Squall

...huh. This thread makes me think about all the people who looked at me and said the same thing. What a freaking weirdo. And I don't mean that in a self-edifying, it's-cool-to-be-weird kinda way. More like pathetic. You know, smelling like puke with guy-liner smeared across my face in a community college class... kinda way. Since I graduated high school, a lot of people who used to be my classmates have approached me, either in person or on the god awful internet, and told me how they thought I was going to shoot up the school or die of a meth overdose (erm, whichever comes first, I guess?) It kinda makes me mad. I never did meth. :/ Anyway, I've got to say I've met more weirdos in the past 7 months (since joining the Navy) than I have in my entire life. Hey, I even met that fire-starter of yours. Big backwoods guy who was known for his crazy bonfire parties. The biggest bonfire's you've ever seen. Only bigger. Real big. Bigger than burning man. Much bigger. So big, a police officer decided not to arrest him for it out of sheer admiration. And offered him his daughter. That's what he said and I'll swear to it.

You really shouldn't "tart" any stories, friend of mine. Haha, alright, but seriously: Horror stories, while not being incredibley complicated, have become extremly diverse and stem from all parts of the writing spectrum. To name a few... Bram Stoker wrote what I call the classic horror story. Though not particularly terrifying to today's youth, Dracula was, in its time, horrifying. It defied moral boundries of the time and introduced a haunting, yet attractive (one of the greatest points of the novel) new antagonist. The book taught horror writers several important lessons: -Suspense may be enhanced by using journal format, because the reader is lured, first into accepting its believability more readily, and second into acknowledging that the journal may stop, the writer may die at any time. -It's okay to let the reader feel that s/he doesn't know everything. -The antagonist may have found a way to function in society. Another fantastic horror writer with an entirely different idea on how to write is HP Lovecraft. In describing his work, some of my colleagues and I have said that HP Lovecraft's work is as scary as the reader is morally "good". He's a fantastic writer, making horrible, terrifying things disturbing to the very core. I mean, anyone can write about a demon's repulsive charred features, but it took HP Lovecraft to come and make it really disturbing, to call it a mockery of human life. I highly recommend you read some of his short stories, he's a fantastically talented writer. I refuse to speak of Stephen King, or "Gorror" stories, simply because, in either subject, I've yet to see something very good. My own advice: I'd look through dreams, where our most intimate demons reside, for inspiration. Anyway, hope that helps.

I don't know if anyone's still around from God-knows-how-long-ago, but, um, hello. >.>;; This is a surrealist/horror story with a terrible name. See, I had written the story with the notion that I could get away without titling it, that I could just put this grotesque graphic on the cover and that would be all, but apparently I am not quite that cool. In poetry, untitled works are referred to by their fist line. That's what I did here. [SIZE=3][COLOR=DimGray][FONT=Garamond][CENTER]I Breathe In[/CENTER] I breathe in. It hurts. I breathe out, and I don?t know where I am anymore. The darkness is all encompassing, surrounding me entirely like a blanket of depravity, a canvas on which a mural of apparitions from my past paint themselves, turning in chaos and disordered segments of impressions. Vacancies dot the mural, little holes where I can?t remember, holes that are gradually getting bigger, eating away the fabric of my memories like a consuming plague. If I try to pull something real out of the mesh of time stretching and breaking before me, all that emerges is the word, ?help.? I don?t know why, I don?t remember? help? It sounds useless to me now? the only sensations left are, [I]quiet?solitude?dark?[/I] I remember? something jumps out at me? I was sitting in a diner late at night, musing over a cup of coffee, breathing air that was cold and refreshing. I think I felt good; I enjoyed being on the road like I was, sitting in diners just like that, and I had the impression of leaping into a cold reality out of a vague fog of dreams. Yeah, like I was coming out of a deep coma that spread across my life into the light of sensation and being. The diner was small and worthless, fluorescent lights winking on and off, grime and tobacco-yellow staining the whitewashed walls. I didn?t really care. I felt good. The night air was cold when I left the diner. The parking lot was gravel; my car was on the far side beside the road, one wheel defiantly on the bike lane, like I had parked there to keep the road and the diner from drifting away from each other, into the vagueness of space. I opened the trunk to check--no, more to admire--my cargo. It was filled with all the junk I could fit in there, all my things I could get out of the house, and a small green suitcase I was particularly proud of, full of everything my wife had that was worth anything. Jewelry, money, pricey dresses? I remember, it was because of her that I was out on the road. That whore drove me out, I was trying to get away. It felt good to get away. The car whined and protested bitterly when I attempted to start it. I tried to coax it into submission with a little gas, and after a few tries, the engine caught, almost failed, staggered a minute and finally came to life. I rubbed the dashboard affectionately, like a pet. ?Just a little further. You can do it.? I don?t know why I said that. I had no destination in mind, and I didn?t know where the next town was. I mean, I had this strange idea that I wouldn?t be on the road much longer, but I don?t know why I said that. Back on the road I shifted into gear and hummed into the night, letting my mind wander in and out of the present, delving back into buried hatchets and old fights with my wife. The whore told me I couldn?t take it. Said I couldn?t handle things, that I needed sheltering. I guess I might have been proving her right. Suddenly the road and everything else vanished, and I had the peculiar feeling of being separated from myself, that somewhere, I was barreling down the road at fifty miles an hour, and that it was important to go out and find myself again. I couldn?t see: I held out my arms and touched the darkness, grabbed at nothing as I stumbled along, looking for me. Then I noticed a figure hulking in the dark, like a wall in front of me, cut out of the darkness like a hole. I reached out for it. My fingertips glided across its surface, and immediately I dropped back into reality, onto the pavement outside my car?s open door. It was parked, thank God. I stood up feebly and tried to regain my balance, rubbing the asphalt out of my palms and off my knees. It took a moment to register what was around me: a town. I had driven to a town, and neatly parked at city hall. The lettering on the wall read, ?MICHAEL, ILLINOIS,? Lettering that forced a coldness into my gut. I was nowhere near Illinois at the diner? the car ride would have been at least ten hours? but how could that be? How could it still be dark like it was? Had I blacked out and driven all day? It didn?t seem possible. My head spun around and began to ache, and slowly the futility of trying to answer myself engulfed my thoughts, a quandary replaced by a rather more pressing one: now what? It was too dark to see very well, and the blackout made me feel uncomfortable about driving anymore, so I decided to leave the car and find a motel or something to spend the remainder of the night. I looked up in hopes of spotting the moon, to determine approximately what time it could have been, but the entire sky was covered with ominous black clouds, and I knew it was going to rain. Michael, Illinois turned out to be a small city, a kind of revived ghost town with a residential district seperated from the town proper. As for the residents themselves, I couldn?t say much; as far as I could tell on those desolate sidewalks, there weren?t any residents. Hardly a breath drifted across the barren streets; not a sound permeated the dull monotony of my footsteps, which were magnified in the silence and almost seemed to echo. Not a sound. I began to feel stupidly forlorn in the desolation. Thunder boomed across the sky, and a bolt of lightening struck the horizon, but it wasn?t the thunder that made me cry out and turn around in wild astonishment: it was the screaming. Hundreds of faceless shrieks rang out across the town in chaotic harmony, echoing down the streets like an explosion, and then as suddenly as it began, it stopped, giving way to a silence so heavy it made the entire happening seem unreal. Only a moment after the last echo faded out of hearing, I began to suspect that it might have all been my imagination, my neurotic mind playing tricks on me. And I would have gladly excepted that explanation as the truth, had not one of the screams distinctly resonated from in the bowels of the alley across the street from me: a woman?s shrieking that rang out and echoed across the road. Shadows absorbed the back of the alley and made a foreboding screen. Only a small trashcan existed at the edge of my sight. I approached the alley cautiously, detecting a minute scraping sound emitting from the recesses of the shrouded darkness. There was a faint, almost imperceptible crying, unnaturally haunting that creped up my spine and refused to let go. ?Hello?? I called into the abyss. Dead silence: not even the crying persisted. ?Is somebody there?? I called again. Something slumped to the floor in the darkness, and I could faintly make out a silhouette of something on the ground beside the trash can. I jumped before I realized what it was, only coming to the horrific conclusion my body had immediately responded to by quickly walking away, only after I had made it to the end of the block. It was a face, and it was staring at me. The lightening seemed to awaken new life in the abandoned city, awakening a multitude of scraping, kicking sounds in the darkness, always as close as they were implacable. But what perturbed me greater than the noises was the heavy silence any sound I made reduced them to, and the persisting notion that their eyes were upon me from that moment on. I felt the inexplicable tension of their alarm, their fear, their hostility, almost corporeal in the air. It reduced me to a neurotic state of paranoia, and my instinctual argument that they were all happenings from inside my imagination became less and less credible as time went on. In time I found the streets themselves terrifying, reeking of the faceless presence of overwhelming hostility and devouring silence. I began jogging in a nervous quiver, constantly looking over my shoulder and dodging the alleys emanating that terrible scraping sound until my footfalls rendered them mute. When panic overcame me I began feverishly trying doors, going from lock to lock to another lock. I grew desperate, imagining the kicking, crying sounds becoming louder and more hostile with the continued annoyance of their unexpected intruder, when at last I spotted a darkened neon sign with the black scribbled words, ?CENTRAL HOTEL.? The glass double doors were locked; I cried out and shook them violently. Lightening flashed across the sky, and again the city came alive with screams. I shrieked and threw myself against the door, shattering it and tumbling inside. I lay on the floor in the broken glass long after the screams had subsided, slowly regaining control of myself. I was shaking violently, my teeth chattering and whimpering involuntarily. I held myself and took deep, shivering breaths until my body was still. I stood up weakly, and habitually checked myself for cuts. My right hand had slid across a shard of glass when I fell inside; it bled slightly, but otherwise I had remained unscathed. I ripped off a shirtsleeve and tied it tight. It would do. The hotel was stale and traditional, eerie and foreboding in the dark and gloom. A receptionist?s desk and a staircase stood to the left and right of me, and across the room a darkened doorway, which I could only guess led to some sort of lounge. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt myself go rigid: I could faintly make out a silhouette through the door, a huddled thing on the ground that looked disturbingly man-like. I stared at it in horror. It didn?t move. I stepped forward, my frantic need for human contact overriding my fear. I crept slowly through the darkened doorway staring at the shadow, my hand blindly moving across the wall for a light switch. I found one and flicked it on. The room filled with light, shedding visibility onto the man on the far side of the room sitting in fetal position, a young, bald man whose eyes jerked up to meet mine in terror. I was so incredibley relieved? to see a human face, I almost broke down; but in an instant the man began screaming horrifically, kicking and contorting on the ground, his pleading, burning eyes never leaving mine. ?Hey!? I cried, drowned out entirely by his shrieks. ?Hey, stop! Please! Tell me what?s wrong!? Still the man screamed, his face contorting in terrible agony, his hands fanatically clutching his head as he wildly kicked a nearby table to the ground, screaming, screaming, screaming. ?Please!? I yelled in desperation, but he would not stop. At last I swatted down the light switch and the screaming subsided, replaced with the shuffling, scraping sound of kicks and contortions as the man feebly squirmed across the floor to the door on the far side of the room, fleeing the light like a wounded animal. I stood in the doorway, distressed and exhausted, then at last turned around and reapproached the receptionist?s desk. Find a room key, and lock yourself away until the morning. That was my plan. Some strange part of my mind wanted to believe that the light of day would solve everything, like a terrible dream cured by the awakening. Just wait it out. Pray it gets better. Behind the desk stood an old fashioned key wall with a dozen room keys still available. My eyes immediately fell on one near me with a diamond-shaped red tag marked ?105.? I took it and began ascending the stairs. The halls were black and difficult to navigate, causing me to stumble with my arms outstretched, feeling the raised numbers on each door I passed. ?101?, ?102?, ?103.? At last my fingers glided across the distinct shape of the number 105, when I heard a definite thump to my left. I turned sharply, breathless, and saw there a figure emanating a haunting white light at the end of the hall. It turned to face me, and even at a distance I could see the thing?s wide, black eyes like malevolent holes in its head, and an equally dark grin smeared across its face like an unholy stain. I could feel its eyes upon me, delving deep into my soul, piercing me with a clarity that filled me with horror. Quickly I fished the key out of my pocket as the creature lept forward and bound toward me at terrifying speed, grimacing horribly like a jester of despair. I jammed the key into the slot and turned: the door was stuck. I frantically jiggled the key and forced it to turn, and finally threw my weight against the door as the thing glided past, and slammed the door shut. I shook with terror and listened with my ear to the door, noticing with dread a warm gust against my face that I recognized immediately: breath. I screamed and flung myself backwards, recognizing in the dim light afforded by the window the distorted shape of a woman. ?Oooh baby.? It cooed maliciously, dripping with perverse eroticism, coming toward me in jerking, unnatural steps like a disjointed maniquette, letting its head fall over on its shoulder and lolling around across its chest and back. ?Baby, baby, I want to make you feel gooood, baby.? I stood up and pressed myself against the wall in fear as the thing grabbed my shirt with repulsively weak fingers, covered in a putrid slime like rotten ectoplasm. ?Don?t you want to feel [I]gooood[/I]?? Lightening struck, flashing across the room, revealing its appalling, lifeless doll face in an instant, made all the more gruesome by my terrible recognition of it. It shrieked in agony and I threw it to the floor, jerking the door open and slamming it, flinging myself to the opposite wall and sliding to the floor. The white thing was gone, and the demonic mannequin didn?t try to open the door. I allowed myself to burst into tears, holding my head and sobbing heavily. That monstrous thing resembled my wife, Mary. You said I couldn?t handle the truth, Mary; that I needed sheltering. You were right. I can no longer discern what the truth is anymore, whether or not it continues to exist. I?m sorry, Mary? I can?t tell whether or not you drove me away, or whether it was the other way around. I stood up, still crying, and made my way back to the staircase. Get out. Get to the car. Get away from this horrible place, no matter what. That was all I could think of. But the stairs were not like I had found them; they were twisted and deformed, and the walls came apart like vicious mouths full of black teeth, crooning seductively, ?OOOOH BABY BABY,? in gruesome mockery of my transmogrified wife. The first stair dropped out from under me and I hit the ground floor, recovering slowly, my heart punching my throat and my mind screaming, get up!, and finally running out the front door. The neon sign snaked into a different form and gleamed orange, reading, ?RUN, REPULSIVE MAGGOT.? I sprinted down the street as buildings turned pale and swallowed up their windows and doors bore teeth and crooned, ?MAKE YOU FEEL GOOOOD,? alleys spreading out, as if pushing the buildings away from them, scraping clawing residents pouring out of their alleys and homes, falling from tall buildings, jerking and twitching and kicking like demonic parodies of human life. I ran. I ran as far as I could, as long as I could, and still I did not see the City Hall. I cried out as the noises behind me grew closer and threatened to overtake me; I looked back and there was nothing there. Silence. I stopped short, doubling over and gasping for breath. It began to rain. Out of an alley shot a cold hand and latched around my ankle. I screamed and tried frantically to kick it off, almost falling over in the effort, snatching up a piece of chipped asphalt to hit the thing off with. ?Day never comes.? I stopped. It was a man holding my ankle, a real man. He let go and looked up at me with a gaze of terror. ?The night is incessant, it never ends. Nothing ever ends. Not the hallucinations, not the screams, nothing.? ?What the hell happened here?? I cried, exasperated. He looked up at me, quizzically. ?Happened?? He repeated. ?I don?t know if something has happened or not, I can?t tell anymore? was it always like this? I can?t remember. They took my memories, they?re gone.? ?Shut up.? I whispered, despairingly realizing that my own memories were becoming vague and diaphanous. ?This isn?t natural, something?s happened to this town.? ?There?s no way out.? He continued in a lunatic rave. ?The entire city overlaps on itself, it stretches out into a wall, into a hole. There?s no way out.? ?We can find a way, just shut up!? I screamed now, frantic with the desperation caused by his hopelessness. ?No, you don?t get it yet. You can?t? face the truth.? He looked up at me, wide eyed. ?No one can.? I brought the chunk of asphalt across his face, and he looked at me with intense interest before he collapsed in his blood. I killed him. Dear God? I don?t know why. I dropped to my knees, sobbing, noticing in the distance a ghostly white light. It was him. The thing skipped toward me with morbid joy, still grinning terribly. I didn?t move. His eyes looked into mine with a horrible clarity that made me fear for my life, but I did not move. He reached out with those terrible eyes, and touched me. I felt the light of his being surge through me with tremendous pain, breaking into my soul and destroying it piece by piece like a wildfire inside of me. There was a shrill noise in the air that I recognized as myself screaming, and I felt the light take something from me and replace it with himself. I was alone on the sidewalk. The small light afforded by the sky caused me agony, and I kicked feebly over the corpse and into the recesses of the alley, where the darkness was surrounding and total. I breathe in. It hurts. I breathe out, and I don?t know who I am anymore. Lightening flashes across the sky and it reminds me of him, and I scream out in suffering against the memory, as a thousand others cry out like me.[/FONT][/COLOR][/SIZE] PS. If you've found any glaring spelling errors, please allow me to stay blissfully ignorant. This baby (in a different format) has already been submitted for publishing. Last thing I need is some glaring monstrosity to make me neurotic until I get word back from the editor. Thanks. (kidding. Actually I'm just miserable enough to feel discouraged if there aren't a few spelling errors, so please, by all means, bring them up.)

I highly reccomend The [b]Hellsing:Raid[/b] Soundtrack, and its sequel, [b]Hellsing:Ruins[/b] Composed of a kind of gothic jazz, if you will, these two albums are very unique and talented. Though some may argue that the tracks are basically composed of random sounds, I strongly disagree. Songs like Bodhisvatta of Cathedral and Hatred Guy of Sinfullness are absolutely beautiful, in a painfully dark sort of way. If you have the option, I highly reccomend purchasing the actual albums over downloading the tracks. They're in horrible "engrish" so you can't understand a single word, but I believe the albums come with lyrics. Lyrics, that are practically nonexistant on the internet.

Morrissey and the Smiths. British indie rock at its best. Made "Meat is Murder" which topped music charts, and "You are the Quarry" (morrissey solo) which went platinum. Does anybody listen to these old pioneers of indie rock? I do, for the following reasons: 1. The Smiths were, in every way, extremely talented. Composition, vocals, guitar complexity, you name it, the Smiths excelled at it. 2. The lyrics. Deep and meaningful, though can be easily taken at face value and understood (to a point). That is very rare in modern lyrics. 3. Individuality. (hence "indie" rock) 4. The Smiths didn't just write lyrics based on their emotions and so on. It was always a thrill to hear them respond to their horribly inaccurate critics, with such lines as "a dreaded sunny day" and so forth, to combat the critic impression that moz was a miserablist. 5. Almost every song has a horribly sad, yet humorous theme. 6. Even when the Smiths disbanded, Morrissey went on to make one hell of a solo carreer, even going platinum. If that doesn't earn a degree of respect, then I don't know what does. 7. Just. Plain. Great. Music. If I ever have a child, I'll let him listen to Morrissey in his early years, to teach him/her about self expression and wit.

"What?" Kovu asked when she caught Rain staring at them. He thought about Joselin dying slowly two weeks after being attacked by the beast. "Listen. I don't know anything about that...monster that attacked our town. But I do know that my mentor died two weeks after being hacked open by that thing. I don't know if it was internal bleeding or what, but..." He nodded at Nelle. A look of horror came over Kovu's face. "You mean...Nelle might..." Rain nodded. "I'm not sure though. Joselin's injuries were much more severe than hers. It's possible that Joselin died from blood loss, or something like that. "Nelle..." Kovu looked at her, a great saddness in her eyes. Rain heard a crack in the woods. Two cracks. Time was of the essence. "I don't know what we're going to do, but we need to hurry." He let his sword ease silently out of its hilt. "We're in demon territory."

[U][B]ATTENTION: Anybody else who plans to take part in this Rpg needs to introduce themselves IMMEDIATELY. It will be a little hard to drop in soon.[/B] [/U] The boy praised the girls momentarily for their quick wit. At the very least, they qualified as candidates for his mission. That meant he would have to take them with him. He frowned for a moment, trying to think how this could work. If they were to go out the window, then the boy would have to make a hole through the crowd so they could get to it. That was too much blood on his hands, he didn't want to kill next to Joselin's dead body. Then he remembered the spear on his back, and an idea started to form in his head. * The priest started to sweat. If these girls were innocent, then the crowd would probably start to suspect the priest... A grin came to his lips. lucky for him, he was a cunning man. He had to be, he had to uphold the illusion of a god for people who were obviously forsaken. He pointed a bony finger to the air, and let his eyes roll back into his head. "GOD!" He shouted in a commanding voice. "Grant me vision over thy enemies! Let them feel your wrath by my hand!" He waited until he had everyone's attention, when everyone went silent. His arm started to wobble, and then spiral outwards towards the ground. Kovu and Nelle knew what he would do, he would point at them and profess that god had given him the answer. They waited. His hand never made it to the girls, though. A sudden movement caught their eyes, and they saw the boy just as he dove out the window, his jacket flapping behind him. Kovu was furious for a moment, thinking that he had left the girls to save his own skin. But Nelle realized it when the boy was suddenly behind them, jacketless with a dagger in his hand. "Halt!" One of the door guards noticed him as well. For some reason, the boy was careful to sheath the dagger and bring up his sword before attacking the guard. The guard raised his sword high, and the boy rolled forward and stabbed his knee cap. The soldier screamed, alerting most of the crowd. "It's a trick!" One of them said, turning from the window. "Don't let the traitors get away!" It took all three of them to remove the heavy door bar which had been loaded on as a precaution. The crowd was on top of them when the door swung open and they burst out. "Hurry!" The boy shouted. They were faster than most of the crowd, and the ones that did come too close were hit back. "Who are you?!" Kovu yelled at the boy while they ran, slowly dropping the pack. "K- uh, Rain." He shouted. They ran hard for a mile, Nellele getting along harder with her wound. Suddenly they came to a gate which the flying beast had earlier obliterated. On the other side was a thick forest, demon territory. They had no chice but to enter.

Somebody told me it was possible to be in control of what you dream, or what you do in your dreams. It sounds possible, but I'd like to hear about it from anyone who's had a first-hand experience. So, does anybody know what I'm talking about, done it themselves, or know how to do it?

lol, it's tyler, not taylor. ~ The boy watched the small embrace for a moment. It made him wonder how many reunions would never take place because of that...thing. The entire town guard had been murdered at the church gates, attempting to keep the monster at bay. They were killed before the doors were barred, but a few men, including Joselin, managed to hold the beast back long enough to bar the gates. When the boy checked a day later, nobody was left except for Joselin and one other man, and Joselin now lay dead. The boy shook his head and turned towards the medical section. All that mattered now was getting out of this town, before people started accusing each other. he knelt down by Joselin's corpse, and picked up his spear and sword, which he fitted onto his back. "You at the door! Hold!" An old priest stood at the front of the church. He had a bony old finger pointed at the two girls by the door, who were apparently about to leave. Two men with swords pushed through the crowd of survivors, and stood in front of the door. "Nobody leaves!" The priest bellowed. "Until the person responsible for unleashing that beast upon our town is found!" The boy swore under his breath, and ducked into a corner. He saw the two girls confused, but he paid them little thought. "That monster destroyed everything in a mile of this church. The master of that beast is either already far away, or right here in this church!" The priest said dramatically. "Oh Piss off," the boy said from his hidden spot in the corner. His eyes wandered to a waist level window on the east side of the church...

Here it is. I meant the first post to be descriptive enough to give you a general feeling, yet not too constricting. Enjoy! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The dim small church hardly stirred in the early hours of this day. Dozens of people lay in the isle and on the benches, anywhere there was room. Blood and bandages decorated most of the sleepers, and the corner roped off for first-aid was completely full. The sun pierced through a sea of black clouds, and spilt through the stained glass windows. At the front of the church sat a small altar- a black candle on either side of a tall white one. There was sobbing in the medical section. Two figures sat in the medical section. One was a girl with her face in her bloody hands, and the other was a man kneeling beside a bed. In the bed was the masculine figure of a soldier. He did not move when the man kneeling beside checked his pulse once more. ?Joselin.? The man wispered, drawing a cross on his chest. ?The Red Bear Joselin seeks no more.? The woman spoke in a quivering wisper. ?I thought?I thought I could cure his wounds?? She said. ?It?s not your fault,? The man replied. Then he added, ?I?m going to see if the beast is gone.? The hinges whined in protest as the heavy church doors were pushed open. A layer of crusted sand broke off the doors, and a wave of hot, musty air swirled into the church. The man peered across the horizon. Crumbling buildings and black sand were all he saw. He sighed. ?It?s gone now.? He shouted across the just-awakening church. ?We can go out now.? [I]Log 1 Today marks the fifteenth and final day the few survivors of the attack and I have spent hiding in the local church. A mile of wreakage in every direction is all that remains of the black winged beast that has suddenly destroyed our village. I had never seen anything like it. I?ve heard some even call it a dragon. While the origin of the beast is unknown, I cannot help but hold the eastern tower responsible. Perhaps it?s from being locked into the church for two weeks, but I feel the tower is?getiing closer, in a way. Am I insane? Our town is in ruins, and a second attack is possible. Joselin, the captain of the guard is now dead, and I fear we can do little without him. All we can do is pray. ~Starfe[/I]

Keep you waiting long enough? VERY Sorry for the delay. I would have posted sooner, but I had to explore a new angle on the story line before setting off. Anyway, it should be up within the hour. PS I don't think I'll be posting in this enough, so if I'm absent for a while feel free to off my character or whatever.

I'd like to make this clear, since me posting here is going to be a bit confusing. This Rpg does NOT mean I plan to start making Rpgs again, or post here at all. This is a favor to my good friend, Rhian, who I know loved this Rpg since the first version went out less than a year ago. For those of you who were in the first one, I'd like to make it a point that this one will not be like the last one (or, not exactly, anyway.) The framework is the same except a little altered, there are less temples, more elemental power, ect. Enjoy. [CENTER]***[/CENTER] [CENTER][B][U]RAIN OF FIRE[/U][/B][/CENTER] Everyone knew something was going to happen, even before it did. We could always hear the Earth plead to us, to beg us not to destroy what it had given us. Now, the Earth was silent? Grass flied as a group of little kids played soccer on the grass. The sky was starting to grow darker; it was going to rain. ?Sam!? A mother on the edge of the field called out, smiling. ?Wrap it up, sweetie, we should head in before it starts raining!? The child panted and called back to his mom. ?Just a few more minutes mom!? He turned and started going after the ball again. His mother giggled, and looked up at the sky. The dark clouds were spreading along the horizon in every direction, faster than she had ever seen. Sam was completely absorbed in the game. He had the ball, and he needed to score one more goal to tie. He thought his mother had started drumming, somehow, and was thrilled to have her support. He kicked the ball hard, and rolled straight into the goal. He threw his hands up and giggled, and then looked back at his mom. Sam looked puzzled, when he saw that his mom wasn?t even looking. She was staring off into the clouds, a look of puzzled horror across her face. Something was wrong; the thundering drums continued in rhythm, but his mom was still. Sam looked up to where his mom was staring. The gray clouds had turned charcoal black, and orange balls of light were falling from the sky. Each hit the ground with a large thunder-like sound, and exploded into firey demons that burnt everything they touched. The thunderous claps of the fire rain were joined by rumbling deep beneath the Earth. Cracks burst open and spilled out black tar-like goo. Sam dropped his arms and screamed for his mom. [U][B][CENTER]RAIN OF FIRE[/CENTER][/B][/U] The first night of the rain, there was still government. A worldwide televised announcement went out from the US president. ?April 19, 2005, worldwide destruction that the world has never seen before raveged the Earth. The death toll has been catastrophic; it?s been estimated that only one third of the human race is left alive. In these trying times, we must bond together and defeat our adversaries?? Nobody knew who or why the chaos was started. People were not safe underground, and even more in danger above. The president died one hour after making that announcement, government and laws dying with him. The rain continued for four days straight, and soon only one fourth of humanity survived. What land hadn?t sunk in the black goo or been destroyed by the rain formed a smoldering pangea. And, as fast as it had begun, the rains stopped. But?why had they ever started? Eleven years after what is now known as ?The Rain of Fire,? man has started civilization over again. But, as suddenly as the Rain of Fire, five towers shot up out of the ground at the cardinal points. The Tower of Earth to the north, the Tower of Fire to the south, The tower of Air to the East, and the Tower of Water to the south, and in the middle, the Tower of Elements. Signups: Name: Age: Gender: Description:(at least a paragraph) Element: (earth, water, fire, air, dark, light. After the rains, magic began forming in humans, and soon it was obvious that each human drew their magic from a certain element.) Spells: (4 max. Five years after the rains, those gifted with magic learned that they could manipulate magic to their will.) Weapon: (3max. Depending on how the story goes, you may be able to buy new weapons as needed) Bio: Alright. Now here's an example signup-mine. Name: Kyru Starfe Age: 17 Gender: Male Description: Brown messy hair and blue eyes hidden behind black-mirror sunglasses. He never takes them off, except when he sleeps and sometimes in the dark. He wears a black leather jacket with a silver shoulder guard on his right shoulder. Carved into the guard are the words Demon Hunter, which is what he's commonly known by. He wears a leather jacket over a chainmail shirt, and black pants with small silver knee guards. Black boots and fingerless gloves. On his back sits His broadsword, rusty with negligence. Element: Dark (mistanken with evil in the past, dark weilders have been given a bad name. Because of this, Kyru professes to use fire magic as much as he can.) Spells: Kyru is less developed in magic than most people, since he can only control one spell. But what he lacks in his variety of spells, he definately makes up in the power of his one spell: Leech Sword. Like the name implies, leech sword gives him the power to draw energy from s foe by impailing him through either the chest or stomach. He doesn't use it often.) Weapon: Kyru carries a worn broad sword, with only one sharp edge. Kyru's unorthadox fighting style allows him to use the dull side to block attacks, and the other edge to attack. Bio: Kyru grew up with no father, but the best mother he could ask for. He was raised next door to an orphanage, where he began to make friends, but always seemed to loose them within a week. because of this, he made the decision that friends were overrated, and that he was better off solving his own problems intead of giving them to someone else. During the rain, Kyru, his mother, and one other boy Kyru called his brother found shelter in the basement of the orphanage. Kyru can't remember much of the rain besides sleeping in the corner of a barren shack, while horrible pounding thundered the roof. He could never recall why his brother had failed to survive the rains. After the rains, everybody was swept with poverty, and his mother couldn't afford to make due for both herself and Kyru, so Kyru was left on his own. The only sure way to make a living he could find was destroying demons that wandered to close to the towns, though in his heart he knew if the demons wanted to kill people, they would in a flash.

Not bad, very intruiging. Hooked me into wanting to read on, even though it is fairly short. I didn't really like how the giant spider-thing was hinted at at the end, though. But other then that, nice work.

As you may or may not have known, I've been absent from the Adventure Arena for quite a while. That's where I got all my writing practice, and I have begun to expect that my writing has dwindled since. I'd appreciate any comments or criticism anybody has, so I can decide if I've involuntarily fallen out of practice. Thanks. [CENTER]***[/CENTER] [COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=1]The dark, watery blood rippled with every step Kagra took, the blood that covered the entire floor of the corrupted monastery. Kagra walked through the center isle, between the elaborate prayer benches up to the altar. Paned glass windows illuminated the isle, and as Kagra walked, wooden shutters magically shut upon them. When Kagra reached the altar, there was no other light but the dim golden glow in front of him. Bound above the altar was a maiden, wrapped in chains except for her arms, which reached out to her sides, and were nailed to the wall. Tears flew down her face with the blood of fresh wounds going up and down her body. Her blood mixed with the blood on the floor. The maiden glowed with a fading light that tried desperately to stay lit. The maiden's eyes were barely open, and her breath was weak and slow. Kagra's cold, dead eyes surveyed her with grim delight, as he parted his lips to speak. "My, you certainly are a magnificent sight to behold. I must admit, you were the closest to defeating me. But, well, now look you." He gave a sadistic smile. The maiden didn't make an attempt to respond. One of Kagra's pale hands came out from under his long black cloak, and he reached up to caress the maiden's cheek. As soon as he touched her face, her eyes became deadly, and golden lightning shot through Kagra's arm. Kagra slowly dropped his arm, and expunged the lightning as fast as it had appeared. He gave a sadistic smile, and belted the maiden across the cheek. "Was that your big plan?" Kagra asked in a low, deadly tone. "Not here, my love. This is my lair." Fresh tears formed on the maiden's cheeks. "...Bastard." She whispered. "My sisters, they will defeat you." Her statement seemed to make Kagra happier. "Sister, you mean." The maiden looked at him, wide eyed and gasped. "Once you are dead, there will be only one left to sing before Necrundel opens." The maiden shook her head, her tears running more freely. "Liar!" Kagra slowly reached into his cloak, and quickly unsheathed a blood-red dagger. Instead of the metallic ring that usually accompanied an unsheathed blade, screams and sobs filled the air, and slowly silenced as Kagra ran a hand along the blade. The maiden sobbed. "Now, I will take your song." Kagra drew back, and stabbed the maiden in her stomach. She tried desperately not to scream. Kagra smiled, and twisted the dagger inside her. She shrieked, and dissipated into feathers, which floated down the isle and burst into flame. Soon, the chains fell, and nothing remained but streaks of blood. Kagra closed his eyes and sheathed his dagger. "Soon," he whispered. "Very soon..."[/SIZE][/COLOR] That?s the prologue. What do you think?

Mmm... I don't really know. It's not a lot to go off of. The writing's pretty good, and I like the mysterious style. I have a pretty good feel of the character's general attitudes already, and that's pretty hard to do. Nice work, so far.