Writing Advice Thread

[Dmatix]

That is a problem I'm having with writing chapter two. It is pretty much all exposition, and although Iv'e been trying to keep guild names simple, it is getting a bit out of hand.
Well, at least the exposition is mostly about the characters and not about the world.

[Quirk]

That is a problem I'm having with writing chapter two. It is pretty much all exposition, and although Iv'e been trying to keep guild names simple, it is getting a bit out of hand.
Well, at least the exposition is mostly about the characters and not about the world.

Try to tie exposition into details. Little things like clothing and mannerisms can help a lot, but keep them as just details. My standard is one paragraph of physical description for a character when introduced, so focus on the important things.

If you're introducing a group, an easy way is to just go through one at a time when they gather, and introduce each as "[Name], the [Guild name]" and work from there. The details of the person should give implications of the guild they are a part of.

For example, and I'm just making this up here, the guy from the Smiths wears common work clothing, with a hammer sewn on the shirt front. His hands are very visibly callused, some scars here and there. He has an odd way of speaking, odd way of standing, little weird details and quirks that imply that the Smiths are something like the freemasons.

Stuff like that. Don't break into straight narrative exposition unless you really need to, and if you do, keep it to the point.

[Dmatix]

Damn it, stop being so persuasive and insightful! Now Iv'e got quite a bit of rewriting to do.
What you suggested is so much better than the way I went through with the exposition (namely introducing the characters in order of arrival, with about a paragraph and a half dedicated to each).

[Quirk]

Damn it, stop being so persuasive and insightful!

NEVER.

[Dmatix]

Welp, here is chapter two. I still feel it's a bit cumbersome, but it's certainly better than the first draft, thanks mostly to Quirk.

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Chapter Two: Witch and Page

Since the day I landed on Lyr a little less than a year after Adrian, I’ve been training under the Shield Sages, the city’s guild of protectors. From them I learned the arts of defense, both martial and magical. My days consisted of training and little else, beside bi-weekly meetings with the other future players, which the Vizier deemed necessary for building “Team Spirit”, as he often called it.

I recall one particular meeting, The last one before the game began. The meetings took place in a different guild every week. That last meeting was in the Hall of Artificers, home to the Metal Makers and Sagacious Scholars. I made it a habit to arrive early-the Vizier didn’t take kindly to tardiness. The Hall was a plain round stone building, as utilitarian as the guilds inhabiting it. Halus stood at the entrance, waiting for me.

Halus Nost, Page of Space, was raised by the Metal Makers, responsible of manufacturing the weapons and armor for the more warlike guilds of Lyr, as well as other gadgetry. He and his sister Teni fell on the same day, about six months after me. Even though I was older, he towered over me as he approached me with the same easy smile he always wore. Putting a big, muscular hand on my shoulder, he started:
“Ah, Edris! How auspicious it is to meet you here! What brings you our humble abode?”
“Cut it out Hal. I get enough fruity talk from your sister, and you know damn well why I’m here.”
Hal grinned. “You are such a spoilsport, Ed, I swear.”
“Anyone else here yet?”
“Nah, just Teni and me. She’s busy working on some project of hers; she’ll be here any second”
This gave me pause. Nothing good ever came from Teni’s “projects”.
“Let’s get inside,” Halus said, rubbing his hands. “I’m freezing out here”
We made our way to the meeting room. Inside, Teni was waiting, busy fiddling with one of her infernal contraptions.

Teni Nost, Witch of Mind, was Halus’ antithesis. Short, dark and thin where he was tall, fair and broad-shouldered. She was raised by the Sagacious Scholars, the city’s leading scientist and academics. They weren’t truly brother and sister of course, but due to the fact they fell on the same day and that the heads of their guilds were married, they were raised as such.
“Salutations Edris. How pleasant it is to have you with us again.” She said, hammering on the machine with a large wrench. The thing began to pulse with bright colors.
“Um, is that supposed to glow like that?”
“I should not think so; it is only a debris removal module”
“She means a vacuum cleaner.” Halus supplied.
“Thank you Hal, I get it.”
“Do not let the glowing disquiet you, it is a perfectly within the acceptable pera-“
The device then proceeded to explode, showering the room with dust. Teni must have forgotten to empty it.
“Well this is just great Teni” Halus sighed. “Now who is going to clean this mess up? The Vizier will be livid!”
“I would be happy to do it, but it seemed I have misplaced my debris removal module.”

And so we went on arguing and bickering, falling into our old comfortable routine. Even though we only saw each other twice a week, we grew to know each other well over the years. As I sit here on an empty ship on its way to everywhere and nowhere, remembering that last meeting- Halus’ cheerful and loud, Teni quiet and serious, myself abrasive and confident- the weight of these lost times on my shoulders seems all the more heavy.

[Quirk]

Welp, here is chapter two. I still feel it's a bit cumbersome, but it's certainly better than the first draft, thanks mostly to Quirk.

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Chapter Two: Witch and Page

Since the day I landed on Lyr a little less than a year after Adrian, I’ve been training under the Shield Sages, the city’s guild of protectors. From them I learned the arts of defense, both martial and magical. My days consisted of training and little else, beside bi-weekly meetings with the other future players, which the Vizier deemed necessary for building “Team Spirit”, as he often called it.

I recall one particular meeting, The last one before the game began. The meetings took place in a different guild every week. That last meeting was in the Hall of Artificers, home to the Metal Makers and Sagacious Scholars. I made it a habit to arrive early-the Vizier didn’t take kindly to tardiness. The Hall was a plain round stone building, as utilitarian as the guilds inhabiting it. Halus stood at the entrance, waiting for me.

Halus Nost, Page of Space, was raised by the Metal Makers, responsible of manufacturing the weapons and armor for the more warlike guilds of Lyr, as well as other gadgetry. He and his sister Teni fell on the same day, about six months after me. Even though I was older, he towered over me as he approached me with the same easy smile he always wore. Putting a big, muscular hand on my shoulder, he started:
“Ah, Edris! How auspicious it is to meet you here! What brings you our humble abode?”
“Cut it out Hal. I get enough fruity talk from your sister, and you know damn well why I’m here.”
Hal grinned. “You are such a spoilsport, Ed, I swear.”
“Anyone else here yet?”
“Nah, just Teni and me. She’s busy working on some project of hers; she’ll be here any second”
This gave me pause. Nothing good ever came from Teni’s “projects”.
“Let’s get inside,” Halus said, rubbing his hands. “I’m freezing out here”
We made our way to the meeting room. Inside, Teni was waiting, busy fiddling with one of her infernal contraptions.

Teni Nost, Witch of Mind, was Halus’ antithesis. Short, dark and thin where he was tall, fair and broad-shouldered. She was raised by the Sagacious Scholars, the city’s leading scientist and academics. They weren’t truly brother and sister of course, but due to the fact they fell on the same day and that the heads of their guilds were married, they were raised as such.
“Salutations Edris. How pleasant it is to have you with us again.” She said, hammering on the machine with a large wrench. The thing began to pulse with bright colors.
“Um, is that supposed to glow like that?”
“I should not think so; it is only a debris removal module”
“She means a vacuum cleaner.” Halus supplied.
“Thank you Hal, I get it.”
“Do not let the glowing disquiet you, it is a perfectly within the acceptable pera-“
The device then proceeded to explode, showering the room with dust. Teni must have forgotten to empty it.
“Well this is just great Teni” Halus sighed. “Now who is going to clean this mess up? The Vizier will be livid!”
“I would be happy to do it, but it seemed I have misplaced my debris removal module.”

And so we went on arguing and bickering, falling into our old comfortable routine. Even though we only saw each other twice a week, we grew to know each other well over the years. As I sit here on an empty ship on its way to everywhere and nowhere, remembering that last meeting- Halus’ cheerful and loud, Teni quiet and serious, myself abrasive and confident- the weight of these lost times on my shoulders seems all the more heavy.

Vast improvement here. A few grammar/spelling/spacing problems here and there, but not bad. Not bad at all.

EDIT: HOLY SHIT 2000th post. That's 1k in two months what am I doing with my life.

[Dmatix]

Thanks!
The spacing is mostly due to me copying the text from Word to the forums, and I'm working on the spelling and grammar.
Hell, I got my 100+ post in about a week and a half. In some forums I didn't get to that in a year.

[Kestral]

Hi all. I've been posting on the fanfiction thread but no one has commented. I really want commentary, good or bad.
This has only been edited by myself and someone who hasn't read Homestuck, so it is quite possible that it doesn't make sense. It is a short (by my standards) piece about the E%ecutor and the Disciple. I really hope it becomes cannon, but probably won't. There may be a part two, but it is also quite possible that there won't be.

Worth

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A troll walks through a forest, a dangerous thing to do, especially in uncharted territory. His arrows are all spent and his bow hangs useless on his shoulder. He has thought many times of discarding it. What would one do with a bow without arrows, break it and use it like a club? Preposterous! However, he keeps the bow, it is a reminder to him. It is important.
Something moves in the underbrush. The wilds are dangerous. Creatures stalk to forest that would kill a normal unarmed troll. He knows he would be dead by now if he was not blessed with exceptional STRENGTH.
Mingfang had made this venture sound so easy,
“Sh8t up a8out the Disc8ple alr8dy! I g88888888t it!!!!!!!! ‘W8s she w8rth it????????’ G8t out 8nd f8nd her!!!!!!!!”
Mindfang has always been exceptionally extravagant, but her advice is often useful. That is what started this journey.
The thing in the bushes moves again, and the troll whirls to face it. He clenches his fists. The knuckles are dark blue with scabs that reopen every fight.
Yellow eyes with green pupils glow in the darkness. Those are no animal eyes, but the eyes of a troll.
Their eyes lock. The troll in the bushes hisses and disappears.
“Wait! I command you to stay!” He pauses, reconsidering his words. “Or maybe I don’t. Actually, I ask you to stay. I mean you no harm.”
The eyes reappear, in a different place.
“Love-killer tells Huntress that he means no harm. Why should he not? Highbloods always wanted Huntress dead. They enslaved Dolorosa-mother and Psiioniic-friend but wanted Huntress dead. Love-killer is Highblood-slave.”
“I am no slave! How very 100d. I am too high on the hemosprectrum to be a slave. The very idea is, disgusting.”
“Hemosprectrum is lies and slavery,” she hisses. “Love wasn’t on hemosprectrum, he died just the same.”
The blue blood looks nervous. She is speaking such hearsay that it is making him, perspire.
“But Love-killer only killed Love, not Huntress. She heard the order given, but the arrow never flew. Why?”
She steps out of the shadows, into the moons’ light. Her cloths are old, but the E%ecutor recognizes them. They are the same clothes she wore on the night he was commanded to cull her, and inexplicably, didn’t. Her shoes are gone and her hair a wild mane of twigs and snarls. Tied to her hands are animal claws, and he can see blood on them. She crawls, no, crawling is what weak wigglers do, she stalks around him. Circling him as a predator would circle prey. The two moons give her twin shadows.
“Why didn’t the arrow fly? Why didn’t it pierce Huntress? Why didn’t she bleed? Such pretty colors, all swirling. That is what Highbloods like you know. They like painting pictures. Why is Huntress living worth more than pleasing Highbloods to Love-killer?” She pauses, then hisses, showing her fangs. “Answer me! Answer the Huntress, Love-killer!”
“I don’t know. I came 100king for you to find out.”
This answer surprises her. She sits back on her haunches, and cocks her head, prompting him to continue.
“I wanted to know who it was that I did not cull. Who was it that caused me to, on a whim, disobey the Highbloods. To find out if the life I saved was worth all the trouble it got me in.”
“Huntress has also wondered who Love-killer is. She would also like to learn his worth. She thinks Love-killer should come to her den.”
He steps back, amazed. He killed the troll she loved and she is inviting him to stay with her, instead of getting revenge.
“How can you not hate me?”
She wrinkles up her nose and hisses.
“Not that kind of hate! Goodness know, how scandalous that would be! I could not hate a lowb100d like you. Inexcusable.”
She looks the blue blood up and down.
“Love-killer will come to Huntress’s den. She has something to show him.”
He looks disturbed by this.
“Are you giving me an order? You cannot order me around, low blooded swine!”
In a flash she is on him, hissing. Her hot breath in his face smells of her dead prey.
“Huntress thinks Love-killer is very rude for someone talking to a Huntress that could end his enslavement, or end his life.” Her claws cut into his shoulders and he gasps in pain. He struggles against her grip, but he cannot escape.
She looks at his blood on her claws. “Such pretty blood, it is worth so much more than Huntress’s green. Blood is the fluid of life, you know. Huntress knows. Huntress could make such beautiful pictures on the wall with it. So could Highbloods. Purple, green, we can kill just the same.
The pinned troll knows what comes next, death. How funny, Mindfang, who had invested so much of her time in protecting his life, had advised him to his death. She could have know this trip would kill him. She had often bragged about her oracle. It made sense, he had paid his debt to her and she had discarded of him. He hopes the Huntress makes his death quick, and takes joy in her revenge.
The pressure on his chest disappears. Looking up, he saw her sitting back.
“But Huntress is not all the way like Highbloods. She does not kill needlessly.”
He stares at her, amazed to still be breathing. She meets his stare with stare with her green eyes and their gazes lock.
“Come,” she whispers, and vanishes into the shadows.
He follows.

[Dmatix]

It's not bad. The Disciple's dialog is pretty good, and the action is depicted quite well. I would however shorten the descriptions a bit, and maybe use the past tense instead of the present. It's a bit awkward to read as is.

Edit: Also, chapter 3 is ready:

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http://mspaforums.com/showthread.php...night-of-Sands

E2: Added the Dey's Ballad:

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Today the world will burn,
As fiery death from heavens rained
Upon once mighty stronghold down
From earth all trace of Breath is drained.

Today the world will drown
Its Void is filed with endless dread
Its Hope is snuffed and gone
Its Heart replaced with Lifeless lead.

Today the world is dead,
Its endless Space consumed by hate
The fury of its Rage, now ash
Oblivion will be its fate.

Today the world is dark,
Its very Mind by tyrant crushed
And nothing here reminds,
But Sands and Stars and rust.

[Freudian]

Hey, this looks like the thread to find out SHOULD I CONTINUE or SHOULD I CUT OFF MY HANDS AND FORGET I EVER HELD PRETENSIONS OF KNOWING THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.

So, I've been working on a Hemospectrum-Shift AU for a while now. I know AUs aren't exactly the best for fanfic, but after reading Red Dead Virgo via the TvTropes Fanfic page I felt... jealous, I guess, that someone else had successfully fleshed out the characters in an entirely new context, but kept them recognisable. So I decided to do it myself.

I'm doing the intros before I decide if I want to do anything else. Establishing the characters was the part that interested me most about RDV

Here's Equius:

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Your name is EQUIUS ZAHHAK.

You are a FAILURE.

You were born with extremely prestigious INDIGO BLOOD, conferring onto you membership in the highest caste available to land-dwellers. The traditional fate for such bastions of the social order is to become a SUBJUGGLATOR, one of the harlequinesque enforcers of the social order to whom the EMPEROR entrusts land-government. This is indeed a noble calling, and you aspire to it with every fibre of your being; but you are PAINFULLY AWARE that you are lacking in a crucial aspect of the subjugglator's art.

You have NO MOJO.

The subjugglators of old could create FIRES SO SICK that entire villages simultaneously caught TROLL-PLAGUE and BURNED TO THE GROUND. They possessed PRANKSTER'S GAMBIT meters on a scale previously unknown to science: on at least one occasion, two dozen cities were levelled as the buildup to a SINGLE ANTICLIMACTIC QUIP. Your poetry is painfully unironic, and your GAMBIT has been medically tested to be incurably negative.

Other trolls in your position might think they were born in the wrong caste. You believe NO SUCH THING. If there is one thing in the world that you have faith in, it is HEMOSPECTRAL INFALLIBILITY. If a troll does not fit his assigned position, then it is not the position's fault. It is the troll.

You STRONGLY SUSPECT that you will be CULLED within a sweep or two.

Your trolltag is comedicTerror, and you ) Talk in an e10quent manner (o:

You wish your lusus would come home.

And Kanaya:

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Your name is KANAYA MARYAM.

You were born into the DARK RED caste, the lowest legal rung of the HEMOSPECTRUM. While this caste has innumerable legal disadvantages, such as physical weakness, a

reduced lifespan, and the possibility of being SOLD AS A SLAVE, it also confers an increased likelihood of PSYCHIC POWERS. You were a beneficiary of this, and since an

early age you have been able to commune with the SPIRITS OF THE AFTERLIFE.

You were never certain that this was a good thing. Spirits are NOT KNOWN FOR THEIR SMALL TALK.

ARCHAEOLOGY was your passion, and you spent your time planning and executing DARING EXPEDITIONS into abandoned ruins, looting them of their cultural relics to preserve

the knowledge within them. Duing one such adventure you happened upon a PARTICULARLY DISQUIETING find, which despite the urging of the spirits you did not return to.

You have a very strong division between things you MEDDLE WITH and things you DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES MEDDLE WITH.

Firmly on the side of "to be meddled with" are RELATIONSHIPS, in particular budding kismeses in need of a handy AUSPISTICE. You have averted so many caliginous

catastrophes that you have garnered a reputation for being an AUSPISTISLUT, which is not a word but SHOULD BE. In addition to this, you also nurtured a moirallegiance

with a certain YELLOW-BLOOD PROGRAMMER, but as of late you have been entirely neglecting this project. What with being DEAD and all.

Yes, dead. Really. Like a ghost. No doubt the reader is completely blown away by this stunning revelation.

You have in fact been dead for roughly a sweep, due to an UNFORTUNATE EVENT, the details of which you would PREFER NOT TO DWELL ON. Contrary to popular fiction, ghosts

do not in fact lust after the Trollian emotion called vengeance, as the anger and passion needed to hold a grudge are GLANDULAR IN ORIGIN. You vaguely remember seeing

your glands leaking on the floor, so it is a safe bet that they are no longer affecting your judgement. Besides, there are more important things to worry about than

justice.

Two nights ago the spirits commanded you to return to the ruins. You have long since given up questioning their logic. You have arrived at the main platform of the

FROG TEMPLE.

Your trolltag is ghoulishAdventuress, and Y0ur W0rds Ech0 0ddly.

You guess tonight is finally the night you fuck everything up.

Any takers?

[Rudolph]

Well, I'm a bit new here to the fandom but the whole overall feel of Homestuck has been inspiring me to write lately, so I'm going to post a part of what I've been writing so far. And to any folks who decide to reply, don't hold back and be frank :3

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Gentle winds blew across green plains in waves, the rustling of the grass echoing into the distance. The lonely sound was quickly joined by the cacophony of chains clinking between each other, hanging far above the soft green earth on tree branches, rocky outcroppings and abandoned buildings. The sun shined brightly on the land, revealing the building's dull green color, not a sound coming from within the dwellings.

The houses had an earthy look to them, curves not straight edges lined the architecture as they rose to the skies, ending in three story edifices, bypassing the nearby trees in height. The numerous dwellings were in the middle of the tranquil forest that covered the land, positioned in a half circle with a raised outcropping of earth in the middle, a well rested silently on top as a testament to the village's abandonment.

A gentle breeze rolled through the small hamlet, causing the chains within to clink and join the symphony of sound caused by the land. Rudimentary wooden shutters slamming into their frames, throwing their lot in with the undisturbed band of nature. Small dirt tornadoes came to life with the breeze, roaming throughout the hamlet and providing their own cacophony of noise to nature’s music as they clashed and died.

Rustling leaves and branches lightly creaking joined into the impromptu symphony as the breeze grew in tenor and size, flowing in and out of the forest and buildings. Its music rising in sound as the wind rose up and headed into the open skies, gently ruffling brown hair and caressing lightly tanned skin before departing into the wilds.

Nature’s symphony slowly died out as an entirely blank eye opened, gazing downwards into the middle of the village before the owner lightly smiled, closing the eye once more. The being rose from his crossed-legged position, rising to the height of a still growing youngster as the person ran a five fingered hand through the brown, unruly locks of what it called hair. The smile gave way to a calm and neutral expression, the person letting out a small sigh as it rested the palm of his raised hand atop the black patch of cloth that hid its other eye from the world, while gripping the bark of mahogany wood that was its spear with the other hand.

“Still you and me, eh?” the being asked, its voice labeling the person as a male.

A male of the human species.

He closed his eye once more, deep in thought before shaking his head out of it, “There are still things that must be done,” he said as he opened his eye, diving his right hand into his brown khakis pockets in search of something. The human brought out a small piece of folded parchment, quickly unfolding it as he raised it for his left eye and rapidly scanning through its contents before letting out another sigh.

“Time to go to work, old boy,” he said as he gazed at his spear, the alchemized spear known as Scar of Raptors, adorned with fairly sized claws of an apex predator in a simple leatherette tightly woven into the bark below the spearhead, its titanium point glinting fiercely under the bright sun.

Another gust rolled through the village, rising towards the skies as its brethren and blowing the bottom of his short-sleeved, dark grey overcamp shirt that rested over his dark blue t-shirt, emblazoned with the symbol of a hammer and chisel on the t-shirt’s center. A small leatherette necklace adorned with a claw softly twisting and turning with the gentle wind, before resting silently back on its usual place as the wind died again.

He folded the piece of parchment once more, having gotten used to folding things one-handed due to necessity in his past field of expertise, swiftly pocketing the folded paper before turning his gaze downwards. The still growing boy shook his head for a second before taking a step forward, his feet slipping on the building’s curves as he rapidly slid down the earthy construction.

The human used his spear as a pole, vaulting himself towards the rocky outcropping before he could have hurt himself from the fall. His right hand holding the pole just below the spearhead as he landed in a crouch next to the well, letting out a grunt from the rather impromptu landing as he rose from his crouch, scanning the well with his eye before dismissing it without another thought. He jumped down the raised platform, lowering his grip on the spear towards its center as he walked towards the village’s entrance while gazing at the empty homes.

“What’s done is done,” he whispered to the winds as he walked past the entrance, leaving his home without a glance backwards as feet and will moved him forward. The chains hanging from the trees clinked softly with the constant gusts of wind that plagued his land, the bottom of his overcamp shirt billowing behind him as he continued to walk against the winds. He nodded once to himself as he moved forward, never once stopping at his slowly changing environment.

The forest, chains and its greenery gave way to scuffled white and black earth, deep gashes and rough trenches within the strange looking earth ripped the tranquility from the new scenery. The new scenery was of a battlefield, one that the human boy knew all too well. He closed his eye, willing himself to not remember the memories of the war that had raged without impunity across the same earth that he traveled on.

Opening his eye, the boy was tired but not surprised at all to see that the scenery changed to its more bloody self. Corpses of both Derse and Prospit littered the checkered and torn battlefield, macabrely decorating the land. The earth itself soaked and drowning from the bloody puddles and the draining corpses that leaked their precious life essence as he continued forth upon his path, ignoring the soft squish every time he took a step.

The growing teen let out another sigh as he gazed down at the corpses, regret pushing him as he mentally dived into the memories of the war that had ravaged for month. Not even the farmers or villeins as they were known, were left untouched. Everyone and everything was fair game in this battlefield.

“So much to do...” he started to say, trailing off as he crouched down in front of a familiar corpse, the stained purple cloth dark with blood. Of whom, he already knew but the knowledge did not matter at this point. He raised a hand, letting it fall gently over the corpse’s black carapace, wet and sticky to the touch as the boy closed the unblinking and blank eyes, giving them a final rest from the rest of the world. The teen rose once more, a useless deed on the realm he belonged to but it brought him some comfort in putting a former comrade-in-arm’s body to rest, as small as it was.

He stepped over the corpse, once again ignoring the sounds his shoe-laden feet made on the blood soaked plains. Shaking his head, the teen continued on his path as he tried his best not to delve too deeply into memories. It would do him no good to stay behind in the past, for there were many things to do, and less time to do them in. He only hoped that well-informed players had done their best in spreading to their fellows about the reality and sheer difficulty they had in their path. Quite sure that the fate of everyone in the beta session, to the human players to the clearly alien participants and everyone in between hung in the balance.

A balance on the tip of a knife, a dangerous act but one orchestrated entirely by one being and its cohorts. Solely for the destruction universes, creating more for which to destroy and play with.

The boy continued moving forward on his road, minutes swiftly passing him by before he gazed to his slowly changing surroundings, from the checkered war torn plains to his land’s lush green grass and dull green earth. Blank gazes stared back at him atop the chains that adorned the trees he now walked past, never blinking as the owners swinged between chains to keep up with his pace.

“You two would never let me live it down,” he whispered to the winds, “Even after all this time that I’ve been stuck in this bubble, I’ve never grieved properly,” the teen continued to say as his surroundings vastly changed to a dank, cavernous and dimly light tunnel. He chuckled, a dark and grim sound that echoed in the tunnel and reverberated inside of his head. Raising a hand, he briefly touched his eye patch before recoiling from his own touch, rapidly shaking his head.

“No!” he barked out.

“Now is not the time for self-deprecation,” he finished, swearing at his lapse of control thanks to the battlefield as he ran a hand through his unruly mop of hair. The boy hung his head, blinking once before raising his head and rolling his shoulders, a dull pop echoing in the passageway. He turned his head to the side, gazing back where he had come from and saw the tunnel give way suddenly to his land’s green scenery, the eyes staring unblinkingly at him before he broke his gaze.

He walked forward, his spear making nary a sound as it made contact with the rocky floor with each step the boy took, his resolve and determination back up along with his control. For it wasn’t his time to grieve just yet, there were things to set in motion and the person he was now heading to was one of them, the Denizen of his land. A surprisingly well mannered individual, the boy mused to himself as he remembered his past encounters with the Denizen.

“CRY HAVOC!”

A voice filled with tenor and power echoed all around him.

“And let loose the dogs of war,” the boy replied without skipping a beat, gusts of wind buffeting his body as he heard deep guffaws of laughter.

“IT SEEMS YOU HAVE NOT LOST YOUR TOUCH ON HUMORING ME, ZEN.”

The teen known as Zen snorted, unamused as he kept walking towards the voice.

“And your theatrics are still present as ever, Lord,” he quipped in reply as he entered a giant expanse, cavernous and dank as the tunnel but well lit in sharp contrast to the narrow path. Another laugh met the boy’s ears, gleeful and free of the foreboding presence of sheer power.

“‘Lord’ now, is it?” a sly grin on its face, gazing down high from its throne. Both the person and throne changed, never staying in one as it kept shifting to the teen’s eye. He shook his head lightly, closing his eye lest he got another damned headache.

“Would you kindly stop shifting so much?” he asked the being who with a snap of its fingers, stopped shifting. The throne itself became a horrible thing to gawk at, gaudy gold clashing with the royal purple plush linen in a self-parody.

Purple on golden sclera gazed down at him, a red diamond tattooed under both its orbs as long black locks framed its rather feminine face. Ruby red lips shaped into a grin, knowing and amused at the teen below. The black locks cascaded past gold shoulderguards, wicked spikes jutting out and twisting into conjoined pairs. The gold flowed down alongside the black, enveloping a curvaceous and lithe form into a well fitting suit of armor of shining darkness. The light from the various torches around the impromptu throne room reflected off the armor, the person licking its lower lip with a forked tongue as it continued to gaze unflinchingly at the boy beneath the station.

“I see that you’re favoring that gaudy form.”

“The better to tease you with, my dear,” the being said, the sly grin still plastered on its face as mirth danced within its eyes. “It always flusters you so, you know that I have to capitalize on it..”
it whispered into his ears as if it was always been there from the start.

“Must you do so every time we meet, Mara?” he asked exasperatedly, reigning his control tightly as Mara ran an armored hand through his wild locks of hair, tracing his jawline with the other hand. He turned his gaze towards its eyes, blank white meeting purple on golden. That insufferable grin ever present..

“Of course,” Mara cooed before licking his cheek, causing him to shudder involuntarily. He was fairly sure it was due to disgust, and from a tiny part within that he controlled due to arousal. He would deal with that after he was done here, as he always did after every meeting with the Denizen of his land.

“The time that we conversed about in our previous encounters is fast approaching,” he began as he detached himself from Mara’s hands, turning around and facing the Denizen’s front once more. “Those you have to meet and discuss with are fast approaching and my time on this land is all but finished,” he continued as he stomped the bottom of his spear into the rocky floor. The teen gazed into Mara’s eyes, fiery with emotion but held in check as he saw nothing crossing its visage.

“I see, then.”

“Then let us dance once last time, my dear,” Mara whispered as both arms were outstretched, liquid black flowing down into its open hands, forming a mighty pair of scimitars that gleamed with deadly intent with the caverns torchlight.

Zen smiled wistfully as he kicked his spear into the air, spinning rapidly in mid-air and moving backwards as the teen jumped back, avoiding a downward slash from both Scimitars.

The teen grabbed his spear with an outstretched hand, spinning Scar of Raptors one-handed behind his back as he sidestepped and evaded another blow from his Denizen. Zen jumped back, gripping his weapon with both hands, the titanium spearpoint glinting ferociously at the lithe form in front of it.

Mara grinned widely, adrenaline clearly shown in the being’s eyes.

Zen smirked.

“Then let us dance, my dear.”

So it was, that both charged against the other in a deadly dance of wills, temptations and extensions of themselves.

[Kestral]

@Rudolph (In spoilers because it ran long.)

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Your story is interesting, but I found it difficult to read. It doesn't flow smoothly from scene to scene, and I lost track of what was happening. I am actually very confused, is the main character dead? Is the human man the same person as Zen? Some of my confusion may be because I'm tired, but the your story is lacking some clarity that it needs. (Unless some of the things I am confused about will be answered later in the story in which case ignore that I am confuse.)
Also, flowery language is good in small doses. You use cacophony several times in the first few paragraphs. There is nothing wrong with the word loud. I am also somewhat credulous as to how loud chains clinking together can be. There would have to be a lot a chains and some very fast wind for it to be cacophonus. I did like how you described the clinking as nature's symphony.
On the topic of using a word too much, your descriptions get sort of boring when you use the same word over and over again. Chains do not only clink, but they also jingle, jangle, rattle, chime, and ring. I'd consider swapping out some of the clinks for some of those.
I found the phrase: "A male of the human species." cumbersome. I think that the phrase, "A male human." would have just as much inpact because it is already in it's own paragraph. Also, I don't understand why it's important that he is a human. I assume that is something that will be explained later (or earlier) in the story.
Another thing to keep in mind is that if you are using word like parchment and hamlet things like t-shirts, khakis, and titanium feel out of place.
All that stuff aside, your concept is really cool. I loved your scene with the Denizen. I'm sorry if I made you feel bad even though the title says it's a no feelings zone I'm always worried that someone will take my critics the wrong way and quit writing so I always need to say everything that's good as well. This is not necessarily a bad thing but I worry about making any critic at all and as a writer I know how important critics are. Whew, that is one run on sentence. Sorry to all grammar nerds.

[Staff Deployment]

Is it wrong to name a chapter the title "In Which Some Douchebag Explains Things" and then begin it with the line:
""Hi, I'm some douchebag and I'm going to explain things," says some douchebag." ...???

(If it helps, the guy is kind of a douchebag and he spends a lot of time explaining things)

EXCERPT

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Chapter Four: In Which Some Douchebag Explains Things
"Hi, I'm some douchebag and I'm going to explain things," says some douchebag.

[Kestral]

@Freudian
First of all, and I guess this is to everyone, NEVER STOP WRITING! If you enjoy it, write for goodness sakes. In other word, yes continue. I feel bad that it took so long for someone to get back to you, I didn't because I personally don't like bloodswaps. That is just a weird personal thing, I have no idea why it is, and it has nothing to do with your writing. To sum this up, I'm sorry I didn't even read it and a feel bad, but always write, and if your writing isn't good no one has to see it.

@Staff Deployment
It really depends on the voice you have in the rest of your story. If your story is written ironically, then that is a perfect way to start a chapter titled: In Which Some Douchebag Explains Things. If you are writing seriously at all, which I suspect that you aren't, then yes, it would be wrong to start a chapter that way.

[wrinklefudger]

I'm writing my first novel, which is linked in my sig, and I'm having trouble with the ending of the chapter. The rest of the chapter has already been written, but I have I yet to upload it because I am making corrections. In the rest of the chapter, Gambini is about to beat Cormeyer to death with a fireplace poker, but collapses as soon as he touches it, and drops dead. I am not sure if I should end the chapter there or continue on to a scene in which Cormeyer tells the police that he is going to stay on the case because they failed to take it on.

[Kestral]

Erm... I can't see your signature, wrinklerfudger.

[wrinklefudger]

Erm... I can't see your signature, wrinklerfudger.

I deleted it a while ago, I guess I forgot to take this down. heh... Awkward

[wrinklefudger]

Okay, I have come to a problem in the mythology of my story. In my story, all mythologies are, to some extent, true and coexistent. The greco-etrusco-roman gods live among the norse gods, who themselves got into a very long an unpleasant dispute with jesus and so on. The crossroads I have come to is with the Cthulhu Mythos, who, as monstrous entities who did not create humans in their own image within their mythos, really don't fit into my mythos , in which every god is actually a very powerful human wizard who got worshipers, except for the gnostic abrahamic religious entities who were alien wizards, blah blah blah (you guys read homestuck, you know that some good ideas sound stupid out of context)... Anyway, my idea for integration is that they are the inhabitants of the true afterlife, a hell so horrifying that it is standard practice amongst gods to establish a mock afterlife in a large, stable, uninhabitable region of space, where the dead of their faith can be preserved indefinitely as cheap, immortal magical constructs. I'm not sure if this sounds like a good idea, or if it seems to similar to something that has been done before etc.

[ThereWillBePayne]

'Sup dude broheim doppelgangers! I figured I may as well share something I wrote somewhat absent mindedly while watching the sun set from my room.
It’s poetry, so it's sure to firmly establish my masculinity. I do however, fear that it lacks the regular structure of poetry, so it's a bit atypical in that regard.
I am eager to get some criticism to see what I can focus on in further endeavors and improve in this!

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Ethereal

A red-blue sky stains the porcelain a purple-pink,
The whites and blues of reality glow like pallid moons in its light.
The clouds shift on,
The cloying breath clings to the lungs,
Spaces are empty where once they were filled.
The world burns with the falling of the sun,
Reflections cling to the night in desperate promise,
The lone bird flies to the nest,
The sun’s descent heralds night’s return.
The city alights as the red vapor tendrils coalesce with the dark,
Dreams of comfort grow.

A star bleeds light from a million millennia distant,
Half a life to touch the sky.
Soon the stars will appear, fighting toxicity,
They glimmer freedom for those who have none,
They whisper calls for my journey home, but I cannot withdraw just yet
Rest and dreams need wait, for the sun is still descending,
The doubts have not yet faded.

When I pass my barren lake to the place I should call home,
Will I witness such an event as this?
Will it warn me of a mistake well-made?
Or will it proclaim the beginning of my unrest?
I only pray the dark comes quick, life is worth living,
Not preparing for birth,
Experience is wasted on thought,
Burn memories light bright on the moment
Chase back the clouds, the darkness, the anticipation,
I will burn my dawn anew.

[Dmatix]

'Sup dude broheim doppelgangers! I figured I may as well share something I wrote somewhat absent mindedly while watching the sun set from my room.
It’s poetry, so it's sure to firmly establish my masculinity. I do however, fear that it lacks the regular structure of poetry, so it's a bit atypical in that regard.
I am eager to get some criticism to see what I can focus on in further endeavors and improve in this!

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Ethereal

A red-blue sky stains the porcelain a purple-pink,
The whites and blues of reality glow like pallid moons in its light.
The clouds shift on,
The cloying breath clings to the lungs,
Spaces are empty where once they were filled.
The world burns with the falling of the sun,
Reflections cling to the night in desperate promise,
The lone bird flies to the nest,
The sun’s descent heralds night’s return.
The city alights as the red vapor tendrils coalesce with the dark,
Dreams of comfort grow.

A star bleeds light from a million millennia distant,
Half a life to touch the sky.
Soon the stars will appear, fighting toxicity,
They glimmer freedom for those who have none,
They whisper calls for my journey home, but I cannot withdraw just yet
Rest and dreams need wait, for the sun is still descending,
The doubts have not yet faded.

When I pass my barren lake to the place I should call home,
Will I witness such an event as this?
Will it warn me of a mistake well-made?
Or will it proclaim the beginning of my unrest?
I only pray the dark comes quick, life is worth living,
Not preparing for birth,
Experience is wasted on thought,
Burn memories light bright on the moment
Chase back the clouds, the darkness, the anticipation,
I will burn my dawn anew.

I liked it. Though I usually write my poetry according to (some) rhyme structure, free-verse like this certainly has its place.

[ThereWillBePayne]

Argh! Structure is hard. Perhaps you could look over this piece and give some advice/criticism on how to structure it better? I have a feeling I should be limiting syllables per sentence, or at least length. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I know something in this is amiss.

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Dawn

I woke to dawn,
Another day.
To journey on:
A path, a way.
I left abode,
Took to the road.
To the west, the moon.
Lazy it falls.
To the east, the sun.
Upwards it crawls.
To the north and the south,
A zephyr from sky's mouth.
Around me the breeze,
Gently swaying tall trees.

Daylight seeps through,
It catches grass, alights dew.
It catches stained glass, the old and the new.
It catches the leaves, green on sky blue.

This perfect morning,
Of hope, forewarning.
A clean slate,
Something great!
In this grand machine, I am but a component,
But here, now, if only for a moment:
I know everything will be okay,
Because it's the beginning of a brand new day.

[Dmatix]

Argh! Structure is hard. Perhaps you could look over this piece and give some advice/criticism on how to structure it better? I have a feeling I should be limiting syllables per sentence, or at least length. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I know something in this is amiss.

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Dawn

I woke to dawn,
Another day.
To journey on:
A path, a way.
I left abode,
Took to the road.
To the west, the moon.
Lazy it falls.
To the east, the sun.
Upwards it crawls.
To the north and the south,
A zephyr from sky's mouth.
Around me the breeze,
Gently swaying tall trees.

Daylight seeps through,
It catches grass, alights dew.
It catches stained glass, the old and the new.
It catches the leaves, green on sky blue.

This perfect morning,
Of hope, forewarning.
A clean slate,
Something great!
In this grand machine, I am but a component,
But here, now, if only for a moment:
I know everything will be okay,
Because it's the beginning of a brand new day.

First, let me say that I find your imagery compelling- you seem to have a knack for morning scenes. As for structure, I think the individual parts work well on their own (from "I woke at dawn" to "Gently swaying tall trees" for instance). The problem is they lack consistency when put together- see how much longer the last line is than the first. Now, you can choose to build a poem like this (from short to long), but in this case, you have very long lines ("It catches stained glass, the old and the new.") next to very short ones ("A clean slate,") which is something I find unappealing myself. This is more a matter of my personal taste, but it's worth keeping in mind.

You are quite talented. I hope to see more from you.

[wrinklefudger]

I wrote a poem that kind of ties into my novel, although on a mythological scale.

spoiler'ed for religious blasphemy

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Whence light and dark were both the same,
before the earth had earned a name,
in days of old, from another plane,
good and evil played a game.

One of light, and born in strife,
left his home to create life,
his word was law, the followers rife,
they pledged their blood drawn with his knife.

Their ichor spilled upon the earth,
for he would give their off'ring worth,
once a land of verdant dearth,
it quaked, it quivered as it gave birth.

The once dry land it yawned with trees,
and motes of life they filled the seas,
the voices of men soon split the breeze,
the worshiped him upon their knees

The followers, from which they bled,
told them of life beyond the dead,
good they prospered, bad they dread,
never told their creator fled

Two were left, of good and sin,
to teach of morals borne within,
follow the light and thee shall win,
or the earth, they'll burn within.

In hell is suffering, light still claims,
in they pits you are whipped with chains,
sin sits on a throne wreathed in flames,
but secretly he holds no reins.

Motes of light, while singeing purr,
they tell tales of a mangey cur,
his skin burned parchment, which cracks with each stir,
he bides and thinks of the saboteur.

She has no scruples, she has no face,
She wanders among men from place to place,
she claimed godhood at the dawn of their race,
a people she sought to debase.

The god they said would ease their plight,
if they followed its word and its light,
they thought they knew, but that is not quite,
they never thought the devil right.

In the ground he must be entombed,
in the heavens is where life bloomed,
at least that is what they presumed,
that the divine throne was not assumed.

And yes, I realize it is crap, that is why I brought it here, for constructive criticism.

[Dmatix]

I wrote a poem that kind of ties into my novel, although on a mythological scale.

spoiler'ed for religious blasphemy

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Whence light and dark were both the same,
before the earth had earned a name,
in days of old, from another plane,
good and evil played a game.

One of light, and born in strife,
left his home to create life,
his word was law, the followers rife,
they pledged their blood drawn with his knife.

Their ichor spilled upon the earth,
for he would give their off'ring worth,
once a land of verdant dearth,
it quaked, it quivered as it gave birth.

The once dry land it yawned with trees,
and motes of life they filled the seas,
the voices of men soon split the breeze,
the worshiped him upon their knees

The followers, from which they bled,
told them of life beyond the dead,
good they prospered, bad they dread,
never told their creator fled

Two were left, of good and sin,
to teach of morals borne within,
follow the light and thee shall win,
or the earth, they'll burn within.

In hell is suffering, light still claims,
in they pits you are whipped with chains,
sin sits on a throne wreathed in flames,
but secretly he holds no reins.

Motes of light, while singeing purr,
they tell tales of a mangey cur,
his skin burned parchment, which cracks with each stir,
he bides and thinks of the saboteur.

She has no scruples, she has no face,
She wanders among men from place to place,
she claimed godhood at the dawn of their race,
a people she sought to debase.

The god they said would ease their plight,
if they followed its word and its light,
they thought they knew, but that is not quite,
they never thought the devil right.

In the ground he must be entombed,
in the heavens is where life bloomed,
at least that is what they presumed,
that the divine throne was not assumed.

And yes, I realize it is crap, that is why I brought it here, for constructive criticism.

I wouldn't call in crap. The rhyme scheme is solid, if a bit monotonous. I think it's a case of choosing the wrong rhyming structure- rhyming couplets just don't serve as well for such a long piece. For this kind of poem, which, you say, is tied to a novel, I think the Ballad structure will work better-it was meant for story telling. Here is a classic example of it:

Jésse had a wífe to móurn for his lífe,
Three chíldren, théy were bráve;
But the dírty little cóward that shót Mister Hóward
Has láid Jesse Jámes in his gráve.

“Ballad of Jesse James”

The imagery is quite strong, and has a strong dualistic feel to it, like something out of the Zarathustra. It needs work, but it's not bad.

[AminaDominaMika]

When the stars are countless,
like the tears you cried over one person.
When it seems all is lost,
that there will never be a tomorrow,
and you can't help but wonder if you will ever feel alright.
The sun feels like it's mocking you,
illuminating yesterday's snow.
Watching you dressed in black,
burying your hero.
Mocking you with joy,
not knowing that the wooden case being lowered offered no closure.
None.
It only hurt more,
ripping you apart and putting you together over and over again.
It makes you numb,
having only seen it once before,
the same but younger,
more innocent.
But now,
that is long gone.
You are colder,
you know what Death is.
You understand so much,
that you fear you will never be the same.
You build a mask to save not only your sanity,
but ease the minds of others.
Think not of yourself but others.
Think not of yourself but others.
The words repeat,
a broken record.
You break down,
wearing a necklace with his ashes.
No one truly knows what's going on,
no one will know that type of pain.
Not as well as you do,
Never as well as you.
You, who later nearly brushes Death's touch,
becoming tainted.
A Tainted Angel,
gazing at the stars,
wondering when the end will come.
(An orginal poem by myself. The subject mainly focuses on myself reflecting my grandpa's death as a viewer who did nothing.)