Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Jezz's Written Mind
Sorry everyone, I thought it was about time I put everything about me here, in this thread. By that I mean everything i've written and ever will write.
I've recently realised that the only creative talent I have is being an okay writer. I would definately not say I'm very good, but I enjoy it and seem to have a knack for it.
So i'll post anything i've done here, be it written stories, poems, lyrics, doodles, etc.
First few works'll be posted in a sec. I'd love to hear your feedback, and if you'll would kindly not post your own works in here, thanks?
- 197 Replies
Of course I won't post my own work...about time you started on eh jezz? I want to see what you can cook up...especially since the Forums seem to be devoidless (sorry Voidy) of anyone but you, me, Zega and some newcomers.
Better go help them out first...
You've got your own thread for that
This probably won't be added to often.. I write down tons of stories in my notepads when im supposed to be sleeping late at night, but I never manage to type them up.
Maybe I will now.. after my exams.
Right, first let me explain my AG persona.
Here, I am a phoenix.
I'm nearing 208 years old and well.. I should be dying soon.
I have a.. what to call her... a demon?
She's in my head. But she comes to life, literally, in the NES.
Her names Skye. Shes a Gorgon. A medusa with snakes for hair and glowing red eyes. She has a sarcastic personality and has a sick sense of humor, in both senses of the phrase.
I own a baby phoenix. Hes not from me, but I took him. I look after him now. Hes special. Hes not... a normal phoenix.
His name is Xander.
These pictures were draw by Cenere. Arn't they cute?!
And the five other phoenixes that I own...they're giving me one hell of a fun roller-coaster ride here....
More stories? At least after your exams...go study now.
Vury nice. I gotta say, I love the pictures. Especially the first one. Looks just like Skye, in my mind.
Yes sir, Lord Nichodemus. As you wish... *bows*
I'll post a couple of mini stories in about an hour.
Xander is cute.... I would love to see you draw him.
once u told me skye was a gorgon, thats almost exactly how i pictured her
*takes out oven mitts*
Dan! I thought you were taking out the mitts to start a'cookin' but you really just don't wanna burn your hands ^^
Ooo I need your Armatar...
Xander is cute.... I would love to see you draw him.
Me draw Xander?
I can't draw to save my life xD
I love how everyone thought Skye looked like that! Of course... shes about 3 times my height. Considering i'm roughly 4 foot off the floor.
Heres the thing, this is a short little thingy I wrote to start an RPG I made. It's not totally descriptive, a rather shabby attempt for me. But it only took 20 minutes or so.
Sorry if the italics makes it hard to read.
~Realm of Rydanor~
A lone tower stood. Ivy growing so thickly over it that the wood and stone of the tower could barely be seen. A small moat surrounded the bottom of the building. A drawbridge heaved itself down and landed on a dusty path. As the sky churned and grew dark, a man on a grey horse emerged out of the dank darkness within. He wore a sour look on his face and a dull black cloak billowed around him.
He galloped off to the east and arrived at the market in Galladin. This village was just outside Conclave, home to some of the most charming centaurs you could hope to meet. As the man passed, young children leered and grown men made snide comments.
"Get outta it Ryd, you don't belong here and you know it."
The man looked on.
Rydanor was his name. Son of Byronar, once wealthy ruler of Karunan City. Until such a time came when the governors of the North felt the power had gone to his head. They sought to rid him of his kingly status and put their own men in charge, but Byronar would not come quietly.
As Byronar and his family were sleeping, the men came and took him. Byronar awoke and became angry, he fought back. However, in all the commotion, one man fired an arrow into the cluster of wrestling men. There was a shout and all men backed away.
Byronar knelt on the ground, clutching his heart and screaming, "Such an untimely death! My son, you will avenge me!"
He lay still.
Rydanor had been just sixteen when his father died. He was so upset with grief that he had forgotten what his father had asked of him.
Until now, when he looked upon the face of his tormentor and recognised him as the man who had carried the bow.
Rydanor lost control. Leaping off his horse he drew his sword and cut the unfortunate man's head clean off. Several women screamed.
"Father, now is the time for me to avenge you!"
-Two Years Later-
Among the city of Byronar there was much spite and fear. Men and creatures alike would slave over many shrines, temples and crypts for Rydanor the Dark, the powerful ruler of Byronar. Having consumed much hatred and contempt towards everyone who had belittled him, Rydanor had created a dark power so menacing, no being would stand up to his might. He would sent his armies of Golems, Serpents and other merciless beasts to slay innocent creatures who stand in his path. Do no work and you will become snacks for his favourite ghastly minions.
Nice names haha. Can't come up with appropriate names for my characters for nuts. Always stumped on that.
Such an untimely death!
Hmmm...seemed like a theatre play here...especially like Shakespeare. Perhaps not so mundane or erm...unrealistic words? perhaps he should scream in pain first...and not spout such dialogue that seemed straight out of a play...
Yeah I know when Henry IV Bourbon of France died...he cried famously 'I've been stabbed!'....Must suppressed by historian side...
But good story nontheless. Carry on.
~ I must bump!~
Btw jezz...put the thread's link in your profile. In case you ever need to revive it once you wrote a story.
Nice story. I like the drawings simplicity.
Right.. links.. gotcha.
And don't worry Nich, that Rydanor story was just a quick written one. Nothing special
Well.. its really an old one.
I'll stick my fire story up here
~Saskya the Fire Maiden~
Atop the mountain of cracked rock and sun-bleached grass lives I, Saskya. My fingertips possess a power that I unleash upon the villages before me.
They pulse and sear as they send ash showering down the mountain. This hill is alive and it breathes inside me. Waves of red and gold come streaming down its face and I stand amidst this wonderous sight in awe. The magma blisters flesh and blackens bone but it dares not harm me. I sway back and forth as the flames dance around the doors of village huts. I rejoice as the flames lick at the windows and the faces of villagers huddled inside turn to horror and crumble. The entire ground bubbles and simmers with outrage but I press the fire onwards.
Then once I feel too weary to cause such chaos I call it back. It weaves its way up the mountain and rests by my feet as a contented cat would to an old lady.
I have been doing this for many years and it causes me such a pleasure I had never known before. My companion is fire; I am never alone. It cares for me as it knows what I want and it asks for nothing in return. Those village people do nothing for me except cower in fear. I do not need to spare them anything but the joy of feeling how I feel. When a hut is burning white hot and no amount of water can put it out I feel such euphoria and my spirit lifts.
But what is this?
A figure struggling up the mountain. His hands grab hold of the blistering fround and drag his heaving body up. His feet slip on the hard surface and he wipes his brow. He pulls himself up over a tricky over-hanging rock.
And he trips.
But I am by his side with arms outstretched, lest he should trip again. With my aid he makes it to my dwelling and sits a while on a patch of yellow grass, chest heaving. When he regains speech he croaks for water and I regrettably have none. I shun my fire aside and sit opposite him. He begins to tell me a story. A story of his village. A story of the rumour that has come about and the bet that has been placed.
Legend has it that there is a fire maiden living high atop this mountain who unleashes a hellish fire on anyone who dares trespass. Brave men have been challenged to climb this mountain and seek out the fire maiden to put an end to her and her fiery fiend.
This young man has come forth to stop me but now he is here he does not want to do the deed. I am externally grateful toward him for sparing me however I know in my heart that had he have tried to harm me he would be dead in an instant. He gathers up his gear and begins his trek back down the mountain.
Next morning I have my fire building up inside me and a rage burning so strong I send bursts of flame down the hill toward the next village in sight. This rage burns me up until my eyes are searing and I'm seeing red. The image of the man has been imprinted in my skull and I cannot think for lust. I play with fire until sunset and I let the weather cool.
Then I see a figure struggling up the mountain. I rush to his side and he tells me he just had to see me again. Flames lick at his heels but I bat them away and embrace him. We talk until sunrise then he bids me farewell and treks back down the mountain.
The next few weeks rush by and many villages breathe sighs of relief as each day the man visits me. We talk and dance and he sings me our song until sunrise and then he'll trek back down the mountain. All the while my flames grow angry and I must work extra hard to keep them at bay. After all, they only want to please me. I send them after more unsuspecting villages and more and more people perish. Sons and daughters begin to flee the area in fear of getting burnt to death. I am getting weary from this hard work.
One sunset my man visits me and I wrap him in my arms and we talk for hours. The flames beg me to send them down the mountain but I am too tired to work. I close my eyes and drift off while my man hums our song lightly. I awake to a roaring in my ears. I hear faint laughter mingled with a scream from a voice I recognise. My man is engulfed in flames. They lick at him and sear his skin and his eyes plead with me before they melt away. I cannot stop my flames from hurting my man so I turn away and hum our tune until the screaming stops.
My flames tell me they only want to please me. They know I need to work and feel the pleasure of letting them loose. I call my flames to stop and they finally come to rest at my feet. I turn back and gaze upon the sight of my man on the ground. A tear rolls down my face and I tell him i'm sorry. I run my fingers through his ashes and sparks sift and shimmer. I call them up and the ashes rise to form a hazy outline of my man. I send my fire down the mountain, set my man's soul free and dance with his ashes until sunrise.
That was rather depressing. But all in all, i loved it. I need to be a water god or something.
that was very good keep it up
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