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  1. #1
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    Default A story I wrote a while ago

    Feel free to comment however you please on this, I wrote this a while ago. Sorry for the double post BTW, can't seem to edit the one in roleplaying. Here it is:
    The Ice Shaman

    Turin silently crept along the forest floor, ignoring the many ants that bit through his boiled leather leggings. His mind was focused on the meal to come, the rich and delicate taste of fresh venison. He started to drool, and his grip on his bow automatically tightened. The young red deer snuffled in the bushes searching for saplings, oblivious to the danger behind it.

    He expertly notched his hand-crafted arrow, and aimed with a practiced eye. He aimed for the organs of the deer as it obliviously munched at a small oak sapling. He let the arrow loose, but it fell off target by a large distance. He had heard a blood-curdling howl, the one of an animal effected by some disease, or possessed by a spirit demon. It echoed through the forest, and chilled Turin to the bone. The young deer bolted off, obviously frightened by the howl and the noise of Turin's jagged arrow slicing into the nearby oak tree's thick bark.

    Turin jumped up to his feet, the moonlight dancing on his rough form. He could hear their padded paws pounding the forest floor as they tenaciously chased any animal in sight. This was not the first time that the wolf pack acted strange. They ravaged the forest, killing any animals they came across; even humans. Turin ran as fast as he could to his shelter, and immediately struck his flint with force, the dried twigs at his fireplace immediately burst into flames. Turin added larger sticks, making the fire blaze with an uncontrollable and primal rage. Turin crouched, and did a quick gesture of protection and safekeeping. Turin caught the eye of one of the wolves as they ran past his den, its red and maddened gaze freezing him in place; he dared not move, as if a shaman had put a spell over him. The wolves ignored Turin - he posed no threat and the beasts naturally feared fire.

    Something strange was going on, something that was unbalancing the natural order. Turin had been struggling to hunt this summer, lucky if he found any deer and lived almost solely off plants and dried meats from years before. The druids of Turin's tribe told of a terrible drought, but not any drought; one brought by the great ice lord, Isen. The stories of Turin's ancestors went that Isen was once a mortal man that was the son of the leader of a great tribe, one so great that many of the smaller tribes joined it in fear of being destroyed. Isen was a mighty warrior, son of the great war chief Valgus. Isen being twenty two winters old, fell in love with a village girl, and devoted himself to her. They had two sons together, and those sons grew up strong and healthy. Isen's Father - Valgus, saw this and a slow rage formed over the years for Isen and his family. Why should he have to watch his son enjoy his life and have a family while he withered away and was eventually replaced? No, he did not like it. In the middle of the night, when everyone was asleep, Valgus stole into Isen's lavishly decorated tent. He held his precious and ice-cold blade firmly, tightening his grip for reassurance. He, one by one, slit the throats of Isen's sons and wife, and ran back to his war tent in a hurry.

    The next morning, Isen woke up, calling on his sons to get ready for the days training. He walked through the room, and noticed muddy footprints trailing inside. His eyes hovered over the blood trailing from each of his family, and the truth did not quite hit him instantly. His breathing slowed, his eyes started to glare with a concentrated fury that was cold, like blue ice. He noticed the war chief’s seal, ironically sitting in blood. Everything clicked to Isen, and his vengeance grew. He pulled his spear off its stand on the wall, and headed to the war chief’s tent, his intentions clear. He slaughtered his father as well as anyone he laid eyes on including the slaves and guards. It is said that Isen's heart became so cold and empty that he became one with the bitter and bleak winter, using its force destructively to wreak havoc on anything living, and tainting the rest with a hate as strong as his own.

    It is also said that Isen's tribe fought internally, the individual tribes seeing Valgus' death as an indication for freedom. For weeks they fought, until only a few survived, maddened by the burden of their experiences. This great battle place is called Ruins of Gruon, as that is what the great tribe was called - The Gruon tribe. The great druids of Turin's tribe say that Isen hides in an ancient ice cave, on the very top of the Ikis peninsula using the elements to batter down anything still living. This was the cause of the great cold, of the maddened wolf packs - or so the druids said.

    Turin shook himself, the weariness tearing into his being. For three nights and three days he had not slept, eating malum berries when he felt himself nodding off. He poked at his fire, and decided that it was safe to leave his haven. Opening the crudely crafted and weak wooden gate, Turin headed in the direction of his tribes camp. The forest was eerily silent, not present was the familiar chirping of the crickets, the toots of the owl, nothing. Still thinking about the great and ancient tale of Isen, Turin unconsciously fell right through a hunters trap. He fell to the floor of the expertly made trap in a heap. He cursed under his breath as to not attract any attention.

    Strangely, the pit was covered with soft fur, and Turin looked underneath him. The stench hit his nostrils so hard he almost fainted. Carcasses of wolves where piled up in a massive heap, creating a festering pile of rotting fur and flesh and bones. Turin’s head was spinning. He stumbled towards the wall of the trap, reached it, and tripped. His head hit a solid object and he fell into the festering pile that was his floor.

    A ray of sunlight sliced across Turin's face, bringing him out of his sleep. Familiar smells wafted into his nostrils, intoxicating him.

    Turin groaned. His head was throbbing, and he was soaked in his own sweat. He had been taken into a dark and gloomy wooden hut, and had been put into a massive pile of wolf and deer skins. He looked around; recognising none of it. Sitting up, a wolf skull glared at him. It was hanging from the wall, adorned with intricate paintings and stones. The memories of the previous day hit him - the smell, the sickening smell – the rotting flesh, the inescapable and claustrophobic pit... Turin bent forward and retched, but nothing came out. He sat there for a few minutes, shaking. Finally he decided to get up. He tried his leg - but fell to his knees.

    He drifted in and out of consciousness, the walls of the hunting hut blurry, the colours all mingled into one mass. He crawled as far as he could go, and all that was familiar to him drifted away, like a log drifts down a river... He could hear the water, trickling gently, urging him to let go... to give in to the temptation of eternal sleep. No! He would not! His father brought him up better; he was a hunter of the Gruon tribe, son of Lokthar the tribe leader. Turin found a new strength and his anger for this force grew. He floated back into consciousness, and found himself floating in the river Fulis Dekh, Fools death. The river was amply named, its steep muddy banks made sure nothing escaped and the icy fast flowing currents swept the aggressor along with a wild fury.

    The spirits of Fulis Dekh are well known for hating all living things. Turin’s natural reaction was to let the river control him. He knew that if he struggled he would die. He let it carry him, for many minutes. Turin saw his chance – a fallen tree, just in his reach. At the last moment, Turin used all his strength to lunge out of the water and to clutch on to the tree. From there, he clambered up the fallen tree and fell on to the muddy bank, the mud larvae sucking his blood, but he did not care. He was on solid ground again. He kissed the mud, thankful that the Earth mother had saved him from the river spirits. Turin brushed the mud larvae off of his body, and started to limp in the direction of his tribe’s camp.

    Upon arrival of the tribe’s lookout outposts, Turin noticed something strange. The thing that was so strange was that he heard no sounds. Usually you would hear the friendly mumble of families talking around a fire, or the birds singing their songs, or the coarse laughter of warriors telling each other jokes – but, nothing. He also noticed that the temperature had dropped greatly, and it was in the middle of spring. Turin dashed forward, forgetting his injuries completely. What if something or someone had attacked his tribe? Had they fled? or... Turin shook the thought out of his head. They couldn’t! His tribe was the strongest and most known and respected tribe in the greater forest!

    Turin crashed through the bushes and brambles, ignoring the arrow-sharp thorns that hooked and embedded themselves into his flesh. He stumbled into his family’s tent, and fell forward. The smell... it was awful. Something had been rotting for a few days already. Turin looked around, but saw nothing. He started searching and upon opening his river reed case for his hunting bow, the rancid smell overpowered Turin, so much that he almost vomited. Turin stumbled backwards into a pile of hides. He ran outside, and retched up what little food that he had eaten. Kneeling down, Turin processed what he had just seen.

    “It can’t be...” Turin whispered, his voice hoarse.
    He fell down on his knees, tears flowed down his cheeks. He shouted to the forest, to the spirits that watched over him. Birds flew from their perches, animals scampered in the forest floor, seeking refuge from something unknown. Turin focused his rage, promised himself he would avenge his families death. He started to pile a funeral fire, collecting as much wood as he could. He lit it with a flint he found in his families tent, the fires wild and primal nature reflected into Turin’s eyes. He covered his mouth, and carried his dead mother out of the tent and placed her on the funeral pyre. He then dragged his father out, taking off his father’s ornately designed and painted lamellar armour, as well as his hunting bowie knife and placing it carefully by a young spruce.

    The fire sparked and spitted with the addition of Turin’s father. Wearing his father’s war armour, Turin picked up the bowie knife, putting it into his leather satchel. He picked up the ivory bow, his grip tightening expertly. His eyes thinned with discipline and fury. Whoever did this will pay...

    Turin ran out of sight of the camp. He learn what accursed thing had done this, and bring an end to it....
    __________________


    "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former."


    -Albert Einstein-

  2. #2
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    Ants can't bite through boiled leather.
    Also, cancer.

  3. #3

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    Wrong forum, should go in the RP section. I might read it if it's moved there but in OT that is tl;dr.
    Quote Originally Posted by Ozzy Wrong View Post
    [Alfar]'s like a Stephen Hawking rookie card.
    Quote Originally Posted by 1998altima View Post
    What if our imagination is a figment of the forums?
    Quote Originally Posted by YGOTAS#13
    Gay people like to hibernate in caves.

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    Quote Originally Posted by alfaroverall View Post
    Wrong forum, should go in the RP section. I might read it if it's moved there but in OT that is tl;dr.
    You're a fucking hypocrite.

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    Quote Originally Posted by Tiarilir View Post
    You're a fucking hypocrite.
    How is that? In the RP forum this isn't tl;dr, in OT it is. What's the problem?
    Quote Originally Posted by Ozzy Wrong View Post
    [Alfar]'s like a Stephen Hawking rookie card.
    Quote Originally Posted by 1998altima View Post
    What if our imagination is a figment of the forums?
    Quote Originally Posted by YGOTAS#13
    Gay people like to hibernate in caves.

  6. #6
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    Its just not really roleplay, and has nothing to do with darkfall either - but about the ants its a fantasy story so... yes they can

    Just read it if you want, and if you dont move on.

    Tia how is the forum going btw?
    Last edited by Twistybundle; 04-26-2009 at 16:17.


    "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former."


    -Albert Einstein-

  7. #7
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    Quote Originally Posted by Twistybundle View Post
    Its just not really roleplay, and has nothing to do with darkfall either - but about the ants its a fantasy story so... yes they can

    Tia how is the forum going btw?
    The forums are up. You should know the adress. I'll try to get some people there, but I want us to keep it low-profile.

    Remember you gotta explain WHY the ants can bite through armor.

    I'll read through it later, don't really have time atm.

  8. #8

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    Quote Originally Posted by Twistybundle View Post

    Turin silently crept along the forest floor, ignoring the many ants that bit through his boiled leather leggings. His mind was focused on the meal to come, the rich and delicate taste of fresh venison. He started to drool, and his grip on his bow automatically tightened. The young red deer snuffled in the bushes searching for saplings, oblivious to the danger behind it.
    As the other guys commented upon, a little bit of explanation with the ants

    Quote Originally Posted by Twistybundle View Post

    He expertly notched his hand-crafted arrow, and aimed with a practiced eye. He aimed for the organs of the deer as it obliviously munched at a small oak sapling. He let the arrow loose, but it fell off target by a large distance. He had heard a blood-curdling howl, the one of an animal effected by some disease, or possessed by a spirit demon. It echoed through the forest, and chilled Turin to the bone. The young deer bolted off, obviously frightened by the howl and the noise of Turin's jagged arrow slicing into the nearby oak tree's thick bark.

    Turin jumped up to his feet, the moonlight dancing on his rough form. He could hear their padded paws pounding the forest floor as they tenaciously chased any animal in sight. This was not the first time that the wolf pack acted strange. They ravaged the forest, killing any animals they came across; even humans. Turin ran as fast as he could to his shelter, and immediately struck his flint with force, the dried twigs at his fireplace immediately burst into flames. Turin added larger sticks, making the fire blaze with an uncontrollable and primal rage. Turin crouched, and did a quick gesture of protection and safekeeping. Turin caught the eye of one of the wolves as they ran past his den, its red and maddened gaze freezing him in place; he dared not move, as if a shaman had put a spell over him. The wolves ignored Turin - he posed no threat and the beasts naturally feared fire.
    This becomes a bit repetitive, and breaks up the natural flow of the writing, besides we have already established who he is.

    Also the running to the shelter, how far was it? how long did it take him? what was this den? how was it made?

    Quote Originally Posted by Twistybundle View Post

    Something strange was going on, something that was unbalancing the natural order. Turin had been struggling to hunt this summer, lucky if he found any deer and lived almost solely off plants and dried meats from years before. The druids of Turin's tribe told of a terrible drought, but not any drought; one brought by the great ice lord, Isen. The stories of Turin's ancestors went that Isen was once a mortal man that was the son of the leader of a great tribe, one so great that many of the smaller tribes joined it in fear of being destroyed. Isen was a mighty warrior, son of the great war chief Valgus. Isen being twenty two winters old, fell in love with a village girl, and devoted himself to her. They had two sons together, and those sons grew up strong and healthy. Isen's Father - Valgus, saw this and a slow rage formed over the years for Isen and his family. Why should he have to watch his son enjoy his life and have a family while he withered away and was eventually replaced? No, he did not like it. In the middle of the night, when everyone was asleep, Valgus stole into Isen's lavishly decorated tent. He held his precious and ice-cold blade firmly, tightening his grip for reassurance. He, one by one, slit the throats of Isen's sons and wife, and ran back to his war tent in a hurry.
    This could do wit a little embellishment. It sounds odd that a father would feel such jealousy for his son. Perhaps you ought to make a whole chapter out of the history of this, so the reader better understands the motives of the ice lord and his father

    Quote Originally Posted by Twistybundle View Post


    Turin shook himself, the weariness tearing into his being. For three nights and three days he had not slept, eating malum berries when he felt himself nodding off. He poked at his fire, and decided that it was safe to leave his haven. Opening the crudely crafted and weak wooden gate, Turin headed in the direction of his tribes camp. The forest was eerily silent, not present was the familiar chirping of the crickets, the toots of the owl, nothing. Still thinking about the great and ancient tale of Isen, Turin unconsciously fell right through a hunters trap. He fell to the floor of the expertly made trap in a heap. He cursed under his breath as to not attract any attention.
    I liked the touch with the 'malum' berries. But the trap part is a bit jarring. You need a bit more description of the trap, maybe how he feels himself fall in to the trap, put us in the shoes of Turin (not to be mistaken with the shroud of course)

    Also, in which direction did he run? personally i don't like to be kept in the dark with such matters. I like to get an idea of the world in which you are placing me

    Quote Originally Posted by Twistybundle View Post

    Strangely, the pit was covered with soft fur, and Turin looked underneath him. The stench hit his nostrils so hard he almost fainted. Carcasses of wolves where piled up in a massive heap, creating a festering pile of rotting fur and flesh and bones. Turin’s head was spinning. He stumbled towards the wall of the trap, reached it, and tripped. His head hit a solid object and he fell into the festering pile that was his floor.
    Wall of the trap? what was it like? how high was it? What was the solid object

    Quote Originally Posted by Twistybundle View Post

    He drifted in and out of consciousness, the walls of the hunting hut blurry, the colours all mingled into one mass. He crawled as far as he could go, and all that was familiar to him drifted away, like a log drifts down a river... He could hear the water, trickling gently, urging him to let go... to give in to the temptation of eternal sleep. No! He would not! His father brought him up better; he was a hunter of the Gruon tribe, son of Lokthar the tribe leader. Turin found a new strength and his anger for this force grew. He floated back into consciousness, and found himself floating in the river Fulis Dekh, Fools death. The river was amply named, its steep muddy banks made sure nothing escaped and the icy fast flowing currents swept the aggressor along with a wild fury.
    Liked the little story attached to the name of the river, But this paragraph, switches awfully suddenly, one second I am in a hut, and before i know it i'm in a river. You need to emphasise more, the fact that he is drifting in and out of consciousness, or else this part is a little hard to follow




    Quote Originally Posted by Twistybundle View Post

    Upon arrival of the tribe’s lookout outposts, Turin noticed something strange. The thing that was so strange was that he heard no sounds. Usually you would hear the friendly mumble of families talking around a fire, or the birds singing their songs, or the coarse laughter of warriors telling each other jokes – but, nothing. He also noticed that the temperature had dropped greatly, and it was in the middle of spring. Turin dashed forward, forgetting his injuries completely. What if something or someone had attacked his tribe? Had they fled? or... Turin shook the thought out of his head. They couldn’t! His tribe was the strongest and most known and respected tribe in the greater forest!
    I wanna hear about what the camp is like. what does it look like? Is it large? what are the buildings made from? any notable landmarks?

    Also what else is missing that Turin was expecting to see?

    Quote Originally Posted by Twistybundle View Post

    Turin crashed through the bushes and brambles, ignoring the arrow-sharp thorns that hooked and embedded themselves into his flesh. He stumbled into his family’s tent, and fell forward. The smell... it was awful. Something had been rotting for a few days already. Turin looked around, but saw nothing. He started searching and upon opening his river reed case for his hunting bow, the rancid smell overpowered Turin, so much that he almost vomited. Turin stumbled backwards into a pile of hides. He ran outside, and retched up what little food that he had eaten. Kneeling down, Turin processed what he had just seen.

    “It can’t be...” Turin whispered, his voice hoarse.
    He fell down on his knees, tears flowed down his cheeks. He shouted to the forest, to the spirits that watched over him. Birds flew from their perches, animals scampered in the forest floor, seeking refuge from something unknown. Turin focused his rage, promised himself he would avenge his families death. He started to pile a funeral fire, collecting as much wood as he could. He lit it with a flint he found in his families tent, the fires wild and primal nature reflected into Turin’s eyes. He covered his mouth, and carried his dead mother out of the tent and placed her on the funeral pyre. He then dragged his father out, taking off his father’s ornately designed and painted lamellar armour, as well as his hunting bowie knife and placing it carefully by a young spruce.

    The fire sparked and spitted with the addition of Turin’s father. Wearing his father’s war armour, Turin picked up the bowie knife, putting it into his leather satchel. He picked up the ivory bow, his grip tightening expertly. His eyes thinned with discipline and fury. Whoever did this will pay...

    Turin ran out of sight of the camp. He learn what accursed thing had done this, and bring an end to it....
    __________________

    Whoa there ... A lot of information to process in such a short passage. Who dies again?

    We want to know what he saw inside his case. We need to know what his mother and father looked like, what was his father's badass armour look like?

    Where did he make this funeral pyre? A bit more emotional connection between him and his parents. It is a little too much as if the generic parents death is just incidental, like a quick fix to move the plot along, but it doesn't really make us care about Turin or his parents, We need to feel connected, as if we want to get the bastards who did it as much as he does.


    Aside from that, there are a few grammatical problems and a couple of places where you could do with some more colourful language (A few extra adjectives never hurt anyone) providing you are not just adding superfluous words for the sake of it. Try to make every word you write inform the reader, even if it's not related to the plot, people still like to feel connected to the world


    Hope some of that was helpful anyway
    Last edited by Honest Bill; 04-26-2009 at 21:35.

  9. #9
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    Thanks for that, I'll go over it. The solid object isn't meant to be identified, as he is immediately knocked unconscious. Also he gets to the river by crawling, but I'll embelish on it some more.


    "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former."


    -Albert Einstein-

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    Quote Originally Posted by Twistybundle View Post
    Thanks for that, I'll go over it. The solid object isn't meant to be identified, as he is immediately knocked unconscious. Also he gets to the river by crawling, but I'll embelish on it some more.

    I see. well maybe it would be better if you wrote it from his point of view, like tell us he felt his head hit something solid and tell us exactly how it felt

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    Quote Originally Posted by Honest Bill View Post
    I see. well maybe it would be better if you wrote it from his point of view, like tell us he felt his head hit something solid and tell us exactly how it felt
    Well, no mean to be rude but he is instantly knocked unconscious I doubt he would feel any real pain :P


    "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former."


    -Albert Einstein-

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    Quote Originally Posted by Twistybundle View Post
    Well, no mean to be rude but he is instantly knocked unconscious I doubt he would feel any real pain :P

    Yeah but i mean a quick ringing in his ears or something. Or else you could just ommit the solid object all together, since it's solidity is implied by his being knocked unconscious. I just thought it sounded odd that there is a solid object, yet we aren't told what it is, it may be unknown to him, but as a reader, I would want to know.

  13. #13
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    Your story is a steaming pile of elephant feces.


    Quote Originally Posted by Methuselah View Post
    the filter is there for your protection
    Quote Originally Posted by Lethn View Post
    Fuck you I like having emotions and occasionally talking about girly things
    Date of Death: June 18, 2064.

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    Well... I'm biased, I was never really a fan of these types of stories anyway... this... fantasy, if you will.

    Turin = Lame Name. Just call him jesus and be done with it.

    Also, try not to turn paragraphs into big huge "He did" and "He said" and "He 'verb'ed" fests. That stuff gets repetitive. Instead, use commas, dashes, and semicolons to stretch your thoughts out without reminding us constantly of who is performing said actions.

    like:
    Quote Originally Posted by Twistybundle
    He expertly notched his hand-crafted arrow, and aimed with a practiced eye. He aimed for the organs of the deer as it obliviously munched at a small oak sapling. He let the arrow loose, but it fell off target by a large distance. He had heard a blood-curdling howl, the one of an animal effected by some disease, or possessed by a spirit demon. It echoed through the forest, and chilled Turin to the bone. The young deer bolted off, obviously frightened by the howl and the noise of Turin's jagged arrow slicing into the nearby oak tree's thick bark.
    could be rewritten as:

    Turin notched his hand-crafted arrow to the bow-string and aimed with practiced eye at his target. The deer, oblivious to the danger, munched away at a sapling. The sight of the bow hovered over the deer, but only for a moment; the arrow is released and lands far off the mark, and yet a piercing scream is heard, chilling Turin to the bone. He looks around for the source of the noise, but can only see the deer bolting away, and the arrow lodged in the bark of a nearby tree.

    Spoiler
    Spoiler

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    Turin was already taken by Tolkien you know.


    Quote Originally Posted by Methuselah View Post
    the filter is there for your protection
    Quote Originally Posted by Lethn View Post
    Fuck you I like having emotions and occasionally talking about girly things
    Date of Death: June 18, 2064.

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