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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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Storythread: where /tg/ meets /lit/, and occasionally /his/, /int/, /m/, /k/, /v/, /co/, /sci/ and /mu/ as well. and also /d/ sometimes

This is a thread for creative writing of /tg/-related fiction, so epic campaign greentexts and other non-fiction go elsewhere. If you have /tg/ related stories to post, post them here, and hopefully some kind anon will give you feedback (or at least acknowledge that someone did actually read it, which let's face it is what writefags really want).

What counts as /tg/-related? Anything someone could plausibly use in a campaign (which means basically anything if you have enough imagination).

If you don't have a story ready then I and other anons will be posting pictures throughout the thread for you to test your writing skills on. This is, more or less, a world-building and character-building exercise: two vital skills for playing roleplaying games. If you don't have any pics to post, you could try posting an idea for a setting or a character, and maybe someone will be willing to write a story using it. It's also an exercise in writing though, where writefags can try out their material and gain inspiration, so if you just want to talk about world-building you may want to head over to the dedicated world-building threads.

Remember that writefags love to have feedback on their work. Writing takes a long time, especially stories that go over several posts, and it can be really depressing when no one even seems to read it (and the writer won't know you read it unless you leave a comment).

And since writing takes a long time remember to keep the thread bumped. Pics are good, feedback is better.

There is a discord for writers:

The previous thread can still be found in the archive here
if you have any comments about the stories posted there

Don't forget to check out past stories on our wiki page:
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Also, remember to bump!
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I'm gonna repost this, since it didn't get looked at last time. Does this belong in here? I'm working on the continuation in another thread. Planning on not doing such explicit smut in the future.
Well, it might need to be rewritten in a more book style but I like it.
You mean this? >>60707943
Yeah that's what I mean to do. This is a roughdraft.
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Hey guys. I wrote some short fiction/vignettes for my far flung future transhuman/posthuman setting a while back, looking for some feedback. I wrote all of them save for the one about the birdman, the greentext, the robot devil, the one written by Quest, and the second to last one (though they fit my setting pretty well). SO yeah, any crit is appreciated.

Here are the stories: https://archive.4plebs.org/tg/thread/59829402/#59829402
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Chronicler, you can't start a thread like that and expect weird magical realm shit to NOT pop up.

Johnathan sat alone in his apartment, his long, hard claws stretched over the side of the sofa to fiddle with the dimmer switch. The past week had, unbelievably, managed to be somehow even busier and more grueling than usual. Each pop from his aching joints only served as another reminder that he'd spent too long putting up with Eugene's shit. But Fred wasn't about spoil his mood by mulling over a job that paid too little and a boss that cared even less, at least not again. It was finally Saturday, and Saturday was date night.

He gave a cheerful click of his mandibles, at last satisfied with the apartment's ambiance. The place was spotless, the table was set, and the crabs were boiling in the kitchen; all that was left to do was lie back and wait. Lorelei would be coming over this week. In truth, it was usually Lorelei who came over. Sure, even the dumbest plankton knew the old gag about the "faithful lobster," but John was no average lobster. He was tougher and smarter than most, and had seen more in forty years than sea turtles did in four hundred. He'd outwitted angler fish while crawling on the ocean floor, knocked out pistol shrimp while swimming through the Great Barrier Reef, and even out-fought herons while sightseeing in kelp forests. And he was going to give it all up to settle down with the most beautiful lobster in the world.

He smiled to himself, antennae peaked in excitement. Each moment with Lori made him feel twenty years old again, and not just because he was head over tail for her. Lori was of prime breeding age by lobster standards — while older women of their species were lucky to form a new shell every other year, Lori was able to molt and bear eggs every few months. And not to mention her youthful virility — he'd never gotten to try out so many of the techniques he'd picked up over the years on one single girl.
John suddenly realized that his legs were undulating, and forced them to stop. Just the thought of her made him unbearably excited. He really, truly was in love. Feet gliding over the floor, he entered his bedroom and began tearing through his closet. Before he knew it he held the pearl — the first treasure he'd ever found — in his claw, and he knew what he would do. As soon as Lorelei walked through the door, he'd stand before her, stare her straight in the eye-stalk, and ask her to marry him. His future decided, he reentered the living room and waited.

He waited the next day, and the day after as well. He waited an entire week, and then two. By the time he decided to stop waiting over a month had past. The crabs had long been boiled into soup, his rent was overdue, and Eugene was even more irate than usual. But beyond any of that, John was livid. He was angrier than he'd been in his entire life, each and every fiber inside his body equal parts raging fury and cold rage. He wanted to spend his entire life with Lorelei, and she'd had the gall to disappear,without even a word of goodbye. Well, he wasn't about to let it end that way. Old John "Silver-Claws" was the heartbreaker, not the sap who let his heart be broken.

Finding Lorelei was a trivial task. A few minutes picking up a lead from a flatfish, a few more piecing together gossip from some bottomfeeders, and he was well on his way. John snorted, a rough trail of bubbles forming by his antennules. It'd been a long time since his last hunt.

Two hours after he'd first set out, John came across the seedy cove he was looking for. Early on he'd feared that she'd gotten into some trouble and his anger had been misplaced, but any worry that was still left evaporated the moment he poked his head into the cove.

There was Lorelei, the only woman John had ever loved, coiled up in the eight suckered tentacles of a young octopus, her ten twitching legs wrapping around its head in post-coital bliss.
"Enjoying yourself?" John asked levelly, forcing himself to sound more calm than he really was. He truly wanted to shout, to scream, to cry out in betrayal and wrath. But even as his emotions boiled tumultuously inside him, John willed himself to stand, claws crossed, in judgmental silence.

Lorelei and her cephalopod lover tensed, then broke away from each other to stare at him. Guilt flashed through Lorelei's eyes, briefly yet unmistakably. The octopus, however, eyed John up and down haughtily.

"The fuck are you, shell face?" It asked angrily, cocking its head to one side. Eerie, fierce eyes glanced to John, to Lorelei, then back to John.

"T-That's..." Lorelei stuttered, then composed herself. "Just my jealous ex." The octopus's skin flashed from a sickly yellow to a vibrant green, its beak extending to let out a strange giggle.

"Oh, this dumb fat crab ain't over you y—"

"I'm only here to tell you that you should get yourself checked for barnacles." John glared at Lorelei, his voice frigid as Antarctic ice. Her shell paled, and the octopus's skin shifted into pure white.

"Barnacles—" It managed to say before being interrupted again.

"You should tell your sisters to get checked as well." John forced himself to laugh, raising his claws outwards to make himself seem larger. "And your friend, Lily, as well. Or was it Lana? I never could tell them apart." Lorelei reflexively moved behind the octopus, scowling at him.

"Who the fuck do you—" The octopus began again.

"Oh, and everyone else you've been sleeping with." John added dryly. He was lying, of course; he could hardly have claimed to be faithful to her while he was having his way with the other women of her pod. But John wanted revenge, and with an angry young octopus floating in front of him he'd settle for revenge as small and petty as this. He felt a chill crawl up his carapace.
Normal octopuses were already pains in the rear, always aloof and conceited — and with the tricky strength to back up their attitudes. The young even moreso, adding in the characteristic belligerence, short-sightedness, and self-perceived invincibility that plagued all youth. John was purposefully ignoring the octopus just as much to hide his own doubts as to make himself seem stronger.

The young octopus, meanwhile, had turned back and was staring wide-eyed at Lorelei, John's last lie had its intended effect, as much as it still pained him to see her in distress.

"One last thing. Don't lower yourself to pity-fucking losers like that. They get all clingy and attached." Forcing himself to chuckle, John turned around to leave. He immediately regretted doing so, as he spun back around to face the suckered arm rapidly coming towards him.

Claws still outstretched, John caught the octopus's tentacle between his pincers and squeezed them shut. Fleshy muscle bulged and stiffened in his hands, and in a fraction of a second they tore off and fell to the cove floor. The mangled tentacle retracted and its owner howled in pain, skin rapidly pulsing a sickening menagerie of colors. It spun and contorted in the water, then shot itself through beak-first at John.

The next moments seemed to slow to a crawl. If it had been an older, smarter octopus it would have been all John could do to get away with his life. But this one was still young and inexperienced, indulging in each and every fleeting impulse as it came. John laughed to himself. He used to be like that — maybe he was still like that.

The octopus had made a poor approach at John, not fast enough to take him before he moved, nor poised to render any of John's possible actions futile. He caught another one of its stray tentacles, adjusted his grip to reposition himself, then swung to the octopus"s head at angle.
John's open claw sunk into the soft flesh of an open eyeball and it thrashed about, tentacles flailing wildly and suckers quickly contracting and relaxing. With his other claw John slashed and tore into its body, and before long the octopus twitched then lay still, its life having ebbed away. John sighed deeply and forced himself to relaxe.

Lorelei had disappeared somewhere during the brief fight. Well enough, John thought. He had spent too much time here, and would not waste another moment of his life on the likes of her — he still felt his heart twinge even thinking about that. What he would do was eat, show Eugene exactly what he thought of the scum-eating parasitic leech, gather his belongings, and finally leave. He knew that some of his old friends, probably all, would be waiting a few leagues out for him to get over his silly crush and get back on with traveling with them; they'd told him as much. Maybe they'd at last make the trip to the bottom of the Marianas Trench and back again. Perhaps he'd finally find someone he truly would fall in love with. Whatever happened, John was open to seeing what the rest of his life had in store.
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>the Innsmouth family values candidate
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>Cover illustration by Chéri Hérouard for La Vie Parisienne, August 19, 1916
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Goddamn elves, get your feet off of the table.
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Maybe she's dessert
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Does anyone have the greentext ot the Knight Protector with a Heart of Grump and his Vampiric Princess he takes to a Cathedral every year? Pic is the one they use in it.
this is what the Storythread wiki page is for (link is always in the OP)

is it this one?
The drums of war beat long and loud across the smoky sky. Akür, the dreaded nation of lizards, was on the move. Where they went, the stench of death and decay followed. None in all the land could oppose their might, and every sentient creature scrambled in fear as they approached. Such was life on the dreadful continent of Arreor, and the few individuals left had grown accustomed to it. Most had left for other lands by now, and those who had not either died or will soon. Eventually, Akür would implode on itself - as it had countless times in the past. Arreor's inhabitants would venture home, life would return almost to normal - and the drums would beat again. Fire would decimate settlements vigorous enough to stand, and the sky would be clouded in smoke once more. Is this all there is? The endless cycle of death and destruction? I think not. Among the meek lie individuals of great will and valor, Individuals who will surely be immortalized in song and legend alike. Will they stop this perpetual cycle? Can they bring peace to the land of Arreor, and crush Akür's seemingly unstoppable legions? Only time will tell.

>Would you play this campaign? I'm trying to work on my plot hooks.
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You are meat in a tavern, specifically in a dark cold fridge.
Where do i go from this stolen plot hook ?
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well if you're in a tavern for cannibals, my first suggestion would be to get out of the tavern
This story idea is much better than the execution of it.
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Just decided to take an ax to my story, and cut it down to be like a fourth of what I originally planned.
It feels so freeing and liberating. I was writing myself into a hole of things that I didn't care about, but needed to happen for the larger narrative. Now I can actually focus on the story I care about.
Don't kill yourself while writing, y'all. This shit is supposed to be fun, first and foremost.
What story?
I think I've talked about it on here before.
It was going to be this story of a farmgirl peasant that would get roped in by a fairy to go to five nearby kingdoms and gain favor with each of the kings by performing a task/service for them. Each kingdom would cover like, a novella in length, and I'd want them all to be bound together in one large tome.
I was starting to flounder under the weight of culture-crafting that many settings and the character list was getting out of hand.
I've found myself lately to be just focusing in on one of the kingdoms more than the others, and I realized that a lot of the other stuff really wasn't at that same level of quality.
So now I'm going to salvage what parts I can from the others, and integrate them into this one setting where I can really slow down and dig in.
It's also really rejuvenated my wanting to write, as I've hit a bit of a rut lately, so things are looking up.
Can always get her complete five tasks for the king that involve dealing with five different people of the court. Well, carry on.
Btw, do anons here care about suggestions/requests? I might have idea (wh40k related) in a future for some wirtefags, if anyone is going to be interested that is.
The tasks I already crafted were very tailor made for the various kingdoms, so it wouldn't really work to just copy/paste them.
What I'm planning now is that the fairy is going to find five peasants from each kingdom to each do a favor, instead of just making one do all five. This also allows me to have MC run into one of the other favor-runners and get some interactions out of that.
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But anon, that's lewd!
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...the air itself froze in fear. There was no one left to be saved, no one left to be killed.

Only the stench of rotten death.

Aurelia could no longer feel her limbs; shattered, torn . Her booldshot eyes flickered almost involuntary. Why is death so cruel? He is idly watching her with a toothy grin instead of whisking her away.

She had put her body and soul in cleansing the hearts of men so they wouldn't stray from the righteous path, but in the end, she was deemed a heretic just because she attempted to be spark the same righteous fire in the natives of this land.

True, they were primitive savages. However, the seed of humanity inside their bodies merely required some guidance. Aurelia was that beacon. She reveled in spread the true faith among the natives. Some rejected their old gods in favor of the true path.

Twisted words travel so easily among corrupted men and women. Lies were spread, She was no idol for them to worship as the envious proclaimed. Alas, such blatant lies reached other inquisitors who immediately assumed the worst. This so called 'cult' was to be purged lest it would 'fester'.

Aurelia enjoyed not the act of murder but she were forced to do so to defend the new believers. Savage or not, It was her duty. She wouldn't turn her back on them at any cost.

Outnumbered, The inquisitor fought her kinsmen. Perhaps, those who fled the massacre would live for another day. it was this unrelenting surge of face that kept her alive this whole time, Whatever it was, it was fading away.

How peculiar, such serenity to be found in a field of corpses. Death's touch, it's so... so....
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“Pixies” Robert uttered, breaking the muffled silence of the dark, snowy evening.

Concerned, I looked up from the crate we were preparing to load onto the back of the pick-up. The last delivery of what had been a long day; any pixies getting in and contaminating the cargo would have only made it that much longer.

“Breeding season’s coming up.” he remarked, prodding a chrysalis on a nearby pine tree. I let out a relieved sigh; just one more of the old timer’s rambles, apparently.

“Grandpappy used to show me how to catch the adults, when they started coming up in the fields.” He chuckled, reminiscing over what must have been simpler times. “Used to just snatch them, right out of the air, he did! They might not look like it, but the exoskeletons are surprisingly elastic, so you don’t have to worry about crushing them when you grab them. He’d say I had talent, but I’ve never managed to get quite as good as him.”

He shifted his gaze to me. “You can enjoy them raw, you know, although there’s a method to it. After straddling them over the tip, you have to gently tug at the legs until they’re all the way down to your stomach. Patience is key, lest the poor thing tears right open.” He wasted no time in demonstrating the process with a sickening set of wrist movement.

“Jesus Christ, Bob. Can’t this wait?” I muttered weakly. Derek, the trainee, gave me an admonishing look, a bemused grin plastered over his face. As a city boy himself, he’d only been familiar with the mass-produced, frozen variety. “Ecstasy, only two minutes in a microwave away!”, as they used to advertise them.

“They squirm a little until you get them halfway down, but that’s what makes it worth it.” Roger carried on, undeterred. “Grandpappy’d call it ‘our Sunday spitroast’, although he always made us keep it a secret from Gramma. I think she always knew, though, since you’d never be able to get the stench of pheromones off your pants.”
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He stopped his reminiscing only long enough to fit the crate onto the back of the car, before excitedly launching into another horrifying childhood experience. “Of course, if we’re talking about proper farmyard fun, nothing quite matches the Shetland. No trustier companion or gentler lover than a pigmy centaur on a cold tundra ni-“

“Bob.” I snapped, stamping a hoof irritably. My mother happened to be a Shetland as well, and something told me I’d just learned a bit too much about my own conception.

Embarrassed, Robert gave me an apologetic look, before sheepishly hauling himself onto the driver’s seat. Derek opened his mouth to protest, but his better judgement eventually triumphed against his raging hormones, making him follow suit. I let out a protracted sigh, my warm breath visible in the cold night air. A long day indeed.
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"Look how pretty she is," the fisherman grinned from ear to ear, using the heel of his boot to force the mermaid to turn over so that she was facing all of them. A mixture of fear and sorrow on her face, trails of tears silently streaming from her eyes.

She was pretty and young, looking barely old enough to be called an adult. Long brown hair falling over her shoulder in waves, big expressive silver eyes, and fair skin.

Her long tail curled inwards, the iridescent scales shimmering and reflecting the early morning light.

"She's been bothering my boat for months, cutting all my lines. But, if you lot can sell her off I'll make more far more than what I've lost. What do you say?"
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So out of curiosity for times where you are writing something you're not experienced in, where do you guys go for quick breakdowns other than Youtube?
Wikipedia. Who has time to watch videos to get a crashcourse on subject matter?
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>Yo, ya got any toilet paper?
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Boy, that is not what I was expecting from the thumbnail.
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I committed to finishing this. I tried to read through it but I think it didn't turn out well and it was hard to read through on my part.

Zuong did not realize he had begun to drool until the first splatters landed on his tunic. Dribbling down from where his mouth could not close, he eyed it warily. It looked odd on his chest, the soft blue stained a slightly darker shade, the initial splash being around the size of his thumb.

The shame and embarrassment had all but disappeared in the years he had gotten his scars. At first he had worn a mask around his mouth. It was a well made piece of metal, crafted by guilds men his father employed and really snatched from the Qing. Shaped in the form of a demon’s jaw, he had worn it for all of a month, before the ridiculousness of his actions struck him, suddenly and violently, and he stopped. He moved to scarves, then pieces of small clothe before finally giving up on all pretenses and just having a handkerchief, to wipe away the drool.

He felt no shame, nor embarrassment. His scars had been earned only as men could earn. So what did he feel, staring down at the stain on the pretty, pretty tunic he had been forced in.

Zuong looked at his surroundings. At the unfamiliar rolling green hill and his forty men. All dressed for parade but all carrying enough steel on their bodies and horses to fight their way out of the capital city. Riding in a thin line on the road, they were ready for a fight. Which they very well could find in the Headchopper’s palace.

The feeling in his stomach, the feeling that had been there since he had been told to dress nice and make haste to the capital. Zuong felt nervous. That was what it was. Now that he had given it a name he grasped it and tried to examine it. It was an odd feeling, quite unlike the others that always came up before a battle. Not like blood thirst or fear. It felt tepid. Like lukewarm water that had been left out in the sun too long. It felt, well, it felt like shit.
Shaking his head to snap himself out of his reverie, Zuong turned to his second in command. “Tai?”

“Yes sir?” The older man replied.

“If my father,”he said, “if my father had, happened, to stage a coup against the headchopper that failed. He would tell me, right?”

Tai looked at him out of the corner of his eye, . He studied Zuong'a face from his chin to his forehead, looking for any hint of humor, any hint that it was a random joke, hours into a journey across the state. “Is that something we should be concerned about?”

Zuong shrugged.

Tai made a little noise in his throat and Zuong saw him ease his long sword out of it’s sheathe, pulling it a little closer to his chest.

“I’ll be keeping that possibility in mind sir.”

“Do that.”

They resumed riding in silence. The hills passed by, gradually giving away to hints of what lay ahead. Subtle guard posts, and towers. Forts, where the men looked over the edges to stare them down, crossbows and great cannons bristling.

They rode deeper and deeper into royal territory and Tai spoke again when they arrived at the great wall, separating the relatively peaceful lands of the empire from the capital and the Emperor’s palace upon Earth. Staring down the barrels of various revolving guns, guards dispersed across the forty, checking identities and weapons he mumbled “He has a daughter.”

Zuong had dismounted, taking the stop as a chance to feed his horse. Tai’s voice had drifted but enough for him to actually hear. “What was that Tai?”

“He has a daughter.”Tai replied. “Beautiful girl. Just like her mother. Unwed.”

Beauty meant nervousness around him. Mother meant the empress. The last bit flew over his head “And?”

Tai looked at her. “She’s around your age sir. It might that your father didn’t fuck up. It could be her father has interest in a betrothal.”

They paused. For a moment the two of them were still, meeting each others eyes and allowing the full weight of the words to pass over them.

Tai nearly fell of his horse laughing. Zuong bent over from a lack of air and smacked his head against his horse’s skull with enough force to make the world groggy.

“Tai,” Zuong said struggling to breathe,” that has got to be the stupidest thing I have ever heard you utter. Fucking marriage?”

The thought of it sent them into another fit of laughter, loud enough that both the guards, and Zuong’s men were now staring at them.

“He’s going to try to kill us.” Zuong said softly, moving close to Tai.“And when he does, tell the men we go south and hide in the Long Plains.”

Tai nodded and Zuong left him, grabbing his horses lead and making his way through the gate, from the world outside to the Emperor’s home. “Marriage. marriage my ass.”

Gold. Gold. Gold. Slightly yellow. Gold.

Xiang’s closets were filled to the bursting with dresses. Floor to ceiling they dominated the space, line after line but all the yellow and gold of the heavenly sun and one barely cut differently from the next. The cuts made massive differences but they were intangible. Almost meaningless to anyone who was not her or her friends in the houses.

Browsing the wares, Xiang spotted one. Cut in a way that, accentuated bits of her anatomy, she seized it and held it over her head to her fuming mother. “What do you think of this one?”

Her mother had been doing nothing but fume since her father had grabbed her and told her to help her daughter with pretty things. Sitting in the middle of Xiang’s room, savagely stabbing a set of sticks into her noodles again and again, she made a little noise.

“Mother I have not yet reached the state of enlightenment that allows me to read your mind. You have to speak to me.”

“Are you trying to seduce the young man?”

“Say that with a little more confidence dear.”


“Then wear something different.” Her mother said.

Xiang dived into the closet again. Grabbing a more conservative dress, she ripped it off the hanger and showed her mother. “And this one?”

Xiang’s mother looked mad but staring at her daughter, holding a dress she once promised to fight to the death to avoid, the cracks began to show.

Standing she strode across the length of the room and gently grabbed the dress out of Xiang’s hands and placed it on a table. Grabbing her hands she dipped to look her daughter in the eyes. “Do you like this boy?”

Xiang struggled for a moment but her answer came easily. “I have never met him.”

“Then what,”Her mother said softly.”my sweet child is bothering you so?”

A wave of emotions rose and fell over Xiang’s face. She physically struggled to speak, trying to find the words and finally forced it out. “He gathered forty men in less than a day.”

“And you could gather a ten thousand more.”She said. “Thirty thousand, forty thousand in less.”

“But not because I saved their lives.” Xiang said. “Not because I actually matter to them, or I am respected. It’s only because of who my father is. So now he and those forty men are going to arrive here, after two days of riding for a complete and utter waste of time.”
“Speaking to you is never a waste.” Her mother replied. “No matter what you may think.”

Xiang was silent. She stood at the mouth of her closet and ran her thumbs along the silk of her dress. It was finely made, like everything else she had. Tailored to fit her perfectly, given to her out of the blue because that was what was done with the heir.

“Have you ever wondered what you would be in a different life?” Xiang said. “If you were born someone else? Somewhere else? What worth would you have?”
The question visibly stunned her mother. She took a step back and thought about it, biting her lips and moving her hands in a conversation held only in her mind.

“Sometimes.”She finally said. “It is not every day or every week, but there are moments. Briefly and fleetingly I look at the things I have been given, a good husband, a good daughter, even that brat of an old Nan and I do think what I would be without them.”

“In those other lives.”Xiang said. “Do you think you would have any value? With no name? No herald from the heaven?”

Her mother embraced her, pulling Xiang in close and burying her face in her hair. Rubbing her

“That it bothers you, my little sun,”Xiang’s mother said holding her at arms lengths,”says more about you than any lack of worth you worry you may not have. And he’ll realize that, stupid question or no stupid question.”

Xiang looked up at her mother and smiled, the nervousness on her face fading away. “Thank you mother.”

“Now my daughter,”She said,”go, put on whatever what you want, ask whatever question you need to ask and just be yourself.”

Xiang swooped in and hugged her again, squeezing her mother’s ribs until a little noise came out. Letting go, she disappeared into the folds of her closet and out the door, a simple looking dress in her hands.

Her mother watched her go and returned to her seat in the middle of the room. grabbing her chop sticks and noodles, she carefully picked up a mouth full and put it in her mouth.

“Gods” she said muffled.”Don’t let my grandchildren be that ugly.”
People stared as they made their way towards the palace. Lining the streets as their horses marched, they looked on, murmurs leaving the crowd in clouds of attention.

Zuong and his men were used to being stared at, but there was something off in this form of it. It was not fear of the face of their commander as they had found in most other places or fear of their reputation. Children and teenage girls, women not quite young but not quite old stood at the front, covering their eyes from the sun to get a look.

“Tai.”Zuong whispered. “Why are children here to witness an execution?”

“You know nobles sir.” Tai replied. “They’re bloodthirsty beyond normal men.”

“That we are Tai that we are.”

They continued on, t the crowd seemingly lining the streets all the way up to the palace gates. Zuong would look up to find someone staring directly at him, and the part of his brain that still whispered that they were laughing or mocking his scars kicked in. One girl in particular met his gaze and Zuong bared his teeth at her, eliciting a jump and a scurry back into the mass of people.

“Just a little bit further sir. Calm down.”

As they neared the palace gates a gap began to appear ahead of the masses. Although all they had known for years was peace there was still a sense of danger to the palace. Remnants of the man the headchopper used to be.

At a glance Zuong could see where the man’s practicality had overtaken tradition. High walls with, a, heavy door and several guard set along it towers along it. Treachery lay at it’s back in the form of a vast plane of flatland that Zuong could imagine the lines of fire and traps overlaid on it in cones. It felt like a fort embroidered in gold, its sharp edges still peeking out from under the soft metal.
From their entrance through the gate, guards had convened around them, walking in pace with the horses. They lead their congregation to the stables and carefully supervised Zuong’s dismount. He tried to take stock of how many stood. Not thirty or forty. More than that. Enough to make any brawl something far from a fair fight.

Zuong looked for the one that looked the most like a leader, and his eyes fell upon a man of maybe fifty. Maybe older if the gut underneath his armor was more muscle than fat.. “May I assume that my men are not needed here?”

The old man looked at him suspiciously. “What do you think they would be needed for?”

“To protect the sanctity of the young female city folk. “Zuong replied.

Zuong received deadpan in response.

“I pulled these men from a wedding.”Zuong said. “ Most of them were going to spend today celebrating nuptials of family members. I need them as an escort but I wouldn’t want them to spend the entire day waiting on me.”

“Will they cause trouble?”

“They’re disciplined. A toast to good fortune. Nothing more.”

The old man considered it. The swear he gave wouldn’t actually matter, as an ambush could occur anywhere, but his men being in the city meant more chances for them to run and disappear. One however would be better than the other.

“I see no reason why they can’t enjoy themselves. However,”He said, pointing his finger at Zuong’s face, if they do, do anything inappropriate, the blame would come to lay solely with you.”

“I’m fine with that.”

With that said the old man retreated, leaving Zuong in the relative privacy of the open air with his men. Waving Tai to him, Zuong waited until he was close to whisper. “Break into groups of five. Disperse but not too far away from each other. I want you to be able to either flee or fight on a moments notice.”

“I am not hearing where your safety comes into this sir.”
Sorry I haven't been around for the last week. My computer died last Saturday (dead PSU, as I was eventually able to figure out), so I've spent most of the week dealing with that whole drama.

Well, it's... original? Yep, original is definitely the word I want here.

Actually, to be fair the writing's pretty good and it doesn't get too lewd. I think the mundane aspect of the whole situation is funnier, so it might have been better if it didn't have the deadly fight at the end.

You have a varied and interesting imagination, but occasionally it felt like you were just throwing random sci-fi concepts together. Your writing has some good imagery and seems functionally sound, but it's kind of hard to get any real insights from such short snippets.

>Would you play this campaign?
It could - its not a dumb idea like many campaign hooks I've heard. But as always, it's all in the execution.

>not sure if 40K or not

>pixie meat
>centaur sex
“It doesn’t.” Zuong said. “If worse comes to worse, I will find my own way out. You on the other hand will run. Understood?”

Tai for a moment, looked as if he wanted to protest. He visibly fought the urge down and nodded his head.

“And don’t get anyone pregnant.”Zuong said louder, slapping him on the shoulder.

With that he turned to the old man again and walked towards him, drawing his sword and a few of his daggers as he approached. Handing them over he made a show of disarming, leaving behind only a long knife. The man looked a him doubtfully but made no move to search him further.



And with that they lead him into the palace.

For a time they walked in silence, Zuong’s clothes occasionally rustling as he reached up to wipe away drool. A female’ touch prevailed within the walls. Paintings, statues, and ornate flowers, carefully placed along the hallways to give the idea of wealth. Occasionally Zuong would spot something on the wall, a light fixture with something that looked like a good grip or a heavy candlestick that looked like it could serve as a spear in a pinch.

“We’re going to be there in a little bit.” The old man, whom Zuong had come to learn was actually named Lee, said. “You have something on your chin.”

Zuong pointedly wiped at the drool and flicked it away.

“Why do you do that?”



“My mouth doesn’t close right.”Zuong replied. “Not since it was cut open.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Lee subtlety began to move faster, fleeing from the situation he had created. A minute passed and they arrived at a set of doors, demon heads attached to the outside. The metal and finish stood out in contrast to the walls leading to it. Ugly silver, fading away from standing guard against anything and anyone.
“He’s waiting for you in there.” Lee said. “I do not have to tell you to be respectful do I?”

“I handed the man the head of a traitor once.”
“So if you mess up once he might be kind enough to overlook it.” Lee paused. “Did you ever wonder why you were called here?”

Zuong had, in great detail. “I live to serve. No point in wondering what the service will be.”

Again, Lee gave him one of those doubtful looks, staring into his face trying to read something deeper.

Zuong smiled. In the mirror, it was the ugliest one.

“Well, you’re far uglier than what I expected she’d end up with but considering who her father is I shouldn’t be that surprised.”

The comment came from so out of the range of normal conversation that it distracted Zuong enough that when they opened the doors and shoved him through he barely fought it. Stumbling through he caught himself and tried to turn in time to demand an explanation only to find shut doors.

“What in the hell,”Zuong said turning away “did he mean by tha-”

Zuong stopped. The room he found himself within was the size of four small homes slammed together and hallowed out. It, like the door spoke of the headchopper, blades and ornament war painting, of demons and patron saints of killers adorning the walls. It was old religion, the kind that had fallen out of favor until the headchopper had found himself outside his empire trying to reclaim it.

And sitting at the end of the room, on his throne was the man himself.

He looked young for his age. His hair had turned shock white when he was a child and even at sixty he had not quite grown into it. His face was barely wrinkled and his eyes still shone with something terrifying and aware of everything.

Good living, good food, Zuong thought, and the blood of innocents. That’s what keeps you young.

The Emperor waved him in closer and Zuong crept forward at a tentative pace. Fast enough so not to waste time and slow enough that it could not be mistake for a lunge. Once he was within a couple of yards the man turned his hand over to stop him.
“Zuong. Son of Zuong the elder and Zuong the oldest. You gave me a man’s decapitated head once.”

“You remember that sir?”

The headchopper laughed. “Despite the name I have been given that is not actually something that happens often. It does tend to leave a memory. And that is why I would like to apologize.”


“For calling you here Zuong.” The Headchopper said. “I’m not going to cut your head off if that’s what you feared. And I don’t need you to fulfill a service for the kingdom. The reason you are here is much, much less important.”

Of all the things that could occurred this was one of the oddest. On his throne the headchopper actually looked embarrassed. Not for apologizing to him but for the circumstances that necessitated it.

“Why am I here sir?” Zuong said. “If not for a task.”

The Headchopper breathed and finally in a sheepish tone spoke. “I have a daughter. Young beautiful if in the past frivolous. She has recently come to realize that she will carry the burden of leading and she wants to ask you a question.

Zuong felt shocked. The heir to the throne wanted to ask him a question? He had lead men. Fought in combat but it was still such an odd thing to contemplate.

“What’s the question?”

The Headchopper’s eyes went from the top of Zuong’s skull to the beginning of his scar, before shooting back up to his eyes. “It’s not how you got the scars. It’s the name.”

“The hero of Cankers fort?” Zuong said hopefully.

“The Butcher.” The Headchopper replied. “She wants that story, iff it’s a story you are comfortable telling.”

The name didn’t sting like the scars did. It didn’t have that weight. It felt more like a cold blanket being laid on top of him.

“I’m not ashamed of it.” Zuong said. “I’ll tell the story gladly sir, especially to your daughter.”
“But if you feel uncomfortable,”The Headchopper replied,”at all, it can wait or even I could tell her.”

“It won’t be sir. Not at all.”

The Headchopper and stood. He nodded his head and began to make the long walk from his throne towards Zuong. Reaching he patted him on the shoulder and passed by him.

“She’ll be here soon. Please wait for her. She might be a little bit nervous.”

In the end she had gone for a three piece affair of gold, white and leather. With brooches and family sigils it occupied the middle ground between pretty and dignified. Enough she hoped to breech the awkward ground she was about to cross.

Xiang had been sitting in a room off center to the throne since word had arrived that Zuong had reached the gates. Waiting for her father to finish speaking to him and to enter the room to ask her idiotic question. She had been fighting the urge to flee into her room and hide and now that it was so close she couldn’t stay still. Watching the door, squirming in her seat waiting for the signal to enter.

There was a knock on the door and Xiang almost leapt out of her skin. Composing herself she stood and made her way through the door and down the hall.

The halls that had been so familiar growing up became claustrophobic. Closing in on her, constricting her path. No one was watching her walk to the hall, but pride still remained, so she very subtly began to move faster. Not running like a peasant but gently jogging to get this over with.

She came to the door and stood before. There was still time to back out. To leave and go back to her room and prepare all number of quips for when she would emerge to regain her reputation. She considered it for all of a moment then struck the door open and walked in.
She saw his face almost immediately and almost shamefully mareled at how worse the damage was in person. A line of drool hung from the side of his mouth that couldn’t close right and the tunic he had been dressed in clashed so badly with his visage that it looked almost like a parody of a noble.

He looked back at her, and it wasn’t until he cocked an eyebrow that Xiang realized she was staring.

“Hello. My name is Xiang.” Her voice cracked on the last letter. “First I would like to apologize for inconveniencing you in this manner for such an inconsequential thing.”

“It really isn’t an issue.” He replied. His voice came out as raspy. The scar ran from his lips to his neck but she began to realize that the cut must have run deeper than that. A vocal cord cut into and hurt or an airway that had been damaged and scarred over.

“Still it is such a stupid question. I do have to apologize.”

“Again, miss it’s not an issue.”

“Still.” Xiang said. “Sorry.”

The two were silent in the middle the room. Xiang trying to figure out how exactly to ask the question and Zuoung staring at her almost bored. Hundreds of false starts ran through Xiang’s head. They were all awkward, all clumsy and most importantly stupid so she let them die there in her head.

“Do you,”Zuong began hesitantly,”remember the white iris plague.”

The name nudged something at the back of her mind but not enough that she had any answer worth anything. “Not really.”

“It was a disease that wracked the country side three years ago.” Zuong said. “Far from here so it makes sense you wouldn’t know much about it,”

Something that felt like a brick smacked into Xiang’s stomach.

“but what made the disease horrific was the manner in which it killed.” Zuong continued. “In terms of the actual danger of the plague, medicine was discovered fairly quickly for it.”
The sense of shame Xiang felt from knowing nothing of a plague that had afflicted her subjects had kept her quiet as he started the story but the bit of her brain that still saw her time as too valuable for such things fought to speak. “What does this.”

“It matters to the story.” Zuong said. “I swear.” Taking a deep breath he continued. “Now my men and I have a certain connection. My forty personal guards? I met them in a slaughter. They believe I saved them, even if I disagree. They take me to weddings. Family functions, dinners and homes and treat me like family. A vast majority of them also reside in the countryside.”

“They got the plague?”

“No.” Zuong replied. “My men didn’t but three of their families did. So I pulled some strings and called in favors and had a shipment of medicine prioritized for their home. We waited separated from the sick for two days and when no one came, we decided to look into what had happened. We rode up the road and found corpses and no medicine. Bandits had attacked and robbed them.”

He stopped talking. The silence passed so quickly that it could have been mistaken for a swallow but something moved over his face. It was difficult to tell, with the scar on his face what emotion exactly he was feeling but it looked like guilt,

“As you can imagine we did not take the news well. We armed yourself, took our horses and rode them down like dogs. We took the medicine back,” Zuong said, “killed the thieves and took it home. We even had a surplus that we traded back to the capital for good faith credit.”

The pause came again, triggered by the last statement. It lasted a bit longer, not significant longer but long enough that she knew it was a real thing she had seen on his face.
“We had gotten something wrong in our hurry.” Zuong said. “They were thieves and they had killed the men delivering the medicine, but they had not been doing it for profit. They had stolen it to take it home. To the valley where they and their fellow traitors had settled down and had no hope of receiving medicine. The plague had hit them like a war hammer and those men must have been the only healthy
ones in the valley.”

Valley. The word stuck out to Xiang. She had been quietly listening to him talk trying to puzzle out the connection but the word valley had struck her brain like a thunderbolt. Why did it matter? What was the significance?

He was Zuong. Son of Zuong the older and Zuong the eldest. His home was forest and farmland. He was the butcher of the black.

Xiang felt something wrap itself around her heart and squeeze.

“With no medicine, and no help coming, they died.” Zuong said. His voice had dropped, droning as he continued. “Some suffered the disese until it killed them. Others, killed themselves. Mothers killed their children rather than allow them to suffer and they killed their elders so they would not go to their death in horror. The entire valley died, and it was only until one was found dead on the road that we were able to piece together what had happened.”

He took a breath. It was a deep one starting from his nose and inflating his chest before he let it go.

“What the story became was that I knew.” Zuong said. “That I had killed those men, and let their families die. I could have fought the spread but there was no point to it. The name is a reminder and a good one.”

“But it doesn’t sound like you were at fault.” Xiang said. “It sounds like it wasn’t your fault at all.”

He smiled at her. With drool leaking out and his grin lengthened by his scar it took the form of a caricature of a smile. It could have genuine or it could have been pained but Xiang could not parse the difference.
“That is a slippery slope to fall down Miss. Mostly because it is operating off the idea that the fault laid in the lack of information and not the lack of attempt to get information.”

She must have looked confused because he sat down on the floor and tapped the floor in front of him and stared at her expectantly until Xiang got the message and sat down.

“Not to lecture you,” Zuong began “because you probably have received this lecture before, but leading is not ordering others to take actions but taking responsibly for what those actions are and what what they cause. I didn’t know is not an excuse. It is not justification.”

“But” Xiang said, “even if they were stealing for their families, they still killed people. They still stole medicine.”

“And if they were stealing it to sell it I could have captured one and caught a criminal.” Zuong said. “I could have struck a blow to a criminal organization that was stealing medicine. Capture was not out of the question. We slaughtered them. We didn’t bother to get off the horses to do it. Instead I killed them because I was mad, and a whole group of people died because of it.”

Xiang paused, trying to find the right way to express her thought. “That does not sound like any way to live.”

“But it’s probably how your father lives. And your grandfather did and my father as well, and his father. I don’t self flagellate about it. I do not allow it to consume my life, but I accepted it. I live with it.”

There was silence after. Xiang began to roll the fabric of her dress between her fingers and thought.

What had her father done and lived with? How many lives and mistakes had he ruined and made? Her grandparents deaths. The fall of the original kingdom. His first love. Countless battles and choices made in them.

What did she have to live with? How would she live with it?

“May I take my leave?”
Xiang’s head snapped up. Zuong was looking at her with something in the neighborhood of an amused smile.


“That was the only question you had, correct? It’s not as dramatic as the Hero story or your father’s but that is its entirety.” Zuong gestured to the door. “I pulled my men from wedding. There is a vague hope that we would arrive in time to eat at least some of the banquet. So, you know.”

“Right. Right.” Xiang stood up quickly, the awkwardness of the situation occuring her again. She reached her hand to help him up and he stood on his own, the hand left to hang in a void.

“Was this a bother to you Zuong? Coming here, to talk to me?”

Xiang watched him carefully for his reaction and what she got, instead of anger or even annoyance was a bemused expression.

“It was an experience.” Zuong replied. “It’s not an explanation I enjoy giving but it’s not that bad to tell.”

Xiang nodded her head and very roughly held her hands out to meet his. He grabbed them slowly and oddly the two, stiffly, bowed to each other.

He gave her another smile, less forced and burdened and after a formal, Zuong turned and made his way to the door. Xiang watched him go, the last thing she saw being the end of the scar, crossing to the crook of his neck.

Later, after he gathered his men and the horses, and the landscape had given away to the black and blandly green of their home, Tai asked him what had happened.

The odd meeting he had had with the Headchopper’s had been replaying in his head since it had ended. He wasn’t as skilled at subterfuge as his brother but he tired to break it into pieces. Take away where he had made social missteps, or showed weakness.

“She just wanted to ask you a question?” Tai said. “And only one?”


“That is, odd to you as well sir? Right?”
Zuong remembered the face she had made when he had told the crux of the story. He told it to his father and there had been pity. He had told it to his mother and there he had found horror. His men had felt guilt and others looked scared. It was in all likely hood unwise to keep the heiress’s face in his mind with such intensity, but the way she looked at him was odd.

“I think I made a bad impression on her Tai.” Zuong said. “This will probably be the end of it.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that sir.” Tai said. “Sure it took time, more than I wold have wanted. And there were days when I was worried about how curved the path you were on was. But now I know what lies before us.”

Zuong did not look at him. That would only play directly into his hands.

“I will quite enjoy,” Tai continued after a moment. “being the bodyguard of the Empress's consort.”

Zuong turned to look at Tai’s smiling face and saw behind him men trying to hide their expressions.

“You do realize Tai, I’m going to emasculate you in front of your wife now right?”

“I’m fully prepared to pay that cost.”

Zuong scowled and behind him, his men erupted into laughter. He could tell them to stop, and get away with it. Seeing however that it, in all likelihood, would be the last time the heiress ever thought of him, he decided to let them have their fun.

“Was she all you dreamed of sir!” A voice from the back of the line screamed.

Zuong flung a sheathed knife behind him. Someone screamed.

Xiang had been awake for two hours more than she should have been. Staring up at the space above her bed running over the words Zuong had told her, and how her parents had reacted.

When she had returned from her meeting, not sad, or lovelorn but confused, her mother had sat her down and bombarded her with questions. Did he insult you? Did he offend you, did he make you uncomfortable or threatened or annoyed.
She had answered no to each question, firmly putting forward that she had been the one at fault for any negative feelings that had arisen over the meeting. Her mother had looked relieved at that and smiled at her father, sharing a secret between only them.

It was confusing. No, more than confusing it was annoying to feel left out of a significant moment. That a joke had been told and she had been left out despite being one half of it.

She was still annoyed as she looked around again for anything to count. It was a vague and desperate hope that it would put her out, but looking around her room nothing came. Finally, after she strained her eyes to try to count the threads in her bed curtains, she gave in to the reality that she would remain awake until the root of her problem came to her.

Write to him, appeared as a low voice in the back of her mind. It took root and grew as numbers escaped her. She found herself on her feet before her mind fully registered what she was doing. Sitting at a writing desk she rarely used, she withdrew a piece of paper and a pen and stared at it.

The opening line would have to be special. Their first words had been unceremonious, awkward. With all the time in the world to think, the first letter would be better.

Dear Zuong, she began, I saw you had a gold tooth. Where did you get it?

Xiang looked down at the words and read them over. They were a good beginning.
Was that anon who wrote that story about the asshole who rode around on the wolf that blinded his sister because of God bullshit going to continue the story? That stuff scratched a particular itch of mine.
... dare I ask what you were expecting?
Gieger grill boobage, mostly.
Hey guys, I need some general advice. I'm writing a slightly longer story; more like a novella in length. It's hovering at about 8 pages, but shouldn't go past 20. I used to have an issue with the "show don't tell" thing, but a few anons helped me out. But now another problem has developed.

I write like a fucking script. Conversations tend to go a lot longer than they should, and I try to break them up with the characters doing stuff )eg, sitting down, taking a sip of a drink, describing their facial expressions) but I was wondering if any anons have any advice that could help? Shit is difficult.
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When you're writing something that short, what's said and isn't said is very important. If you're starting to ramble through things, I would suggest trying to find the core of the discussion. What is the ultimate goal from these people talking. Once you have that, you need to think about how they're going to achieve that and in what manner.
If your dialogue is getting out of hand, you need to focus and distill it to its main points. Embody the opposites of Quintin Tarantino.
You should read Hills like White Elephants by Hemingway. It's just 4 pages of (mostly) dialogue. He doesn't break things up too much with the little fiddly actions by the speakers, but they are present. But depending on the characters, being fiddly could be completely fine for them.
I don't know what kind of advice you're looking for.
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Hey is there a discord for writers? Would like to have something a bit more reliable than threads.
Read the fucking OP.
K thx
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Can anyone finde that story about Snow White and the 7 dwarfs, but the 7 dwarfs are actualy 7 dwarf armies hellbent on avenging "Snow White" saint of their which the evil queen or her son accidentaly killed, so they had him drawn and quartered in good will for his sencere apology?
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>You have a varied and interesting imagination, but occasionally it felt like you were just throwing random sci-fi concepts together. Your writing has some good imagery and seems functionally sound, but it's kind of hard to get any real insights from such short snippets.

Thank you for this crit, mucho appreciado.

>but occasionally it felt like you were just throwing random sci-fi concepts together.

I get this alot, but if I'm being honest that's kind of a big theme of my game, I would like to be able to combine sci-fi/sci-fantasy concepts elegantly, but I guess in some places I struggle with that. Which ones did it well and what were the "clunkier" ones?
>what were the "clunkier" ones?
these two in particular seemed like just a random collection of sci-fi words. The earlier ones were a bit better.
Is it just me or is this board getting faster? I feel like I'm having to bump the thread much more often - it's on page 10 already and it hasn't even been 2 hours since the last bump.
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“Just pluggin’, pluggin’, pluggin’, pluggin’ along. Just pluggin’, pluggin’, pluggin’, pluggin’ along.”

“Get a load of Bob over there.”

“Oh? What’s he doin’?”

“Singin’ and rollin’ around. Kind of looks like he’s trying to play tic-tac-toe by himself.”

“Is it summer already?”

“Yeah… but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Bob’s big into the occult, summoning demons and such. He also hates it when it’s hot. So about four years ago he gets this idea that if he can summon a demon and control it he could make said demon give him a demons immunity to heat.”


“Yea. When I first asked him about it he told me it makes sense because since hell is always on fire, and demons aren’t a pile of ash then they must be immune to fire, and therefore heat. I stopped asking questions after that and figured I’d leave him be.”



“He… He does know that he’s a rock right?”

“Oh yea. Bit of shale with granite inclusions.”

“And you say he’s been doing this for how long?”

“Four years.”

“Has it worked at all? Y’know, the whole demon summoning?”

“He hasn’t finished drawing his first summoning circle yet.”

“That’s… But… He… But he’s a rock!.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I… I don’t get it. I just don’t get it.”

“Don’t have to. Just sit back and watch.”
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made me smile
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Bump :)
I'm glad you finished your story anon, it's a good story. You should have posted a link to the beginning

I can see why you're not entirely happy with the last part, though. You have the outline of a good plot but your execution is a little clunky in places. Overall it's not terrible, but I think it could use some editing to sand down its rough edges. A lot of the mistakes seem like they're just the result of you being tired of the project and rushing through it.
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>A lot of the mistakes seem like they're just the result of you being tired of the project and rushing through it.
It's less that I got tired and more that I have absolutely no idea how to write two young people in an awkward situation and started running dry quickly.

What did you find particularly clunky?
> more that I have absolutely no idea how to write two young people in an awkward situation and started running dry quickly.
I thought their interactions were cute.
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Tried writing some writeffagotry.
It's related to something I posted hre previously. That one is long gone. Hope you still enjoy:


I know this might sound like heresy, but sometimes you just have to hate the Imperium. Some wanker at the Administratum made a typo and suddenly not 4, but 44 Regiments were required as tithes. The whole fucking population of a planet had to be mobilized, literally only pregnant women and some children left behind.
And so I ended up once again at age 97 as a Commissar; now of the 236-44th Imperial Guard Regiment of Beluxes-IIb also known as 2nd Imperium Yugend.
It was definitely difficult, though I managed to stretch out the training period for them so that the youngest ones were at least 10 upon deployment, still there were few older than that.
What the hell am I even fighting for anymore? Weren’t we supposed to safeguard our children? Didn’t we fight so they wouldn’t have too?
Civilian life must have made me soft while I didn’t have too blam anyone, I don’t know if I even could anymore. Children shouldn’t go to war… they are not like grown men. They don’t understand that when their friend is shot, they could be too, all of them feel special after all.
At the beginning they cried a lot when one of them died, now they don’t seem to even care… they adapt fast… ,but they still play with simple carved out toys in the trenches when the front is calm.
They started calling me Grandpa. I didn’t object.
I don’t know why I am trying so hard to keep them alive. To do so I have turned them into monsters, ones of unquestioning loyalty and efficiency… the kind of beast the Empire never lets go. I took away their humanity to keep mine. In their life’s awaits them only war and I have condemned them too it… yet, still I can’t bring myself to let it end, to let them die before all their humanity is lost. I guess I’ve gotten soft.


I used my connections and managed to get some Ogryns to lessen the load. It worked. The children get along with them, both are simple in their faith, loyalty and pleasures. The Ogryns are gentle giants, good role models and their presence strengthens morale.
One kid asked me once happily if they could become an Ogryn if they grow up… if… if they grow up…
I told this to my guest. A weird little thing, she keeps tilting her head left and right like a confused dog constantly sneaking glances at the Soul Stones an Ogryn handed me.
The thing truly does not feel any empathy. It just emptily stares, nods and lies. It sits there in the uniform of a Catachan guardsman claiming to be one without even knowing how to pronounce the name, playing around with one of their sacred knifes as if it was a toy.
I’ll let the Knifeear have it’s fun. She wants to enlist? Then she will! I’ll send her to the front over and over again and she’ll die or will fight in the stead of my grandchildren. For until this filthy body of mine finally collapses I will fight for granting the children one more day; every day. Then maybe one day even after what I did to them, they will be able to find at least some happiness.
I’ve really gotten soft.
And I'm glad about that but if I were to go over it in detail I would struggle trying to make those interactions better.

With Tai, if I had the time I see ways I could improve it. Same thing with the headchopper, and with Zuong's awkwardness in relation to his scars. But I just hit a brick wall with that and it soured me to the whole thing.
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>The sense of shame Xiang felt from knowing nothing of a plague that had afflicted her subjects had kept her quiet as he started the story but the bit of her brain that still saw her time as too valuable for such things fought to speak.
This sentence is just way too long. You could split it up, or you could just leave off the second half entirely. I think you waste time trying to convey the minutiae of what your characters are thinking. You could simply have gone with:
>Xiang felt a shame growing within her; she had known nothing of this plague, which had evidently devastated the lives of people who were supposed to be her subjects.

>Mostly because it is operating off the idea that the fault laid in the lack of information and not the lack of attempt to get information.”
This is just an awkward way of putting it. I think the main mistake you keep making is not what you're trying to say, but the overly complicated way you choose to say it. It could be rearranged to something like:
>The fault was not our ignorance. It was that we were satisfied with our ignorance.

>“But it doesn’t sound like you were at fault.” Xiang said. “It sounds like it wasn’t your fault at all.”
This is an unnecessary duplication.

I think that towards the end you started writing down exactly what what you were thinking, without considering the style. It's resulted in bits that are overly complicated or just redundant.
I agree. I didn't do a run through for how it sounded and how well ideas got across, and a lot of shit got jumbled up. I'm going to go for something more on brand next time and try to avoid that.

Did you enjoy it at all?
>Did you enjoy it at all?
Yes. Like I said, you had a good concept and you started out strong. You just lost control of it a little towards the end.
>I'm going to go for something more on brand next time and try to avoid that.
Why do you think that would make a difference?
Good. I'm mostly just aiming for that as of now. Having an idea somebody would enjoy and doing it at least well enough that they would come away with it at least having had fun.
Well this is going to sound like a chickenshit excuse, but mostly just so I could bring myself to read through it in detail.

It's a stupid thing to feel ashamed of but I just think I can't write anything vaguely romantic or uplifting, and then I psyche myself out into being too embarrassed or honestly cringing to read through what I wrote, which makes everything so much worse than if I was actually incredibly shitty at writing anything vaguely romantic. I don't become a master novelist between careful detailed editing passes but I see a difference.
Dude. That's dumb.
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Thanks Chronicler, I enjoy putting an inordinate amount of effort into silly shit and thus now know more about lobster reproduction than I really cared to. I like the idea of a "modern society" that hasn't spread out throughout the entire biosphere, so while there may be large advanced settlements, it's still really easy to go off and adventure in uncharted territories. As the ocean as a setting is still pretty fresh/slightly underused, and the wide variety of fauna makes it great for storytelling.
Plus the story reads less fucked up if it's just some shit that animals do, rather than humans.
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I'm coming up with fantasy creatures to populate this world and need some help.
What would a dog and bull look like smashed together? As far as I can see, there's no precedent mythology for such a creature.
Pls don't say bulldog.
I say go for it.
Kinda Generic, but can turn out nice.
I'd go with a dog's head, bull's horns, bull's body, dog's legs.
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I've had a crazy series of semi-lucid dreams, like something out of a metal album. Trouble is, they're not /tg/-related. I feel like I have to tell -somone- about them, but I don't know where. What do?
Obviously make a story based on your dreams.
So out of curiosity what word processor do you guys use?
I genuinely write most of the things I write in the 4chan reply box. It's resizeable, I'm here already, and because my browser is Google Chrome it has spellcheck. What more could I need?

Google drive.
If I have an idea while I'm out and about, I can just go in and jot it down and have it waiting for me when I get home. The share-ability is also convenient with my friends and editors.
/r/ing a story I read a while ago that I've forgotten the name of. From what I remember it was a custom Imperial Guard Chapter, loosely based off the Swedish Caroleans, fighting to recapture a planet from Tau separatists. At least I think. Anyone got a clue what I'm on about?.
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infected slavs still squat...

I know, and I don't even need to make a story, the dreams are a story in and of themselves, I'd just need to fill in the blanks where dream logic fucked up. It's just not at all /tg/-related. Where would I even post it, desu?
>Where would I even post it, desu?
It's not like we're overburdened with material here right now. Call it a rough draught, and we could advise you on how to turn it into an actual story
I only came here because /SFFG/ on /lit/ were a bunch of pseuds with their heads up their asses. Post whatever you want here, basically. Nobody is gonna call the cops on you.

M'kay, I shall get it down in greentext format before I make a coherent story out of it, just to get it down first.
More like Snow White is the ancient fabled mountain capital of the 7 dwarf clans, the witch leads her poisoned apples which are a dirty green, or goblin armies against snow white and burns it down/make it uninhabitable, the snow capped peak becomes dark and the ice floods the lands around it making it a marsh.

The seven clans leave and withdraw into the woods and create mighty manors. They reforge their armies and attempt to retake it.
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Sad, no-one read it.
I read it, I just can't always think of something useful to say.
Morning boner bump
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Libre office.
It's free and works for me.

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