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 Post subject: Writing contest idea thingie.
PostPosted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 1:53 am 
Initiate of Imoen

Joined: Mon Sep 05, 2011 11:54 pm
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I had an idea that may be either really good. Or really bad, seems good at the moment though. Might be due to having a couple of drinks, but still.

The idea is to write a continuous story, picking up from what the last post left as. Original characters only. If nobody likes this idea then I guess this thread can get deleted. If people do, we'll see what happens. For ease of communication, try to keep things in english of course. :mrgreen:
That said, I'll start with This!


It was a cold night, as was often the case in this city. The sleet mixed with the grime on the rooftops making stable footing more than a simple challenge, yet the prize they both sought was deemed worth the risk of both weather and fall. They watched from their separate vantage points, aware of the other yet unable to communicate, they would just have to trust to the plan.
Muttering to himself, our first roof squatter noted that the Lady that was to be the target moved from room to room, curtains carelessly left un-drawn by inattentive servitors "Hopefully the wench is getting a good view of the guards movements." He sighs as the lights slowly go out. Room by room darkness claims the abode and sleepy guards fail to notice the fleeting shadow overhead.


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 Post subject: Re: Writing contest idea thingie.
PostPosted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 11:58 pm 
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Dalis918 wrote:
It was a cold night, as was often the case in this city. The sleet mixed with the grime on the rooftops making stable footing more than a simple challenge, yet the prize they both sought was deemed worth the risk of both weather and fall. They watched from their separate vantage points, aware of the other yet unable to communicate, they would just have to trust to the plan.
Muttering to himself, our first roof squatter noted that the Lady that was to be the target moved from room to room, curtains carelessly left un-drawn by inattentive servitors "Hopefully the wench is getting a good view of the guards movements." He sighs as the lights slowly go out. Room by room darkness claims the abode and sleepy guards fail to notice the fleeting shadow overhead.


Soon it was dark, but Dietrich kept his perch another half-hour longer before finally rising to his feet. Probably better to wait an hour, make sure Her Ladyship was truly asleep, but someone wanted her -- and that 'someone' wasn't patient. If they didn't have her at the rendezvous by the time the churchbells chimed... well... Dietrich was too fond of all ten fingers to risk the consequences.

Would've been easier if The Priest -- that's what he'd taken to calling his mysterious employer, a rotund fan with silver cross around his neck --
wanted her dead. Couldn't really imagine what Priest would want with her alive. Maybe best not to know. Diet wasn't easily spooked -- you don't make a living doing the things he did if you're the queasy type -- but The Priest made his skin crawl. His lip wrinkled in faint disgust and he shook off a shiver of discomfort.

Shut the fuck up and focus.

The thought came from outside his head, and he glared back at its hidden sender, somewhere in the shadows of the other roof.

Fuckin' witch, he pitched back, not sure how she could hear him, but damned sure that she could. There's a reason I don't like your kind.

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T.C. Dale
http://www.tcdale.com
Original Fantasy, Sword & Sorcery, and Fantasy Erotica


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 Post subject: Re: Writing contest idea thingie.
PostPosted: Mon Mar 05, 2012 6:58 pm 
Initiate of Imoen

Joined: Mon Sep 05, 2011 11:54 pm
Posts: 46
Whether you like me or not is besides the point. We have a job to do and you have a contract to fulfil. I intend to make sure you do, one way or the other

He could almost hear the smirk in her voice as she 'spoke' in her particular fashion. "Rhymes with witch." he mutters to himself he began to move as quickly as stealth would permit across the rooftops to a better vantage point, making sure to know guard positions and patrol routes. After all second hand information is all well and good but some on the job preparation and checking never hurts, especially when it's your life on the line. "Right then, how to get across the street and inside the garden wall without getting caught or breaking my neck. Bloody weather" he mutters to himself as he considers his options and his gear. "Rope, hook, claw gloves.. Not much use unless the walls are rough-hewn. Hmm.. no that would be useless. Bah!"
Looking around in disgust at his situation he notices something with some potential a couple of roofs over. Carefully making his way across the roof with it's slippery slate roof tiles, Dietrich considers how best to put his find to good use. "This is interesting, somebody's doing some house work. I don't think they'll mind if I borrow their ladder. Besides, with a bit of care I may be able to get it over and use it to get out again. If it's tall enough at any rate."


(edit, sorry for the half-assed end there, I kind of ran out of time when I was writing it so posted what I finished and... yeah lame excuse is lame but still. I was also kind of interested in seeing what people would make up for him to have found. :mrgreen: .)


Last edited by Dalis918 on Tue Mar 13, 2012 12:27 am, edited 1 time in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Writing contest idea thingie.
PostPosted: Mon Mar 12, 2012 8:40 pm 
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(I have no idea what he "found", so go ahead and continue and I'll try to jump in next time :) )

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Original Fantasy, Sword & Sorcery, and Fantasy Erotica


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 Post subject: Re: Writing contest idea thingie.
PostPosted: Sat Apr 07, 2012 10:25 pm 
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Dietrich slowly and cautiously skulks back to the wall with the ladder. Placing it carefully against the wall, he glances about before nimbly hopping up it. He feels a sudden chill run down his spine as the witch's voice echoes in his mind.

Wait a moment, the guard is about to leave the room...now go.

Shaking his head in an attempt to remove the slimy feeling of her fingers in his mind, Dietrich swiftly opens the door on his right and jogs down the carpeted hallway to Her Ladyship's door. Noting the beautiful carvings on the antique oaken door, he swiftly but thoroughly checks the door for traps. Failing to detect any, but realizing that the door is locked, he reaches into a hidden pouch at his belt and retrieves his picks. He smiles faintly as he looks at them, remembering the day the Old Man gave them to him.

"Remember boy," he had said, "the picks don't matter unless you have the skill to use them. You need to learn the ins and outs of locks; you must understand what makes them turn, and why they won't sometimes. I want you to go out back and practice on the locks until you can turn them every time. You had better be able to demonstrate what you've learned if you want dinner tonight."

He had not been able to pick the rusty old locks in the back yard that day, or many others after it, but the Old Man was a kindly old coot who had been bluffing all along. Dietrich had eventually managed to pick all of those locks, and by the time he was allowed to go burgling with the older gangsters was quite proficient at picking locks in general.

Returning to the present, Dietrich takes a quick look at the lock, which turn out to be even nicer than the door. However, the lock is no match for him and its good condition means he doesn't even need to apply lubricant to it before he uses his tools on it. He inserts the first one, wiggling it around gently, and places the other into the lock to hold the pieces in place. In the space of two eyeblinks the lock turns and he replaces his tools. He reaches for the handle...


(Am I doing this correctly? Or was it too long? I kind of just got started and almost could not stop ranting. :))

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 Post subject: Re: Writing contest idea thingie.
PostPosted: Tue Apr 10, 2012 11:51 pm 
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... and was pleasantly surprised at the faint 'click' as the lock disengaged. The door eased open, inch by inch, to slowly give access to the room beyond.

Inside the lights were out, and even if the shutters had not been closed, the faint moonlight outside would have been no help at all. A lantern would have served well -- Hell, he'd've settled for a candle. But it was far too risky, with all the guards around, to let shine an unexpected light.

Okay, he thought, picturing the witch in his mind. The image came up reflexively: the sharp elven features, long brown hair, blue cat-like eyes. Most men fell over themselves to get her attention, thinking with their breeches instead of their brains. He had, too, before their working relationship had firmly warped desire into disgust. Now what?

Seven steps forward, Castilane responded. She, unlike he, could see in the blackness. Stop. You're at the foot of the bed. Turn left, three steps. Stop. Right, four steps. One more. Stop.

Dietrich inhaled slowly. The room smelled of linen, flowers, and feminine powders. Am I there?

A mental smirk. Yes. Prince Charming, come to steal his lady fair.

He drew the square of cloth out of his pocket, and a small glass vial out of the other. He'd practiced uncorking it, sight unseen, enough times over the last week that now his movements were swift and sure. The pungent-smelling ether soaked into the fabric as he emptied the vial's contents onto the square.

Show me, he sent. In response, the room appeared inside his mind, painted in a dull wash of grey and white, as Castilane shared her sight with him. He was staring at a middle-aged woman, sound asleep amidst a tangle of blankets, completely unaware of the stranger at her bed.

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T.C. Dale
http://www.tcdale.com
Original Fantasy, Sword & Sorcery, and Fantasy Erotica


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