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July 23rd, 2004, 10:34 AM
We're moving right along. Great work so far, let's keep it up.

So far...

We've created and described a character and we've described his/her/its 'scene'. What could we possibly be doing next.


I want you in as few or as many (up to 400) words to motivate your character. I don't want your character to take action just yet. I want you to build and build and build the motivation like pressure in a pressure cooker. I want you to get deep inside your character's head and give him/her/it a reason to do something, but I don't want the character to take that action...yet. Just build up the motivation. Use everything about your character and the scene you've developed so far. Don't be afraid to put in new elements, but make sure they fit in with everything you've done so far.

Let's see what we can do with this one. Good Luck.

July 23rd, 2004, 01:26 PM
You were (and are) right about my lack of editting on these maus. The first two I felt were weak because I didn't really have a grasp on this man I'd created. This exercise, I feel, is the most important so far, because motivations make a man.

BTW, I'm thinking about turning this into a SS on my site ;p


There was no escape.

Once the Hounds had his scent, Laziris knew he would have to face and defeat them. Once those infernal beasts had a trail, there was nowhere to hide. And so he did all that could be expected of a man in his position - je chose his ground and made a stand, planting his feet shoulder-width apart, arms akimbo.

She would be with them. This he knew, and it caused a kind of low-grade fear inside him that was both revolting and thrilling. It had been a long time... years even, since he had felt even that much. She would come, with her angel's smile and her devil's hounds, dark red lips over white teeth, so pale and delicate looking. That vulnerability, he knew, was no more than illusion, for if indeed a heart beat inside Martarian's chest, it was a black and pitiful thing.

He drew his paired swords from sheathes at his back. Death and Rebirth, they were called, one with a matte-black hilt, the other bone-white. Lightly curved and wickedly sharp. He hoped they would be enough, even as he knew that it was worth taunting death once again to stand before HER with a chance, just a chance, to plunge a blade home.

Once it had been otherwise. Once he had killed on her word, and he thought in her defense. And when he had found out her connection to him, and the real nature of the people she was having him assassinate, he had strove with her, and been cast down. Innocents, he had slain. Some known to him - though he did not know it - and some unknown.

"My brother..." Laziris began in a cold whisper, "... my sister... my mother..."

The litany went on and on.

The baying of the dogs grew closer, and as Laziris remembered all the reasons he had for hating their mistress his fear was replaced with something much more familiar. Cold anger, a razor's edge in his mind slicing away doubt and uncertainty.

He shouted, deep baritone rumble echoing in the moonlit stillness of Corinian, "Come at me, bitch! Bring your Hounds and your dark fires! Bring everything you have and COME AT ME!"

And so they came.

July 23rd, 2004, 02:06 PM
You were (and are) right about my lack of editting on these maus. The first two I felt were weak because I didn't really have a grasp on this man I'd created. This exercise, I feel, is the most important so far, because motivations make a man.

BTW, I'm thinking about turning this into a SS on my site ;p


I've read your stories so don't try and pull the wool over my eyes. :D

In case you haven't noticed, I'm building all the elements to a story. Character, location, motivation, I'll let you guess the rest. In the end, each person should be able to take all these pieces and put them together for a short story. What we do after that will be an exercise as well. :)

July 27th, 2004, 11:59 AM
Jack had been in an unusual mood all night, most people had noticed. He didn´t come down to the Swallow very often, and when he did he liked to have a good time singing coarse songs with Dun. Tonight he´d just been quiet, looking grim and tense.
The barmaid was just about to ring her bell and suggest everyone go home when Jack erupted.
"What was that you said?" he yelled abruptly. Everyone fell silent. Noone was actually talking to Jack, what was what who said? Everyone waited for someone else to speak up and calm Jack down.
"Shrimpet! What was that you said?" Jack singled out the perpetrator of the crime with his gaze. Shrimpet was a big man. A big rich man. The kind who sells things and buys things and takes as much off either end as he possibly can. He was also drunk, not thinking clearly and not ready to have his words challenged, whatever they might have been.
"Say about what?" he enquired, trying to sound intimidating. He swayed backwards a step holding his mug protectively in front of him as Jack rose from his stool.
"About reopening trade with the Shrengaard!"
"Oh that! Well, what about it?"
"What are you going to sell 'em?"
Shrimpet drew himself up tall, "Whatever they want to buy."
"Weapons? Food? Horses?"
"Well, perhaps not weapons."
"Oh, so you do have a conscience." Jacks said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He took a step toward the big man. "How can you do it, Shrimpet? You might as well be killing people with your own hands."
"Well, I think that´s a bit strong the war´s over after all and I was talking to Mr Floyd and he said . . ."
"Ah! If Floyd says it´s fine it must be fine? Do you really think they´re going to stop, Shrimpet?" Jack jabbed a bony finger into Shrimpets chest. Shrimpet stood his ground, the beer was swirling round his head and he wanted to retaliate, but what could he do? The guy only had one leg after all. Jack read the thoughts in Shrimpets eyes and it made him angrier.
"The Shrengaard are pure evil Shrimpet. Evil!" he looked deep into Shrimpet´s eyes.
"Oh come on, Jack. They´re just people." Shrimpet paused, "Like us." he finished hopefully. Jack took a quick step away.
"No they aint. They aint at all. Nothing like me. Nothing like you, even. You don´t know Shrimpet. None of you do. I hope you never do." Jack went to get his blazer and as soon as he left the whispering started.

July 28th, 2004, 11:31 PM
As Chezron and Echer stared each other down -- Echer leaned back against the bar, relaxed, and Chezron, sword in one hand, gun in the other -- light mummers grew into impatient conversation. Chezron knew he had to make a move or his interruption in the night's activities would turn against him.

"You owe me a horse," Chezron repeated and accented his words with a hacking cough.

Echer looked down at the shot glass he was rolling between his fingers, reached up, slowly, and took the black hat from his head. He tossed it between himself and Chezron. Chezron noticed a sparkling gem on the hat's band. A ruby. The hat landed with a dull 'clop' on the floor. Chezron held steady and didn't let his eyes waver from his target.

"That there hat is worth more than that two-bit nag you called a horse. Take it and let's call this even."

The hat wasn't a peace offering, it was a taunt and Chezron knew that. He wasn't about to fall for Echer's ruse, but some of the people may think this a fair trade. Again, he worried about the murmuring crowd behind him.

"With what you did to her in that canyon, I can't let you off that easy."

Again, Echer was looking down at the shot glass. He reached behind himself and poured another. By the tilt of the bottle, Chezron could tell it'd barely been touched. Echer was sober and that was frightening. Even though Chezron's gun was drawn, it would still be difficult to defeat the faster Echer.
Once he'd poured the shot, Echer offered to Chezron, "C'mon partner. Have a drink. Let's put this behind us once and for all. We'll talk about this and you'll see this was all just a misunderstanding."

Echer's clean shaven face made Chezron even more upset. His partner, ex-partner now, had been spending their hard earned money in town. All Chezron got was a dead horse; one he'd hidden behind to avoid a barrage of bullets. With the amount of blood, he'd managed to give a good appearance of being dead. It was a long, four-day walk back to town. It didn't help that it rained the entire way.

"No more words," Chezron said flatly.

Echer though for a moment, then unbuckled his belt and placed his guns on the bar. "No guns. We'll fight your way. Swords."

July 30th, 2004, 12:02 PM
Exercise 10 is ready for posting. Hope to see you all there.

Ruby Maiden
August 2nd, 2004, 05:29 PM
A small, arrogant smile took residence upon Adan’s lips as he entered the next room with Fiona upon his delicate arm. He was the image of a boy of noble birth, self-assured and self-possessed, resplendent in his finery. It was to be his night, and yet… He could not help but gape when his eyes fell upon Hyaline.

The flickering tapers that lined the walls of the little prince’s personal sitting room seemed to dance upon the auburn strands of his elder sister’s hair before becoming trapped in the multitude of tiny firedrops that were meticulously nestled amidst the silken waves. A gown of the finest golden damask enveloped her lithe form perfectly, granting the already beautiful girl of fifteen an almost otherworldly glow that was supplemented by the crimson stain upon her lips and cheeks. She looked absolutely stunning and Adan could not help but seethe. The night’s revelry would be the perfect opportunity for his father to finally present him to the court as a future warrior of Baradel, a prince whose destiny would be to lead the kingdom’s troops into glorious carnage. How dare she attempt to steal his glory through her damnable vanity?

“You look absolutely regal, Adan.” Hyaline smiled warmly, her affectionate praise only serving to further ignite the boy’s temper. She would not take this from him, no matter how she attempted to soothe him with honeyed words. He would not allow it.

“You look fine as well, Hyaline. But I do not understand why you bothered yourself with paints. You know that this night is to be my…” Hyaline’s smoky laugh cut him short as she bent to adjust the golden pin upon his breast. The move was unnecessary, yet she continued nonetheless, bringing color to the boy’s cheeks. Did she truly have to treat him like such a child?!

“It was not my idea, little one. I would have preferred to forgo them, yet Mother insisted.” A sad light entered her eyes then, turning her gaze to emerald water for a scant moment. “But as you said, this is not my night. I do believe all eyes will be elsewhere, though I can’t imagine where…” Another smoky laugh issued from the princess as Fiona’s dulcet tone chimed in. Adan only smiled. In a few hours they would see. They would bow to him like all the others.