Ruan@21million

My question is..should I continue this? This story has been in my mind for a while and I'm not sure of its quality.


Rune

Prologue: Sleeping with Trees


A light fog crept past the oaks and stretched out into a quiet meadow. The trees’ branches reached for one another-- clasping each other’s hands in a great bond that stretched out into an elaborate matrix. Calm winds broke through the seams of the branches- stirring them into a harmonious chorus that reverberated through out the forest. The grass blades perked upward in worship of the sky—they sought to separate the matrix—to pull the curtains open and feel the warmth of the hidden sun.

They could not—not for the mere fact of their height but the dampness they were experiencing. It was a humid morning, the weight of the fluids were simply too much to bear. They fell backward after their short-lived resistance. But they would have their opportunity again.

The breeze calmed, but only for a moment. The oaks could feel it, too. It was a momentary silence gracefully passed down by the gods. The grass had the consent to breathe and recuperate.

A radiant aura of white came flashing through the trees. Her dress revealed-- an absolute white draped liberally across her body. It ran along down to her knees but it was free—every lifting motion of her leg slivered past the material like silk. Her skin almost as pale as her dress, she spun herself in circles under the trees as the leaves fell down from the oaks and knocked against her semi-cyclone of wind. A stream of dark was also present—it was thrown carelessly about and without the slightest bit of concern as she circled. It appeared as dark fudge that ran endlessly through her mouth and ears and about her head.

She let go of her sense of gravity and fell quickly into the green. Her eyes dilated and even as she fell even the most eccentric could see the fear struck gesture of her lips—she was passing out. Her eyes remained open but her consciousness had left. She did not even breathe and appeared dead to the oaks. The grass had mixed feelings. Despite the enormous weight pressured upon their form they could also feel the gloriousness of her body and that functioned as a sort of balancing act.

Her eyes grew even wider, as if something was flowing into them and filling her body with energy. She inhaled the air so greatly that the grass perked around her. She exhaled so greatly the oaks’ branches nearly parted. She was alive and conscious (though the latter could be later debated). A feeling came over her—this swarm of energy had to be unleashed. She gripped the grass blades (which they didn’t enjoy in the least) and quickly pulled herself up. Her buttocks attached to the ground and her back straight, she breathed even heavier this time. Now she stood, she was ready to unleash it—whatever it was. She ran for the nearest oak and wrapped her arms around it.

She went upward and downward with her body scraping against the bark and cutting small sores across her body. She began moaning. The oak was now enjoying this sudden turn of events—to think that only the grass would gain this wonderful position. Her dress began to tear and rashes swept across her body—the cuts even deeper. A gleam of light passed above her—its photons seeped through the seams of the oaks long branches.


The woman began to slow her rather rhythmic motion until she stopped and fell onto her back once again. The oak sighed.
An almost delayed wind passed through the forest again—the mass of light had stirred the air. The grass went through its cycle just as it had before and fell backward again. To their advantage, most of their dampness had been soaked up by the woman’s dress—which was now torn into limp rags. Their thoughts filled with hope of the next coming breeze—they could now attempt the improbable.

The woman had stopped breathing again. Her naked body was exposed to the few streams of light that the oaks had given consent. The white rags were tossed all across the green and now appeared somewhat dirty. Bark had embedded into parts of her skin.

She felt it. The creature climbed vertically down the oak like a spider climbing down its web for the prey. In fact, it had almost as many limbs as a spider, four arms and two legs—though they all seemed to function in the same manner. The head had a solid metal mask fitted tightly across it—the eyes almost appeared absent, but the red dots next to one another with only a space between them gave these reddish orbs away. The rest of the body had a similar metal structure across it---painted a complete purple with a few shades of light green around the footings and hands. How could the metal bend so elegantly and without trouble? The element was unknown—metallic, but—also, completely flexible. The two did not seem compatible.

The woman appeared careless and weary, a mixture of feelings—should she flee this thing—or should she embrace it? It certainly appeared hostile. The creature came to a five foot mark on the oak and jumped down to the ground landing on its four---- hands. The woman’s eyes widened, again—this appeared most peculiar to her. They did have hands attached—with metallic light green gloves fitted across them, but why would the creature choose to walk on these? Why not the feet? Had it accustomed to a certain position? Was it upside down for too long? She did not know. What she did know was in the form of a premonition—she had to flee. She pressed her hands into the grass and thrust her body forward; she quickly pivoted and ran through the trees. She pushed heavily through and around the oaks, weeds and cobwebs forcing herself to the lodge she had left so carelessly before. The metallic creature behind her made the faintest sounds but the perverse breathing while even ignorant of the low volume still sent adrenaline soaring across her body. She tried to widen her leg stretch with each stride and gain as much of an advantage on the creature as possible.

There was no advantage—the creature had Olympic like strength and even a slight pause on her part would send her to her fait or whatever else the creature had in mind. Her right leg fell into a pit and sent her body in a twirl. As she turned, a snapping sound spoke volumes through the forest—she twisted her ankle. She managed to free her right foot from the hole just in time for the creature to send its foot slamming into the side of her torso. Her body spun horizontally through the air until her head crashed into the side of an oak sending sparks of blood and bark from the area of impact. Her body continued spinning until her back hit another oak.


Her body fell down vertically until she crashed into the grass. Now the creature closed in slowly and relaxed, but still very alert. He swept the woman up with his arms and broke her body in half. As her body fell in twos, the creature breathed in the mist of blood and writhed sporadically about the greens until it climbed backward up an oak.

The fog dissipated. Whites began gathering.

Destroyer

Sounds good to me. Go for it.

__________________
"It's always fun until someone gets hurt, and then it's just hilarious"
Ricochet - Faith No More

"Walk softly, and carry a big gun."
Force Commnander - Dawn of War

Yaphee

Strange........ very, very strange... but it was a good piece of writing. Keep at it; I wanna see where this one goes.

PandasAndChippo

What the hell was this?!

[Mortal Kombat announcer guy]

Robot wins.

Fatality.

[/Mortal Kombat announcer guy]

I didn't like it.

Ruan@21million

Well, I have chapter 1 written. I might post it tomorrow after I've messed around with it a bit.

As for Panda, I'm not sure how you envisioned a mortal kombat character. That is interesting, though, and I can't guarantee you'll like Chapter 1. Might as well check it out and see where it's going though.

Was it the writing, prose, in other words, or the story itself? I can't really help you if you don't like the story. If it's the writing, though, I might be able to.

PandasAndChippo

No, I think your style and technical skills were pretty good, and pretty *damn* good compared to most people here. A bit overuse on the personification with the grass though, but nothing major.

I didn't envision a mortal kombat character. I envisioned a robot, but the fact that it split the girl into two made me think about Mortal Kombat with their gory fatalities in which things of similar nature happen.

I didn't like it because a hott chick died. If I saw this in a bookstore, I'd go "what the hell? The first thing that happens is a mortal-kombat style fatality on a girl? I'm done."

Now if the girl cast a magical spell on the robot and blew it up, well, that mighta been sorta nice =).

Ruan@21million

LOL.

Well, I hope you'll be around for the first chapter. The focus will be on the *actual* main character. Anyway, thanks for the specification.

PandasAndChippo

I've sent you a PM with my reply.

Ruan@21million

Okay, I've got the first draft and part of the 2nd draft written. Here's my question: am I watering down my first draft? Does it actually look worse than the first?

1st draft
Rune
Chapter 1
Coming Home

The sun’s form began diminishing behind the tree line as the clanging of metal armor and sword hilts filled the air. There were over a hundred soldiers in a relaxed, scattered formation. Their armor shinned in the sunset’s last rays of light, the bright reflections fighting for control against the painted black splotches of mud, blood, and dirt. They walked carelessly between the parallel lines of trees on both sides of the stone road. Some of them had wide smiles across their faces; others were chuckling, laughing, and having an otherwise good time. Those who hadn’t the look of victory were either being carried on stretchers or using another soldier’s back as support for their damaged limbs.


As they continued their journey down the road, they came upon the moat and waited for the bridge to collapse.

A leader fell through the group and came out to the front, facing the gate. He did not smile, nor was he even remotely joyous, he hadn’t sung any songs, he hadn’t shed tears of joy—he had the look of a professional; someone who had tactfully led a small army to war and won. His eyes were gray in accordance with the color of his hair; though he was not old. He was muscular, as were most military leaders of the 3rd War, and his form overall very fit. Despite his many battles, he had only lost his left hand’s thumb in a bloody conflict between a Captain who had defected during the middle of a battle.

He ran his solid, tanned-skinned hand through his hair picking at dandruff and head sores, he always liked to take the blood from the sores and smell it—it reminded him of a fallen comrade whose blood smelled similar, though some might find it strange. In fact, many of his subordinates thought it was insane, but, after they had considered the 2nd and now 3rd War won under his very own tactics and genius—it was hard to find fault with him over such a minor habit.

Rune lifted his right hand, palm-facing the gate before him. The guardsmen nodded above the castle wall and began turning the huge wooden cog to unload the bridge. They worked as fast as they possibly could, for the celebration awaited in the square. The King had sent a scout to gain information regarding their victory, and they knew long before hand that the battle had been won. The bridge was necessary for security measures— most of the soldiers were either fighting in the 3rd war or were ill and recuperating in the medical facilities.

The bridge continued its downward descent until it crashed into place, emitting the most painful sound to all who hadn’t covered their ears for safety—of which were few. Most all were prepared for the crash excluding the few new recruits.
Everyone paused as the sound faded, Rune kept his hand in the air, appearing to be in some sort of reverie. He laid his hand at his side a few moments later and walked casually across the wooden bridge. The others waited for the Captains to catch up to the front and follow behind Rune. The rest would follow after.

Rune could see the excitement on their faces, he could feel it. Over five hundred peasants lined the square leading to the king’s temporary throne, which had been erected deftly in such a short manner of time. The castle walls were also aligned with peasants; they held large baskets of confetti and were dressed gaily.

They all kept silent until Rune passed under the Castle wall-- exactly when his foot hit the square’s stone flooring--the cheers erupted, confetti blasted from the castle walls and ran through the air like rain droplets down a mirror; dancers pranced between the lines, and men and women shouted Rune’s name aloud. The Captains marched behind Rune, now in a horizontal single file formation; the soldiers marched behind the Captains, in single file vertical lines as they passed into the Square and fell into the crowds. The Captains followed Rune to within a few yards of the throne, at which they fell to their knees in respect towards the King.

As Rune came close enough to the throne, he kneeled sharply before the King. The soft velvet carpet that had been laid for his arrival was a brilliant crimson with glittering gold threads around the edges. The cheering and other activities stopped. Rune tightly closed his eyes shut as the King walked down the throne to bless him. The King’s robes were red, with fluffy whites along edge, and his shirt consisted of chain mail, which he wore in respect for the army. He had grey brows and hair, his eyes were a light blue—and his skin was crinkled and old. His robes dragging along the carpet, he stopped before Rune; lifted a leather flagon and poured lamb’s blood over Rune’s head.

Rune shivered. The crimson red consumed his grey hairs and down along his armor and tanned arms.

The King then lifted the flagon towards the orange and red sky, began muttering nonsense:

“I bless this one with the blood of a lamb for his second victory. His ascension to Lord Vest of the Skardan army was almost as quick as his number of gained victories. He is dauntless and endearing, his mind as sharp as his valiant sword, and his brilliance as Lord Vest radiates through the Kingdom of Valore to cause our enemies to cower, and to give hope to our allies. I now pronounce this 3rd War our victory as a people, as a union amongst our allies, proposing peace through out the lands. We can now live in perfect unison and harmony without the threat of marauders. The Black Thrace Army defeated, divided, or what have you—enjoy this moment—whether it is temporary solace or ever lasting. Celebrate with your sons and daughters tonight, give holy thoughts to your King and this Rune—your Lord Vest.
The king paused, and then announced the prize:
“I, in the powers vested within my hereditary monarchy, grant Lord Vest Rune the land of Farmine for his own endeavors. He may reap the fertile land for himself and populate it with a wife if he so chooses.”

The King walked wearily back to the throne and passed the flagon to one of his servants. Rune stood, drenched in lamb’s blood, and unsheathed his sword. He held it up towards the red and orange, letting it shine with pride. He then dispersed into the crowd without any notice and headed for the Skardan’s quarters.

Meanwhile, the Captains and their Skardan subordinates celebrated.

The King left his throne, dragging his robe behind him, servants at hand, and made way for his chambers. Everyone could see the King sigh as he left, his celebration had appeared unfit to Rune, who simply left it behind without a second thought. They didn’t merely have a duty-like relationship—the king admired Rune in so many ways—unlike the Lord Vests before him. It was the way Rune had always delivered the goods, but never gave so much as a glance to the King that he found so unnerving.

The temporary throne reflected the sparks and joys of the celebrating citizens, servants, and Skardans as the night passed away. The throne would remain until tomorrow where it would be moved to the main chambers by the King’s servants.

Rune, the Lord Vest, walked heavily down stairs next to the West Wall—by the gorgeous fountain. He stopped, paused in thought, and then looked over towards it. The water trickled down from the fountain until it fell into the surrounding pool. The stone blocks built to hold the water looked so cold to him, so distant like the relationship between him and his monarch. He reflected on this, thinking the trickles to be but small movements towards a friendship that would then erupt into a pool of happiness. He smiled for the first time. Perhaps one day he would understand the king, or vice versa.


He fastened his sword along the rack against the wall and then continued down the stairs until he came upon his room. It wasn’t the largest or the most elegant. In fact, he had given those rooms, in essence, to his Captains. No one knew why.

He was Lord Vest, but deep within his heart he felt undeserving. He felt the social caste was ridiculous and everyone should be given an equal opportunity. That feeling was enacted in the way the rooms were passed. The only reason the Captains had those rooms was not because they had won them by their level of authority, but they had acquired them during a gambling game amongst their subordinates. Rune saw to this, thinking they had cheated, but he could not know for sure.

He sat upon his red-and-black checkered bed sheets, looked up towards the darkened wood-boarded ceiling and breathed in heavily. He removed his chain mail, his gauntlets, and his footings and stowed them beneath his bed, but he left his thick, golden braces around his wrists. Hence, they appeared to have been welded around his arms. He then removed the rest of his armor and clothes, laid naked upon his feather mattress. As he began to sleep, he imagined a beautiful reclusive forest consumed with great oaks and beautiful greens all about. It was dark as he envisioned it, and as the dream began to fade from him, a great ball of light passed into the forest and flickered out amongst the trees.



It was an extravagant end to such a fierce day.

2nd draft


Rune
Chapter 1
Coming Home

The sun’s form began diminishing behind the tree line as the clanging of metal armor and sword hilts filled the air. There were over a hundred soldiers in a relaxed, scattered formation. Their armor glinted in the sunset’s only remaining rays of light. Reflections fought for control of the armor against the painted black splotches of mire, blood, and filth. The soldiers walked irregularly amid the parallel lines of trees on both sides of the stone road. Some had broad smiles across their faces; others were laughing. Those who hadn’t the look of victory were either being carried cautiously on stretchers or submissively using another fellow’s back as support for damaged limbs. Despite some inadequacies, it was readily apparent to any passer-by that they were having a good time.


Continuing down the road, they eventually found themselves before the usual moat. It was droll, yet it was also rather plain and uninteresting after numerous views.

Gray eyes sent imaginary pebbles knocking against the group as they parted; creating a conduit for the obvious leader. He did not smile, nor was he even remotely joyous. No song had passed his sun-kissed lips. No tears had fallen from his craggy facial features. He had the look of a professional; someone who had brilliantly led a small army to war and won.

His brawniness and youthful hide debated his age as gray hairs ran shoulder-length along the back of his head. While the 3rd war required aged and experienced commanders; Rune had more than proven himself efficient as he made his way up the ranks more swiftly than previous leaders. His ascension to Lord Vest was well-attained.
-rewrite end-