet them back. Kindness is met with kindness, hostility with defense, pain with empathy, and so on. We unconsciously strive to work together in the state, it is the reason behind why we conform, why we reject those who do not, why we seek so dearly to find like minds and souls to live beside.

We people are social animals, we require community for survival and growth. Our minds know this better than we ever could, and so they deceive and accept deceptions every second we are awake.

To get back onto topic, your first impressions of me do not reflect my fundamental personality, but neither do my own actions. You see, everything I do is influenced by the fear of how others will perceive me, while the impressions you make are influenced by the fear of finding someone who cannot be related to. I act according to a set of rules and patterns to create a persona I think will be accepted and liked. You perceive my actions and alter them, tweaking them here and there so that they become acceptable in your mind. This is why we diversity and deviation is acceptable to a certain degree, and why you do not have to be exactly the same as me -or even like me- in order to accept that I belong.

Confusing? I guess it could be, so think of it this way...

I pass you on the street one night. Let's ignore the cycle for simplicities sake, the situation would be expected to go like this:

'Hello there,' you say, passing by.

'Hello.' I answer, we continue our own ways, and all is well.

Now, imagine if this happened.

'Hello there,' you say, passing by.

I don't answer, don't even acknowledge you as I walk past, as if you didn't even exist.

How would you react? It would give you pause, at least, since my reaction was outside of the expected norm. But then, you see, your mind would compensate. You would realize that I had simply not heard you, or had been too busy with something. You will bring it up later, jokingly, when we meet again, and I would laugh, embarrassed, agreeing with your assumption and leaving us both at ease.

Of course, all of that would be lies, stacking atop one another, but that's how life is.

People try to stress the need for truth and fact, when in reality our very existence depends on the exact opposite. We are scared to know that someone may not like us, we are terrified by the thought that we might not be accepted, and the idea that someone else may not fit in is even more frightening. So we craft this little utopia we call life. In here, we work tirelessly to cultivate a public image that others will find acceptable, while simultaneously altering our perceptions of the images of others so that they fit our concept of conformity. Very little that we think we know of someone is actually true, and we like it that way, because know we can all co-exist and survive.

So why did I call you a fool before, for wanting to believe these lies to be truth?

It's simple, really. I needed to grab your attention in order to get you to hear my words.

Now, of course, you could argue that I was, in fact, terrified of the thought that my cultivated image might take over my true self. If you believe that, then this entire speech was simply an elaborate deception to draw you away from that conclusion, to re-write your perception of me into something suitable for us both.

Or maybe it was something completely different, it's up to you. After all, my actions have been played out. Now it's up to you, to complete the deception as you see acceptable.

Have fun."

[Janaril]

~-~-~-~-~
Description
~-~-~-~-~

Kalvek Shadesworn

He sat in the corner of the tavern, boots of worn, brown leather resting easily on the table as his shirtless form sagged in the booth. The flame of a single candle flickered shadows across the pale, almost translucent skin of his chest, muscle and vein clearly visible beneath. A battered straw hat lay atop his head, leaning precariously forwards to cast impenetrable shadow across his face. Only his mouth was visible, standing atop a clean-shaven chin. It curled slightly, only slightly, a grin as full of confidence as it was with pleasure.

The picture of slothful comfort, it would be hard for a single person to make the wooden bench and table appear any more luxurious. His pants were of leather, like his boots, yet bore so many patches and repairs that it could hardly be called so anymore. And indeed, if the style was anything to go by, it seemed as if he had kept this particular pair for decades, if not longer. Perhaps they were his father's? Grandfather's? If anything was to be the judge, they certainly looked to be ancient.

So why would he be here, in this Inn, of all places? A nod to the barkeep is the only action this man must take to receive a drink, a pair of gold coins glimmering in the firelight as they danced around the fingers of his free hand. No foaming mug of ale was held up to those sarcastic lips, but wine sipped delicately through a glass he himself provided. The bottle itself remaining on the table, resting in a bed of ice, waiting to be emptied of its contents. A second glass is present, as well, standing alone and empty across from the man, before an equally vacant bench.

Alone, and yet he has prepared the table for two? No one comes to sit, and indeed he does not appear to be waiting for any friend or guest. An open invitation? Perhaps... and as the crystal courier of the man's drink *clinks* softly upon the tender wood of the table, he looks up and over, to you.

A tilt of the head, a small glimmer in the shadows of his face, the question is asked without sound.

Would you be the one, to take him up on his offer?

[Janaril]

Lord Sedge

You could say the Throne was built for the man who sat upon it, could say that no other could possibly be worthy to rest upon its ornate seat. You could say this, but that would never be true. After all, the throne was just a throne, as identical in form and purpose to every other such piece that was found in every other kingdom and state across the earth.

Truly, for the man that sat there now, even the throne was unworthy.

His hair was brown, with a crimson hue that gave it a look reminiscent of clotted blood. Perfectly trimmed and groomed, as immaculately maintained as every other detail of his persona, not a strand ran astray from the pack, for fear of those terrible eyes that lurked below.

Those eyes, permanently stained by the red moon's glare, as pure a red as could ever be imagined. Whether his face lifted in happiness or mercy, or contorted into rage or sadness, those eyes never moved. Always red, always staring. The kind of gaze you feared to have fall upon you, yet longed for at the same time. No lesser being could possess a gaze such as he, reserved but for the kings of men, eyes of power, primal and resolute. The strength of his jaw? The pale, flawless flesh of his face and hands? The muscled form that rippled under expensive cloths from unheard-of places? Mere nothings, all of them, inconsequential to the last.

No, it was his eyes, and those alone. Ivory orbs stolen from the heavens, carved by gods and filled with crimson life. With a glance you were honored, with a glare condemned. If this man never spoke a word in his life, nothing would change. His voice served merely as a courier, a proud vassal of the true power, the power that was both feared and loved.

Perhaps that is why he sits so proudly upon that unworthy construct of wood and cloth, resting easily on what was little more than trash. He needed nothing made for him, needed nothing to be worthy of him, indeed, he needed nothing at all. Dressed as a lord or beggar, sitting upon gold or filth, nothing would change.

But why would it, for a King?

[Janaril]

Neera

Her figure rests amidst the dusty aroma of book and parchment, reclining upon wisdom and knowledge, surrounded by a hushed silence.

It is enough to deceive one to think, that this woman and the knowledge she cares for are one and the same. The living, breathing embodiment of the Archive, holding the same claim as every book and written word held within.

Hair of Ivory caps the peak of her tactly-dressed form, drifting soft as snowfall to curl upon her shoulders. Tanned skin stands exotic in comparison to the tones of her kin, azure eyes shining brilliant in contrast. Her lips are a natural pink, a subtle strike of color to finish off a face as quick to mirth as to anger. The moonlight serves in place of jewelry, filtered through dust and shelf, as the very scent of the archives is her perfume. A figure of color against the pale backdrop of history, she reclines with ease along a seat plush with cushions, an aura of peace that compels you to obey.

And you do, your very thoughts hushed as you pass by the figure who lays there now. No dress serves to preserve her modesty, but instead a simple tunic and pair of leather leggings. Her clothing is soft and simple, of earthy browns and forest greens trimmed in gold. Simple, and yet maintained with such care, every piece meant to serve both function and appearance, cleaned and cared for so as to preserve the image. Her comfort is one well-deserved, a respite from both work and debate, not born from sloth or any such sin. It is a comfort not to be disturbed, for to do so would be to belittle all she did to earn it. And it is for that reason that even the mice scamper just a bit quieter, the wind whistling just a little softer.

One eye opens, that brilliant azure to complete the pallet of color that was her. Her gaze catches yours but for a moment, one long, slender finger lifting to lay over her lips. And if the very aura of this place hadn't warned you already, and if the gesture had left you just a bit unsure, those ivory brows lowered to remind you in no-uncertain terms.

Silence, the Archive is resting.

[Meleta/Isoldaa]

(( Normally, we do this off AWR, but... why not throw in a bit of something on the thread too? XD

I really do like the second-to-last paragraph/last sentence combination a lot. It worked perfectly to combine all you intended in the first couple of paragraphs.

I had to re-read the first sentence, though, when I got down to the place where you finally mentioned where she actually WAS sitting. Also, "ivory" doesn't need to be capitalized.

The following, you might want to consider expanding/expounding on/clarifiying as well? The sentences are a touch confusing, I think?

"It is enough to deceive one to think, that this woman and the knowledge she cares for are one and the same. The living, breathing embodiment of the Archive, holding the same claim as every book and written word held within."

This is the only place where I have to admit, I wasn't so sure what you were trying to tell the reader?

But then at the third and fourth paragraphs you hit your stride, and I could nod my head and see and feel the person you were describing - really quite lovely! And again, the last two portions? Love those! The imagery works brilliantly. ))

[Janaril]

Tebetha

A tongue slides slowly, delicately, along lips painted a sinful crimson. Lips that match the eyes, in color and intent, curling in coy amusement as that tongue slips away to hide.

The woman's face remains hidden, an ivory mask concealing all but the eyes and those smiling lips. Ebon locks flow down to frame her face, curling across the pale flesh of her neck and shoulders. As your eyes travel lower, flesh dashes to hide behind the soft golden silks of a fine dress. Falling down to bare, delicate feet, yet slitted to allow one long, slender leg to cross of the other, it completes the image inspired by the mask above. Fitting to every curve, revealing nothing of value, yet teasing all the same, a subtle instigation.

That playful smile only widens as her eyes follow yours, a slow nod of the head sending her hair into a teasing bounce and curl. Approval is written in on her lips, contentment radiated in how she reclines upon the sofa, her lithe form occupying by herself a space meant for more. Wine of only the finest vintage is held by the crystal glass in her hand now, held up to an expectant mouth for but a moment, lips shimmering an only deeper red when whetted by the wine's smooth taste.

And yet, despite the glamour, the very air of nobility in which she reclines in now, the minor details cannot help but stand out. From the callus on one middle finger, built from too many hours holding a pen. From the faint scar on one arm, from the toned muscle of her leg. From a little thing here, or there, not quite fitting the image, but not meaning to.

Pieces of images past, or those merely shelved for a time. A life here, a moment there, a sense of experience in those tempting eyes. Have you seen her before, in another profession? A waitress, maybe, or a scribe or performer? A wanted poster? Receiving a bounty?

Of course, it all makes sense now.

No matter what the scene, no matter the outfit, agenda or time of night.

No one could forget as that tongue slides slowly, delicately. No one could mistake those lips, painted a sinful, lovely crimson.

[Janaril]

Memory in Conversation

Kalvek

"Last blue cycle?"

*Acquiring data, time period -2 to -3.*

"Hmm, let me see..."

*Time period established. Scanning files...

.... SUCCESS! Uploading data*

"Aha! I remember, we met at that little bar, yes?"

*Streaming data. Scanning for additional relevant files.*

"I really am sorry about that, it was a wonderful conversation, a shame it had to be so rudely interrupted."

*Uploading additional files, relevance between 60-83%. Widening scan to time periods 0 to -5. Continui-

WARNING! INTERRUPTION! Abort current scan. Priority to purely relevant data.*

"Oh! Oh, yes.. I suppose that's justified."

*In-depth scan requeste- ERROR! File corruption detected. Data loss equaling 25%. URGENT! Repairs in progress. Beginning reconstruction.*

"My head? And chest... ahh yeah- Well of course I remember! Something like that kind of sticks, you know?"

*Reconstruction in progress. Scanning files for applicable data, required accuracy 43-58%. Including incoming data in scan.*

"As for an explanation... I had given you one before, hadn't-

Heheh, alright, alright."

*Reconstruction success. Uploading altered data.*

"I guest a 'ghost' might be a stretch of a definition, but it is true. I'm a ghost of the past, in a way. It's kind of like... now what's a good metaphor..."

*Acquiring data. Refining scan. Scanning files under marker 'general knowledge'...

SUCCESS! Uploading data. Streaming.*

"Aha! You manage the Archives, correct? In a way, it's like the knowledge stored there. I am a tome, in a way, only in a... sturdier form. Living history, able to recite for itself instead of requiring a second party to read and interpret. Does that make sense?"

*Acquiring Data.*

"Where I came from? Come on now, can't I have some secrets?"

*ABORT! Data unnecessary.*

"But was that all, or did you have something else?"

*Beginning data cleanup. Restoring files. Saving alterations.*

"Alright then. Do come back sometime, will you, Neera? I've always enjoyed our debates."

*Storing conversation. Converting... converting...

...SUCCESS! Conversion complete. Filing new data under appropriate labels and times.*

"And you, as well."

*Overall memory retrieval SUCCESS. Error rate .7%. Latency range in retrieval time .4-1.3 seconds.

REST enabled. Diverting attention from memory faculties. End of record.*

[James]

Nov 14, 2010 17:13:17 GMT -5 Janaril said:

Lord Sedge

You could say the Throne was built for the man who sat upon it, could say that no other could possibly be worthy to rest upon its ornate seat. You could say this, but that would never be true. After all, the throne was just a throne, as identical in form and purpose to every other such piece that was found in every other kingdom and state across the earth.

Truly, for the man that sat there now, even the throne was unworthy.

His hair was brown, with a crimson hue that gave it a look reminiscent of clotted blood. Perfectly trimmed and groomed, as immaculately maintained as every other detail of his persona, not a strand ran astray from the pack, for fear of those terrible eyes that lurked below.

Those eyes, permanently stained by the red moon's glare, as pure a red as could ever be imagined. Whether his face lifted in happiness or mercy, or contorted into rage or sadness, those eyes never moved. Always red, always staring. The kind of gaze you feared to have fall upon you, yet longed for at the same time. No lesser being could possess a gaze such as he, reserved but for the kings of men, eyes of power, primal and resolute. The strength of his jaw? The pale, flawless flesh of his face and hands? The muscled form that rippled under expensive cloths from unheard-of places? Mere nothings, all of them, inconsequential to the last.

No, it was his eyes, and those alone. Ivory orbs stolen from the heavens, carved by gods and filled with crimson life. With a glance you were honored, with a glare condemned. If this man never spoke a word in his life, nothing would change. His voice served merely as a courier, a proud vassal of the true power, the power that was both feared and loved.

Perhaps that is why he sits so proudly upon that unworthy construct of wood and cloth, resting easily on what was little more than trash. He needed nothing made for him, needed nothing to be worthy of him, indeed, he needed nothing at all. Dressed as a lord or beggar, sitting upon gold or filth, nothing would change.

But why would it, for a King?

This one jumped out at me, maybe it was the word King or Lord? The descriptions were fantastic throughout the piece and it made it very easy to visualise the man. Also through some clever use of emotive words, you really began to fear this character as a reader. The parts including the throne serve as an excellent little comparison to break up the otherwise full on description.

Just one thing to really comment on is that while describing the eyes, I felt you used the word red too much. Clearly repetition was your goal, but I think you went one too far and I would have thrown a crimson in or something.

[tamwyn]

Dec 1, 2010 0:20:39 GMT -5 Janaril said:

Memory in Conversation

Kalvek

"Last blue cycle?"

*Acquiring data, time period -2 to -3.*

"Hmm, let me see..."

*Time period established. Scanning files...

.... SUCCESS! Uploading data*

"Aha! I remember, we met at that little bar, yes?"

*Streaming data. Scanning for additional relevant files.*

"I really am sorry about that, it was a wonderful conversation, a shame it had to be so rudely interrupted."

*Uploading additional files, relevance between 60-83%. Widening scan to time periods 0 to -5. Continui-

WARNING! INTERRUPTION! Abort current scan. Priority to purely relevant data.*

"Oh! Oh, yes.. I suppose that's justified."

*In-depth scan requeste- ERROR! File corruption detected. Data loss equaling 25%. URGENT! Repairs in progress. Beginning reconstruction.*

"My head? And chest... ahh yeah- Well of course I remember! Something like that kind of sticks, you know?"

*Reconstruction in progress. Scanning files for applicable data, required accuracy 43-58%. Including incoming data in scan.*

"As for an explanation... I had given you one before, hadn't-

Heheh, alright, alright."

*Reconstruction success. Uploading altered data.*

"I guest a 'ghost' might be a stretch of a definition, but it is true. I'm a ghost of the past, in a way. It's kind of like... now what's a good metaphor..."

*Acquiring data. Refining scan. Scanning files under marker 'general knowledge'...

SUCCESS! Uploading data. Streaming.*

"Aha! You manage the Archives, correct? In a way, it's like the knowledge stored there. I am a tome, in a way, only in a... sturdier form. Living history, able to recite for itself instead of requiring a second party to read and interpret. Does that make sense?"

*Acquiring Data.*

"Where I came from? Come on now, can't I have some secrets?"

*ABORT! Data unnecessary.*

"But was that all, or did you have something else?"

*Beginning data cleanup. Restoring files. Saving alterations.*

"Alright then. Do come back sometime, will you, Neera? I've always enjoyed our debates."

*Storing conversation. Converting... converting...

...SUCCESS! Conversion complete. Filing new data under appropriate labels and times.*

"And you, as well."

*Overall memory retrieval SUCCESS. Error rate .7%. Latency range in retrieval time .4-1.3 seconds.

REST enabled. Diverting attention from memory faculties. End of record.*

I liked this. While I'm not sure I completely understand all that is going on, it seems like this is a conversation between a computer/robot and a person (Or perhaps another, more advanced robot).

The dialogue meshed well with the computer talk (which also was very accurately and wonderfully portrayed) leading me to believe it was a conversation between friends. The interruption and "relevant data" made me smile - it seems so real to me, for some reason.

It was an excellent read. I really liked this. I don't know what else to say, because it's kind of out there, but it made me smile. And physical responses from a story is a sign of great quality.

Perhaps I'll read a few more stories here and review those, too. You're a great writer, Jan.

[Janaril]

Another for the Monologues

Nethren

"I find it funny, how you try so hard to 'live'.

And not just 'you' alone, I mean everyone. You strive to 'learn' so much, you train yourself to work in a specific field, look for love, wage wars, raise kingdoms, raze countries. From birth to death, you're always trying to 'do' something, as if that is the only way your life will somehow mean anything.

But you're foolish, everyone is, because life doesn't really 'mean' anything at all.

Think about it, for once. What happens when you die? You're gone, wholly and utterly. Your body is disposed of to be absorbed into the earth and its creatures, but you are 'alive' no longer. Others may remember you, you may have made your mark in some physical way on the land that will be noticed, but that doesn't 'matter' in any way. You're dead. You no longer exist. So what could you gain from being remembered?

Nothing.

But that's why you do it, right? The concept that, when you die, you will completely cease to exist is a terrifying one, isn't it? We aren't raised to think in such horrific terms, even though our lives tell a story so macabre as to eclipse any piece of literature or performance we could put on. Everything you do, from the moment you're old enough to think on your own, is done because you know you will die. You learn, one way or another, 'valuable skills' for living. You work, one way or another, earning money to buy what you 'need' or 'desire'. You find love, one way or another, and may even spawn children of your own. Every action you take, every little deed you do, every mark and memory you leave, is all done to ease your fear of death.

And it is a fear, no matter who you are. The idea that you could, so simply and easily, not exist any longer is one of the greatest terrors to grip someone's soul. We speak of heavens and hells, granting our lives additional meaning on a moral ground while holding out a hope for some 'life after death'. Yet even if you reject and denounce the idea, you still act the same. You want to be remembered, you want something that says 'I was here', 'I lived', 'I existed'. You claim to 'have no regrets' when you are about to die, comforting yourself in the delusion that your life accomplished something. You live for your death, because of your death, in fear of your death. And why? Because your mind simply cannot comprehend the idea that you aren't really anything.

Though I wouldn't say that is a fault, in any real way. After all, if you realized how meaningless your life was, you'd probably just lay down and die, right? Your mind can't allow that, you see, because it's goal is to live as long as possible. It's the same with any animal, your basest thoughts and desires driving you forwards, hiding the truth so that you can exist a few years more. There's no real 'reason' for this, you live because you can. You live, you procreate, you eventually die, and your children pick up where you fell. The difference between us and lesser creatures is a more sophisticated process of thought, but our lives are essentially the same.

So what does this mean? Well, nothing, that was kind of the point. Go live your life, do what you want, die feeling like you 'accomplished' something.

Just don't try and tell me you've found some 'meaning', because there isn't one. You're alive, so you live, and it really is just that small and simple."

[Janaril]

And now to continue with the Description

Nethren

With feline grace, he strides easily, one foot after the other, upon the narrow wooden railing of the fence. Indeed, the cats themselves step aside for his stride, entranced by those eyes of shining emerald, that grinning mouth of glimmering ivory, that hair as black as nothing.

Black, polished leather of his boots dance ever-so lightly upon the splintering wood, rising and falling as softly as the ghostly breeze. His clothes are only the finest, woven from rare fabrics and worthy for none but nobility themselves. He should belong in a ball or the court of a king in such attire, or would belong, if they weren't such a macabre shade of black and crimson. The reflecting moonlight off the fabric makes it appear almost bloodstained, mixing with nails painted the deepest of reds even as they stand in stark contrast to his pallid skin. White as bone, his flesh practically glows under the night sky, even as his clothing fades away.

So as a face and hands, he dances from fencepost to fencepost. Eyelids fall to half-cover those staring emerald orbs, their gaze seeming bored with all that catches their attention. And yet, his mouth continues to grin madly, as if at any moment he might erupt into raucous laughter. Pure skin and sinful clothes, jaded eyes with a jester's grin, he continues to skip along his merry way. In his wake, the cats return to their respective perches, staring on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened...

Except for their mouths, curling to reveal glimmering, grinning ivory fangs.