When I nearly lucid dream

Did she die because of me? Am I responsible for her death? I could hear her just fine, no matter what I said in the dream. Why didn’t I pull her up? Why did I ignore her pleas to be pulled up? I know she went over the side willingly to fight, but that doesn’t mean I had to send her to her death needlessly. She never even swung her great axe, not that I’m sure they would have been much help. The rest of the dangling crew doesn’t seem unnerved, and the captain, excuse me, acting captain, the actual captain is in the city, tells me that someone had to die. ‘Oh well, we’ll have to use someone else instead.’ She was just a torn dangling rope at that point. Consumed whole by the gaping shark maw that severed her line. I don’t know if we’ll win this fight, but she shouldn’t have had to die that way. Why did she have to die? Because it was a dream and my dreams have plot and someone needed to die? I could feel as I claimed to not hear her screaming to be lifted up that it was a dream, and that awareness revealed my claims of deafness as a lie because of my omniscient narrator status. I could have pulled her up…and now she’s gone, it’s too late. I’m sorry.

I don’t even remember now why the captain was in the city, only that an enemy has tracked his progress. The enemy’s allies freeze the water of the bay and they ride orcas or sharks through what little water still flows. The enemy swims off on his orca, telling a lackey that it’s time to attack. Somehow our ship has had a slight forewarning of this attack, and that’s why half the crew went over the side. The frozen bay would make short work of our ship if we tried to move too much, so we have to defend it while stationary. Our ship is wooden and we have simple rope to support our fighters. Armed with great double sided axes, these members of the crew are lowered over the side to swing at sharks and potential riders while the other half of the crew holds them up. 

I took my narrator camera and hovered within one of those holding the warriors aloft. I watched as she got nervous. I watched as she sensed the attack coming and begged to be pulled up. And I watched as the crewmember I inhabited was unable to hear her. ‘What? I can’t hear you!’ Then the shark breached, aimed right for her. No rider, but it knew what it was aiming for and she disappeared in snap of jaws and a broken rope.

The cruelty was that I could not feel the remorse of this broken line and my inability to do anything to save her until after she’d already been killed. That was when I truly inhabited the soul of the crewman. I felt horror that I’d just let that happen, even though logically I knew I could hear her cries for help only because I was an observer of the dream, and if I’d actually been the crewman I may have not heard her. If only the acting captain hadn’t been so blasé about it, maybe if he’d taken it as the opening attack like he should have, you know, acted like her death meant something, even if it was just to warn us the enemy was upon us. But nothing, just, ‘Oh, we’ll have to use someone else instead.’ That I should pull the rope up so we could tie someone else in. Fuck. I didn’t know her. I never got a name or a backstory or a proper appearance. I do know she was a deer-taur. And after the dream had ended I knew that sharks slamming warriors against the outside of a ship’s hull would end poorly, no matter how many swings it allowed of their axes to fight them off.

Hopefully the real captain will finish things up soon and be able to defend himself and us and whoever else needs it. Except for her. There’s no saving her. I’m sorry.

Characters for Original Character Tournaments I want to Do

Csilla is a waitress. She's leaving work when she's 'recruited.' She's got her purse, her apron and her car keys out. Under her arm is a circular serving tray that she managed to forget she was carrying and then just settled on bringing it back the next shift. Her purse has a granola bar, a bottle of water, a taser, and a can of mace. Her apron has a Server Book and a pen, maybe some coins and a little lint. She is wearing her work uniform, including fancy flats. This her inventory when she picks up the envelope. (http://fav.me/da7zvsg) The star sticker is already peeling, so out of curiosity she pulls it open and thumbs a postcard out of its confines. After reading it, she remarks on its oddity, looks up to continue walking to her car and realizes she's in the Woods. She only has a single class of self-defense training under her belt from college. She was just starting to date this pretty girl, too. She's not white.





Name: Azar Ziba, answers to Azar. Ziba is a middle name. She knows she had a surname, but has no idea what it was, so doesn’t worry about it.
Gender:  Female
Age: 17
Species: Human, Iranian

Hair: Black, short, very short (think Samantha Wright’s hair)

Eyes: Brown

Height: Not terribly tall, about 155cm. 
Weight/Body Structure: She’s a waif, in more ways than one. She’s scrawny, very little muscle. She can run and lift things in general, but she’s mostly a weakling. She can’t even pull herself up onto a ledge without immense difficulty. She leaves heavy lifting to others.

Unusual Features: Goggles, wears them when capturing spirits or mixing them together. Also when she’s running around junk yards, makes her feel cooler. They’re mostly decorative, but have their uses.
She also has a nasty (she thinks it’s cool looking, but most disagree) scar on her left shoulder. It’s just a mass of scarred flesh in a more or less perfect circle. She was blasted by her first merged Life Spirit when she tried to force it to stay after it had grown strong enough to leave her. Not a mistake she would make again in a hurry. She was lucky the incident had taken place near a large meeting place of those in the magical community and aid was quick in coming. It took her three months before she could use her left arm again, due to lingering elemental energy messing with recovery. Other minor scars pockmark her body, just leftovers from scuffles and tumbles she doesn’t remember.
Gait/Posture: She’s kind of hyperactive, and likes to run, and resents having to move slowly. She runs by leaning forward and swinging her arms loosely as her whimsy strikes her. She leans on walls or tables whenever possible, hating to stand up straight. She slouches forward when sitting, arms on her knees.
Voice/Speech Patterns: (Any accents? Do they Mumble?) Her accent is a strange combination of Iranian and Chinese accents speaking English.

You are a: Salvage Elementalist (a term she is <i>very<i> proud of coming up with on her own, thank you very much)
Clothing of Choice: (What your character is wearing.) Headscarf, Black tank top, cargo pants, men’s hiking boots about two sizes too big, she stuffs her extra socks in the toes. She gets nearly everything from thrift stores, can’t afford anything more.
Your Inventory: (What items does your character carry into battle?) Carries a patched up messenger bag. One strap goes over her shoulder and she’s affixed another strap to hug the bag to her waist so it doesn’t go far when she runs or jumps. Inside are three big mason jars. They look empty to anyone without magical sight. To anyone with said sight, two of them still look empty. But the third has swirling energy with difficult to define color.
She wears her goggles, which are actually safety glasses she adopted after they’d been abandoned at a bus stop. She calls them goggles, because she’s seen Steampunk cosplayers traipsing through the city every now and then and thinks goggles are cool.
She also carries a kard knife. An Islamic knife given to her by her mother before she died, this weapon is peacebound with wire wrapped tightly from hilt to tip of the sheath. Inside she can hear broken pieces rattle. It’s the last thing her mother gave her, so she keeps it hidden and rarely brings it out.
Personality: (What type of person is your character?) Generally a happy go lucky person and rather friendly, Azar doesn’t tend to be very open. She’ll chat with you for a while, but likes to keep her feelings and opinions to herself.

Special Skills: (Does your character know kung-fu? Spells? Can they shoot mind bullets?) http://longshotlink.tumblr.com/post/96826355959/salvage-elementalist

You Really Like: (Interests, friends, etc.)
You Really Hate: (Phobias, personal issues, enemies, etc.)
Romantic Choices: No one is her type. Completely asexual and aromantic. Absolutely no interest.

How did you arrive?: (How has your character entered Rendell's Mansion)
Your Personal Record: (The history of your character before arriving at Rendell's Mansion)
Goals: She used to say to find her family, but she realized a long time ago that any family for her, she’ll have to make herself. ‘Literally’ has not been ruled out.
More than anything, she’d like to be able to explore, leave her home city and just see what’s out there. Maybe see her birth country, though the politics there sound terrible. Getting swept away to a creepy mansion is close, but she’d love nothing more than to earn enough money to escape.

Notes: Tech could be as loosely defined as a hoe or an axe or even…a sword. Azar finds a shattered sword in its sheath. The pieces are held in place only by the hilt being peace bound. She can feel the broken elemental spirit within. Instead of deteriorating over time like most elemental spirits, this one seems to have gained in potency. The reason for this is an opposing elemental barrier created by the bonding. Azar has no idea what the elements are. She’s never experienced them before in an elemental form and cannot recognize them. This sword is a shamshir, an old Persian sword.

An elemental spirit, when put into a container with an opposing elemental barrier, has only one reaction. Escape. Push back. This is what has caused the spirit in the sword to gain in strength. It has been pushing for a long time. Trying to escape ever since it was sealed within. Sealed evil within a can. The element is Destruction and the opposing barrier is one of Creation. Since Azar claimed the sword, the Creation element has regained strength and is beating Destruction back, since the opposing element now has a magical source of ‘food.’ Before it had barely been able to hold back the destruction as it laid unclaimed. Since the girl picked it up, the sheath and hilt have become more ostentatious and detailed. Artwork of its sealing has appeared on the sheath along with complicated designs that deepen with the day.

Azar, through her traditional magic learning, was taught an unlocking spell. An opening spell. Most casters simply find it useful if they forgot their keys, used for locks on doors, cars, chests. But Azar found another use, it’s been helpful ever since she found she could manipulate elemental spirits into her mason jars and seal them in with opposing elements. This spell allows her to open those sealed jars back up and manipulate the elements within. She can feel the bonding on the sword, and while it would take a lot of magic, she could certainly open it. She’s hesitant (and she won’t realize that’s secondary charms on the bonding doing that) to open it, however, she doesn’t want to waste something so powerful on something so temporary. So she saves it. Until she gets desperate enough. Another thing she’ll never notice is that with the Creation elemental barrier feeding off her, it also influences her. Many of her recent spirit creations have been more artful, more stylized, rather than groupings of clumped together elements.

Just another note, thanks to a mary sue quiz. It asked if animals are unnaturally drawn to her, and I realized that thanks to the company she tends to keep, of the elemental variety, animals are actually repulsed by her and she rarely has contact with animals of any kind.

Just some creative writing exercises.

One

1.      Who is coming around the corner?

I can barely see her through the night vision goggles, but she comes around the corner with a massive dog. I t might be a mastiff, brownish sweater patterned fur. Sort of that damaged by sun blonde hair past her shoulders. She’s wearing a heavier jacket, it’s cold out, but not so cold that she has to zip the jacket up. As she rounds the corner she pulls back, the reaction when you almost ran into someone. She wasn’t expecting me to be there either.

2.      What is their secret?

She stammers apologetically for almost running into me, but I think there’s more to it than that.  She shyly tells me she comes here to snoop around, visit the abandoned places in the state. She tells me her favorite times feeling like she’s the most alive are when she’s spooked herself badly. She brings her massive dog in case she runs into any actually threats. Just like me, she’s not supposed to be here, I’m guessing that’s why she feels comfortable telling me this at all. The only way she’d get in trouble is if I ended up in the hot water too.

3.      What are they carrying?

She’s only got the leash for her dog in her hand, who really doesn’t seem all that unfriendly, as he shoves his nose into my crotch and leaves slobber stains down my pants. I pat his head as she explains, and I can hear worry in her voice. It seems no matter how I reassure her I won’t cause her any trouble, she’s rather used to exploring these places alone, alone-ish. The look of worry on her face becomes so pronounced I have to make a hasty exit to stop freaking her out.

Two

1.      Why did Peter lose his temper with Joanna?

“You lost them? How could you lose something like them? They reflect light blindingly!”

“That’s exactly how I lost them, Peter! They were so bright that when I put them down and walked away so I could see again, I don’t know where I put them. I think, I think someone took them.”

Peter ran his hands through his hair as he paced around. “Someone? Just someone? It could have been anyone and now they have some of the most powerful items in their hands and they have no idea. That’s just great. Of course now the League could pick them up easily. ‘Someone’ doesn’t have the ability to protect them.”

“I’m sorry, Peter. I – “

“You’re sorry?” Peter shouted in her face. “You’re sorry? The enemy could have their hands on them right now, and that’s all you’ve got? You’re sorry. Gah! I just, I can’t take this right now. I’m going looking for them.”

“I’ll come too.”

“No, Joanna, you stay here. You’ve done enough for today, thanks.” Without a word, but with a very loud slam, he left.

2.      Where did he go after he stormed out?

Peter spent the next few hours storming known warehouses of their enemies, the League. Many times it had been asked, “The League of what?” But there had never been an answer. It was just the League. Often they would seem disorganized and clumsy, but this was commonly a front to hide their true competence. For example, on this particular day all but one of the warehouses in the city were completely empty. The last one held a single table in the center of the very empty room, two chairs, and a hanging lamp directly over the table. At the table sat a communication droid that beckoned Peter to sit down after he’d dramatically smashed the door open.

3.      What happened to him when he got there?

Peter approached the table silently. He sat down silently, and waited silently for the droid to speak. When it did, he groaned inwardly in recognition of the voice coming from the mechanical mouth. Samantha was actually one of the most competent members of the League, but she conversed as the complete opposite. Her annoying voice and manner of speech were an act to put someone off their guard, and even though Peter knew all about the tactic, it worked on him too.

“Hi, Petey! I heard you’ve been raiding all of our warehouses today, heehee. I wonder why you would be doing something silly like that.”

“I know you’ve got them Samantha, and I’m going to get them back.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. The only thing we seem to have is a bunch of big old empty buildings. But then, you knew that part.” This was followed by an obnoxious amount of giggling. There was no chance this was as funny as that incessant tittering suggested. Her laugh quickly reached a high enough pitch to bore right into the headache that had been building all day.

“Samantha, I’m giving you one chance to return the tools before I come find them by force. I won’t be nice about this.” Now the robot was miming doubling over with laughter as Samantha’s shrill voice continued its cackling.

Well beyond his ability to put up with this harassment, Peter stood up suddenly, flipping the table and smashing it into the droid. His super strength made quick work of flattening the droid into the concrete floor. Then out of sheer annoyance he broke through the table, then the droid, and left a palm sized crater in the ground. He stood up, let out a sigh, and clapped the dust from his hands. As he walked to the smashed-in exit, he gave thought to reconsidering his position on not murdering his enemies.

These prompts were found here: Practical Creative Writing

She died for war, which everyone expected.

Writing Prompt For Thursday September 11th, 2014

theseventhsanctum:

She died for war, which everyone expected

Falling in love with one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? Not exactly one of the expected repercussions of the end of the world. Neither was throwing herself in the way of the attack that might have actually killed the harbinger. But there she was, lying in an ever growing pool of her own blood, not really sure what was going to happen next. Dying during the apocalypse was expected for sure. The wars stampeding across the world had left millions dead and anyone could be the next victim. But dying to protect the very living symbol of War itself? No one saw it happening like that.
Why had she done that? He had hardly noticed her before this, and yet she had followed him across the country, just outside the wake of conflict he trailed behind. She really hoped she hadn’t fallen in love because of his looks. He was handsome, but he was sometimes barely corporeal. That couldn’t have been the reason. Perhaps she enjoyed what he represented. Though she didn’t feel full of blood lust or desire the division of all peoples. She supposed it could just be the resigned and defeated look on his face. This was a task he was created for, but he took no joy in it. The idea that he could feel sorrow for the humans who gladly tore each other apart, yes, that could quite definitely be it.
Whatever the reason, she looked up at War one last time. The few who had resisted his call to fight and built a weapon to kill him were already dead. War had dispatched them quickly and he now looked down on her with sad and confused eyes. ‘He looks as confused as I am. I wonder what he’ll do now?' She let out her last breath in a long sad sigh and moved no more.

Six Words

"Thank you." Says a voice behind me.
"Pardon me?" I turn. Oh, it's her.
"I was told you were using the tubes to send out apology letters. I haven't yet received mine, but thank you even so."
I gesture at the pile I have left. "Only a few more to do, though I've been saving yours for last. I'm not quite sure what to write."
"You don't?"
"The problem lies in how little sincerity it would contain. You see, what I did to you felt completely and utterly justified, and I stand by that decision even now. I've managed to narrow it down to three letters." She's moved close now, close enough I hear her swallow before speaking
"What...what are your choices?" I still feel angry, so I tell her.
"The first letter would seem the most genuine, if any of the sentiment were true. It looks like most of the other letters I've written today. The only difference is the platitudes would be truly insincere. I don't know if I could feel good about sending out such an obviously false apology.
"I could write an apology that, to anyone outside our peculiar relationship, would seem like an ordinary apology. In truth it would be full of scorn and snark and sarcasm. You'd be able to tell just by looking at it. I would for certain write down 'I'm sorry' but it wouldn't feel true to you. And in truth would most likely fill you with an equal sense of loathing as the satisfaction that would fill me.
"Finally, the third letter would be six words."
"Six words?"
"Your name. I'm sorry. My name."
Her glare could cut butter, and if she doesn't release that breath she's holding she's bound to turn purple. Though that would suit her better than the red currently adorning her face.
She grabs an empty and thrusts it toward me.
"Fine! That last one! Write that. Do it now and I'll take it and you'll be done. But we'll talk about this later." I scribble down the six words, hand it to her, and watch her leave the room in a quiet storm.
I turn to finish the remaining letters and go to inform my teacher I'd finished.
"Did you write one to her?" I didn't need her to define which 'her' she meant.
"I did. She even came to collect it personally, though I was not done with it when she arrived. She waited until I had completed it and took it without reading it. I assume she waited until she reached her room."
It was good enough and I was allowed to return to my room. I laid on my bed and let myself believe that would be the end of it for a while.

A/N: Sorry a lot of this is vague, it was written down post haste after waking so it wouldn't run away. Please ask questions so I know what to expand on.

Guardian Shield

I have an idea for a sad origin story for a hero. His powers extend to manipulating shields he creates. He can create the shield at pretty much any size, any shape, can manipulate it how he likes. Unfortunately, it draws off of his own energy, and the bigger and more complicated it is, the more energy it takes. His shields are pretty much invulnerable, can’t be pierced, as long as he’s got the energy to maintain them.

He’s been traveling the world, and is currently staying in a small village in a remote region of Earth. He's helping them recover from a recent natural disaster. He wasn’t there for it, but decided he should help. He meets up with another Powered individual, named Conduit. That’s the name she took, anyway. She won’t give her real name. She’s good at siphoning and redirecting energy. She understands and speaks the language and so is often his translator.

One day, he wakes up to find the sky a strange color, and a glowing orb overhead. It is not the sun. Using an emergency radio, Conduit discovers it’s an asteroid that had been hurtling toward Earth for a long time now. Governments worldwide had tried to stop it, and when their efforts failed, kept quiet to prevent panic. Now the rock was here, and the planet had little time left.

Conduit looks to him and asks him if his shield could deflect it. He scoffs, saying that it could if he had enough energy, but that it would surely kill him in the process, even if he had. Dispirited, Conduit goes through the village sharing the news with the frightened villagers. Now, they’ve seen his abilities. He’s held up houses that were collapsing until supports could be put into place. They all know his strength.

Slowly, the entire village gathers in the center of the square he’s standing in, still watching the asteroid. Conduit approaches him and asks him to try turning the asteroid away. He turns to look at her, and states again that he doesn’t have the energy to create a shield massive enough to deflect it. She responds by telling him he doesn’t have enough on his own. Suddenly he feels the eyes of every person there, looking at him. Her idea clicks into his mind and he staggers back, horrified.

She explains that the people had come up with the idea together, asking if there was anything they could do to help. “How could I tell them no? Let us help you deflect it.”

He shakes his head violently. “Don’t you understand? If I could kill myself off by using too large a shield, it would kill them too. No. No, no no no no no…”

Conduit sniffs, wiping at tears. “Not just them, redirecting that much energy would fry me too. But I’m willing to do it. And so are they. Please, take it and use it to save the world.” He’s fallen back to the ground, and tears run unhindered down his face.

"I…I can’t…" But he sees their eyes, sees them clasp hands. Men, women, children, all linking together. As the last of them grasp Conduit’s hand, and she extends hers toward him, his resolve shatters. With people this brave behind him, how could he be any less?

He reaches up and takes her hand.

Days later, a small recon team from an unrecognized government agency descend on the village. As the asteroid diverted from its disastrous course, an energy surge was detected and located. Upon arrival, they discover the source of the redirection, digging hundreds of graves.