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 Formal Writing and Solo Stories

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darkestflame
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PostSubject: Formal Writing and Solo Stories   Thu Dec 16, 2010 2:06 pm

An area to post more formal stories. (Here's to you, Dye)
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Dye

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PostSubject: Re: Formal Writing and Solo Stories   Thu Dec 16, 2010 6:39 pm

Emotions: Prologue

Ooc: This is only a small prologue, I mean, very short compared to the normal length of my writing. But I feel it came out quite well. Probably the best I've written yet. C&C please. All is appreciated. ^_^

________________________

Emotions. What are they? What is their purpose to life? At times, they help us. Driving the most timid of people into a blood-driven frenzy in battle. At times, they hinder us. Taking us away from even ourselves, to see the cold harsh reality of the world. And scarring us forever by it. No matter what they do…

The old dusty room was silent, still, and very depressing. The two room building served as a house, a very small mediocre house. On the small skinny bed back in the far corner of the room, laid a snoring man. His shirt was off, revealing a developed, solid chest. His face was not as nice looking. Drool poured form the open pouring mouth, gathering on the thin pillow that held a head of short dark brown hair. That somehow managed to look as messy as the floor. Scattered with gashes and cut marks from what are obviously from a blade. Most, from scimitar, leaned carefully against the small bed, hilt mere inches from the man are sleeping hand. Beckoning, wanting to swung. The man shifted, rolling his stomach to face the bed now, revealing an all too ugly sight.

His back was riddled with scars. Most small, some more of a moderate size, but two freakishly huge ones. Crossing and making a rough “x” shape on his back from shoulder to hip each way. The clouds outside moved gently, allowing a bath of golden light to flow in through the window, illuminating all the dust, dirt and other unpleasantries. The light touched the skin of the man, and as if it could wake up with grace golden fingers, the man slowly awoke from his sleep. He raised his arms, and brought them to his face, wiping the eye crust and sleepiness from them. He rolled on his bed, landing his feet on the floor with a loud “thump”. He stood to his full height, standing at a solid 5 foot 11 inches. He slumped over then, scratching his back and giving a wide yawn. He stumbled over to the small closet across the room from the bed, and opened the rusty hinged door.

Inside there was a heap of pieces of black metal. Some parts with trims of blood red. After a few minutes, the metal was upon him. The plate was thick, with extra thickness in the shoulder and other jointed regions. The man pulled a black hood from the armor neckline and calmly put it over his head. From the side of the bed, the scimitar was grabbed. It was swung, as it flashed to life in the air. Shining bright, shining valiantly, it was placed into the custom made sheath on the back of the armor. He walked to his door, and took an odd pause before opening it. His dream had been an odd one. Though now faded in his memory, it made no sense. Something about emotions. He waved his hand, dismissing the thought entirely. The man twisted the doorknob, but it didn’t budge. Confused, he tried again. Annoyence now quickly replacing confusion, he pulled and twisted the doorknob violently.

Then it snapped. The whole door came off, as the man stumbled back into the wall and the door falling on top of him. He quickly scrambled up, and examined the door. And he found something that made his mouth gape open in shock.

It had been simply locked.

Angry, fierce, and armed with a large scimitar and determination, the man threw the door off of him and stepped out into the streets. He had a goal.

Dye wanted some breakfast.
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Meg

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PostSubject: Re: Formal Writing and Solo Stories   Thu Dec 16, 2010 9:10 pm

Dye is very strong.
This is neat. Very Happy Is he a knight or something?
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Dye

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PostSubject: Re: Formal Writing and Solo Stories   Thu Dec 16, 2010 9:36 pm

This prologue doesn't do much good in defining the characters personality. I'll admit that. I will expand on the personality a little more next chapter, introduce some other characters as well. I don't like to give much away outside of the story because then I find myself giving the whole thing away. I base Dye off of me. (If its not obvious) he may have great strength, but he is not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. XD
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Meg

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PostSubject: Re: Formal Writing and Solo Stories   Thu Dec 16, 2010 10:04 pm

Okay. I'm looking forward to the next chapter, then. Smile Have you developed his whole story?
xD I can tell. He didn't bother to see if the door was looked.
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Dye

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PostSubject: Redress of War: Prologue & Chapter One   Fri May 20, 2011 11:28 pm

Hey thar. This is something I've been working on since late January, and have about 10 parts done of it already. Though progress has been slowed because of school and finals coming up... I hope to still find good time to write this up. Something I actually plan to finish. I'll post below the Prologue and the first Chapter. Enjoy! If you care. xD
__________________________________________________________________________________
Prologue

What a fragile thing life is. How easily it can be unwillingly broke, or stripped away from you by the hand of greed, vengeance and jealousy. Here I float, not in bright white, or in pitch black, but a somber lead grey. The boring look that mentally rocks you to sleep. But as I waited, the dull grey slowly brightened. It gleamed and shined a magnificent, elegant white. It was blinding, but in a soothing, mesmerizing way. I found myself beginning to drift, the beautiful white tempting me to sleep. My will was cracked already, breaking me was no challenge for the light. As I fell into an ever serene sleep, I could not help but see the flicker of a shadow, but all too late.

I woke later, resting on a bed of blackness. Odd, thick stalagmite shaped pillars surrounded me like a cage, the marvelous white sealed away from me now. I jumped off the bed, wanting to return to the light. The sacred place. But more darkness gripped me. Like a fly trapped in a hand, I could feel force moving me downwards. Plummeting downwards, the darkness became absolute. Then it placed me back into the somber grey. But I was still falling. I couldn’t stop as I flailed around, the light my happy place, my salvation. The somber grey became black. Much like the hand that dragged me here, I turned downwards. Watching myself fall into oblivion, I saw a flicker of color. I looked, training my focus on it.

Everything shifted. Gravity, my direction, even the blackness seemed to change as I feel towards the color flicker, which was expanding rapidly, pictures forming and moving about inside. I eventually fell into the color. And in one rapid flash of light, my leg exploded in searing pain. Something had torn through it, leaving a hole and blood to flow out of it. I hurt like hell they’d say, but I’d say it was worse. Grabbing my leg in agony, a hand grabbed my arm, throwing it away then a boot smashed down on it. It bent unnaturally, and more agonizing horror rushed through me. I screamed and cried, reaching for the leg with my other arm, but there was a screeching hiss.

A hole formed in my arm, similar to the one in my leg and more blood. I felt lightheaded, and in absolute agony. There was chuckling. Barely audible over my screams of pain, then they broke out into roaring laughter. Drowning out my own cries as they turned to whimpers. I looked up, with what little strength I had left, to be greeted with an old face. In his hand he held a revolver. Long stock barrel, with an overly large clip barrel and the end of it pointed at my face. I stopped the yelling and crying, as he casually pulled out a cigar with his other hand. He held it in his mouth with his gritty, dirt stained teeth, and pulled out a steel decorated lighter. Lighting the cigar’s end to a dull but deep red glow. Why was this all I could see? The surroundings were white; the only thing recognizable was the old man. The man looked as if he desperately needed a shave, and a shower. Dirt and mud covered his body, and he was dressed in a heavy looking forest camouflage suit, with many pockets and cases on it. His figure was very well built, his legs unmovable as I struggled under him. He pulled out his cigar, and puffed out a clear ring of smoke. One noticeable feature on his face though, was a large diagonal scar. It stretched form his left eye, and all the way to the corner of his nose. It looked quite new too, I wondered… why was this familiar? Why was I even seeing this?

“Well. You damn American.” His British accent was heavy, last puffs of smoke flowing from his mouth like a leaf in the breeze. “What are you going to do now? Your squads dead, and your all that’s left. You have taken the Intel, but your trip ends here. Your life ends here.” He put the gun straight to my forehead. Anger, hatred, disappointment, and other unrecognizable emotions coursed through me. I had a response. I opened my mouth.

“Go burn in hell.” Then I spit in his face. Inside, my eyes flew open in utter shock. That’s not what I wanted to say. I finally realized, I wasn’t controlling my body. I tried to stop struggling under the British man, but I couldn’t. I tried to say something, but couldn’t. I was a prisoner in my body, forced to feel the consequences of pre-determined actions. The truth flashed to me again. This was a memory. I remembered the scene in complete now. But, who was this man? Why was I here? I couldn’t think to that memory. Why not? I tried to focus out of the memory. Focused out of the pain and suffering, but nothing changed. Well, one thing did. The arrogant smirk on the British man’s face was gone. Replaced with a furious scowl, the gun was more dramatically pointed at me, as he wiped his face.

“How about I send you there first. You can tell me how it is when I get there.” Everything slowed down as his finger squeezed the trigger. The bullet came out of the barrel in a fiery explosion, and struck me in the forehead. Instead of pain, or death, I was pushed. I flew back into the darkness. The color memory flickered, then shrank and collapsed onto itself. I wanted answers. What was that? My life? I floated in the blackness, searching, anxious. Was there more? I saw another flicker, it was above me, this flicker quickly grew into some massive. Covering the whole what would be sky. I focused on it, determined as everything moved and switched about. As I flew into the sky of color.

What is this? Who was the old man? What Intel did he speak of?



Who was I?
______________________________________________
Chapter One:

My eyes shot open to only a slight nudge. The air was dry and crispy with another dirty face looking down at me. All I could see for now was his face, the rest of his body blocked out by a small desk cluttered with objects I couldn’t make out at the moment. His face glared down at me, emotionless and patient. Except for his eyes, which were unperceivable behind pitch black sunglasses. But underneath the glasses, I saw purple rings. Large purple rings. How long has he wanted to sleep? But, like before. I could only do what the memory allowed. Involuntarily, I spoke. Similar to when I was killed by the old man.

“Sighting, Deadpool?” Deadpool? Wasn’t that a comic book character? By Marvel or something? Must be a nickname of sort.

The man nodded, and then snapped around the desk out of my sight. I heard a sigh of relief, and some squeaking. Like squeaky hinges on a door. Upon sitting up, I found myself fully clothed. Dressed in a desert camouflage suit. With a small pistol on the table, as well as a long combat knife. Placing each in its proper spot on my belt, I stood up fully, and found the man that had woken, sitting in a chair, looking into a scope of a long barreled sniper rifle. Looking out a window into a vast desert, where sand whirled around viciously, threatening and daring anyone foolish enough to try to bear it.

“Where are they, Deadpool?” Straining my eyes to try to see through the sand, I saw nothing.

“I have a thermal reading on them. I am also uploading to the contacts to the recon plane that’s flying above us. Check your tactical pad, and go ride out to follow them.” Tactical pad? I opened the drawer on the small desk, finding a wrist strap with what looked to be a tiny computer on it. There was no time to thoroughly look it over before I was heading for the door of the small shack.

“One more thing, Treavor.” Treavor? Now he can call me my real name?

“It’s Tron, that’s who I am when we’re out here.” Tron. My mind flashed back, revealing that Tron had been one of my favorite movies. I chuckled inside, what a stupid codename.

“Whatever. Just take these.” From his sides, he pulled out two MPK21’s. Modified versions of the popular and effective MPK’s. He tossed them, and I caught them with ease, attaching them to the belt.

“You think I’ll need these? It’s only one vehicle, isn’t it?”

“For now. Connor may be on that transport. And he’s bound to have escorts if he is. Best to be safe and ready.” Opening the door, I began chuckling.

“Safe? We’re special ops agents. Nothing we do is safe.” Deadpool gave a roaring laugh.

“It is for me! Now, turn on your communicator and head out. I got the bike all cleaned and prepped. I’ll provide long range backup.” I gave a small salute using my index and middle fingers, and strode through the door. Right outside was a motorcycle. All purpose, equipped with two missile launchers on the sides. A helmet was placed on the handle, only lightly covered in sand and dust as I brushed it off. Putting it on, and mounting the bike, I pressed the ignition. No sound was made. Was it broken? The lights on the small dashboard lit up, showing some power. Did sand harm the bike in some way? As my body moved on its own again, it obviously wasn’t. It was a silent motorbike, perfect for sneaking up on transports. The bike lurched, and I rode off into the searing desert. As I rode, I took a small cord from the dashboard of the motorcycle and attached it to the tactical pad on my wrist, uploading the map to the bike. A hologram popped up, three dimensional and showing my exact location. I could see the red moving vehicle as well that was my target, about half a mile directly in front of me. Heading South East, I kicked the bike faster, sending up a large trail of dirt and dust, I began to catch up to the vehicle. Then I heard a rapid beeping coming from my side.

I touched the side of my helmet, and a voice quietly made its way through the helmet.

“I told you to turn your communicator on.”

“Calm down Deadpool. I got it on now, don’t i?’

“Yah. Lucky you. Just in time for me to tell you two more vehicles are approaching from directly behind you. I think we’re dealing with Connor. These vehicles behind you are well armed, and packed with gun men. Missile resistant too.”

“How resistant?”

“Compare it to tank armor. Much too strong for the missiles on the bike to do anything too.”

“So, what’s the plan then?”

“Improvise. Of course. That’s your specialty, is it not?” A chuckle from Deadpool. And I wondered in confusion, and then went to annoyance randomly from the memory.

“I did what I had too in France.” I had a brief flash, something with a giant hotdog…

“I know I know… Just messing with you. Calm down. He He.” The chuckling died, and I stopped the motor bike. “Take out those vehicles. I’ll try to keep visual on the target.” I gave a sign, and wheeled 180 degrees on the bike, then took off again. On the 3D map, the two vehicles glowed bright white, shaped similarly like the first truck, except quickly approaching towards me. I quickly scanned through thoughts in my own mind. What could be a suitable plan? My best weapon on this bike was apparently worthless, what was the choice here? I reached down to the side cargo spot on the bike, and pulled out some metal coated binoculars. I looked through them, finding it was a set of variable zoom thermal binoculars. Adjusting the view, I caught site of the trucks. I could make out 3 figures in each, the two not driving each holding an assault rifle like weapon. The range between me and the vehicles was closing fast. I myself had no plan of action, so instead I waited in the consciousness of my mind. Watching what craziness it turned to be.

As the trucks became visible in the roaring sand without the need of the binoculars, I stood up slowly on the bike foot bars, and pulled out the two MPK21’s. With my foot I tapped a button on the left side of the bike, and a part of the bike began to flow out from near the front. In the parts of the bike, were the missiles. Only two, but they were 3 feet long, 4 inches in diameter and stuffed with explosive goodness. The vehicles broke through the sand barrier. I saw the men on the trucks point their guns, and I tapped the button on the bike again. The missiles flew out, and instead of striking the trucks, the exploded on the sandy ground, sending pillars of sand and dirt soaring into the sky.

Then I jumped.
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