Yo. Thought I'd round up a couple of writing samples and post them here, see what people think, gauge interest. Hope I'm allowed to put several things in one thread. They're kind of crap, but they're my best work thus far, so they're probably not totally crap. So, crit, praise, bash, whatevs. Lemme know if you're interested in seeing more of a story, or just more of my work in general. Warning: Most of these are morbid. I'm getting into horror and macabre stuff for some reason. Spoiler Alram arrived at R. Hessley Street around seven thirty. The sun was low on the horizon, dwarfed by the sea of skyscrapers. The street was alight with neon signs: rows of bulbs flickering on and off, brilliant flashes of color that danced across the city-goers’ bodies and distorted their shadows. The patterned flashes of light appeared as a war of colors, each sign fighting viciously for the city’s attention. “Come to me,” each one seemed to say, “come and see the wonderful things I have for you.” Alram wished he could see the sun instead, and the warm, natural colors of the fading light. Compared to that breathtaking sight, this was an eyesore. The signs were several stories above the streets, and the closeness with which they were arranged made them look like the bright, pristine surface of an otherwise murky sea below. It made Alram sick. This city reflected itself too well; the desperate, hopeless people plunged into darkness with fleeting promises of a better life hovering teasingly over their heads, ever out of reach. He uttered a curse under his breath and slipped his blinders down over his eyes. He’d never been able to stand the brightness. He wondered if it was a chemical problem, something wrong with his eyes; or perhaps the lights just repulsed him that much. Then Alram shook his head fiercely. His mind was wandering again. Remember, he told himself, you’re here for a reason. You’re on a timer. Oz is waiting. The symposium’s going to start soon, and you need to be ready. His mind cleared, he continued towards a large crowd ahead. The street emptied out into a large plaza with more lights but fewer colors, the abrasive rainbows giving way to a blazing sea of gold. The plaza ordinarily continued into an arcade walkway on the opposite side. However, tonight gates and ticket booths surrounded the arcade entrance. The crowd gravitated towards these gates, forming into more orderly lines the closer they got; one by one, the wealthy were admitted through the gates, ticket in hand, while the less fortunate were shoved aside. The outer edges of the plaza were lined with small novelty stores, who received very little attention from the crowds tonight. Scattered about the lines of people, often going against the flow, were the likes of swindlers and pickpockets, looking to make a small fortune in the confusion. Alram steered clear of the gathering, trying to be seen by as few people as possible. He walked along the outer edge of the plaza, looking for a fiery red ponytail—rather, more of a pinkish-red one, through his goggles—and some sort of camouflage-patterned jacket. Oz never did have a sense for formal dress. Then again, Alram was hardly one to talk. It so happened that, for once, his partner was appropriately dressed; ironically, it made it harder to find him, which Alram supposed was a good thing. He wore a dark-colored suit with matching tie, and his hair was tucked neatly into a large bowl-shaped hat. “Yo,” Oz greeted Alram, uncharacteristically quiet. “Man, I’ve never seen you so…uh…” “So fancy? Yeah, I’m diggin’ the new threads too, more than I figured I would. ****in’ spiffy, ain’t it?” “Not the word I was looking for, but it’ll do.” “I mean ****, we gotta blend in, right? People know our ****in’ faces ‘round here.” “Yeah.” Alram wasn’t really in the mood for small talk. The two had radically different approaches to pressure: Oz worked twice as hard to establish his presence, and Alram became a phantom, silent and contemplative. Perhaps that’s why they worked so well as a team: Oz spoke for them, Alram thought for them. Ew, Alram thought. On second thought, I don’t want Ozzy Cusses-a-lot talking for me. Maybe I should learn to socialize. “Oy!” shouted Oz; a bit too loud, more like his usual self. Thankfully no one noticed. “Hey Al, don’t zone out on me now. ****’s about to start.” “I know, I know.” Alram hadn’t been “zoning out” at all; at least, not in the way they understood that phrase. But at the mention of it, he became aware of a small ache in the back of his head; the one he usually got before he “zoned out.” First he would feel the ache, then his vision would become distorted in some way—Did everything get brighter just now?—then the headache would get exponentially worse—Ow! ****, my head... “…Oh man. Not now. Christ, my head.” Alram clutched his temple tight, but he couldn’t feel his hand. That was a bad sign. Then his vision started to go black. That was even worse. All of his senses dulled slowly, until he couldn’t tell if he existed. With his senses went time; for what could only have been a moment, he felt as if he’d experienced an eternity, floating in an abyss of blackness—No, he wasn’t floating in it. He was it. He was formless, mindless, lifeless. Then, time and sight returned to him; time because he realized it had only been a few seconds; sight, because she appeared in the darkness, looking the same as she always did, though the vision of her was so faint. Pale. Naked. Smiling… Finger. …Finger… Oz’s finger. …Oh. ****, Oz. Right. Alram awoke from his daze. Oz was standing in front of him, his fingers lightly pressing against Alram’s face. “Hey. You’re still here.” “And she’s not?” Alram wasn’t aware he was trembling until he heard it in his voice. Nor did he realize he was sweating until the cold film of liquid shifted on his head as Oz’s fingers left it. “She’s not.” Oz patted Alram’s shoulder. “She hasn’t been for a year, bro.” “…U-uh huh… Okay.” “You cool?” “I’m cool. I, I’m…” That was Alram’s answer, but he was still trembling, and every now and then his breath came in a sudden heave. The sight of her made him feel like vomiting. She had single-handedly instilled in him two fears: a fear of women, and a fear of cyborgs. He was incapable of touching either, and could barely stand to converse with them. “****, at least you remember me this time, heheh.” “Huh? Oh… Yeah.” Alram heard a beep. He’d forgotten he brought a watch, until just now. The beep was the signal. He checked the time: Sure enough, it was eight o’clock. The symposium would begin in an hour; as for the current time, VIP guests were now being admitted through one of the plaza gates. Oz pulled a long, rectangular slip of paper—a counterfeit VIP pass—out of his pocket and nodded to Alram. “You ready?” “Yeah.” Alram retrieved his pass as well. Satisfied, Oz made his way to the gate, with Alram close behind. Spoiler The cell block stank of blood. The smell overwhelmed her, forcing a cough, as she entered. The blood, she knew, was fresh from his victims—the poor souls ordered to try and feed him and ending up as his meal instead. (She wondered whose bright idea it was to try to feed a vampire chicken.) Armed guards lined the walls. Despite the horrible stench, they remained silent and statuesque. They must be used to this smell, she thought. They must know the scent of comrades' blood—the massacre these beasts were capable of, and how they reveled in it—far too well. They had learned to live with this. The notion made her shudder. She continued down the hall, making her way to his cell, which was the only occupied cell for three blocks. They had dealt with him before, dealt with his cunning and his resourcefulness, and knew that he was best kept isolated. Where he could make any sound his fellows could hear, he could escape. With every step she took, she doubted more and more. Doubted that her idea made any sense at all. Doubted that a revenant would pay a human any mind. Doubted that she would ever leave this room alive. But as the sharp clop-clop of her heels overwhelmed the silence of the cell block, so did she overwhelm the doubt with a single thought, repeated mechanically in her mind. I won't turn back. I won't turn back. I WON'T. Turn. Back. She had come too far. This was not in her hands—she must continue. No... It was in her hands—She could choose to just run away, forget it all—but she would continue. Her mind growing still, focused on her mantra, she became aware of a low, full, lyrical sound. A song. He was singing his anthem. Far through the fields we ran, Far from our god. That god who saw us fit to squirm and die. Once we suffered all his whims; Suffer we no more. Spread we now our devil's wings and fly. A guard emerged from the wall of uniforms and began to open the cell door for her. As the door creaked open, she turned to survey the floor. Splatters of blood, fresh and dried, painted the ground sickly shades of red. And there, in the corner from which all the splatters came, he sat: head hung, clothes torn, blazing red hair strewn all about him. She had only seen him once before now, and his hair had been tied back, his head held high with a satisfied smirk. The smirk he got when he'd won a decisive victory. She had never seen the Vermillion King look so beaten... so pitiful. “I must say... I'm quite disappointed.” The mass of red hair shifted upwards and back against the wall. Through the strands of tangled, dirty crimson she could make out the curve of lips and nose, the faint glow of revenant eyes. “Are you my next meal?” asked a deep, throaty voice. “I'm afraid not. But I have something to discuss with you... Something that may interest you.” “...Oh? Is that so?” Now she spotted eyebrows. She spotted them because they perked up. The vampire's face lightened with curiosity, for a moment. Then, slowly: His eyes narrowed. His brows dropped once more. His lips curved into a sinister grin. And in the thin, ovular crease between his lips, she could make out the zig-zag of fangs. He didn't look so pitiful now. “Tell me, child. What is it that you think would interest me?” He would respect nothing less than fearlessness; this she knew. Thus she met his gaze unflinchingly, willing the wildfire in her soul to the surface—to her eyes. And without hesitation, without apprehension, she spoke. “I want to recruit you.” Spoiler This last one's a bit unorthodox... It's actually an idea I had for a click-escape horror game. It's set in a haunted house, and the ending you get is determined by which set of notes found in the house you choose to follow. This is the bad ending. (Note that the exposition makes reference to several things that are not explained here; they're other concepts that I never got around to fleshing out.) The Researcher's Notes The Researcher's Logs are the path to death in Hall of the Dark Gods. Reading the logs of the Researcher, Arthur Nova, and following the logs' trail will lead the player to the Attic Finale, which he/she will be able to unlock using the information in the logs. The final log before entering the attic reveals that the researcher himself is the Dark Host, before believed to be an individual unfamiliar to anyone who explored the house. Upon entering the attic, death is certain; there are chances to escape, but they ultimately end in the player's death. The player finds in the attic the researcher waiting in a large armchair, facing away from the door. He speaks to the player for a short while before turning to face him/her; then, night falls instantly and the researcher attacks and kills the player. If the player escapes the room, the researcher's monologue will continue to echo in his/her head until he rises and begins chasing the player through the house. The player cannot escape; any doors or windows leading out will disappear as he/she nears them. The Prison of Blood event will activate during the Attic Finale if the player has not activated it yet and/or escapes the attic before the researcher's monologue finishes. In addition to the standard prisoners, the Priest will appear several times and, if highlighted, will say directly to the player, "You fool... You've doomed yourself... There is no escape now." The Researcher's Logs are meant to appear significantly more intelligently-written and better informed than the Priest's Logs. The Researcher is more knowledgeable about demons in myth and history, where the Priest's supposed ideas are primarily romantic in nature, stemming from minimal apotropaic knowledge and educated guesses. The key that reveals the Researcher's true nature comes in the last log, where he reveals that he is actually curious to learn more about the history of the demons' realm. It is not dated, which may cause the player to think it was written by the host, not the researcher; it only becomes entirely clear that the two are one and the same during the Attic Finale. Below are a list of the Researcher's Logs in chronological order, including the undated log, as well as his writings in blood on the walls, and finally a recreation of his monologue in the Attic Finale. Arthur Nova's Log; September 20th, 6:37 PM. I have heard that an ominous presence hangs over this house. It is said that there reside here ferocious Devils, masters of the dark arts that are hailed as gods by the demons in their realm. As to why they have made their presence known, I am not certain; according to my sources, it is uncommon for anything more threatening than poltergeists or vengeful spirits to haunt spaces in this world. There is some great mystery behind this appearance, else it would have faded from memory by now. I must know what has transpired in this house, and why the Devils have deigned to make this place their home. Arthur Nova's Log; September 20th, 7:40 PM. I have entered the house and explored most of the first floor. There is no doubt in my mind that a paranormal presence exists in this house. I have observed several telltale signs; nothing complicated, but concrete enough to suggest that there is an active haunting taking place. I have also found notes from previous visitors. From these I have gleaned that the spirits are indeed malevolent. Of course, this was rather obvious to begin with, given that nearly every wall is stained with blood. I cannot say that this place has earned so much as my curiosity just from this hour of exploration, but I will continue to search for concrete evidence of the Dark Gods' presence. Arthur Nova's Log; September 21st, 6:22 PM. I had planned not to stay in the house for the first night, but my work compelled me to remain here. I have been attempting several experiments to reveal the presence of higher-level spirits, but given that I don't entirely understand the intended outcomes of these experiments, the results have been difficult to gauge. Regardless, I believe I have made progress. I am still light years from Devil status, but the more I stay here, the more I feel the dark power. I will extend my search to the second floor tomorrow if the rest of the day proves uneventful. Arthur Nova's Log; September 22nd, 6:19 PM. As I decided, I have been exploring the second floor today. I have collected just as much evidence and just as many notes from this floor, as well as several snippets of what appear to be codes or instructions pertaining to other areas of the house. This is starting to feel like some kind of game... Of course, this is a common occurrence in haunted houses, as spirits apparently enjoy putting curious humans through their paces. Speaking of spirits, I have now seen one; it appeared only momentarily after I turned on a light in the hallway, and it floated to the back of the hall with a thunderous noise. It seemed to dissolve into a room at the back of the hall, which I promptly entered. There was a strong presence, perhaps left by the spirit, but there were also many religious items in the room. It appeared to be a sort of collection, in fact. I was surprised to find that the dark power overwhelmed my senses, even in a room with so many holy figures. This is definitely a step in the right direction. I spent most of my time in this room today; I will explore the second floor more fully tomorrow. Arthur Nova's Log; September 23rd, 5:57 PM. My exploration of the second floor has been unexpectedly delayed again, as I have now found what appears to be a miniature library. The books inside are none that I have heard of; they have strange titles, as if they are biographies, histories, encyclopedias, and the like, but... I'm not sure how to put this... The titles suggest that they are otherworldly. The biographies are of people who never existed, the histories are of wars that never happened, and the names are almost beyond my ability to pronounce. Is this some sort of Devil's Library? Why would these Dark Gods leave information of their world in this one? ...Are they trying to teach us? Perhaps... recruit us? Arthur Nova's Log; September 25th, 8:24 PM. Well, I am now... sufficiently shaken. Some time after writing my last log, I fell unconscious while exploring the library. When I awoke, it appeared to be deep in the night. I couldn't tell where I was, but it seemed I was on the second floor. I went out into the hall, and was greeted with a horrifying sight: The entire room was pitch-black, except for the blood on the walls. It was luminescent. I kept hearing screaming, so loud that I was sure that the city in the valley could hear it. When I approached the blood on the walls, I realized I could see people inside its reflection. They were the ones screaming; they wanted out. This house... has taken... prisoners. I should not stay here much longer. I believe that I understand what I need to know of this house. However, it could be more dangerous to leave at this junction. Much as it goes against my better judgement, I will stay one more night to be certain that the spirits were not deliberately trying to drive me out. I will do no more. Arthur Nova's Log; September 26th, 11:20 AM. There are Dark Gods present. Of this I have no doubt. Why? One of them has spoken to me. He calls himself Alexander, perhaps an homage to the conqueror from our realm. (I have a feeling his real name is beyond my ears, or something of the like.) He praised my inquisitive nature and invited me to learn of his realm's history. The Devils have taken an interest in me! I must leave this place, or I will soon be lost. If I do not surrender to their will, they will take me by force; I will become one of the screaming prisoners beyond the blood. This is my last log concerning the hauntings of the "Hall of the Dark Gods," as the spirits call it; I am preparing to leave, even as I write this. The mystery has been solved; this place is haunted by Devils and unsafe for humans. Upon leaving, I will recommend this building to the nearest wrecking ball. The First Undated Log: Look at this... There is so much history here... An entirely separate world's worth of history! So much knowledge, so many findings... It's amazing. I can't believe it. What if this world has different laws of physics? Different species, different genetic material? We could start the scientific process all over again from the beginning! I have to know more! I HAVE to SEE this world! The Second Undated Log: I will not suffer. The Devils have told me that I will not suffer. They said that I will be their servant, carry out their will and guard their temple in this world. I have nothing to be afraid of. I have been... chosen. I am the Dark Host. The Writings on the Walls: They have entrusted me with the secrets of this house. My eyes have been opened to a wondrous new world. Forever shall I sing praises to my gracious lords. Long live Alexander, the Conqueror of Hell. The Attic Finale: (laughter) "Dear child, are you lost?" "Poor thing... You must have wandered into this place by mistake. Yes, that must be it." "Or perhaps..." (laughter) "You are like me." "Curious? Want to know more? I cannot blame you." (laughter) "I came to this place so long ago... It seems like a lifetime." "Perhaps that is because... Since then... I have begun a new life. In a new world." "I have learned things that we in the human world could never understand. It's breathtaking, really." "And I am no longer of this world. I am no longer Arthur Nova." "And you? Are you like the rest? Do you want to escape, turn your nose to all of the beautiful knowledge within, and save your ignorant hide? "Or do you want to start a new life? absorb an entirely new world of knowledge and power?" (laughter) "...It does not matter either way." (stands) "Because you are not worthy." (turns) "But despair not, child..." (brandishes knife) "You will make an excellent feast for Lord Alexander."
Alright. I see this has many views but no posts, a fact that I shall soon be invalidating. You seem to stumble infrequently, an admirable quality in a writer. There is a negative to that gold star I just handed you so I'll be taking it back and wearing it for the rest of the day. Your diction needs more diversity, you seem to have the vocabulary for it but you don't seem to use it as freely as you could and you also need some dialogue work. There's just not much of it at all here to go on but it's not very snappy or interesting even when I feel it should be the main attention grabber of a section. So there are my thoughts overall. To be more specific I like the feel of the first one and think it needs more to stand on as a complete or at least more complete work. The second is not to my taste as far as subject matter but the description is good to go even if it doesn't seem quite as forcible as it might be. The third one is just not a story in and of itself. Write a story around it and I might like it, design a game around it and I might like it but as is I'm gonna give a no on that front. That's all I have to say, grammar was unobtrusive as it should be and I'd like to see more from you. That's pretty much the long followed by the short of this post.
