Post by Faerd ((B'slash)) on Nov 11, 2008 15:32:25 GMT -5
Hey again, just figured i'd have a place to put all my monologues/stories/intros/poems that i've made so far, so I'll put em here in a bit. Please critique/criticize at will. Oh, and sorry if i repost stuff i posted in my other thread(s).
The poor misguided fools. Come to explore that which they cannot comprehend, and to perish in the attempt. Time and time again, folk like them have come bright-eyed and adventuresome, only to be turned into paranoid husks of the men they once were, jumping at the slightest sound, if they possess the strength to do so, only to die slowly of starvation or disease, or something more foul. They look for riches, some say, yet the only thing in plenty here is death. The halls stink of it, of despair, hopelessness, and still they walk onwards, uncaring whether their comrades die, be it from the insidious traps set ages ago, or from the dreadful magics long forgotten. Ah, but my mind wanders. They will soon be near enough to see me, to ask aid of me, to ignore my warnings. When, though, will they realize the truth? My aid will be of no help to them there, nothing can aid them there, even the Gods themselves have long ago forsaken this spot, to let it lie, rotten and forgotten, a blight upon this world. They will pray for forgiveness for past deeds, they shall suffer fates unimaginable and indescribable, they shall cry out in agony as their very being is undone, yet those who remain will press onwards until they, too, meet their ultimate demise. Even the afterlife will be of no comfort to them though, for they shall be denied its grasp and forced to serve the corrupted remnants of Death himself, souls bound to wander ‘ere the world ends. Ah, but it is both the blessing and curse of human nature, the desire to go where none have before, or to succeed where others have failed. They constantly trickle outwards, hundreds upon hundreds dying, until finally, some survive. Soon others come, setting up their crude homes of wood and stone, sucking the lands dry of their resources, then continuing onwards in their cycle of destruction. If they are parasites, then they are of the most resilient, numerous, and stupid sort. They will come, as they always have, to the Master’s door, and they will die. Yet more will follow, until eventually, even his realm is overwhelmed by the sheer numbers, and they shall realize their quest for power, land, survival, and even peace is for naught. For, the world’s wealth split amongst them, they shall war amongst themselves for what they do not possess, until the very world is reduced to an ashen waste of what it once was… and then they will be granted peace, for none will exist to fight.
*End*
It started with the squirrel. Sunlight bearing down upon me, I nearly stepped on the poor fool, his lithe body writhing in pain from a pair of nasty gouges to its back, left there by some bird-of-prey to die and be eaten later on, hazel eyes wide with fright. I picked him up on a childish impulse I suppose – not knowing why and with no plans for the future – and took him home. Sneaking him in was easy, my parents never paid much attention to me, busy as they were with customers at our inn, only stopping from time to time to tell me to fetch that man’s mug, no that one, with the curly hair, or to quietly reprimand me for getting underfoot. They loved me, I suppose, in their distant way, and I loved them back with the time-imprinted love one has for those who birthed him. There were more patrons than usual this afternoon, the pounding heat attracting people in, the promise of cold ale, a loaf of bread, and a side-dish of fresh chatter bringing most of the paying guests back, along with some of the merchants from their stores nearby. I wove my way past two elderly seamstresses, arguing about the best way to weave silk into a scarf, sidestepped a drunk blacksmith, singing a bawdy song in a coarse deep voice reminiscent of coal and ash, and took the worn-wooden stairs up to my room. It was furnished with the trappings of an eight year old who has too much time to adventure, colored rocks from the shoreline - glimmering red and green as splintered beams of gold streamed through the patched roof – a few bent and misshapen coins, still dirty from being picked up in the mud, and many other tidbits and trophies. I set the squirrel down upon my desk, swiping away stray papers so as not to taint them with the deep red of its lifeblood. I did what I could for the little fellow, picking out dirt from his wounds, washing them with water, whatever I thought might help. Eventually, it closed its eyes and sank into a deep slumber, I hoped for the best. As I sat there, watching his little chest rise and fall with breath, I whispered to him, as if my words could reach into its tiny mind, create a spark of hope, and convince him to live. “Are you all right?” I asked, “Did that nasty bird hurt you?” I envisioned he responded, small mournful squeaks telling me the tale of what happened, how he was in pain, but would be alright, I comforted myself with these falsities, convincing myself with unspoken words nothing would happen to him. On a whim, I took him in my arms, cradling him close to my body. I went downstairs.
*end*
More to come later on, please, comments!
On the Ending
By Harry R.
The poor misguided fools. Come to explore that which they cannot comprehend, and to perish in the attempt. Time and time again, folk like them have come bright-eyed and adventuresome, only to be turned into paranoid husks of the men they once were, jumping at the slightest sound, if they possess the strength to do so, only to die slowly of starvation or disease, or something more foul. They look for riches, some say, yet the only thing in plenty here is death. The halls stink of it, of despair, hopelessness, and still they walk onwards, uncaring whether their comrades die, be it from the insidious traps set ages ago, or from the dreadful magics long forgotten. Ah, but my mind wanders. They will soon be near enough to see me, to ask aid of me, to ignore my warnings. When, though, will they realize the truth? My aid will be of no help to them there, nothing can aid them there, even the Gods themselves have long ago forsaken this spot, to let it lie, rotten and forgotten, a blight upon this world. They will pray for forgiveness for past deeds, they shall suffer fates unimaginable and indescribable, they shall cry out in agony as their very being is undone, yet those who remain will press onwards until they, too, meet their ultimate demise. Even the afterlife will be of no comfort to them though, for they shall be denied its grasp and forced to serve the corrupted remnants of Death himself, souls bound to wander ‘ere the world ends. Ah, but it is both the blessing and curse of human nature, the desire to go where none have before, or to succeed where others have failed. They constantly trickle outwards, hundreds upon hundreds dying, until finally, some survive. Soon others come, setting up their crude homes of wood and stone, sucking the lands dry of their resources, then continuing onwards in their cycle of destruction. If they are parasites, then they are of the most resilient, numerous, and stupid sort. They will come, as they always have, to the Master’s door, and they will die. Yet more will follow, until eventually, even his realm is overwhelmed by the sheer numbers, and they shall realize their quest for power, land, survival, and even peace is for naught. For, the world’s wealth split amongst them, they shall war amongst themselves for what they do not possess, until the very world is reduced to an ashen waste of what it once was… and then they will be granted peace, for none will exist to fight.
*End*
Untitled Story
By Harry R.
By Harry R.
It started with the squirrel. Sunlight bearing down upon me, I nearly stepped on the poor fool, his lithe body writhing in pain from a pair of nasty gouges to its back, left there by some bird-of-prey to die and be eaten later on, hazel eyes wide with fright. I picked him up on a childish impulse I suppose – not knowing why and with no plans for the future – and took him home. Sneaking him in was easy, my parents never paid much attention to me, busy as they were with customers at our inn, only stopping from time to time to tell me to fetch that man’s mug, no that one, with the curly hair, or to quietly reprimand me for getting underfoot. They loved me, I suppose, in their distant way, and I loved them back with the time-imprinted love one has for those who birthed him. There were more patrons than usual this afternoon, the pounding heat attracting people in, the promise of cold ale, a loaf of bread, and a side-dish of fresh chatter bringing most of the paying guests back, along with some of the merchants from their stores nearby. I wove my way past two elderly seamstresses, arguing about the best way to weave silk into a scarf, sidestepped a drunk blacksmith, singing a bawdy song in a coarse deep voice reminiscent of coal and ash, and took the worn-wooden stairs up to my room. It was furnished with the trappings of an eight year old who has too much time to adventure, colored rocks from the shoreline - glimmering red and green as splintered beams of gold streamed through the patched roof – a few bent and misshapen coins, still dirty from being picked up in the mud, and many other tidbits and trophies. I set the squirrel down upon my desk, swiping away stray papers so as not to taint them with the deep red of its lifeblood. I did what I could for the little fellow, picking out dirt from his wounds, washing them with water, whatever I thought might help. Eventually, it closed its eyes and sank into a deep slumber, I hoped for the best. As I sat there, watching his little chest rise and fall with breath, I whispered to him, as if my words could reach into its tiny mind, create a spark of hope, and convince him to live. “Are you all right?” I asked, “Did that nasty bird hurt you?” I envisioned he responded, small mournful squeaks telling me the tale of what happened, how he was in pain, but would be alright, I comforted myself with these falsities, convincing myself with unspoken words nothing would happen to him. On a whim, I took him in my arms, cradling him close to my body. I went downstairs.
*end*
More to come later on, please, comments!
