Re: My Latest Story
Re: My Latest Story That is actually my planned major. URL: http://forum.audiogames.net/viewtopic.php?pid=335315#p335315 ___ Audiogames-reflector mailing list Audiogames-reflector@sabahattin-gucukoglu.com https://sabahattin-gucukoglu.com/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/audiogames-reflector
Re: My Latest Story
Re: My Latest Story Cool. You definitely have promise. You should look at taking a writing course if you haven't already. Someone who could assess your work properly, and offer learned advice. The talent and imagination is there. URL: http://forum.audiogames.net/viewtopic.php?pid=335302#p335302 ___ Audiogames-reflector mailing list Audiogames-reflector@sabahattin-gucukoglu.com https://sabahattin-gucukoglu.com/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/audiogames-reflector
Re: My Latest Story
Re: My Latest Story Here is my latest draft. I hope you enjoy it.The wordless screams of the dead rent the air like the shadowy claws of demons. A man fell from on high, the dead dragon beneath him offering little solace to the mighty battlemage in his current predicament.As he fell, Edarvur cursed his bad luck. He'd come into the land of the dead for a brief foray... that had quickly turned into a fiasco of unbelievable proportions. He was cursing himself, magic, and his steel, all for his stupid mistake.He damned himself to these hells for ever killing that dragon so close to the ceiling. And now he was going to turn into a tavern cake if he didn't cast a spell to save himself and quickly.He formed the words in his head as he fell. His arcane chants filled the air. The power flowed. The energy flaredand fizzled out. "Damn," the man cursed as he fell. He should have remembered, magic was not as well suited to this damnable abyss as it was the world above. Anti-magics constantly corrupted him.The man sighed inwardly as he braced himself for the impact and hoped the dragons great bulk was enough to take the force of the collision.When they hit, Edarvur was thrown far and high. No, no, no! he screamed in his mind as he fell. He tried one last desperate attempt to cast a spell, and surprisingly it worked, stopping him three or so feet from the ground before fizzling out and dropping him, flat on his back, to the ground.Groaning, the battlemage rolled over and rose to his feet, taking stock of his situation.His spellbooks were in order, thank the gods, wherever they were. His blades, forged in to the shapes of dragons wings, still rested at his hips. His robes, though tattered, still remained. And no bones were broken."I am lucky indeed," he murmured, a habit he'd picked up on his solo adventuring quests. He was alone, but craved companionship. So he spoke to himself. He stood on the huge plain of desolation and decay that was the land of the dead... or at least, one of them.High above him, high above here, lay the Fields of Paradise, where the souls of the just and the goodly resided after their corporeal forms died.But here. Here were the Plains of Despair, where the souls of the wicked, the unholy and dishonorable, the shunned and the wickedly ambitious, were damned to forever unlive in a state of torture unknown to any living being.And here he was, Edarvur, mightiest of battlemages, trapped in the depths of this abominable place. He sighed as he looked at the thoroughly broken form of the guardian dragon. "A noble fight," he said, drawing one of his swords, Dragonwing, his right hand blade. He saluted the proud creature, then sheathed it, placing his hand upon the dragon's egg-shaped pommel.The other weapon, Dragonsbane, (A name he found endlessly cliche, but it was a wonderful weapon), he drew and saluted the creature as a worthy opponent.Both blades were identical, in all save the hilt. While Dragonwing was a red hilted blade with the egg being it's pommel, Dragonsbane was a deep, cleansing blue, the pommel of which was the great and mighty head of a blue, therefore goodly, dragon.He took the time to check the rest of his reserves, both physical and magical. He would have to find a high place on this flat land upon which to cast his spell of returning. And that would not be an easy task.He would have to fight his way through legions of the damned to find said hill, and--"You are a dolt," came a voice from behind him. Turning quickly, he sought to draw his sword, then calmed, when he saw it to be his wife, Crissa. A cleric in her own right and a mighty one at that, she must have prayed for his release. "And you, my dear, are a life saver," Edarvur said as he stepped towards her. He took her slim, shapely hand, and was drawn back to the world of the living.He stepped back into reality into his tower's library, surveying it with a calm fondness. He loved spending his time here: Surrounded by the shelves of books and various magical artifacts. Ancient swords and other such weapons decorated the walls. Rugs of the finest weave carpeted the floor. A large fireplace, currently empty, stood in one corner, and a large, comfortable chair sat before it. The chair was currently occupied by a large, weighty tome awaiting placement among his overstocked bookshelves.Many mages of his calibur kept homes that were cold. Desolate. But not Edarvur. He was a man of cheer, of hope, of light. So, he decorated his home as such. His tower stood not atop a mountain, surrounded by nothing but rock and snow. His stood beside a lake, in a beautiful pine forest village that was not very far from his wife's homeland.Ahh, Crissa, he thought, his eyes drawn to her. She was a tall elven woman, her long, golden ringlets falling to the center of her back. She was not so slender as other elven women. She had a shape to her, and a fine one a
Re: My Latest Story
Re: My Latest Story Great. It's made a massive difference. Before it felt like an empty space with labels, now we can see the characters and their home much better. And we can now see he and his wife are warm people. We know them a little better. URL: http://forum.audiogames.net/viewtopic.php?pid=335134#p335134 ___ Audiogames-reflector mailing list Audiogames-reflector@sabahattin-gucukoglu.com https://sabahattin-gucukoglu.com/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/audiogames-reflector
Re: My Latest Story
Re: My Latest Story Here is an edit. I fixed some of the things you have suggested, and I plan to expand the story itself tomorrow. The wordless screams of the dead rent the air like the shadowy claws of demons as the man fell from on high, the dead dragon beneath him offering little solace to the mighty battlemage. As he fell, Edarvur cursed his bad luck. He'd come into the land of the dead for a brief foray... that had quickly turned into a fiasco of unbelievable preportions. He was cursing himself, magic, and his steel, all for his stupid mistake. He damned himself to these hells for ever killing that dragon so close to the ceiling. And now he was going to turn into a tavern cake if he didn't cast a spell to save himself and quickly. He formed the words in his head as he fell. His arcane chants filled the air. The power flowed. The energy flared-- --and fizzled out. "Damn," the man cursed as he fell. He should have remembered, magic was not as well suited to this damnable abyss as it was the world above. Anti-magics constantly corrupted him. The man sighed inwardly as he braced himself for the impact and hoped the dragons great bulk was enough to take the force of the collision. When they hit, Edarvur was thrown far and high. No, no, no! he screamed in his mind as he fell. He tried one last desperate attempt to cast a spell, and surprisingly it worked, stopping him three or so feet from the ground before fizling out and dropping him, flat on his back, to the ground. Groaning, the battlemage rolled over and rose to his feet, taking stock of his situation. His spellbooks were in order, thank the gods, wherever they were. His blades, forged in to the shapes of dragons wings, still rested at his hips. His robes, though tattered, still remained. And no bones were broken. "I am lucky indeed," he murmured, a habit he'd picked up on his solo adventuring quests. He was alone, but craved companionship. So he spoke to himself. He stood on the huge plain of desolation and decay that was the land of the dead... or at least, one of them. High above him, high above here, lay the Fields of Paradise, where the souls of the just and the goodly resided after their corporeal forms died. But here. Here were the Plains of Despair, where the souls of the wicked, the unholy and dishonorable, the shunned and the wickedly ambitious, were damned to forever unlive in a state of torture unknown to any living being. And here he was, Edarvur, mightiest of battlemages, trapped in the depths of this abominable place. He sighed as he looked at the thoroughly broken form of the guardian dragon. "A noble fight," he said, drawing one of his swords, Dragonwing, his right hand blade. He saluted the proud creature, then sheathed it, placing his hand upon the dragon's egg-shaped pommel. The other weapon, Dragonsbane, (A name he found endlessly cliche, but it was a wonderful weapon), he drew and saluted the creature as a worthy opponent. Both blades were identical, in all save the hilt. While Dragonwing was a red hilted blade with the egg being it's pommel, Dragonsbane was a deep, cleansing blue, the pommel of which was the great and mighty head of a blue, therefore goodly, dragon. He took the time to check the rest of his reserves, both physical and magical. He would have to find a high place on this flat land upon which to cast his spell of returning. And that would not be an easy task. He would have to fight his way through legions of the damed to find said hill, and-- "You are a dolt," came a voice from behind him. Turning quickly, he sought to draw his sword, then calmed, when he saw it to be his wife, Crissa. A cleric in her own right and a mighty one at that, she must have prayed for his release. "And you, my dear, are a life saver," Edarvur said as he stepped towards her. He took her slim, shapely hand, and was drawn back to the world of the living. He stepped back into reality into his tower's library, surveying it with a calm fondness. He loved spending his time here: Surrounded by the shelves of books and various magical artifacts. Ancient swords and other such weapons decorated the walls. Rugs of the finest weave carpeted the floor. A large fireplace, currently empty, stood in one corner, and a large, comfortable chair sat before it. The chair was currently occupied by a large, weighty tome awaiting placement among his overstocked bookshelves. Many mages of his calibur kept homes that were cold. Desolate. But not Edarvur. He was a man of cheer, of hope, of light. So, he decorated his home as such. His tower stood not atop a mountain, surrounded by nothing but rock and snow. His stood beside a lake, in a beautiful pine forest, not very far from his wife's homeland. Ahh, Crissa, he thought, his eyes drawn to her. She was a tall elven woman, her long, golden ringlets falling to the center of her back. She was not so s
Re: My Latest Story
Re: My Latest Story No, no, your constructive criticism is much appreciated. I can easily go back and edit that portion, which I will do now. And I put that point in parentheses to make it appear as though the main character is a bit more eccentric and he himself thinks it rather cliche. URL: http://forum.audiogames.net/viewtopic.php?pid=335054#p335054 ___ Audiogames-reflector mailing list Audiogames-reflector@sabahattin-gucukoglu.com https://sabahattin-gucukoglu.com/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/audiogames-reflector
Re: My Latest Story
Re: My Latest Story It's not bad at all. My suggestion as a reader would be to spend more time describing the environments and characters in a little more detail. When he jumped from the land of the dead to his library it happened so fast I had to do a double take to find out why his wife and desk were suddenly in the land of the dead. It took me a moment to see she'd summoned him. Rather than just say where he is, land of the dead, library, describe them a little more, it'll really help to set the scene, and it won't feel as abrupt and jumpy. Just saying he's in his library didn't paint much of a mental picture, and gave the impression the character exists in a void. How large is this library? Are the walls stocked with just books or are there paintings. Are there curios on shelves? Thing's in jars? Is there a cat asleep in front of a fireplace? These are the kinds of things that would have helped to place the character in a real environment. Hope you don't think I'm lecturing, just letting you know what it was like to read that passage, and what I felt was missing. The other thing I'd say is when you mentioned the sword's name being a cliche, it sounded a bit self-conscious, like you were worried how your work would be received, and this took me out of the story. I think if you're going to write fantasy, you'll have to accept some people are going to sneer whatever you do because haters gonna hate, so you just need to have complete faith in what you're doing. Even if part of you thinks it might be viewed as the corniest clichéd thing in the world, jump in with both feet, and fuckem. URL: http://forum.audiogames.net/viewtopic.php?pid=335049#p335049 ___ Audiogames-reflector mailing list Audiogames-reflector@sabahattin-gucukoglu.com https://sabahattin-gucukoglu.com/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/audiogames-reflector
My Latest Story
My Latest Story Hello everyone. So, as most of you know, (mostly because I won't shut up about the fact), I want to be a writer. And, so, of course, I write now, to better my craft and make myself a better, more concise writer. So today, I bring you my latest work, and, please note, it is in no way finished or polished. I know it cuts off in a weird place... I only just now wrote it. Any feedback would be appreciated. My thanks. The wordless screams of the dead rent the air like the shadowy claws of demons as the man fell from on high, the dead dragon beneath him offering little solace to the mighty battlemage. As he fell, Edarvur cursed his bad luck. He'd come into the land of the dead for a brief foray... that had quickly turned into a fiasco of unbelievable preportions. He was cursing himself, magic, and his steel, all for his stupid mistake. He damned himself to these hells for ever killing that dragon so close to the ceiling. And now he was going to turn into a tavern cake if he didn't cast a spell to save himself and quickly. He formed the words in his head as he fell. His arcane chants filled the air. The power flowed. The energy flared-- --and fizzled out. "Damn," the man cursed as he fell. He should have remembered, magic was not as well suited to this damnable abyss as it was the world above. Anti-magics constantly corrupted him. The man sighed inwardly as he braced himself for the impact and hoped the dragons great bulk was enough to take the force of the collision. When they hit, Edarvur was thrown far and high. No, no, no! he screamed in his mind as he fell. He tried one last desperate attempt to cast a spell, and surprisingly it worked, stopping him three or so feet from the ground before fizling out and dropping him, flat on his back, to the ground. Groaning, the battlemage rolled over and rose to his feet, taking stock of his situation. His spellbooks were in order, thank the gods, wherever they were. His blades, forged in to the shapes of dragons wings, still rested at his hips. His robes, though tattered, still sat upon his back. And no bones were broken. "I am lucky indeed," he murmured, a habit he'd picked up on his solo adventuring quests. He was alone, but craved companionship. So he spoke to himself. He stood on the huge plain of desolation and decay that was the land of the dead... or at least, one of them. High above him, high above here, lay the Fields of Paradise, where the souls of the just and the goodly resided after their corporeal forms died. But here. Here were the Plains of Despair, where the souls of the wicked, the unholy and dishonorable, the shunned and the wickedly ambitious, were damned to forever unlive in a state of torture unknown to any living being. And here he was, Edarvur, mightiest of battlemages, trapped in the depths of this abominable place. He sighed as he looked at the thoroughly broken form of the guardian dragon. "A noble fight," he said, drawing one of his swords, Dragonwing, his right hand blade. He saluted the proud creature, then sheathed it, placing his hand upon the dragon's egg-shaped pommel. The other weapon, Dragonsbane, (A name he found endlessly cliche, but it was a wonderful weapon), he drew and saluted the creature as a worthy opponent. Both blades were identical, in all save the hilt. While Dragonwing was a red hilted blade with the egg being it's pommel, Dragonsbane was a deep, cleansing blue, the pommel of which was the great and mighty head of a blue, therefore goodly, dragon. He took stock of the rest of his reserves, both physical and magical. He would have to find a high place on this flat land upon which to cast his spell of returning. And that would not be an easy task. He would have to fight his way through legions of the damed to find said hill, and-- "You are a dolt," came a voice from behind him. Turning quickly, he sought to draw his sword, then calmed, when he saw it to be his wife, Crissa. A cleric in her own right and a mighty one at that, she must have prayed for his release. "And you, my dear, are a life saver," Edarvur said as he stepped towards her. He took her slim, shapely hand, and was drawn back to the world of the living. He stood in his tower's library, surveying it with a calm fondness. "You are lucky I was at hand," his wife, a tall, beautiful elven woman, said to him, her face playfully stern. "For then, you would be thoroughly dead by now." "Is that so?" Edarvur said, going about cleaning himself off. He caught a reflection of himself in the mirror and smiled. For she was probably right, he looked terrible, though he didn't feel it. His strong jawed face was cut in many places from his many falls of that day. His blue eyes looked tired, yet they sparked with his fierce determination and intelligence. His thick brown hair was matted with blood, not all the d
