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    #21
    Originally posted by Dream View Post

    My apologies for taking so long to respond, but I thought it best to wait until I could comprehensively analyze the piece rather than superfluously skimming it over.

    Without any further ado, let's get it. I found the diction to be a bit flowery and verbose at times, but that was part of its archaic charm. The stylistic choice to capitalize each word was a nice touch, as was the faux-stanza syntax. In addition, the placement of the first line break was especially keen and fully illustrated where the story would veer to next. However, my favorite aspect would definitely have to be the abstract nature of the Holy Grail--and the Maiden. Allegorical, yet open to interpretation as to what for; I personally abhor when things are spoon-fed to you. It's akin to the literary version of Schrödinger's Cat. All in all, quite reminiscent of Arthurian legend. Oh, and I found the source image to be a decent, if entirely tangible, complement to the narrative.

    tl;dr -> Good job! Your anecdote gave me additional insight into Sir Percival's character. Continue to work those creative muscles lest they atrophy. I wish I myself had the inclination, but alas.
    I get all hot and bothered when you speak with all that jargon, Morph.

    Comment


      #22
      Originally posted by Mr.Sunshine View Post
      I had almost forgotten that there was a Writing Competition back in the ends of September.
      That being said- since I did conclude my story with a conclusion that summarizes an ideal end for all of my characters through the arts of implication, I must have won hands-down.
      Eureka!
      I deserve a crown for such a splendid conquest and destruction of my peers/opponents.
      Chara:
      Do I get a crown to adorn my three other crowns on my head?!
      You'll get your crown. Did you post all the parts of your story?

      Comment


        #23
        Originally posted by Guest View Post

        I get all hot and bothered when you speak with all that jargon, Morph.
        <3 bby

        Comment


          #24
          Originally posted by Dream View Post

          My apologies for taking so long to respond, but I thought it best to wait until I could comprehensively analyze the piece rather than superfluously skimming it over.

          Without any further ado, let's get it. I found the diction to be a bit flowery and verbose at times, but that was part of its archaic charm. The stylistic choice to capitalize each word was a nice touch, as was the faux-stanza syntax. In addition, the placement of the first line break was especially keen and fully illustrated where the story would veer to next. However, my favorite aspect would definitely have to be the abstract nature of the Holy Grail--and the Maiden. Allegorical, yet open to interpretation as to what for; I personally abhor when things are spoon-fed to you. It's akin to the literary version of Schrödinger's Cat. All in all, quite reminiscent of Arthurian legend. Oh, and I found the source image to be a decent, if entirely tangible, complement to the narrative.

          tl;dr -> Good job! Your anecdote gave me additional insight into Sir Percival's character. Continue to work those creative muscles lest they atrophy. I wish I myself had the inclination, but alas.
          There's no need to apologize as one should dutifully serve their responsibilities faithfully, and there will always be time to allocate for these kinds of tasks at hand.
          I thought so, but I opted against the decision to meticulously align the piece into mere detached details and scripted lines, so I chose to have the piece be read as if it were to be a wondrous dream on a fateful day in the lands of Paradiso.
          Indeed- I truly didn't like how it turned out when I began writing the piece as I normally would, so I chose to capitalize ever letter of each word, and it turned out to be quite pleasant for my eyes.
          I truly didn't believe that a poem- or the like, would fit the idea that I had when writing this piece, so I thought that it would never hurt to be a bit playful and have it seemingly reminisce on one.
          Naturally, you see- I think the recurrent problem/issue that writers/authors have when attempting to seamlessly transition from Point A to Point B is that they fall under the impression that there's no necessity to separate the segment that contains your introduction/original premise with what naturally follows in terms of development of setting/characters/ideas and thoughts/tone and the like.

          I think the analogy of a painter painting his Magnus Opus- purely reliant on an image that sprouted out of his head, and that of a writer who begins to write his piece based off an premise that he thought of in the morning would serve as being rather fitting.
          Not everyone has photographic memory, nor do they possess the skills/talent to successfully pull of the feat of finishing their piece without ever revising it; there will always be the people that need to form Pie-Circles and have their thoughts separated in those Pies.
          its so disappointing when I read a body of work/piece/novel that begins with a rather clever, cheeky premise and gets the time to elaborate on it, but- as I progress through the work, I begin to realize that there was never a point where the Writer/Author stopped and put the time to develop/characterize on other points in their stories, and it turns to be a meek blob of various things that are lumped together for some odd reason.
          In short, the Author simply couldn't understand the notion that there's a reason why people divide their attention into specific areas of their work, and prefer to pay attention to certain points/things in a rather limited span of time.


          Things don't naturally appear and exist out of the blue in works of literature- there's a sequence of events and an importance of order; regardless, if the chronology of it is random and non-sequitur.
          Oh?
          I see.
          While I did embed certain aspects of my own nature/thoughts/being and existence into the characters of this piece- in order to humanize them and breathe life into them, I made sure to not stray from my original conceivement of the Maiden nor The Holy Grail- to a lesser extent towards Sir Percival as we truly are kindred spirits, but I made sure to have him detached from myself and let him be Sir Percival and Sir Percival alone, as they served a particular purpose, and it would be ruined if I permitted my piece to become a character study of myself.
          Some people take the phrase:
          Have a piece of yourself live and thrive within your work for the sake of developing an empathetic relationship with them. - to a rather literal sense, so they tend to just project themselves into the work, and it ends up betraying the beauty and genius of your own work as they no longer serve as genuine children that were nurtured into being my their Creator/Maker.
          In that sense, rather than having them merely be facets of my existence/being that depict myself, I had them serve a purpose that doesn't align with myself as I think of them more in the lights of kindred spirits than pieces of myself that have taken life elsewhere.
          I'm no different- in that regard.
          I'd like to think that I'm not dissonant enough to not comprehend one's intentions/motive, so having an author dumb down his work for the sake of explaining a point that I could have easily understood in a normal setting/fashion is truly a disgusting thing to do; rather tasteless, in my opinion.
          Right?
          It truly is a beautiful piece of Art, and it fit perfectly to what I had envisioned, at the end of the day.
          Hurray!
          I was praised by Morph!
          I'm truly happy that ended up being the case.
          I will- I'm a curious being, after all!
          Is that so?
          If you ever have a change of mind, feel free to ask me to read your work, and I will gladly take the time to dissect it all and bring my genuine thoughts to you. <3
          Last edited by Mr.Sunshine; June 3rd, 2017, 05:03 PM.

          Comment


            #25
            Originally posted by Chara View Post

            You'll get your crown. Did you post all the parts of your story?
            Yep-Yep!

            Comment


              #26
              Originally posted by Mr.Sunshine View Post

              Yep-Yep!
              *places a crown on your head* <3 there ya go

              Comment


              • Mr.Sunshine
                Mr.Sunshine commented
                Editing a comment
                Thank you!
                Now I have four crowns that adorn my head. ^_^

              #27
              Originally posted by Mr.Sunshine View Post
              There's no need to apologize as one should dutifully serve their responsibilities faithfully, and there will always be time to allocate for these kinds of tasks at hand.
              I thought so, but I opted against the decision to meticulously align the piece into mere detached details and scripted lines, so I chose to have the piece be read as if it were to be a wondrous dream on a fateful day in the lands of Paradiso.
              Indeed- I truly didn't like how it turned out when I began writing the piece as I normally would, so I chose to capitalize ever letter of each word, and it turned out to be quite pleasant for my eyes.
              I truly didn't believe that a poem- or the like, would fit the idea that I had when writing this piece, so I thought that it would never hurt to be a bit playful and have it seemingly reminisce on one.
              Naturally, you see- I think the recurrent problem/issue that writers/authors have when attempting to seamlessly transition from Point A to Point B is that they fall under the impression that there's no necessity to separate the segment that contains your introduction/original premise with what naturally follows in terms of development of setting/characters/ideas and thoughts/tone and the like.

              I think the analogy of a painter painting his Magnus Opus- purely reliant on an image that sprouted out of his head, and that of a writer who begins to write his piece based off an premise that he thought of in the morning would serve as being rather fitting.
              Not everyone has photographic memory, nor do they possess the skills/talent to successfully pull of the feat of finishing their piece without ever revising it; there will always be the people that need to form Pie-Circles and have their thoughts separated in those Pies.
              its so disappointing when I read a body of work/piece/novel that begins with a rather clever, cheeky premise and gets the time to elaborate on it, but- as I progress through the work, I begin to realize that there was never a point where the Writer/Author stopped and put the time to develop/characterize on other points in their stories, and it turns to be a meek blob of various things that are lumped together for some odd reason.
              In short, the Author simply couldn't understand the notion that there's a reason why people divide their attention into specific areas of their work, and prefer to pay attention to certain points/things in a rather limited span of time.


              Things don't naturally appear and exist out of the blue in works of literature- there's a sequence of events and an importance of order; regardless, if the chronology of it is random and non-sequitur.
              Oh?
              I see.
              While I did embed certain aspects of my own nature/thoughts/being and existence into the characters of this piece- in order to humanize them and breathe life into them, I made sure to not stray from my original conceivement of the Maiden nor The Holy Grail- to a lesser extent towards Sir Percival as we truly are kindred spirits, but I made sure to have him detached from myself and let him be Sir Percival and Sir Percival alone, as they served a particular purpose, and it would be ruined if I permitted my piece to become a character study of myself.
              Some people take the phrase:
              Have a piece of yourself live and thrive within your work for the sake of developing an empathetic relationship with them. - to a rather literal sense, so they tend to just project themselves into the work, and it ends up betraying the beauty and genius of your own work as they no longer serve as genuine children that were nurtured into being my their Creator/Maker.
              In that sense, rather than having them merely be facets of my existence/being that depict myself, I had them serve a purpose that doesn't align with myself as I think of them more in the lights of kindred spirits than pieces of myself that have taken life elsewhere.
              I'm no different- in that regard.
              I'd like to think that I'm not dissonant enough to not comprehend one's intentions/motive, so having an author dumb down his work for the sake of explaining a point that I could have easily understood in a normal setting/fashion is truly a disgusting thing to do; rather tasteless, in my opinion.
              Right?
              It truly is a beautiful piece of Art, and it fit perfectly to what I had envisioned, at the end of the day.
              Hurray!
              I was praised by Morph!
              I'm truly happy that ended up being the case.
              I will- I'm a curious being, after all!
              Is that so?
              If you ever have a change of mind, feel free to ask me to read your work, and I will gladly take the time to dissect it all and bring my genuine thoughts to you. <3
              Ah, a Dante reference! You can't begin to understand how refreshing it is to see that on a site where the closest to "reading" most people have come are poorly translated Japanese faux-comic books.


              Yeah--it just wasn't "abstract" enough for my liking. Even so, however, being able to put tenuous faces to the names was ultimately a worthwhile endeavor.



              Indeed. While people's characters tend to be a subconscious reflection of themselves, one should make a conscious effort to strive to detach oneself from them as much as possible. My professor even mentioned how the failure to be emotionally detached from your characters generally results in a shoddy story; after all, what's the appeal of a peaceful resolution without some turmoil and strife to be overcame first?

              But of course, I naturally had to give credit where credit was due... Also, it's not that I don't want you to read my work, but that I no longer have the desire to write creatively outside of class (i.e., my muse is gone, if I ever even had it to begin with).

              Comment


                #28
                Originally posted by Dream View Post

                Ah, a Dante reference! You can't begin to understand how refreshing it is to see that on a site where the closest to "reading" most people have come are poorly translated Japanese faux-comic books.


                Yeah--it just wasn't "abstract" enough for my liking. Even so, however, being able to put tenuous faces to the names was ultimately a worthwhile endeavor.



                Indeed. While people's characters tend to be a subconscious reflection of themselves, one should make a conscious effort to strive to detach oneself from them as much as possible. My professor even mentioned how the failure to be emotionally detached from your characters generally results in a shoddy story; after all, what's the appeal of a peaceful resolution without some turmoil and strife to be overcame first?

                But of course, I naturally had to give credit where credit was due... Also, it's not that I don't want you to read my work, but that I no longer have the desire to write creatively outside of class (i.e., my muse is gone, if I ever even had it to begin with).
                Naturally, there would be a Dante reference- you weren't fooled into believing that I'd have The Vassal of The Holy Grail/Maiden of the Lord be dichotomous-yet-congruent- in terms of her willing servitude and devotion towards the Holy Grail/The Lord as The Vassal Of The Holy Grail/Maiden of the Lord, when depicting her as such a selfless, demurely-pure-hearted, benevolent existence that one would immediately assume to be in the Grace of Heaven; yet, is positioned and cast as existing within a world far more treacherous, grotesque, apathetically-ruthless than the very bowels of Hell, and not subtly praise the sublime-beauty that is the Divine Comedy, right?


                Is that so?
                I see.
                Fair enough- as long as it served it purpose, then it was worth it all.
                The painting itself served its sole purpose of allowing the reader to envision Percival and the Maiden/The Holy Grail in a rather concrete manner.
                It would be a shame to not have any grounds to tread on- wouldn't? ^_^


                Indeed.
                People should take the necessary precaution when writing their own creations/characters as they might- absentmindedly, insert their blatant opinions/thoughts with the protagonist's mouth, and you'll just be left wondering what happened to all the characterization that took place between Interlude 20 and 38.
                Is that so?
                What a shame- what happened to that muse of yours, Morph?
                Was it tragically murdered, by any chance?


                As for my muse, I'd have to say that it was heart and the love it has within it.
                My heart is always infinitely expanding towards infinity, after all! <3333333333

                Comment


                  #29
                  Originally posted by Mr.Sunshine View Post
                  Naturally, there would be a Dante reference- you weren't fooled into believing that I'd have The Vassal of The Holy Grail/Maiden of the Lord be dichotomous-yet-congruent- in terms of her willing servitude and devotion towards the Holy Grail/The Lord as The Vassal Of The Holy Grail/Maiden of the Lord, when depicting her as such a selfless, demurely-pure-hearted, benevolent existence that one would immediately assume to be in the Grace of Heaven; yet, is positioned and cast as existing within a world far more treacherous, grotesque, apathetically-ruthless than the very bowels of Hell, and not subtly praise the sublime-beauty that is the Divine Comedy, right?
                  Indeed. Dante's Divine Comedy, namely Inferno, is one of my favorite pieces of all time. It's no Paradise Lost, however. Then again, what is? In any case, to answer your question, I definitely enjoyed the almost-paradoxical duality of her character. Reminiscent of the Light-Bringer himself, almost.

                  Is that so?
                  What a shame- what happened to that muse of yours, Morph?
                  Was it tragically murdered, by any chance?


                  As for my muse, I'd have to say that it was heart and the love it has within it.
                  My heart is always infinitely expanding towards infinity, after all! <3333333333
                  That, or it was stolen by a true scoundrel. Likely the former, though.

                  Comment


                    #30
                    Originally posted by Dream View Post

                    Indeed. Dante's Divine Comedy, namely Inferno, is one of my favorite pieces of all time. It's no Paradise Lost, however. Then again, what is? In any case, to answer your question, I definitely enjoyed the almost-paradoxical duality of her character. Reminiscent of the Light-Bringer himself, almost.
                    That's quite true, but I'm truly grateful that I'd envision the world in colors that not even I would have noticed, if not for his work.
                    He truly has my gratitude and high-respect. <3
                    It truly is beautiful, you know?

                    Willingly offering yourself in your entirety/totality for the mere sake of your duties/obligations- whether it be as a human or as an Instrument/Vassal/Guardian/Maiden of The Lord, and experiencing every lasting moment of an eternity in utter solitude and suffering on the chasms of Hell that no Man nor Clergy/Saint or Messenger of the Kingdom Sired By King Arthur would dare set foot in- detached/secluded and ostracized from the Earth that mingles joyfully in their Songs of Men and Victory, ignorant to the vices and avarices that linger within the human heart, the hatred and love that spirals into a devastating nothingness that ruminates in the fatalistic nature of Men and their Children, ignorant to the cowardice and loyalty/bravery of Men and the women that await them with such longing in their hearts under the dimly-littered stars, ignorant to the kindness and deceptive actions/intentions of Men who approach without warning nor hesitance/respite, ignorant of any/all miracles known to Oracles and Kings who serve under his regime/authority, and even ignorant and denied by the Grace and Salvation by a nurturing Heaven that oozes in love and mercy.
                    She knows only of her duties and obligations as the Maiden of The Lord/The Vassal of The Holy Grail- she knows no more.
                    Yet, Sir Percival's devotion towards his own principles/morals-ethics/sworn word and duties/obligations as a Knight of Camelot serving under Arthur Pendragon and as a Man managed to offer his company and wholehearted devotion towards a Maiden ignorant of all things that pertained to the world Of Men and the realm of Heaven; yet, unbeknownst to her, knew of the sublime-radiance offered to those of purity and servitude that knew no bounds, and faithfully offered no deceit nor treachery- malevolence disguised as thoughtfulness and selflessness nor the pretense adored and worshipped in the World of Men.
                    There's a beauty to be had in those that thoughtlessly- or even refuse, to abandon their principles and themselves into the buffoonery and cruelty of beasts and lustful, petty individuals who comprise the class of citizens that adopt a mask in such a pitiful, hideous manner.
                    The Maiden truly was so beautiful and pure as she was devoid of the ugliness that petty, pitiful, lifeless, subpar-humans, human-failures, snobby men and women adopt shamelessly- as if they were mere pigs, when commencing a dialogue or merely citing their opinions.


                    Such a pure, white and black existence; I'm truly grateful for such a praise, Morph.
                    I will definitely devote myself further into my work/creation, and give rise and birth to stories that will strike your heart out. <3333

                    Originally posted by Dream View Post

                    That, or it was stolen by a true scoundrel. Likely the former, though.
                    Only a pitifully, worthless human-failure would ever dare to lay harm into the beauty that enraptures a young man's heart.
                    You have nothing to worry, Morph!
                    I will gladly serve as the Judge/The Court Audience/The Witnesses/The Jury/Your Attorney and Lawyer/The Prosecutor and reach the impartial verdict that the person guilty of murdering your beloved muse be decapitated and be impaled horizontally by a wooden stake.
                    You're in good hands! ^_^

                    Comment


                      #31

                      A young girl- devote to her one love and the wisdom bestowed upon her father and brother- descends into deep slumber in a cove; sea-shells glitter in the empty halls of a forgotten kingdom- a siren utters her symphony dedicated to the man who sheepishly roams the Coast unguarded and alone, and the gentle, firm winds mark the passing of small, delicate days where children chanted songs of Old in droves- settling in the center-square of the Palace's field of roses and lilies.
                      Drops of Amber glisten through the delicate and Motherly eyes of a youth whose coal-black hair coursed through the sides of her diminutive hips, and frame befitting the scion of a Nobleman- her fair complexion was worthy of envy to the daughters of Mistresses who assembled nearby the ponds closest to the Gates of Entry as it was akin to the loveliest of lilies; the voice- coined as that of a siren, escaped the fine lips of such a young girl, and an uninterrupted chuckle reached the hearts of dear friends that cherished the company offered by the small hands of the few.
                      Happiness thrived in the short moments where imagination and imitation sired a theatre- a flock of gesticulations and oddly-acted mannerisms ridiculed the brevity and incoherence understood in the Realm of Thrones and Hierarchy; musing of folklore and idioms swayed as a pendulum- eager male youth armed themselves with the fragile twigs of an Elk tree, and they waged war amongst their neighbors and close friends.
                      Tossing and turning- days scurried dutifully as all things do, and a mere decade had abbreviated its title to the early moments of Spring, and Ophelia finally awakens from her slumber which seemingly knew of no end.
                      「Add A Line-Breaker.」
                      Tiring days have languished over a small period of time and rubble littered the echoes of children whose unbridled joy banished the foreboding of a tempest into the corners of forgetfulness and irrelevance- satire and scantily adorned schisms rued the days which Ophelia openly detested as it distanced merry times of which she recognized as the recollections of a lily in a field of violets and plumb roses; a ballet comprising of an interlude to a Masquerade plummets upon the political-philosophical scene as King Claudius and Men of Ignorance and Deceit design a movement to demote Hamlet- the rightful heir to the throne, to a mere corpse and allow false tears to manipulate the hearts of the Public.
                      Polonius crept to his Lord's shadow, and offered his humble servitude as he meandered in circles of which only Hamlet was formerly aware of- always eavesdropping upon Hamlet's discourse on the Nature Of Men, and the futility of separating the whimsical longing for a women whose debauchery is left unquestioned and open to public criticism to the rather child-like innocence of a man to chivalrously uphold the virtues and beauty of her brethren and child; as a vulture- Polonius ensured his vigilant guard for his daughter that fell smitten to Hamlet's words of worthless sophistry and meaningless foolishness uttered only be cowards and weaklings who not once experienced the callous embrace of Combat and War.
                      「 What foolishness and distasteful preaching suited for a mere slave of pretentiousness and peasantry,」he uttered in a rather accusatory tone of voice that few managed to rise out of him.
                      「Only those illiterate to the sacrifices of our young- only the cuckoldry of worthless, spineless Children of Men that Fathered failures, and only the sheer magnitude of ignorance pertaining to meek Scholars would ever dare verbalize the inconceivable, mistruths of the inscription of our children and the bravery of our Men to actualize the utopia of a civilization that withstood the weathered assault by barbaric invaders in the days of our youth,」he muttered in silence as he departed from the scene.
                      「Add A Line-Breaker.」
                      In the remote seclusion of the pesky Courts of Noblewomen and snobbish, nameless Lords- Hamlet uttered seamless paeans and words of unmitigated love and kindness to his alluring, breathtaking Ophelia- his dauntless Sunshine that paraded the very windows of his soul and heart; to him- Ophelia's purity and melancholic softness found in her lone gaze beckoned his inquisitive, Homeric heart to the loveliness that would always be his ravishing Ophelia.
                      To Hamlet- Ophelia's Grace and Demure paled solely to her faint-but-brightly cheerful countenance that offered him comfort in the darkest-blue hues of the skies; Ophelia alone held a disheveled, uncharacteristic, nihilistic Hamlet as he recoiled upon the news of his Father's demise- she alone whispered the stories of Kings and Knights that served under a figure in the resemblance and style of his late Father after their attendance to his funeral and fated eulogy by the scripted lines of dialogue that Hamlet's Uncle- Claudius, bellowed to those that harkened to his fabrications and tongue of plagiary.
                      Ophelia was a savior in the guise of a fair Maiden- she was the unblemished piece that decried the ugliness faulted within his Mother- Gertrude, and she was the Siren whose image terrified him at his very wits- a perfection without faults maddens the heart clouded by vengeance and doubt; Cherished and treasured- Ophelia's mere presence muzzled the rampant chaos that afflicted Hamlet over the course of those few days.
                      Ophelia's very existence supported Hamlet throughout his early adolescence as he adamantly elected to ponder the course of his life as a Scholar- promptly declining to serve his Kingdom as a Man of the Lance and Shield amidst the ire of his wrathful, belligerent Father, and he was thus lambasted and ridiculed by the Courts of Public Opinion for being a weakling whose cowardice would eventually lead to the unprecedented deaths of millions of his own people, if he ever succeeded the throne as the rightful heir to his Father's Kingdom; Hamlet- since those very dreadful, humiliating days, bore a deep resentment towards those that characterized him as a weakling, the Father who denied him support and acknowledgment, and his very own self in its own perceived notion of weakness and fragility spoken to gentry folk suffering from atrophy in several areas of their misshaped bodies.
                      Yet, Ophelia not once shamed Hamlet for his refusal to submit to infantry and casualties- she cared not what the Court of Public Opinion thought of him as her love owed no allegiance to the State and its thoughts of Manhood nor in a proper conduct for the heir of the throne; Ophelia would love the Hamlet that loathed himself, and she would forgive the Hamlet that forsook himself in the Night; Ophelia's warmth knew no bounds- her slender figure cuddled him in nights of Angst and Follies as her bare bosoms/heart conferred a love reminiscent of that which only a Mother would bestow upon their newborn.
                      Upon such a blessing- Hamlet gladly bequeathed his heart/loyalty/trust and bare virginity to his divine Ophelia as she wholeheartedly reciprocated his devotion with a canvas of which no man would dare to trifle within the state of brilliance and magnanimity of a Maestro cultured in the fine Arts of the Sublime- A Lienzo Depicting the Promised Elysium of where partnered Doves existed as One and All; In such a bewildering sight- Hamlet recited sonatas dictating his Love and Reverence to his Muse.
                      His Sunshine dazzled the entirety of his world, and no light dared approach her radiance as Hamlet acknowledged Ophelia as his sole light within the Night.
                      「Add A Line-Breaker.」
                      Yet- in the muddying filth of which heathens and vultures encompassed in their pursuit of carcasses within foul schemes- Polonius whispered into Ophelia's ear of words tainted by Betrayal and single-minded Malice upon the throes of the Fall; Ophelia's Heart of Glass shattered unto the oblivion having bore witness to her Father's Cruelty and Apathy- Laertes drew close and darted from the shadows all the while admonishing Hamlet for his blights and naivety.
                      Father and Son- collaborating behind the scenes as you'd expect a thief and traitor to mince their words in front of a veiled enemy, twirled chains detailing the circumstances and nature of Duties and Obligations unto a distraught Ophelia as they offered her a hallow truce and apology for her sacrifice to a nefarious purpose; Ophelia- spellbound by the burdening Wraiths and Horrors of Treason mingling within the innermost chamber that point towards the Scions of The Throne- openly rejected Hamlet's proposal for marriage, and entertained a thoughtless audience through her emptiness.
                      The Crone withers and turmoil surfaces within Ophelia's Heart of Lilies- The Maiden heinously, shamelessly, undefinably shrieks into the Cusps of Night and Tears depart from her tortured, damaged Soul and Being; Hamlet retreats into the chambers of his beloved Muse- Unruly and Naked as the day he met her.
                      An absence of the vernacular deposed in acting and the hearth of Theater- Hamlet stood without a single lining of stocking and the constraints of being an actor; he approached Ophelia without the pitifulness of a man in paranoia and his befitting slender-but-toned physique reflected a calmness that appeased the innermost fears layered within Ophelia's heart- Hamlet rejoiced in such an overwhelming serenity, and quietly informed Ophelia of the fate that followed the dear friends of their youth.
                      His features betrayed him not- he wept not for those who sold him for the golden coins poured out of a cup, and he mentioned his eventual ascension to the throne as prophesized by the early death of Claudius; however, in that instant of exchange of a brief happiness and statice, Hamlet caught a meandering vulture festering uninvited to the halls of a world belonging to only Hamlet and his pure Ophelia- his cherished Maiden that would never utter a single lie nor abandon Hamlet in the pits of Tartarus.
                      Yet- an uncouth, murky tar sifted throughout his entire being and heart, and a single thought offered the possibility of which his heart decried and denounced against in its totality; His chest heaved in pained labor and his eyes bore a torment that rendered Ophelia's heart asunder- in a flat tone, he questioned her:
                      「Has a vulture laid it repugnant being in the lands of which only Doves nest, Ophelia?」
                      A lone Wraith lingered within the corners of the Chamber, and Ophelia's heart perished within the afterthoughts of a Plague- her Duties and Obligations as a Daughter and that of a Sister pitched her against the Man who devoted his entire heart/being and existence to her; the Man who revered her as his Muse- his everything, and the Man who willingly offered his virginity to on the passing of the Full Moon.
                      As Ophelia began to present Hamlet with the undeniable Truth- she felt a murderous, ruthless gaze erupt from the dimly-lit corner of the Chamber, and Ophelia fell mute under such duress; in fear that her own Father would murder the Man who cherished and loved her with the totality of his pure heart, she posed with a downward gaze- a faint smile adorning her face, and mustered in whispers:
                      「You and I- we're the only ones in these chambers; no vulture would dare interrupt us in this place, my Love.」
                      In that very moment, Hamlet Cursed and Condemned Ophelia into the Hearth of Adultery and Filth as his Heart raged as a Typhoon against his beloved Sunshine- his pristine Maiden who dareth not soil herself with the putridness of Whores drunk on delusions and the primal lust for fantasies; his pristine Ophelia that dareth not deceive in no shape or form- his everything.
                      Ophelia stoic figure refused to budge as a mere act poised to shelter a defenseless Dove similarly to the day which she rejected Hamlet's proposal to marriage- even when Hamlet's howls and cries harkened to the suffering of Men bewitched and forgotten by the treacherousness of a Siren's heart, even when Hamlet's chest and shoulders violently shook uncontrollably as his countenance was that of a murderously-keen, bloodshot crimson, Ophelia's stoic gaze remained unperturbed as the curtained drooped in the mirror reflection of untold Parables and figments of vivid imagination; unbeknownst to anyone in that Chamber, Ophelia maddened schizophrenically upon Hamlet's accusations and sputtered curses of loathing with lingered disgust- her heart lost all hope for salvation and redemption for Hamlet rejected Ophelia in the truest of words.
                      The Lienzo came undone, and it was no more- all things had ended on that very Night.
                      The Light within Ophelia Deserted her- Hamlet abandoned and sentenced her to the Nothingness of the Oblivion, and her Duties and Obligations as a Daughter/Sister ended on that very Night; Ophelia lost everything on that distant Night- not even the image of the Promised Elysium offered her any mercy.
                      Ophelia was no more- her demise was certain on such a ruthless array of circumstances and plights; Golden specks of light perished into the Emptiness of the Nothingness- all life fled Ophelia, and all that was left of her was a corpse besieged by decaying lilies as it floated upon the vast stretches of the pond in the Sanctum of which Hamlet once dictated his devotion and heart towards Ophelia- his dauntless Muse and Sunshine.
                      All thoughts and words perished within the Maiden's clasped-shut throat, and her apologies and departure to Hamlet danced into the Night sky without ever reaching the Man who offered her his everything, and the Maiden who elatedly reciprocated his everything with her everything; he never saw it, and therein lies the tragedy of a love blissfully requited but fatalistically enshrined behind the scenes, and annihilated by the foul schemes for a political gander.
                      All things ended- Ophelia perished embracing Hamlet's curses and loathing for her pure white lie, and Hamlet's words of regret and woe never reached his radiant Ophelia as she was mere dust, and that is all that she could ever be in the Oblivion that she had been sentenced towards by the Man she had loved with the entirety of her heart/being and existence, and the Duties and Obligations that served to drive poor Ophelia into the depths of Madness and Utter Annihilation.
                      「Ophelia's and Hamlet's Fatalistic-Tragedy Ends Here.」


                      Yesterday, I was once again inspired by another artistic piece, and I had no choice but make my contributions to such a lovely work-of-art, and publish a piece that I felt offered an additional layer of depth and meaning to it, so I hope that you all enjoy this piece; whoever might be reading this.
                      Feel free to contribute your honest thoughts on this piece, and I'd be truly grateful for your insight and knowledge. ^_^
                      As point of reference, I was inspired to write this entire piece by this Art-Work:
                      Ophelia
                      Last edited by Mr.Sunshine; June 11th, 2017, 06:44 PM.

                      Comment


                        #32
                        Before I eventually forget it all, a few minutes ago- I was inspired by the historical of Vlad the Impaler, and now I have the sudden rush to write yet another story centered in the dynamics and brevity of Vlad the Impaler and a Russian Princess.
                        I can already imagine the bloodshed and carnage that will be set forth, and I'm so happy that the idea occurred to me, at the end of the day.
                        The Power of Love and Imagination will never disappoint me! <3

                        Comment


                          #33


                          A Somber Feline- Whose Fur Marvels Of The Descending Snow Once Cherished In Sugar-Twisted Dreams- Gracefully Saunters Upon Brittle Pebbles.

                          Golden Irises- Which Once Reflected The Coruscating-Yet-Reticent Beauty Of The Hollowing Abyss: A Dead Blue- Wanders Aimlessly As Her Muddled Thoughts Surface From The Confines Of Her Pitch-Black Heart.

                          A Knight Of Shining-Gleaming Armor Approaches Her With A Calmness And Softness In Which She Knew Not Throughout Her Entire Life.
                          A Man Of Light-Complexion- Silky-Ebony Hair Whose Strands Delicately Brushed Against His Captivating Bloodstained Pupils Where Stars Blossom- His Tender Lips Tangle And Carefully Comforts The Crevice Of Her Visceral Fangs In Which Distraught Snakes Rejoice In Overwhelming Solace As They Twirl And Coil Their Drenched Scales Upon The Other: Thoughtlessly And Saturated With A Sheer-White Urgency For A Co-Dependent Existence That Wholeheartedly Embraced And Irrationally Rejected The Contradictions And Sublime Horror Originating Within A Monster's Heart.

                          An Unpardonable Pleasure Quietly Oozed Through A Bespectacled Young Maiden's Heart-Of-Hearts As The Prince Briskly Situated His Firm Hands On Her Throbbing Throat Without A Moment's Hesitation- An Atrociously-Grotesque Feline Abandoned To Perish At Birth Thanked The Kind-Hearted-Merciful Prince For Murdering Such A Worthless-Meaningless Existence In A World Of Sublimity And Purity.

                          In Her Final Moments- As The Darkness Descended And Cannibalized Her Flesh And Thoughts- An Accursed Monstrosity Offered Words Of Genuine Love For The Man Who Gifted A Nihilistic Heart The Blessings Of The End: Death.

                          A Loveless Maiden Awakens From Her Wondrous Fantasies As An Enigmatic-Yet-Familiar Man Of Light Complexion Beckons Her Towards An Engagement Of Where No Words Are Spoken- A Smile Caresses The Young Maiden's Appearance As She Prays That The Man She Wholeheartedly-Devotedly Loves Bestows Upon Her The Happiness Of Experiencing Non-Existence As Her Heart Aches Of An Unconditional Love That Shall Never Be- Forevermore.


                          It truly has been quite a long time since I've written down a single piece, so I'm ecstatic to present to everyone a loveless tale of a young, bespectacled feline: Cat and Tiger- whose monstrous heart reflects that which falters under sugar-coated lies.
                          As always, my inspirations for writing this piece began on this particular artwork:
                          Monogatari Series: Black Hanekawa- Inspiration
                          Then, it concluded with these abstractions on such a tragically-fatalistic tale of love:
                          Monogatari Series: Hanekawa's Sexual Lust Towards Koyomi- Inspiration #2
                          I truly hope- from the bottom of my heart, that everyone manages to enjoy this small, little piece as I hope that I receive even more inspiration from the entire world that I love so much.
                          Good Night, and please sleep tight without a single worry in the world. <3

                          Comment


                            #34
                            Originally posted by Mr.Sunshine View Post


                            A Somber Feline- Whose Fur Marvels Of The Descending Snow Once Cherished In Sugar-Twisted Dreams- Gracefully Saunters Upon Brittle Pebbles.

                            Golden Irises- Which Once Reflected The Coruscating-Yet-Reticent Beauty Of The Hollowing Abyss: A Dead Blue- Wanders Aimlessly As Her Muddled Thoughts Surface From The Confines Of Her Pitch-Black Heart.

                            A Knight Of Shining-Gleaming Armor Approaches Her With A Calmness And Softness In Which She Knew Not Throughout Her Entire Life.
                            A Man Of Light-Complexion- Silky-Ebony Hair Whose Strands Delicately Brushed Against His Captivating Bloodstained Pupils Where Stars Blossom- His Tender Lips Tangle And Carefully Comforts The Crevice Of Her Visceral Fangs In Which Distraught Snakes Rejoice In Overwhelming Solace As They Twirl And Coil Their Drenched Scales Upon The Other: Thoughtlessly And Saturated With A Sheer-White Urgency For A Co-Dependent Existence That Wholeheartedly Embraced And Irrationally Rejected The Contradictions And Sublime Horror Originating Within A Monster's Heart.

                            An Unpardonable Pleasure Quietly Oozed Through A Bespectacled Young Maiden's Heart-Of-Hearts As The Prince Briskly Situated His Firm Hands On Her Throbbing Throat Without A Moment's Hesitation- An Atrociously-Grotesque Feline Abandoned To Perish At Birth Thanked The Kind-Hearted-Merciful Prince For Murdering Such A Worthless-Meaningless Existence In A World Of Sublimity And Purity.

                            In Her Final Moments- As The Darkness Descended And Cannibalized Her Flesh And Thoughts- An Accursed Monstrosity Offered Words Of Genuine Love For The Man Who Gifted A Nihilistic Heart The Blessings Of The End: Death.

                            A Loveless Maiden Awakens From Her Wondrous Fantasies As An Enigmatic-Yet-Familiar Man Of Light Complexion Beckons Her Towards An Engagement Of Where No Words Are Spoken- A Smile Caresses The Young Maiden's Appearance As She Prays That The Man She Wholeheartedly-Devotedly Loves Bestows Upon Her The Happiness Of Experiencing Non-Existence As Her Heart Aches Of An Unconditional Love That Shall Never Be- Forevermore.


                            It truly has been quite a long time since I've written down a single piece, so I'm ecstatic to present to everyone a loveless tale of a young, bespectacled feline: Cat and Tiger- whose monstrous heart reflects that which falters under sugar-coated lies.
                            As always, my inspirations for writing this piece began on this particular artwork:
                            Monogatari Series: Black Hanekawa- Inspiration
                            Then, it concluded with these abstractions on such a tragically-fatalistic tale of love:
                            Monogatari Series: Hanekawa's Sexual Lust Towards Koyomi- Inspiration #2
                            I truly hope- from the bottom of my heart, that everyone manages to enjoy this small, little piece as I hope that I receive even more inspiration from the entire world that I love so much.
                            Good Night, and please sleep tight without a single worry in the world. <3
                            So did the knight choke the cat to death? That's brutal lol

                            Comment


                              #35
                              Originally posted by Chara View Post

                              So did the knight choke the cat to death? That's brutal lol
                              Not necessarily- it was a dream, after all.
                              If I were to put it into words, that little cat truly wanted to die in that man's arm- she just wanted to cherish him in her final moments.
                              Her love will never be realized, so she might as well die.
                              There's no point in continue living such a loveless life.

                              Comment


                                #36
                                Prepare your souls, faggots. I'm about to tell you an amazing story.

                                Originally posted by Chara View Post
                                Pick 1 character from at least 5 of your favorite shows/movies/other medium and write a story involving them in any scenario. Doesn't have to be limited to 5. Minimum 5 paragraphs.
                                Our story begins 10,000 years ago in the newly forged Imperium of Man. The Unification Wars have ended. The God-Emperor of Mankind sits upon the Golden Throne. The 20 Primarchs—his proud sons--and their Legiones Astartes crusade across the galaxy in the God-Emperor’s name; spreading his vision of a galaxy spanning human empire united in the pursuit of Rationalism, Order, and Scientific Advancement.

                                The Thousand Sons Legion and its Primarch—Magnus the Red—have discovered a new world to bring into imperial compliance, on the uncharted edge of known space.





                                It is a small, newly industrialized world. Its technology is unremarkable. The world is inhabited, however, by a sizable population of warp-attuned humans with stable psyker genes, and burgeoning powers over the immaterium.

                                Wizards, they call themselves.

                                They know not the true nature of the powers they wield. Thinking it some form of magic and purporting to tame it, with wands and baubles . They are socially backwards; living in closed societies with other psykers, and concealing their knowledge and abilities from the general public. They hold it as law that “exposure” is a crime against their kind. There is even one among them who calls himself “The Dark Lord” and preaches a doctrine of wizarding supremacy; calling not merely for the suppression of knowledge from non-psykers, but for their outright enslavement and extermination. He commands a sizable following.

                                The non-psykers—unlearned techno-barbarians that they are—wage perpetual bloody war over such trivialities as “who can make and sell the best narcotics?” and “who loves God the right way?”

                                This angers Magnus greatly.






                                “Knowledge is not a prize to be horded by unworthy minds; it belongs to all who seek it. What little you know—you hold it is a crime to reveal its existence to the world, and an eternal duty to suppress the truth of it. Your true crime is IGNORANCE!” Magnus bellows. As his legion massacres The Ministries, The Aurors, The Death Eaters, the governments and armies of the industrialized world…all vestiges of the old world order….

                                Of “The Dark Lord” Himself—Magnus personally beheads him. Tears his disembodied soul from a resurrection artifact. And hurls his spirit shrieking into the Immaterium, to be violated by Deamonettes and consumed by Warp Predators.





                                The New World Order holds the planet to be a tributary state of the Imperium, and the Will of the God-Emperor to be its high law.

                                The Thousand Sons Legion establishes a permanent base on this new imperial world, and recruits heavily from its psyker population. Magnus is unique among the primarchs in that he has inherited some semblance of his father’s immeasurable psychic powers. Those with some innate psyker power of their own better receive his geneseed; for ungifted recipients are prone to warp mutations and soul combustion and very nasty things.

                                Pre-adolescent boys are selected for augmentation, as is tradition. Those who successfully receive the Primarch’s geneseed grow not into men, but into Astartes. Superhumans in the likeness of the Primarchs themselves.

                                Now there was a boy of the Old World—12 years of age when The Imperium came and saw and conquered—who would rise swiftly through the ranks of the thousand sons.

                                He was a psyker, although he had not known it until his 11th year. He had been orphaned as an infant by the Dark Lord. He was treated poorly as a child, and made to think himself powerless. So when he came into his power he appreciated it in ways that others never could; what it signified. What its use entailed. How it should be wielded.

                                Perhaps it was this clarity of purpose that propelled him. He was not the smartest neophyte. Nor the biggest. Nor the strongest. But he inexplicably excelled beyond the abilities of bigger, stronger, smarter battle-brothers.

                                At the age of 13 he received the geneseed of Magnus, and even for an Astartes, his transformation was extraordinary. The boy-wizards innate “magic”—for lack of a better term—attuned in unprecedented resonance to the essence of the Primarch. It grew. It mutated. Perfection was created on that day.

                                The boy wizard was no more. In his place stood an indestructible master of war.




                                Over the next terran century, he would fight on countless battlefields. His name would become legend. He would rise to second in the legion behind only Magnus, and some would say in hushed whispers that his skill in battle and sorcery was greater than even the Primarch himself (though none would dare speak such heresy openly).

                                Those closest to him knew that the “H.P.” in H.P. Warcraft were initials for the name he had been given at birth. And that in a different life, on a different world, the champion of the Thousand Sons had been a little orphan boy named Harry.

                                But to the greater legion—he was Master Warcraft. His honorific in the legion. And he would be known by no other name.

                                As the Great-Crusade marched onward and more of the galaxy was charted, The Thousand Sons would encounter new conflicts on new worlds.

                                It is on one such world where his exploits would defy belief, and the legend of Master Warcraft would begin in earnest:









                                (TO BE CONTINUED)
                                Last edited by Post-Crisis Shob; October 13th, 2017, 12:32 AM.

                                Comment


                                  #37
                                  Oh, got a good one!

                                  Omnimon (Digimon) Goku (DBS) & GODoka (Puella Magi) vs Gilgamesh (Nasuverse) vs Godzilla (Tohoverse)



                                  It was a peaceful day in Tokyo, as Tai and Augumon were looking over the Ocean. "Tai, why are we looking at the ocean?" Asked Augumon. Tai turned to Augumon and said, "Today is the anniversary of when supposedly a giant monster came to attack the city. I don't believe in such nonsense though.... what is that?!" As Tai said that, a giant dinosaur rose out of the ocean and roared. "Whoa! That is some monster!" Tai said. The monster then fired a beam of energy from it's mouth at a building, causing it to blow up. "Augumon! Its time to digivolve!" "Right!" Augumon said as it warped digivolved into War Greymon. War Greymon flew towards the monster at high speeds and punched it in the chest, Causing the Monster to fall down back into the ocean. However, the monster got back up, and fired it's beam at War Greymon. War Greymon dodged the attack, but then the monster slammed its tail into him, causing him to fly back. War Greymon crashed into a building, as Metal Garurumon flew in at the monster, and fired an ice beam at it. The monster was surprised and took the hit, as Matt ran up to Tai and asked, "Tai, where is War Greymon? we need to have them digivolve into Omnimon so they can beat this thing!" Tai said, "He went flying into that building!" said Tai, as the two then nodded and ran after him.

                                  Meanwhile, out on a mountain, Goku was meditating when he sensed the monster's energy. "Damn it! Not him again! When will this Godzilla creature know to give up?!" He then used Instant Transmission to teleport to where the monster was. He noticed a doglike robot was fighting it. "Wow, did the JSDF create a new fighting machine? Never the less, I need to help!" Goku then powered up to Super Saiyan Blue and flew towards Godzilla, and punched it in the chest. Metal Garurumon followed up with a missile attack, hitting Godzilla in the face. Godzilla was sent flying as War Greymon showed up, and said to Metal Garurumon, "You ready?" "Yes, Its time to fuse!" Metal Garurumon and War Greymon vanished as Omnimon appeared. Goku could sense how strong Omnimon was, as Omnimon flew towards Godzilla, and attacked with his Greysword. Godzilla got a gash in its chest, but it quickly healed up. Goku flew up next to Omnimon and said, "We'll need to combine our forces if we are to stand a chance at fighting it!" "Agreed!" replied Omnimon, with his dual voice. Both of them flew at Godzilla, as Godzilla fired it's Beam at the two. Goku countered with his Kamehameha attack, and Omnimon with his Garurucannon. The beams collided, and exploded in mid air, as Goku and Omnimon flew through the smoke, and punched Godzilla back. Godzilla stood its ground and used it's tail to knock the two back, sending them flying into another building. Godzilla then got onto dry land and chased after them.

                                  Gilgamesh was watching the whole fight, wearing his golden armor, and smirked. "How cute, A giant monster, A Human who changes his hair color, and a being that believes to be a Royal Knight, are fighting each other. Too bad they didn't invite me, I'm feeling quite ticked off!" He opened several portals and aimed them at the giant monster plus the other two fighters, and fired swords from the portals at them. Goku got up first and saw the swords. He grabbed Omnimon by the arm, and used Instant Transmission to teleport the two out of the way, but Godzilla got hit and roared. He fired an energy blast at Gilgamesh, but Gilgamesh summoned a portal to absorb the attack, and redirected it at Godzilla. Godzilla took the hit, and screeched in pain. Godzilla then collapsed. Goku and Omnimon reappeared behind Gilgamesh and Goku said, "You didn't have to kill it! I was going to let it leave after I defeated it!" "But it was wrecking my city! Any mongrels who mess with my city will be killed, and you two are next!" replied Gilgamesh, as chains restrained Goku and Omnimon. "What the?" said Goku. Omnimon struggled to get out of the chains, but couldn't break free. Gilgamesh then pulled out his noble phantasm, Enuma Elish and said, "The stage has been set, worthy for fakers like you! Now destroy them, Enuma Elish!" The sword lit up as red beams came out of it, and were sent flying towards the two heroes, but then, a voice said, "Stop!" and a shield appeared to stop the beam.

                                  "Who dares to stop me from killing these two?!" Asked Gilgamesh. "I did!" replied the voice, which belonged to GODoka. She appeared in front of Goku and Omnimon. and said, "These two are the protectors of earth, and you want to kill them? I am not happy." Gilgamesh laughed and said, "A little girl telling me what to do? That's funny!" he said, as he then said, "You must be a divine being yes?" "And what if I am?" asked GODoka. "Restrain her, Enkidu!" Chains appeared and captured her. "Now you three will die, and I will prove that you three are fakers!" He readied Enuma Elish for the death blow. What will happen to our heroes? Will Gilgamesh finally beat the four strongest beings there are? Find out next time on DBZxDigimonxMadokaxFatexGodzilla!



                                  Feel free to finish the story gawayn.

                                  Comment


                                    #38
                                    Originally posted by Post-Crisis Shob View Post
                                    Prepare your souls, faggots. I'm about to tell you an amazing story.



                                    Our story begins 10,000 years ago in the newly forged Imperium of Man. The Unification Wars have ended. The God-Emperor of Mankind sits upon the Golden Throne. The 20 Primarchs—his proud sons--and their Legiones Astartes crusade across the galaxy in the God-Emperor’s name; spreading his vision of a galaxy spanning human empire united in the pursuit of Rationalism, Order, and Scientific Advancement.

                                    The Thousand Sons Legion and its Primarch—Magnus the Red—have discovered a new world to bring into imperial compliance, on the uncharted edge of known space.





                                    It is a small, newly industrialized world. Its technology is unremarkable. The world is inhabited, however, by a sizable population of warp-attuned humans with stable psyker genes, and burgeoning powers over the immaterium.

                                    Wizards, they call themselves.

                                    They know not the true nature of the powers they wield. Thinking it some form of magic and purporting to tame it, with wands and baubles . They are socially backwards; living in closed societies with other psykers, and concealing their knowledge and abilities from the general public. They hold it as law that “exposure” is a crime against their kind. There is even one among them who calls himself “The Dark Lord” and preaches a doctrine of wizarding supremacy; calling not merely for the suppression of knowledge from non-psykers, but for their outright enslavement and extermination. He commands a sizable following.

                                    The non-psykers—unlearned techno-barbarians that they are—wage perpetual bloody war over such trivialities as “who can make and sell the best narcotics?” and “who loves God the right way?”

                                    This angers Magnus greatly.






                                    “Knowledge is not a prize to be horded by unworthy minds; it belongs to all who seek it. What little you know—you hold it is a crime to reveal its existence to the world, and an eternal duty to suppress the truth of it. Your true crime is IGNORANCE!” Magnus bellows. As his legion massacres The Ministries, The Aurors, The Death Eaters, the governments and armies of the industrialized world…all vestiges of the old world order….

                                    Of “The Dark Lord” Himself—Magnus personally beheads him. Tears his disembodied soul from a resurrection artifact. And hurls his spirit shrieking into the Immaterium, to be violated by Deamonettes and consumed by Warp Predators.





                                    The New World Order holds the planet to be a tributary state of the Imperium, and the Will of the God-Emperor to be its high law.

                                    The Thousand Sons Legion establishes a permanent base on this new imperial world, and recruits heavily from its psyker population. Magnus is unique among the primarchs in that he has inherited some semblance of his father’s immeasurable psychic powers. Those with some innate psyker power of their own better receive his geneseed; for ungifted recipients are prone to warp mutations and soul combustion and very nasty things.

                                    Pre-adolescent boys are selected for augmentation, as is tradition. Those who successfully receive the Primarch’s geneseed grow not into men, but into Astartes. Superhumans in the likeness of the Primarchs themselves.

                                    Now there was a boy of the Old World—12 years of age when The Imperium came and saw and conquered—who would rise swiftly through the ranks of the thousand sons.

                                    He was a psyker, although he had not known it until his 11th year. He had been orphaned as an infant by the Dark Lord. He was treated poorly as a child, and made to think himself powerless. So when he came into his power he appreciated it in ways that others never could; what it signified. What its use entailed. How it should be wielded.

                                    Perhaps it was this clarity of purpose that propelled him. He was not the smartest neophyte. Nor the biggest. Nor the strongest. But he inexplicably excelled beyond the abilities of bigger, stronger, smarter battle-brothers.

                                    At the age of 13 he received the geneseed of Magnus, and even for an Astartes, his transformation was extraordinary. The boy-wizards innate “magic”—for lack of a better term—attuned in unprecedented resonance to the essence of the Primarch. It grew. It mutated. Perfection was created on that day.

                                    The boy wizard was no more. In his place stood an indestructible master of war.




                                    Over the next terran century, he would fight on countless battlefields. His name would become legend. He would rise to second in the legion behind only Magnus, and some would say in hushed whispers that his skill in battle and sorcery was greater than even the Primarch himself (though none would dare speak such heresy openly).

                                    Those closest to him knew that the “H.P.” in H.P. Warcraft were initials for the name he had been given at birth. And that in a different life, on a different world, the champion of the Thousand Sons had been a little orphan boy named Harry.

                                    But to the greater legion—he was Master Warcraft. His honorific in the legion. And he would be known by no other name.

                                    As the Great-Crusade marched onward and more of the galaxy was charted, The Thousand Sons would encounter new conflicts on new worlds.

                                    It is on one such world where his exploits would defy belief, and the legend of Master Warcraft would begin in earnest:









                                    (TO BE CONTINUED)
                                    This looks awesome so far! I love the H.P. Warcraft lol. I can't wait to read more

                                    Comment


                                      #39
                                      Brandon Fel stepped backward just in time. "Parting the Wind" nearly took his head off. Already his opponent, David Lender, was preparing his stance for another attack. Sword Forms...David used predictable forms when fighting, yet Brandon had never managed to defeat him anyway. Brandon retaliated with "Harrow", yet David quickly parried and countered with "Sword of Destruction".

                                      "If I'm going to beat him," thought Brandon, "I have to avoid using predictable forms."

                                      "Sword of Destruction" met "Rising Phoenix" met "Whisper"..."Now!"

                                      Brandon could feel his concentration gaining focus. Once in a while he seemed to be predicting David's attacks almost as quickly as David applied them. This time he had a chance. This time...he could...win. The practice swords clattered against one another faster and faster. With each passing second, Brandon saw another opening, a minor flaw in David's limitless forms. David was in fact beatable, though no one in the village of Mysteria had accomplished the task before. There! No, not fast enough. Brandon lunged at David, but was too slow. He barely recovered in time to deflect a lariat strike and respond with one of his own. High, low, there! Crack was the sound his practice sword made as it smashed into David's leg.First man to touch the other's body with the practice sword wins.

                                      "Now I've done it," cried Brandon, "Finally I win a round. Somehow, I knew I could do it this time."

                                      "Ladies and Gentlemen," interjected the referee, "For the first time in five years, we have a new swords champion: Brandon Fel. Well done, Bran, both of you. You two move like snakes, or maybe lightning."

                                      "Well met, Bran," replied David.

                                      =================================

                                      God I suck at this.

                                      Comment

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