Vampire story - Writers Forum

Mid-evil Fanatic · 02-19-2007, 05:47 PM

It seems like there are alot of vampire stories going around and I decided to try my hand at it. Enjoy

He sat shivering with his back against a tavern, mud on his face. He was drunk but still felt the cold well enough through his black cloak. He had no family, no life left before him, no home, nothing. He ran from everyone and killed who he couldn't out run. He was good physically other than the scars that lined him and the current state he was in. He was bleeding from his stomach and so he had gone to the tavern plead with the owner for a bottle of whisky and went out doors. The people inside the warm bar knew that there was no use for calling a physician and so they decided they would wait until he was dead to call the coroner. And the man with his free bottle of ale, sitting outside with no one to help ease the pain, was dying.
But that was exactly why he was the perfect choice.
Jenieth smiled when he saw the dying man, for he knew that there couldn't be a better choice in all of creation. The god had been following this man for quite some time and was aware of his plights, he knew of every thing and was but waiting for the man to be at deaths door. This way there was no meddling with the events that could take place if the man should live long. But it was time at last to put his entertainment into motion. And the god extended a long arm with a gnarled hand; there was an explosion of light a dim light that reached far into the night, weakly but a light nonetheless. And the man, instead of making the fateful journey to Hades or heaven, fell asleep and dreamt.

~~~

He awoke in the day light. The man was alone, next to the tavern, but was neither bleeding nor dead, though his head ached and his tongue was swollen. He felt oddly stupid but invigorated and not as one would feel after being drunk. Who was he? He couldn't remember. He could remember nothing but the dream at this point.
It was of a man, large and dark but handsome, speaking to him. "I have saved you from death my son, though not at a price for and others. You must feel so incredible being changed. I have chosen you and I do not think that you shall ever see me but I will watch you continually. I have decided to give you a new name. Good bye, Funestu." And then the dream ended.
Who was the man? Was he his literal father? What was this new name to mean? Changed? Funestu... Funestu shook his head and looked about him. There were people standing in a semi circle looking at him, yes he knew people and what a town was and nature, light, dark, food. Fundamentals, But very little else. One of them spoke, Funestu could understand him but it only confused him more.
"He should be dead! We saw him last night. He was bleeding to death!"
"Look at his skin."
"And his hair, wasn't it all brown yesterday?" He tried to speak the language of the others, for he knew it, but his tongue would not allow it. He opened his mouth and a wet syrup ran down his chin and the people recoiled, a few ran a way. What was wrong with him? He sucked on his tongue and felt in deflate a bit he spat the red liquid and the people screamed and clutched at the others to get away. The screams were like nails pounded into his ear drums. He held his head.
"Some one fetch a bow!"
"I have a dagger!"
"Give us it!" Funestu knew that they would kill him without a second thought. His cloak flinging mud, he, surprisingly, flew to his feet with ease and ran into the hills to his left faster than he thought he could go, feet bare nimble and light on the grass and rocks. A bell rang in the village. He didn't understand why they were afraid. He almost hated them for it, for despising him so quickly.
Funestu thought that after he had tired himself he would stop fleeing as he had gone far enough, but the moment never came. It felt good to run. He didn't want to stop. Funestu leapt over a ravine quickly and continued, till he saw a river, in a valley near a wood where he decided to stop. He did so and panted very little. Hills and valleys separated him and the people now so he decided to attend to himself.
The pain in his mouth was not very painful but he gave a slight whimper as he leaned down to rinse his mouth of the bitter taste in his mouth. His tongue felt normal after he had finished and he was glad for it. He felt healthy but at the same time horrid and miserable. Like when you have just come from swimming in a cold river but your stomach aches from it.
Funsetu dried his face with his hands. But when he withdrew his hands from his face he saw that his skin was as white as ashes. Not a skin pore nor hair dotted it. Not like the other humans who had peach and bronze and brown skin. His skin wasn't tight, it wasn't loose but it was leathery and smooth. Also, not like a normal human. His finger nails were pointed and an opaque white.
He wondered if the man in his dream was involved in this and if that man was human.
Funestu quickly looked into a nearby puddle, there, though it was distorted, he saw his own face. His face was the same color as the rest of him and he had black hair, hanging in his face, a white streak running over his left pointed ear. He stuck out his tongue and found there were two bloody holes in it. He wondered how that had happened. He showed his teeth to himself and understood. For he had two large white, pointed teeth, like you might see in a dogs mouth. He must have bitten his tongue. He smiled at himself, and why should his teeth not be like this? Had he changed? Had he always been like this? No, the people said his hair was brown, and his skin different.
Funestu stretched to feel a taught ness in the skin on his stomach. He opened his cloak and saw that his white shirt beneath was covered in blood, he opened this and saw a large horizontal scar, thick and ugly. In fact his entire body was covered in scars up and down. The man in his dream said he had saved Funestu from death, perhaps these were scars from when he was about to die. He resolved to find this man whoever he may be and question him. But, what is it was... just a dream? And there was no man?
Funestu wasn't tired but wanted to forget his troubles, and he was beginning to feel weak. He tried his voice to see if it was also mutilated like the rest of him.
"What am I to do now?" And he was surprised to hear a good strong voice vibrating in his throat. He rather liked the sound of it. He thought a moment.
"I'll sleep out here then, tomorrow, I'll go to the town again. No, they didn't like me, what if they try to kill me? Perhaps I'll not let anyone see me. But it would be fun to--" But he stopped and shuddered at the thought he had just had, had he really thought that? But he could do it, he was quite sure he could, and it might be fun, he didn't know.
He halted in his mental argument with himself, startled. He then decided it was best to dawdle anywhere long and sought a cavern to sleep in.

~~~

The following morning, while the horizon was still grey and the light still dark. He ran into the town, a large place, and soon found himself in the slums. He sat on the roofs looking for a place where he could find something to eat. He knew he needed something to eat as his head was becoming light and his limbs heavy. He saw a man with a load on his back, unlock the door to a store, there was no one else about. Perhaps this man would have something to eat. So he leapt down to the door and entered the store after the other.
The shop's walls were cluttered with odd things and the floor had a barrel and chair in a corner and a bar in the back with a door behind it. A few things hung from the ceiling, Funestu wasn't sure what they were. The store owner had his back turned and was putting merchandise on the shelves that lined the walls. The owner half glanced over his shoulder. His large moustache covered his mouth and his squinted eyes were cold.
"Customers already? You must've been waiting, hem? Welcome to Morgan's Fine Curios. What can I do for you?" He walked and continued to hang objects on a horizontal bar, suspended by chains. "Interested in a certain piece?"
"Food?" Came the reply.
"Food? I don't sell food, man. I sell oddities! I have a few pickled fish in the barrel in the corner. You can have a few if you'd like, they're no good to me. I detest them. I'm not giving you a hand out, I'm getting rid of bad merchandise, so don't come back looking for more." The store owner finished his work and slapped his empty hands. He turned around to see the man he was talking to smelling the barrel. A liquid oozed from the side and the man licked it then spat on the floor. The light was not good so the owner turned and got a candle, the man's feet were bare and deathly white. The owner flinched. "What're you doing? Stop soiling my floor. What-- what--" The man with the ashen skin stood and was two feet taller than the owner, who now stood wide eyed at Funestu but he stood at a distance. He saw now that the stranger’s ears were pointed and a streak of white hair cut through the black just above his left ear. He wore a black cloak and a white shirt, covered in blood, under that. "What are you?! Stay away!" And he drew a short knife. The owner threw the knife, which stuck directly into Funestu's chest with a gruesome sound. Funstu gave a howl and clutched at the knife, pulled it free and looked at the owner soon enough to see him raise another knife above his head. Funestu was furious with the man, how dare he!? His eyes glowed red. Funestu deftly swiped the second knife, which stuck into the wall with a thud, away with the first, and covered the distance between he and the man in two strides. He raised the knife above his head. The owner fumbled for another knife but cut himself in the process. Funestu dropped his own knife. He went weak at the knees with the sight of another’s blood. Why? He knocked the knife from the owner's hand and bit into his wrist with his fangs.
The wrist gave a popping sound and blood flooded Funestu's mouth. The store owner screamed as Funestu began to drink the blood. Funestu felt power, enormous power flooding into his limbs, appendages, head, they all tingled and felt they were about to burst.
Then there was nothing. No sound, nothing but the mans wrist in his mouth and this pulsating feeling of power. He took the limp hand from his mouth and looked at the owner. He was dead.What had he done!? Killed and drunk huge amounts of blood. Why? He understood now. This was what he ate to live. Just as he did not look like humans he ate differently this was his source of power. He didn't much like the idea of it but it would grow on him, soon it would be an addiction. Funestu remembered his wounded chest and looked at it, a deep wound. He saw the suroundding skin writhe over the stab and soon it was as if it had never happened. not even a scar. That was odd. Funestu looked about the room, people would still be chasing him. He found a belt and put it under his cloak and around his chest also it went about his waist. A belt around the waist that had a strap that went up his back and down his chest. He took the dead man's knives, spun them in his hands, and shoved them into the edge of the strap to hold them. Then he looked about, found a short sword and hooked it to his waist, then also found a cross bow and slung it on his back. True they would slow him down and impede with his agility, but if there was an angry mob around him he would be glad for them.
A noise came from outside and Funestu hid behind the door. Three men sauntered in, dressed in leather.
"Morgan? Time's come. You have the protection money? It's no use hiding. We know you're here." One of them stopped as he stumbled over the body.
"What the bloody?" Funestu couldn't help the jest.
"Quite the opposite." And with that he slit the throats of the two nearest men and then rushed at the third and whispered in his ear as he held the knife to his throat. "Do you fear death?"
"I do, the same as you I'm sure." The man stood stock still. Funestu gave a chuckle.
"I'm not so sure I do. But tell me, who is the wisest you know of?"
"The-- the king?" The man guessed.
"Try again." Funestu said. Thinking that Funestu wished to be flattered he said.
"You?"
"Three is a very un-lucky number I've been told. Tell the truth, man." Funestu could hear the man breathing heavy and whimpering.
"I-- I heard there is a hermit west of here, he works with herbs and reads books. I heard he-- he was very smart and wise. But I'm not sure if he even exists. They say no one has ever found him in his own lair. Short of him I'd have to say my old man, but he's been dead time out of mind."
"Thank you for your co-operation." And Funestu sunk his teeth into the man's neck and drank till he felt gorged and dizzy with drunkenness. The power wanted to be used. He would find the hermit and seek this man in his dream through him.

mashowasho · 02-19-2007, 06:37 PM

yay!! first comment!

Quote:

"Do you fear death?"

I got such a strong mental image of Davy Jones at that point. Can Funestu have a Scottish accent please?

Before I go any further: PUT SPACES BETWEEN YOUR PARAGRAPHS!

Anyway, there wasn't anything wrong with it plot-wise, although maybe you could have developed the feelings of Funestu a tiny bit more, like: how does the fact that he's realised he's become a vampire make him feel? Angry? Upset? Happy, even?

Also, why bother changing his name? Why not simply have it as Funestu throughout? It'd be simpler to follow, but it's a moot point.

I do like the dark feel you've set here; in keeping with the vampire genre I suppose! I like the bit at the beginning where you describe him dying, and being the perfect choice and all that... mmm destiny!

keep it up my friend, hope to learn more about funky Funestu.

Mid-evil Fanatic · 02-20-2007, 10:04 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by mashowasho

yay!! first comment!

I got such a strong mental image of Davy Jones at that point. Can Funestu have a Scottish accent please?

Ha ha, I thought the same thing when I wrote it. I'm not sure about the scottish accent though lol

Quote:

Originally Posted by mashowasho

Before I go any further: PUT SPACES BETWEEN YOUR PARAGRAPHS!

Yeah I know I have grammatical problems like no other lol

Quote:

Originally Posted by mashowasho

Also, why bother changing his name? Why not simply have it as Funestu throughout? It'd be simpler to follow, but it's a moot point.

Well, my thinking was that there are gonna be people following him so he needed a complete identy change. Also his name in his former life could very easily be really lame ha ha.

Glad you liked it, I will keep working on it

Mid-evil Fanatic · 03-27-2007, 11:49 AM

Hey, sorry for not posting but I hadn't worked on it for a while. But I am working on this story again and I'll try to post it some time in the week following next sunday.

mashowasho · 03-27-2007, 02:39 PM

In that case, I shall aspire to do the same with my latest project. (Sorry, MidEvil, but I'm working on something else now!

)
I'll keep a look out for your updates.

Sickles · 03-27-2007, 04:52 PM

I liked it alot, the paragraph spacing did make it a little bit harder on the eyes, but I don't think that's too much of a problem. I don't think there was anything wrong with it. Although, towards the end when those three men came in I got a little confused as to who was saying what, but, that could just be my comprehension skills failing. Haha. Anyway, it was really well written, unlike most of my things which I abandon half way in.

Keep up the good work!

Mid-evil Fanatic · 03-28-2007, 02:22 PM

Ah, and I'm sorry too, mashowasho, I haven't been reading yours very often.

Sickles! Glad you liked it, I'm pumped about working on it again.

I do indent my scentences and stuff but when I paste in into here and post it it takes all that out for somereason! Yeah well,

Akroma · 03-30-2007, 10:17 AM

Hello!! Yay more Vampire stories!! Awesome! It's pretty cool, man. Ooh pointy ears! Me likes pointy ears!

Does he find out who he used to be? Keep writing it's really good!

Mid-evil Fanatic · 03-30-2007, 07:18 PM

Ha ha, yeah I'm still working on the next post

As for the past life thing you'll have to keep reading, I don't want to give it away and I'm not so sure myself hahaha.

Mid-evil Fanatic · 04-02-2007, 05:22 PM

Ah! So sorry I haven't posted anything!!! I keep getting this error every time I even come to the site! I'm currently trying something. I'm writing out the parts I already have hammered out in my head instead of starting at the beginning and slogging my way through. It has been really wonderful but I obviously can't post out of order. So I have to write somestuff in the inbetween parts. :/ sorry but I'll keep you posted. Right now I have to go chew the meadeators or something lol

Mid-evil Fanatic · 04-03-2007, 12:03 PM

Sorry, I didnt' know that the problem was payment and stuff. The guys in charge are doing good as they can.

Mid-evil Fanatic · 04-07-2007, 11:44 AM

I know this is going slowly but it'll kinda start coming out all at once soon I think.

Funestu couldn't have drunken another drop so full was his stomach. He mastered his fit of dizziness and looked at the man he had just drunk from. He was deathly white. The mans eyes were open and he was barely breathing, his hand twitched. His small orange goatee had turned white. This might mean trouble later on, he might alert other people if he lived, but Funestu hardly cared, as if he could be killed? Ha. And that was all he could think of that.
But he wanted to run, to feel free again, these walls were smothering him. He panted like a crazed dog and yelled to the air, ran from the store, leapt to the nearest roof top with ease and looked to the west; he would search out this old man and find his destiny therein.
It did not take long for Funestu to find the lair of this man but I will not tell you how it came to pass at this moment. I will tell you that it took a time enough that Funestu found himself in constant need for blood so he would return to the village and drink. This caused the villagers to become alert and raise walls with bells and watch men, they hired trained men with talisman around their necks and wolves blood on their arrows to attempt to keep their town safe. And he collapsed with fatigue in the mud of the forest.
For now, however I must mention another man, one whom you have met before in this tale. Who also had nearly died, one who was now changed by the means of a higher being. This man's name was Knil. This was the name of the man left for dead with three corpses in an oddities shop. He was thought to be one of the victims of the blood drinker, never to be found. But on a certain day this man arose in the dark stinking shop and had thought, keen, clear thought. He was changed to be like the man he had met, he knew it, and He could feel his pointed teeth, the need for them to provide blood. He knew that he could track this man and become part of his clan. So he went to his home like a man possessed, killed a cock to drink its blood and bedded his wife who was surprised and joyful to see him again. But still when the night was dark he left to never return and seek out his maker. His wife thought it to be a mourning dream, a phantasm of grief, true he had looked grave, his hair was black and he had not said a word during the visit and she knew he must be dead and still she wore her blackest dress in weeping.
That being said we now go to Funestu's plight.
When Funestu awoke, tired he found himself in a dark, small, red room, square with a dresser and wash basin, a bunk that he was lying on, with red sweet smelling blankets; and a plain brown rug. The hermit bent over him with a candle in his hand and stared gravely.
"You? You're the hermi--" And he broke into violent coughs.
"I am, and I would like to know who you are."
"I was named Funestu."
"You speak as though it's a recent thing."
"And so it is." And again he coughed and shivered. The strength was all but sapped from him.
"Be still, my boy. Sleep." And sleep he did.
Funestu stayed with this hermit during his recovery for three days, dozing and waking. It would seem that the man owned a virtual underground castle, one that he lived in by himself.
The hermit would not give his name or engage in chatter. When pressed, he would only say "Perhaps another time, my boy. You must first become strong." And would provide Funestu with fresh blood when it was requested. The old man seemed that it was a natural thing to do but watched Funestu constantly with no candle and just outside the room, his face cloaked in shadows.
The hermit was a tall man that stood just below Funestu and showed a great white beard to show his age. He was as wise and clever as any creature, human or even god. Funestu sometimes wondered if he hadn't read every book in his large candle lit library, and perhaps he had indeed. Funestu was humbled by this man and began to admire him and became filled with a thirst for knowledge. When Funestu became fitful the man would read fairy tales and poems by his dim candle with a deep wistful voice that pronounced the rhymes in perfect meter and Funestu would be lulled back to sleep. A normal man would wonder for what purpose the hermit cared so but Funestu didn't care if the man was planning to eat him such was his peacefulness.
On the third day Funestu sat up in bed and felt quite refreshed like all the muddiness had been washed from his head. He knew where he was and what he was doing. Not that he didn't have questions but the questions only seemed to enrich the moment. The hermit came in with his staff and candle, he paused to see Funestu sitting.
"You feel quite well?" The hermit said.
"Yes, Sir."
"Then I would speak to you."
"Very well, but please... I would still like to know your name." The old man smiled.
"Not that it matters much but you can call me Earnest. My full name is Sir Earnest Hawthorn but just Earnest will suffice."
"You were knighted?"
"A long story, I need to talk to you. No time for stories now. I have a question to put to you."
"Yes?"
"You are not a human, which is plain. So I must ask, what exactly are you? I have a good guess but I'd like to hear you're story."
"I'm afraid it's not very long. The very first thing I can remember is a dream. A man telling me that he saved my life among other things. I awoke like this, was chased out of the town, I returned to find of you and I have been looking for you ever since. Will you help me find the man in my dream?" Earnest mumbled something inaudible to his folded hands.
"Sir?"
"Surely. But if you want to get anywhere I'm sure you will need to learn to fight... I have training grounds here, books of fighting, I could tutor you."
"Would you?! I don't see why you should treat me so kindly."
"Well I have nothing better to do at the moment. I should treat you very well anyway."
"Why?" Funestu's head cocked to one side.
"Well you are a guest!" He stammered. "Across the hall is a room where I store most of my armaments, take a rapier, cross bow, a long bow, a quiver of arrows, a pair of boots, a dagger a long sword of your choosing and a pair of gauntlets. Then meet me in the training room. Turn left from this door and it's at the end of the hall. The door with the crossed maces." With these words he stood and left quickly. Funestu was happy to be able to move freely. He leapt from the bunk to find he was dressed in a pair of loose, black leggings with a swords man's shirt. He did observe his own gear on the top bunk. He bent and flexed, hopped a few times, and rushed to the door across the hall. With a small tug the door opened heavily but without a creak.
It was very dark inside so he took a torch from the hall to light the torch inside the room. This showed a small room lined with bookcases and each shelf lined with armor and weapons. Funestu seized a pair of steel and black leather plate gauntlets and fitted them on his hands. He then strapped a sheath onto his waist and passed a few maces and flails to find a rapier. This he took and slid it into his sheath. Next he found a pair of boots to match his hand wear and he equipped these also. Next came a sheath and a claymore that rested on his back, a quiver and long bow that fit there as well and a cross bow that he carried. On his way to the training room he snatched one of his own daggers and slid it next to his rapier, he was accustomed to their weight and handles. Altogether he looked like a tinker or gypsy about to sell the wares that he had stolen from road brigands and a much encumbered one at that. His feet moved slowly and thudded which made his whole body jingle as the made his way to the training room. Earnest opened the door to let him in.
"Well look at you. Come in." The training room was not a room at all but a cave. A large round circle of stone, about four feet high, with steps up to it, was set in the middle and behind this was a shooting range. Racks of magnificent weapons and armor were at the edges of the cavern and a table with drinks was set in the right corner. A raised throne attached to the ring and Earnest sat in this. There was a solemn air to the place.
"Couldn't I use these?" Funestu pointed to the impressive accouterments.
"Those are special. They belonged to my forefathers. My father built this room. Each generation adds something here. Each one building what describes him best. We've lived here time out of mind."
"What did you build?" Funestu asked.
"Me? I built two things. A stable and an observatory." He grinned proudly.
"And do you have a son?"
"That I do! And the lay about should be here presently. I've named him Gin. It follows my wife’s customs."
"Does she live here too?"
"No, sadly not, she passed. A beautiful oriental woman. Exquisite." At this moment the door to the cave opened and in walked a boy of about twelve, thin but strong looking, black hair in a short queue and slanted hazel eyes. He was clean and in grey pants, a blue vest and brown slippers. He carried a dagger in his hand.
"Hello father, is this the visitor?" He looked Funestu from top to bottom with a straight face. Funestu felt as if he were being sized up by the whelp.
"Yes Gin. This is he. Funestu." The boy smiled a white grin.
"It will be good to have someone new around."
"Yes, but it is time for his first lesson. Sit and learn, Gin." He ordered.
"Yes, father." And the boy ran to sit before his fathers’ throne cross legged. Funestu observed that when Gin climbed the stairs he put the knife behind his back incase he were to trip.
"Funestu, put whatever you don't feel you need on the ground." Funestu removed his rapier; boots and cross bow and set them on the stone floor."
"I see you've chosen a claymore, strong due to the amount of leverage, but you need to be sure you can hit your target, other wise it can be a clumsy thing. Gin, please inform our guest the rules of the ring."
"Yes, papa. Rule one of the ring: Respect the ring, its rules, and the people within it. Because only those who are deemed worthy are allowed into it." He smiled as he added the second bit of information."
"Very good, Gin. Second rule."
"The second rule of the ring: Never use any harsh manner that may harm your combatant. This includes cursing, dirty fighting, and sparring while intoxicated with any substance that might inhibit, or enhance, the thinking or physical abilities. Such behavior is unworthy and will not be tolerated. This rule excludes the harming of all types of targets and practice dummies, naturally."
"Of course." Funestu smiled at the child’s' performance.
"Good. And rule three?"
"Rule three of the ring: This is not a place to vent anger but to learn and become wise. And if the sensei sees fit in any way, you will be expelled from the ring."
"And the fourth is to obey the teaching of the master in every way." Earnest grinned. "My favorite. Now sit with Gin and we'll start." After Funestu had done so Earnest stood and began a bit of a speech.
"Fighting is a means of self-preservation. One should never use his abilities to gain vengeance on a coward. For these you should turn your sword side ways and beat him with the blunt of your mighty sword like a dog being rebuked and only then when it comes necessary. Also never use it for self-gain, for then you are the one who should be rebuked. If a man pleads for mercy it is up to you to decide if he is to die or not. I take great pride that I have never killed a human." He paused. "As for style and such, I cannot teach you that but only the basics and it will be up to you what you do with them. Funestu, this may come as a surprise to you, but you will not strike a single thing till you have learned how to do it. Now stand up." Funestu did as he was told. "What would you like to learn?" Earnest smiled. "I and my son are open books wishing to be read. What is your wish to learn?"
"I- I suppose I'd like to learn...How to shoot?"
"Marksmanship! Capital! Gin, you may proceed. I have some business to attend to." Gin stood and sheathed his knife.
"Yes, papa."
"What? But I thought you were to teach me!" Funestu shouted.
"Yes but a child cannot read philosophy till he can read the sentences. Besides, you learn just as much by teaching as by being taught. Profound, yes. And I have to see to some matters! I'll see you at the dinner table. Good day." And with that the man walked from the cave.
"But--" And he was interrupted by the boy.
"All right then. Let's get to it." Gin took the bow from Funestu's back and jumped to retrieve a shaft, and a pretty jump it was too. "Okay, well. This is the string and the arrow can be referred to as an arrow, goose grey, shaft, projectile, scientifically speaking, and oh, about a dozen other slang words I've read." The one term caught Funestu's attention.
"Goose grey? Where in heaven does that come from?"
"I read it in Robin Hood!" He grinned. "Now to knock or string an arrow means to do this." And he proceeded to show Funestu. "And see, you put it in the middle of the string so it's lined up with the notch. If you're right handed, which I've seen you are, then you hold the bow with your left hand and let the arrow go between your first and middle fingers. Also you hold it on the string the same way with your right hand and--"
"I know how to do it!" He said, feeling very silly taking such elementary direction from a boy.
"I'm teaching if you don't mind!" Gin frowned.
"Well you're doing a poor job of it if you think I'm that stupid. I've done it before... I think... I don't remember doing it... But I know how to."
"Father said you were odd."
"Oh, shut up and hand me that bow." Funestu took the bow from his little teacher’s hands and shot speedily, then missed the target by a great distance."
"Hm, you're a horrid shot as well as an awful pupil. That was all wrong. You need to balance speed power and accuracy. You were aiming for only the target. And you are most certainly desecrating and violating rule four."
"You're not my master."
"But wasn't it your masters wish for me to teach you? I don't understand. He shows you such kindness and then you can't be nice to his only son? Do you know how many things I've had to kill to keep you alive? If I counted correctly, fourteen!" Funestu was taken aback by the comment. This boy wasn't being a fighting, mindless bully, but rather a confused and decent sort of chap.
"Did you? I'm sorry; I've been discourteous to a child. And what sort of swine does and immature thing like that?"
"The kind that is tired and afraid?" Gin guessed.

Mid-evil Fanatic · 04-07-2007, 11:45 AM

what the flip? That's the last time I save in rich text format.

mashowasho · 04-08-2007, 05:50 AM

Hehe, not too shabby! While I like the way you "Speak" as the narrator, and the sort of poetic style that you use, sometimes it can get a little too much. Perhaps you could lighten it up in your dialogue sections.

PS. Space your paragraphs. I'm going to keep saying this until you do it.

Mid-evil Fanatic · 04-08-2007, 01:15 PM

cool thanks, maybe you could give me an example? And I can't figure it out! When I post it removes all of my tabs and paragrah deviders

-Jeremy