Curse

angelexperiment · Apr 22, 2007, 12:23 PM // 12:23

This is one chapter of a story I've been writing. However, I'm not sure if it's worth carrying on with. I'd love to know what you all think. Sorry, it's not Guild Wars related, I hope that doesn't matter.

It was Christmas time and all of Featherstone had been decorated with merry colours and eye catching decorations. There were jolly folk, wrapped in coats, scarves and gloves in a variety of reds, blues, greens, whites and any other colour you can imagine, roaming the streets, cheerfully singing Christmas Carols. There were teenagers, little kids and adults, embracing the gentle snowfall, which was dancing gracefully to the melodies being sung below. Rooftops had Santa’s sitting in sleighs being pulled by reindeers, or there would be flashing lights, brightening the dark sky. Layers of snow were sleeping on the rooftops and the ground. Several fires could be sighted through peoples windows and all were welcome to join in the festivities. The entire town was bright and beautiful and the people happy, rosy cheeks glowing and eyes alight with the spirit of Christmas. All except for two people, who remained inside, very solemn indeed.

They were both women. The oldest one was 70, with short, white, curly hair and kind brown eyes which appeared sad, as if they had witnessed many terrible things during their time. They shined brightly, but were getting duller by the minute. Her face was wrinkled and stern, though it was usually kind and happy. She was fairly short, but then again her whole family were, though not unusually short . She wore white earrings, a white blouse and a red long skirt with tights and red slippers. Her name was Tru.

The other woman, her daughter, was about 47. She greatly resembled her mother. Her hair was short and curly but brown instead of white. Her eyes were kind but not as wise or bright. She was looking very serious and distressed. She was also short like her mother. She wore a casual light blue top with black three quarter trousers and some white trainers. She was nervously wringing her hands in her lap, chewing the inside of her cheek, waiting for her mother to explain the matter that seemed so important that it must be said before she passed away.

The room was square. The walls were bare, except for pictures of family and a few Christmas decorations. The wallpaper was white with a border of flowers half way down. There was one three seater settee and two single seater chairs. They were all a faded red colour. One of the chairs had a blanket covering it, as the dog loved to sit on that particular chair. The two women were sitting on the three seater. There was a radiator beneath the huge window, whose curtains were drawn. There was a fireplace against the front wall and a TV stood in the corner.

Tru stared at her daughter, as if in a trance, for several minutes, her eyes continually dimming. She blinked and sighed. She cast her gaze downwards. She looked up and made eye contact with her daughter, Julie.
“I don’t have much longer.” She began speaking slowly and carefully. Her voice croaky and rough, yet not unkind. “And this is very important. Please, do not tell anyone, especially not Miley, until I send a sign.”
“Mother, what are you talking about?” Julie was curious yet wary. Her mother had been known to have some problems with her mind when she was younger.
“Just promise me that you won’t tell anyone.”
“I’ll go phone the doctor mother, you’re not well.” Julie began to rise.
“PROMISE ME.” Tru demanded. Julie slumped back in her chair and let out an exasperated breath. Reluctantly, she slowly nodded her head, her lips tightened.

Tru inhaled deeply and opened her mouth to begin, then shut it, as if unsure how to proceed.
“This is going to be hard for you to understand. So I’ll have to prove it to you somehow but in our family, there is a…” She paused as she searched for the right word. “A ‘gift’ as it were.” She saw Julie’s bemused face and sighed.

“Mother…” Julie began just as Tru burst into a coughing fit. “Mother!” She screamed. Tru waved her hand to signal that she was ok. She stopped coughing and patted her chest.

“That’s better.” She said, as if commenting on the weather. “So as I was saying…” She carried on in a whisper barely audible after that. Julie was sat there, nodding her head, not believing a word of what she was being told, humouring her mother. She tried interrupting several times, which resulted in her mother snapping at her to be quiet. When she finally finished talking, Julie just had to get her word in.

“Mother, this is preposterous! How can that be possible? All those things you mentioned do not exist. Angels, mermaids, elves, goblins…”
“Dwarves” Tru corrected her.
“I don’t care, listen to me. They. Do. Not. Exist. Have you been taking your medication?” Julie ranted.
“There is no need for me to take it any longer. I do not plan on sticking around” Julie’s mouth snapped shut and her eyes widened. Tru’s voice had transformed from a croak to a royal, posh voice of a 19 year old. She wondered what brought this on. “Please, do not carry on like this. I am not ill, like all your earthly doctors think. I have never been able to think clearer.”

Suddenly, Tru’s brown eyes turned white, her hair grew slightly longer and straighter and changed to brown. Her skin smoothed out, as if all the wrinkles had been smoothed out by an iron. Her skin went pale and her lips red. She grew taller. Then, her body curled up into the foetus position, as if she was in pain. Her body straightened as if she had been whipped in the back. Then, to Julie’s amazement, wings shot out of her back! Tru screamed bloody murder. The wings were about 5ft long and were of the purest white. The feathers were soft and looked like a swan’s. She stopped screaming and straightened up.

Tru’s long skirt and blouse transformed into a gorgeous pale blue dress, and the slippers into pale blue stilettos. The dress had no sleeves but two bits of material to tie behind the neck to hold it in place. The top half of the dress hugged Tru’s torso and hips, which were now slender and elegant. The bottom part of the dress flowed outwards, rippling like the ocean and when it reached her feet, it rounded off. Also, she was wearing a necklace with a yellow pendant in the shape of a crescent moon, with the points facing upwards. She had always worn this necklace, ever since she had been given it, which was so long ago she couldn’t remember.

The dog ran into the room and yelped when she saw her owner. She sniffed her and tried jumping up but fell right through her. Julie had been too occupied watching her mothers transformation to realise that her old human body was laying crumpled on the floor.
“Mother…?” Julie looked at the ‘ghost’ then the body, then the ghost again. She was so confused, what just happened? The ghost smiled.

“Don’t worry about me darling.” Tru’s spirit said in an otherworldly voice. “I’m dead now, that thing I just told you about, has happened to me. I can move on. Do not be sad. Rejoice! For I am happy. Make sure Miley gets her Christmas present from me. It’s very important and will play a huge part in her life. Look after Penny for me will you?” She gazed lovingly at the dog, who sat and whimpered. “Goodbye, we will meet again.” and she turned around and flew up, through the ceiling and to heaven, or where ever it is angels go.

Julie was shocked into a stunned silence. She just stared at the body for what must have been minutes, maybe even hours. Then, when she realised what had happened, she wept.

angelexperiment · Apr 22, 2007, 04:38 PM // 16:38

The problem with my writing is it isn't constantly good. In my opinion, this is one of the best things I've written in a long time. But then, as it carries on, I think it gets worse, though other people like it. I'm not sure if they're just trying to be nice though. Does anyone have any tips?

Storm Crow · Apr 22, 2007, 07:37 PM // 19:37

Yeah...Edit your posts instead of double-posting. That's a big no-no.

white wolfgang · Apr 23, 2007, 12:53 AM // 00:53

Wow everyone on hear is like 10x the writer I am

Excellent stories that are excellently written. I'm sorry that I dropped my little romantic peice. I also screwed it up a bit... I tried to shorten it because that whole scene was super long when i wrote it. Anyways I have decided to drop another peice of writing here.
This story is not about Naomi, but her daughter Ava. I don't rly wanna give away what ahppened between Naomi-Abel-Everest, but Naomi did have a daughter. Anyways in this scene Ava is relearning to walk. She ran away from home, and on the way got attacked and almost killed by monsters. A mysterious man saved her. She was extremely sick, for slightly under a year. Oh and a heads up, this man is not a love interest. He is a mentor, and she is young, on the cusp of 14. Anyways here it goes!
Testing 1, 2, 3
Ava sat on her tiny straw bed, extending her leg so her unkempt foot brushed against the floor. She had no boot, and her feet were rather ugly, despite the fact it was just yesterday she had washed herself. Her feet were scuffed and callous. They were completely scarred, and the knobs of her bones were obvious against her pale dry skin. As the warm morning light poured in through the open shutter, she saw these ugly features. The floor was wooden, but she could feel a grainy layer of salt and sand against her feet. She gripped her hand to the splintering side of her wooden bed, lifting herself extremely slowly. Closing her eyes, she focused carefully on flexing her leg muscles. She curled her toes forward, tightening around the edge of the dry floorboard. She placed her second foot on the ground, eyes still closed. Once again she gracefully pushed against the side of her bed with her hand lifting her, and after this lightly letting go. Yet all grace was lost as she fell to the floor, like an angel that had lost its wings. She lay there, collapsed on the floor. she could feel the butt of a nail in her side, but it didnt hurt. She was much distracted by something. A person lay on the floor across the room. It was her reflection. She studied herself carefully. Her hair was a mess, falling out of its braid. Her eyes were a shocking blue, just like mommy's. She had light blonde hair, somewhere in between dad's and mommy's. She thought about them alot, while she was running, while she was being killed, while she was sick, while she dreamed, while she cried, while she ate, while she lived. Why couldn't she just let go? She had made a clean getaway. Yet she couldnt forget that which she got away from. And the mirror only made it worse. She was the spitting image of her parents. Everest's straight hair, small nose, and thick eyelashes. Naomi's stunning eyes, dark skin, and pronounced cheeks. She wished she wasn't. She wished they didn't exist sometimes. In her rage or mourning, she couldnt tell which, she crawled violently toward the mirror, tears running down her hot cheeks. Hey eyelashes began to stick together, as she reached her destination. In attempt to make a fist, she slammed her hand against the fragile glass. A rain of sharp crystals fell on her, one sliced down her cheek. She felt the warm blod trickle slwoly down her face. It mixed with tears and sweat. Yet, this didnt hurt half as bad as her heart.Hearing all this, the man with the hood rushed in and picked her up. He wiped her face free of blood and tears. Supporting her, he guided her into standing up and supporting herself. He grabbed her leg and pushed it forward. Sand and peices of wood scraped along the bottom of her foot. She was walking. She was rewalking, reliving....

angelexperiment · Apr 23, 2007, 06:23 PM // 18:23

Quote:

Yeah...Edit your posts instead of double-posting. That's a big no-no.

sorry :-( I'll remember that for next time

Marcell · Apr 24, 2007, 01:34 AM // 01:34

Gather 'round kiddies I'm about to read from the big book of randomness.

The rabbit was the fastest in the forest, and everyone envied him. He won all kinds of races. He beat the fox, the snail, and even the occational chimpanzees. The turtle knew he'd never beat the rabbit. So one day crying as he was wandering back to his own, a pineapple over heard him. It whispered "Hey! Over here!" The turtle was amazed by this talking pineapple. So he asked it what it wanted. The pineapple said to him. "On the day of the race, bring me with you to the starting line, I will help you win. Trust me! I've got a trick up my sleeve" With newly-found excitement, the turtle marched up to the rabbit and challenged him to a race. So on the day of the race, there sat the pineapple, alongside the turtle and the rabbit. When the announcer shouted "GO!" The rabbit sped off, with the turtle moving a couple of inches per second. The Pine-apple just sat there. The rabbit hopped left and right, and seemed to only move faster as the race lasted. The turtle got tired after the first 30 seconds. The rabbit then, made it to the finish line and won, and was cheered on by all of his adoring fans. With the turtle left in shame.

Moral of the story: Pineapples dont have sleeves.

Storm Crow · May 21, 2007, 12:48 AM // 00:48

Heh..Pineapples don't have sleeves..That made me giggle.

Anyway, I got bored in Algebra the other day, and this is the result of that:

My dearest Vanatiel,

You must by now realize that you have beem away for many months. I understand that you do what you must to deal with this, but somehow, even with my sisters here, it is terribly lonely. Don't worry too much, I have some very close company that is here with me always, but it is not the same as having you here. The love I have for him is different than for you, but doubt me not that I will forever love you with all of my heart.

I pray that you recieve this in good time, because in another four months I shall finally see my permanent company. Take your travels through the jungle faster than you would for me, for soon you will have twice as much a reason to come back home. May Dwayna grant you good speed, my love.

Forever yours,
Alicia

I haven't posted in forever....ahh!

Silver Polarbear · May 22, 2007, 08:05 PM // 20:05

Storm Crow, I dig your pregnancy announcement. Very nice work. I will be chuckling about that one for a while.

Storm Crow · May 27, 2007, 04:35 AM // 04:35

Thanks, Silver. Sometimes boredom produces results...

Well, I haven't worked on this much, but I'll post a little teaser to a semi-official, half-unsure-if-I'll-keep-it biography of my Elementalist. I've started three, but I like this one the best so far. Yet again, Algebra proved useful in the inspiration and opening line of this work...

“It’s time to come to your unfortunate demise, vile fiend!” a small girl stood in her attack position over a cricket in the training yard, her intermediate flame wand pointed towards it. She jumped into the air, thought of flame, and pushed her wand in the direction of the insect. A small puff of smoke emitted from the end, but no flame. The cricked chirped once and jumped away, but a chuckling remained.

“I’m beginning to think that fire isn’t your element, Alicia.” Aziure said, patting the child on the back.

“Yes it is!” the six-year-old screamed. “I will make this work!”

There's only another paragraph and one sentence of dialogue after this that isn't really useful yet, but I'll throw in a little work here and there on this project, and it might be done before the school year starts in late August. I'll be sure to keep you posted on the progress if you're interested.

Love!

Nightmare Venom · Jun 06, 2007, 10:40 PM // 22:40

A while back, I decided it would be good if I did a back story for a couple of my characters in Guild Wars. I did these quite a few months back:

Nightmare Venom

Once a owner of a tavern, his town was invaded by the undead and turned him into one of them. He was given a new name by his unseen master: Nightmare Venom. He served his unseen master for many years, never questioning his masters orders. He often went into battle with Rotscale, the animated skeleton of a once grand dragon many times, with success every time. Creatures living and dead feared the power of Rotscale and Nightmare Venom. They were an unstoppable force.

One day Nightmare Venom's unseen master ordered him and a small group of undead to scout the Shiverpeak Mountains. There was rumours of a necromancer hiding in the Mountains, and they were ordered to capture it. Four days into the search, a blizzard appeared from nowhere. Nightmare Venom couldn't see a thing, all he could see was snow. He got seperated from his group, he knew he had to find shelter fast or else he was going to be meeting up with Grenth, who would no doubt take great pleasure in torturing him.

After what seemed like hours, he found a cave. But there was also a necromancer in the cave, looking pretty beat up. Nightmare Venom knew he should follow his masters orders and try and capture the necromancer, but he refused. Nightmare Venom wanted to live and he could see the necromancer wanted to as well. The necromancer watched Nightmare Venom keep the fire he had made from going out. They didn't speak to one another but they both wanted the same thing: to survive the blizzard.

Once the blizzard past, the necromancer looked Nightmare Venom directly in the eye. Nightmare Venom believed he was going to attack, but the necromancer began some sort of spell. Nightmare Venom for the first time in his life as an undead was scared when the necromancer revealed himself to be Grenth, the god of necromancers and ritualists.

Grenth explained to Nightmare Venom he was impressed with his show of compassion. Rather than trying to kill him, Nightmare Venon helped him survive. So as a reward, Grenth done something he has never done again: he gave the undead his soul back.

Nightmare Venom could feel the emotion coming back to him, he tried to hold back the tears when he realised all the chaos he caused with Rotscale. All the lives he slain. He remembered about his family and how they were tortured before they were killed by the undead. Nightmare Venom decided to keep the name he was given and asked Grenth to teach him the ways of the necromancer, so he may seek revenge against the undead. Grenth agreed and taught Nightmare Venom the ways of the necromancer. Even teaching him how to summon undead minions to do his bidding. All through his training and his battles he fought, he wondered if his former friend Rotscale was still alive and if he remembered him.

Rotscale stayed out of all the battles the undead went into, he wanted to go into battle with his former friend Nightmare Venom. The undead lost nearly all their battles, because of Rotscale's reluctance to fight. After a year, Rotscale and some of the undead loyal to him, left for Majesty's Rest, the place where he and Nightmare Venom won their first battle together. He believed in his no longer beating heart, that Nightmare Venom would return there one day and join up with him once again, and become the unstoppable force they once were.

I Evil Arrow I

He was born a kurzick. All his life he was taught to hate the luxons and everything they stand for. Until he heard about the weapon Master Architect Gunther, was planning to create a weapon to deal a huge blow to the luxons. All of the kurzicks rejoiced at this news, finally they would gain the upper hand in the battle.

I Evil Arrow I decided he wanted no part of the battle against the luxons anymore. Even though he did hate the luxons, he always thought that one day, the kurzicks and the luxons would finally stop battling and peace would take over. But after hearing about what Master Architect Gunther was planning, he wanted no part of it. He decided to leave Cantha and make his way to Tyria.

He was lucky enough to make friends with the White Mantle. They took him under their wing and taught him some skills he would find useful later on in his life. But when he realised what the White Mantle were doing to anyone they found out to be what they called “Chosen”, killing them so no-one could stop the “Unseen Ones” as the White Mantle called them, he left the White Mantle and fled to the desert. It was the one of the few places the White Mantle wouldn’t follow him.

While he was in the desert, he found himself a creature that Cantha didn’t have, a dune lizard. He decided to charm one of them and from then the dune lizard would follow him everywhere. He wasn’t sure how much time he spent in the desert, a year, two years maybe more? But he knew his options were limited. If he went back to the mainland of Tyria, he would surely be hunted down by the White Mantle. If he went back to House Zu Heltzer, he would no doubt be given looks of disgust by all the kurzicks there, or be killed for leaving them.

He knew it would be a risk, but he decided to head to Cavalon. He knew that the luxons would no doubt kill him on sight if they found out his heritage. But he had an idea that might stop them from killing him. When he entered Cavalon he asked to speak to Elder Rhea personally. Most outsiders were never given that kind of privilege on the first entry into Cavalon, but then most visitors didn’t have information about the kurzicks.

I Evil Arrow I explained to Elder Rhea about his heritage, and how all he wants is peace between the kurzicks and luxons. He then told Elder Rhea about the weapon Master Architect Gunther had no doubt almost finished creating. When Elder Rhea heard this news, she asked I Evil Arrow I where the weapon was being made. He answered Fort Aspenwood.

Elder Rhea knew that Fort Aspenwood perhaps the only area on the kurzick/luxon border that was considered impenetrable, but with the news of a weapon there, she had no choice but to send a force of luxons there to stop Master Architect Gunther from finishing it. I Evil Arrow I asked to be allowed to go with the luxons to Fort Aspenwood too. He knew Elder Rhea didn’t have much reason to trust him, but if his Intel was correct, he could prove a useful ally in the battle against the kurzicks, so she allowed him to go.

When they reached Fort Aspenwood, I Evil Arrow I could see that the weapon was nearing completion. The luxons had no choice but to attack the kurzicks and stop Master Architect Gunther before it was too late. I Evil Arrow I could see that he had no choice but to try and convince Master Architect Gunther to stop creating the weapon. So he asked to join the battle against the kurzicks, in Fort Aspenwood.

I Evil Arrow I could see the shock in the kurzicks eyes as he came towards them with the luxons, he became their prime target. But I Evil Arrow I wasn’t going to let them stop him from completing his objective. He and his pet started to join in the fight and slain many of the kurzicks in their path. He was one of the first to get to the chamber where Master Architect Gunther was hiding. He tried to convince him not to finish the weapon, but all Gunther could see when I Evil Arrow I talked to him was a traitor, he was fighting with the luxons so he was now an enemy.

I Evil Arrow I dodged all the attacks Gunther threw at him. I Evil Arrow I soon realised he had no choice, the only way to stop Gunther was to kill him. He ordered his dune lizard to attack Gunther whilst he peppered him with arrows. Within a matter of minutes, Gunther was dead, and his weapon began to crumble. Kurzicks and luxons fled from the fort as is went from being an incredible structure to nothing but a pile of rubble.

As the luxons entered Cavalon, they told everyone of I Evil Arrow I and his pet being an unstoppable force in Fort Aspenwood, even being the ones to slay Gunther. I Evil Arrow I couldn’t believe the praise he was getting from the luxons for what he had done. That night, there was a huge party in Cavalon in honour of I Evil Arrow I being the one to stop Gunther. As the party went on through the night, I Evil Arrow I realised that there would never be peace between the kurzicks and the luxons, they would fight each other until the end of time. He decided to join up with the luxons and do something he never thought he would do, try and wipe the kurzicks off the map.

I have done other stories, so someday I might post them here. I'll just have to remember to do it

Storm Crow · Jun 15, 2007, 06:15 PM // 18:15

Wow...I've completed four short mini-stories because of my new guild-forums! They're all introductory Stickies...Enjoy! [WARNING: The second title is rated PG13 for references to alcohol and sexual activity. The third title is rated PG for a death sequence. The fourth title is rated PG13 for reference to alcohol.]

Hanging Onto Broken Hinges: The Door's Inscription

Here you may let go of everything that drives you from your past. Introduce yourself to new people, make friends, but leave all sorrows behind this door. If you have come here looking for pity, turn back into the snow now, for none will be granted here. Drink away your pain, and tell your stories, but do not abuse this place.

Do not use this place as one for gambling away your hard-earned gold, or pleasuring away your pain with women. This is not that kind of establishment. Have your fun, but not at our cost.

The House Special: A Tale of Competition

Three waitresses laughed and danced in choreography behind the bar. Men and women alike were laughing and clapping a beat to the flutist's melody, who was sitting on the other side, a smile drawn across his lips. One maiden took up to the bar and hailed the closest server.

"Ey, ten Specials!" She tossed the woman a platinum bar, "Cover my tab!"

The barmaid took the platinum and nodded, continuing to laugh and dance with her companions. She drew up the Specials and set them on the bar before the maiden.

When the ten had been drawn, the woman shouted across the whole place: "One free night to anyone who can drink all these without passing out! If you don't do it, you'll pay to replace everything you finished!"

Several men bellied up to the stool beneath the woman, as she had taken her place standing on the bar. The first one was too drunk to even get the mug to his mouth, and spilled it down his front. She took twenty gold from his pocket, handed it to the barmaid and replaced it, then shoved him off to his comerades to be taken to bed.

The next succeded in drinking three, but couldn't stomach a fourth. She took his eighty gold and agian replaced her drinks.

"C'mon, boys! They aren't that tough!" The beginner of the challenge yelled out once more. "I'll double the steaks for half the ale!"

This time a miriad of men came to the bar. All failed.

"Boys, boys, boys! I'm disgusted!" The woman laughed. "The next man who can take one whole special gets his prize!"

This time none but one man came forth to the challenge. He sat down, and took his drink in hand. He beckoned the lady to come down from her stand atop the bar. She sat instead on the edge.

"I'd prefer to save my prize for the Inn. You've congratulated every man that's accepted your challenge with a nice view up that lovely handcrafted skirt of yours. Tell me," He paused his sentence and swallowed the mug in two gulps. "Shall you prefer your room, or mine?"

All the men in the bar grew silent, envious as the fine, raven haired Necromancer took his prize up the Infinate Stairs two at a time. He was a ledgend here. Indeed, a ledgend.

Half-Dead Fly: The Fly's Plea

"Please, Gods! Save me from this murderer's grasp or kill me now! I wish not to suffer the Weaver's torture! She has killed too many of my kin already! Do not allow her to take me!"

The fly jousles about within the spider's web, buzzing his cry to whomever may hear it. Within moments of starting his crusade, the fly becomes exhausted and stops. The lonely spider crawls from her hiding place at the top of her web, near a rafter, and comforts him.

"Do not cry, darling. It will all be over soon."

She carefully brushes his head with one of her legs before stepping over him completely, and sinking her venom-filled fangs slowly into his body. He does nothing but fall into a tortured sleep, and allows the spider to wrap him in his final tomb - a precious silk so soft that he forgets he ever wanted to leave it.

The Infinate Stairs: A Trip to Bed Above the Pub

The banister is sticky with half-fermented ale, but strong oak beneath its coat. The stairs themselves seem to be a thousand miles apart, as each step takes longer to complete than the last. At the top, a miriad of guilds sit in rooms with paper-thin walls, making every word they utter come through muffled, but understandable. You make your way, staggering, to yours. It is a small guild, but a family nonetheless. Your family. You knock on the door. It opens and several people help you inside and to the single bed. They do not frown upon you and your drinking habits, but instead help you get to sleep while discussing things that need to be done within the guild. They put your mind at ease as you slowly drift into a trusting sleep, lulled by the voices of your companions.

Well, that's it! There will be more soon, if I can get around to typing more stickies. There are eleven more at the least.

[EDIT:] Sorry for any misspellings and such. I haven't got to spellcheck any of them yet! ^^

GedLongbow · Jun 16, 2007, 01:10 AM // 01:10

Well I'm not much of a writer but I'm just bored so I'll take a whack at it and see if it turns out good.

Too Much Ale

In a cozy little bar in the secluded little lake-side town in the cold lonliness in the corner of the world, Alestone Harbor, there was a drunkard by the name of Benjamin Alestone. His family was the one that had founded the small town, and was once a prestige and noble group of people. But last generation, Benjamins father, George, had been corrupted by alchohol, tobacco, and other drugs. Benjamin would end up even worse then his over-dosed father in the end, though.

One day, while enjoying a very rare and particularly delicious pint of ale one day, a small man dressed in odd clothes of pink, green, and yellow came over and asked a very tipsy and confused Ben "Aey, lad, would ye like to have a drinkin' contest for these 'ere 50,000 gold coinssss...hmm?"

"Shhlurrr, luutttuulee maaooon...." said a Benjamin without a slight hint of brain activities.

"Eehehehe....goood..." said the small man, smiling an evil and sly smile. For you see, this man was a pixie....a trouble-causing little snit that could do almost anything with the right magic, and with Benjamin drunk, he could say almost anything and have Benjamin agree.

"Let us begin!" shouted the pixie.

"Shhllurrrr....whhuttteevvvwer..." answered the delusional Benjamin, unknowingly approaching his own demise, humiliation, and eternal drunkness.

The sprite pulled out two "special" barrels of ale. As soon as the bubbling fluid entered the prestige drunkards mouth, Benjamin experianced a flavor unlike any ale, whisky, beer or wine he had ever tasted. It was the perfect combonation of sweet, sour, fruity, alchoholic and minty! He was so obsessed he drank and drank and drank and dove in to the eternal barrel, into the eternally perfect liquid, suffocating and being pressured by an eternity of water. The barrel hole shrinking....shrinking....shrinking......there was no air....but it tasted so good he could not bring himself to swim back at the entrance. He tried to gulp it all down....but there wasnt enough air to live much longer....suddenly all light disappeared....the hole was gone...

A couple more seconds and he would have been flattened by the pressure, suffocated by the liquids, or become so in love with the ale that he would have melded with it like all the other people who had drank from it must have done. Suddenly, two red "eyes" appeared....then there was a flash and he was in a rolling greed field with waterfalls, streams, brooks, gysers and rain of the fabulous ale. Then it all erupted....the ale turned to flaming magma, the grass turned to burning stone, and the trees turned into poisonous serpents. "Welcome to hell!" said a voice sounding much like the pixie.

Back on Earth, the pixie had long since finished his barrel. He looked into the barrel, put on a sad expression, and gazed at the gathered crowd.

"Dear beloved," he said, "we are here to celebrated the alchohol filled life, and horrible, horrible death, of Benjamin Alestone...." Then he cackled in a hideous, screeching voice.

Hope ya like it, comment on it please. I'm only a kid so I don't expect anyone to think it's good lol.

Storm Crow · Jun 20, 2007, 09:23 PM // 21:23

Well, I've finished another. This is part of the Gurus subsection of my forums. Each Guru knows about a different subject. Here you are!

Gytha: War and Combat

Bum…Bum…Bum

The drums of war thundered over distant mountains. The march was growing close now. Gytha slowed her breathing even more, her brilliant red and gold robes swept around her, in a puddle of exotic textiles. Her hair was tied behind her head in a tight bun. Her eyes were closed, and her hands formed into fists, knuckles together in front of her chest. Her face looked old, wrinkled and spotted with scars. For a long time she had sat in her Monastery, at the crest of a frozen volcano. Long she had prayed to her God Balthazar, and to Dwayna, for strength and vitality, so that she might live long and prosper against the elements that she battled every day. She was an old woman, and she was slowly dying.

She exhaled, slowly, and moved into her prayer position.

“God Balthazar, please, give me the strength to recall my ancient knowledge. I know there are armies coming that need my help. I cannot spread your influence to them without you. Please.”

Gytha indeed had the knowledge the armies that marched towards her needed. She had been a great warrior in her youthful years, but now, like the mountains around her, she was wearing down.

“Monica!” Gytha called out to her advisor, her voice raised in its permanent bark.

A young girl came around the corner of the Guru’s Sanctuary doors. She, too, was dressed in red and gold robes, and she held a pad of parchment and a pen made from the rock indigenous to the volcano.

“Yes, Guru Gytha?” She asked. Her voice was strong, but not as cruel as her superior’s.

“Open the gates. There are armies coming that seek my knowledge. I hear their drums. They shall be here within the hour.”

“Yes, Guru Gytha.” Monica bowed, though her Mistress was not facing her…

[EDIT]: More Gurus! Yaaaay!

Whee! Three more~!

Melchior: Cities and Regions

The old, time-hardened man lay down his compasses. He had been plotting ancient lands for a lifetime, and it was beginning to show. His hands were wizened and lined with calluses, but strong. He sat now, in deep jungles far further in than he had dared to venture before. He was becoming braver as death grew nearer.

He picked up a pen and began drawing a twisted line between the points he had marked. Later, his sons would copy his maps and sell them to travelers weary from their own journeys. It kept those who were still young busy and out of trouble, and kept the older employed. Mapping was a family tradition, and his oldest son was learning how to do it himself.

“Father,” his boy had said, what had seemed an infinite number of years before, “I want to learn to draw maps, like you.”

“One day, my son. One day you will learn.” He put a strong hand on his son’s shoulder as a sign of support.

That day had come, for soon, the old surveyor would have to retire his art. How he loathed the approaching of that day. He was a workhorse, and had never stopped. Not for anyone or any reason…

Ferrer: Armors

The primal clang of steel versus steel rang through the shop of an indeed respected armorer. White-hot it came from the furnace, was pounded and shaped by hammers and other various instruments, only to be heated again for the same process. Its brethren were undergoing the same progression: heat, pound, cool, heat, shape, bend, heat, cool. Some were older than he, and some younger. The older, weathered ones were being tempered – heated and cooled again rapidly to harden and strengthen them. The younger were just taking their first steps of shaping.

Several dozen men and women came in and out of the shop every day. Most either placed orders or picked them up, but the occasional few came in just to speak with the man called Ferrer. His hands were dirty and the place itself was covered in soot and ash from the furnaces. It wreaked a foul stench of quick-cooled steel, leather oil, and sweat from the half-dozen men who worked there. The uncleanliness of the place was all taken in good stride from the customers, though, as they appreciated every ounce of blood and sweat that went into the pieces these famous hands had wrought.

The man himself was not old by any means, but he had forged plates for some of the most respected and decorated war heroes in history. His dirty blonde hair he kept back in a ponytail and it was constantly caked with the filthy things that came from his work. People would come just into the shop to shake the man’s hand, and then swear never to wash it again. This was especially common with apprentices, who thought that if they touched him, some of his skill would come off on them, though that had never proven true…

Tollak: Weapons

Crashing and banging, oh how lovely it sounded to the ear! The dwarf sang as he pounded, with his hammer as the down beat. The guards that roamed the city joined in as they passed, as it was a warsong that was widely known, but hardly needed. He was somewhat of a celebrity in this region: known for making some of the best weapons north of the Amnoon Oasis.

Tollak’s father was an army man, and so wished for his son to be as well, but even as a lad Tollak had shown a knack for building and shaping. He had spent long hours as a child carving old tree limbs, not fit for firewood, into longswords. It was not long after his eleventh birthday that he was shown his first forge. It was large in comparison to others he had heard of, and lined inside with red-hot coals. A small piece of steel lay on an anvil near the furnace.

“Excuse me,” he had said to the owner, pointing toward the anvil, “Do you need that steel there?”

“No, actually it’s just left over from something I was making for a customer. I was just going to melt it down with some other scraps I had.”

Before the man could even finish speaking, Tollak had taken the piece into a pair of steel tongs and laid it in the coals. When it was heated through, he plucked it out again, and set it on the anvil, taking up a mallet and smashing it flat. Within the hour, he had shaped a rough little dagger blade, and made a makeshift handle from a piece of wood used to move the steel within the forge.

“Quite nice, lad. Quite nice indeed.” The owner said, patting the child on the back. “You’ll make a fine weaponsmith one day.”…

Amalia: Professions

“No, no, no!” Amalia shook her head and rubbed her eyes. The couple who sat on the opposite side of her desk looked confused.

“Why, Amalia?” The woman asked, “Our son has always been interested in the outdoors and wildlife. We think he would make a great Ranger.”

“Look, Mrs. Kest. Your boy isn’t cut out for it. Bring him here tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp, and I’ll give him an examination. When I get the results, I’ll let you know where he should be placed.”

“How will this exam tell you what he has the ability for?” Mr. Kent seemed skeptical.

“Just bring him here tomorrow, and I will explain everything.”

Mr. and Mrs. Kent brought their son to the Guru the next morning, and she completed the examination. Later that day she went to their residence to give them the results.

“First, I would like to let you know that your son completed the assessment in record time.” Amalia grinned, “And if you’d like, I can show you his scores in all ten areas.”

“Yes, please.” Mrs. Kent pulled out a chair from the table.

“In the area of Warrior, Gil received a high percentage, as he did in the areas of Assassin, Paragon, and Dervish. However, he did also score high in the area of Mesmer, specifically Domination Magic. After consideration of all his scores, I determined it would be best to place him in a Sunspear Dervish training course in Istan. The director there is a friend of mine, Melonni, who is very professional.” She pulled a brochure from her pocket. “Here, this will tell you everything you need to know about the Dervish profession, and I’ve written on the back where you can contact Melonni should you decide to enter Gil.”…

Sophus: Skills and Builds

“All you need to know is in here, my dear.” A charming, stocky old man handed a young girl a book.

“Oh, thank you, Sophus!” The girl squealed with delight at the idea of her first real spellbook.

“It’s nothing, dear. Now, go run along, you have lots of training to do, Demi.” The little girl smiled and ran off to show her mother her new book. She was learning to become a Mesmer.

Sophus had been a fixture in Lion’s Arch for many years. He had taught many children and travelers new skills, and watched them learn to master all he taught. Sometimes it took several days, especially for those short of patience or children, and sometimes several minutes, for those more experienced and tolerant. He had enjoyed his long life as an educator, and knew almost every spell of every profession there was to know. If someone was developing a new skill, he or she would visit Sophus for his opinion and insight. He had sat with dozens of people, pouring over incantations and changing spelling and words. He was indeed the Guru of Skills to everyone that knew of his existence, which was nearly everyone in the known world…

That's it! Gurus are done now! Whoo~!