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Durem has this baby foxie's support.

I'm happy to say I completed it long ago after much work and effort, as well as a few charitable donations from very charitable people (15k gold from one person in a single trade, legitimate gold o.O). It's comforting to know that no matter how complete I fancy my avatar, something new eventually comes along that fits with it, and the fun is always in seeing what else I can add to make it look better.

I also enjoy how I bought three Ancient Katanas when they were under 50k, and it's amazing how much their price has skyrocketed since two years ago. Aspiring for great dreams to come true sometimes gets you far more than you ever could've wanted. domokun

About 1.5 million.

Thank you, katanas. 3nodding

Wasn't Ceiling Cat made to endorse that joke? >.>

It would seem futile at this point to explain, as you still wouldn't agree with whatever reasoning I put forth, so I'll withhold that information.


I'll claim fault on this one, only within reason. I truly wish I could reflect it more in this passage that the point-of-view starts as a rather ambiguous cross between first- and third-person, and it's hard to reflect it more one way than the other. The general idea was to reserve which one it really is until near the end, but since I never quite got around to writing it all...you get the idea. The story itself consists of a mix of both, though what you see here is first-person, and the "narrator" here has those kinds of speech patterns.

If you'd still like to debate this, I'm afraid you'll do little to sway how I go about writing in first-person. My general feel for it is that it mirrors the personality of the speaker -- calculated, attentive, calm -- and I'm sorry to say you'll merely have to take my word for it when I say the rest of the story would support that. Feel free to chastise me when I say I can't post the other chapters to prove this; you'd be within every right to.


When you have to pick a particular hallmark for a character, best make it something that fits him accurately. It may perhaps be an oxymoron to have a voice that's both deep and light, but think of it as a cross between vocalization patterns that define the way he interacts with others.


Thank you for pointing this out. I'm still in the stage of mastering semicolons, and I've rechecked the exact usage rule for it. With luck, I can prevent this in the future.


Correct me if I'm wrong, but the first paragraph only described a small portion of his "background," and not so much his history as a general glimpse at his personality. When you choose a defining trait for a character, it's sometimes thoughtful to expand on its effectiveness, and that's what I was aiming for here, along with how the narration constantly refers back to his face, and how time and detail is taken in drawing out each spec of character development.


I respectfully disagree. My writing style receives generally split reactions among readers, so you're welcome to dislike it as much as you want, just as I'm welcome to dislike Hemingway for his simplicity.


To each his own. It strikes me as odd that you'd say that to something that I feel goes at a slightly faster tempo than the previous events, but maybe it's because -- if I may adorn an opposing perspective -- the words seem to be "tripping over themselves" as I try to describe the scene. In my opinion, the action is either balanced enough with the detail, or the action needs to be drawn out slightly more.


I don't use ellipses in the conventional sense -- instead, call it an attempt to grammatically convey a silence, a hush if you will, in the flow of time itself that the writing displays. I could pop the excuse that it's part of the first-person narrator's speech style -- which it is -- but I won't deny what I wanted it to stand for here, nor will I deny how I use them to create visual effect. I'm terribly sorry to say it's the one piece of my writing style I will forever stand firm upon.


Again, I respectfully disagree. I'll let people complain as much as desired about run-on sentences; it will do little to persuade me to change my style otherwise.


Then forgive me when I say I respect your attempt at critique, yet I don't respect your general opinion. It's nice to see another serious response to my writing, as I've only had a handful before, but there's simply a condescending attitude your words project that make them more intimidating and demeaning than helpful.

Thank you for taking the time to read, but please respect my decision to remain different from what you may normally consider the "right" style. If keeping the style I hold dear means becoming the next Hemingway, I'll gladly continue down this path, and you only give me more reason to.


My apologies. I'll dumb it down next time.

Bump.

Just thought I might as well submit something for my first time in the Writers forum. What you see before you, or rather, what you see below here is a small portion of a story that I'm working on. This is the beginning of one of its chapters, specifically that of Chapter 3, and it's largely unfinished if the ending to it isn't clue enough. Even still, however, I think it's a fairly potent few paragraphs, and I thought I might get some extra input on it (i.e. show it off ninja ). Because of the way it is written, the events and characters presented here require no knowledge of previous chapters to follow along, making it a perfect place to pull out and display.

I encourage criticism so long as it's constructive, and I reserve the right to take and leave whatever advice is presented to me. Criticism will be met respectfully with my own input and opinions, and I ask that you respect them in turn.

And yes, the words are italicized for a good reason. If it's hard to read, my apologies -- it should be easy enough to copy and paste over in normal format.

One last thing: this short clip is also posted up in the beta writing arena. While you don't have to look at it there, comments and ratings on the entry are always appreciated (though not necessary unless you feel like doing so). You can find a link to it in my signature, or you can search around.

Anyway...hope you enjoy this, as I enjoyed writing it.







Elion, as all who knew him well enough could discern, was a very secluded, very bitter, very brilliant mind, accented with a maniacal acumen and gradually-reducing sanity. He always bore one of two faces underneath the signature black cloak he adorned himself with at all times: displeased…or plotting, both being to varying degrees at any given time; never was his expression anything else, contrary to what one may see or believe. The eerie smile that indicated a scheming, sinister being was practically his invention, as he took to using it more often than naught, and it was the one thing about his countenance that all could remember for the rest of their lives merely upon a glance of him. Rarely, however, did anyone see any other part of his body besides his mouth, nose, and the lower half of his brown eyes, for he took the most inexplicable and inconceivable of precautions in hiding the rest of his face. And the thing more frightening than his smile…was the voice behind it – deep with absolute authority, light with chilling cheerfulness, and barbed enough to slice the air when he spoke, he could be regarded as both an orator and a mastermind by even the faintest sound from his vocal cords.

Knowing this, the atmosphere in his throne room was ominous and foreboding to staggering proportions, the fallen archangel sitting on his black seat against the wall high above the stairs lined with red carpet; elbows on his knees; fingers coming together; chin on the backs of his hands; and that wicked grin known to cause inexplicable dread and terror etched into his face, unmoving and chiseled into his head as one would expect of a statue. Looking more like a miniature coliseum – one of many tiers, each level made up of black pillars of marble spaced equal distances apart from each other, twenty or so floors leading up to the glass-domed ceiling – his favorite place of seclusion would soon become just what it mimicked, and the angel eagerly anticipated and awaited this. More than anything, he kept his eyes focused and concentrated on the giant, stone doorway directly across from him.

Perhaps because he was expecting what was to happen next, his head rose from the arch of his connected hands, lamps and candles that were stationed around the room illuminating the color and flare of his eyes, to gaze upon the door. To anyone but him, it may have looked normal and calm, but something was indeed on the other side, and he knew it wasn’t simply his paranoia at work playing tricks on his mind. He seemed fixated on the entryway to his inner sanctum, patiently awaiting whatever it was that created this feeling inside him, yet it was obvious how anxious he was – there was always a specific form of his sadistic grim which he utilized to indicate this.

A low tremor rocked the room out of nowhere…

Like an explosive shockwave had happened in another part of his domain, everything seemed to jump suddenly and unexpectedly, a muffled booming sound following with the flickering of his lights inside the Gothic apex of his palace. Another followed, producing the same effects, and the angelic man’s intrigue was roused even more. Consecutively, small detonations in comparison to those before erupted from what sounded like behind the doorway only a few moments after the initial two quakes.

And in no time whatsoever…the door was immediately ripped clean off of its hinges, blown back with amazing force, and it stopped dead in its tracks at the bottom of the throne’s staircase after having slid the entire way, all whilst ripping tiles from the floor below and tossing them into the air in every possible direction among the clatter.

…Not even fazed by this, the man smiled almost approvingly, chuckling insidiously to himself, though the only movement he made was a resuming of his original position. The sounds of slow footsteps clanging like armor against the floor resounded and reverberated, and it took only this sound, all too familiar to the angel’s past, to know that it was who he expected who caused the ruckus and disturbed the tranquility of his mansion. The figure he had been expecting this entire time, who was normally known throughout Heaven as the epitome of impulsiveness, quietly and patiently strode into the court before him through the absolute and pervading darkness of the entry hall, his countenance reflecting that of anger, to suggest that it was worth keeping a level head to confront the angel he hated so much without distraction.

A valiant and stalwart man, his head bore locks of brown hair in a bowl-cut style – something thought unusual and peculiar by the people of his land – with highlights of pure red dye, gleaming on several individual hairs grouped together in sections, that circled the shortened bowl trim, and the strength of the glare that was cast from his dark green eyes beneath the cut was enough to neutralize even the Seraph’s piercing, maddening gaze – as hard as it was to believe, the man’s eyes inspired and bestowed a fierce confidence and bravery unto those who looked to him, such things that would be lost when staring down a daunting foe such as the one before him. Gold embroidering was carefully knitted into the silky, white fabric of the man’s long and regal robe in ancient patterns of lines and boxes, the base of the garment coming down to half of the length between his shins and ankles; more surprisingly, this fine article was something he preferred be used for combat, though the material used to craft it was more durable than at first glance. A white cape formed a collar at the neck of the clothing and flowed down to the backs of his knees, its borders hemmed with gold, but the robe’s vibrant and colorful designs were missing from this part of the arrangement, replaced instead by the large, circular insignia of his family’s crest: three concentric circles trisected equally by three lines – each coming halfway through the outermost circle and ending at the base of the innermost, the remainder jutting outside of the collection of tangible aureoles – arranged so that the first line pointed upward while the second and third pointed outward to the left and right diagonally. The final noticeable element of his appearance were the boots he wore, heavy and plated with a strange, black metal that created the clanging sound as he walked, though thick armor beneath the white-gold habit accounted for a greater source of the echo.

The atmosphere of the entire hall seemed to stand still in time, heavy with a strange, sudden, and inexplicable pressure that pushed the air down onto both of them – a phenomenon known to be caused when two mages of powerful rank came together, ready and determined to clash. Breaking the awkward silence between the two men – one smiling, the other glaring – the angel raised his head from the cradle of his hands, slowly used the armrests of his seat to help himself up, and stood erect on the edge of the stairs, staring judgmentally upon his opponent from the dark veil of his hood.

And then…he spoke.

“Welcome!” Elion cheerfully and menacingly announced, bowing almost formally to him. His voice disrupted the chill of his palace’s halls, ringing and echoing throughout to reinstate his commanding ascendancy, booming in volume. “So good of you to join us, dono! Please, do come in! It would be…” In such a simple gesture, one of complex meaning shrouded by purest deceit, his lips coursed through the fabric of time itself, every moment an epic in the making, every second a dramatic foreshadowing, until they stretched wide to show the most evil of his grins, wicked and haunting forever in the minds of the weak. “…An honor…to have you.”

To answer the bolded questions:

- Yes and no. I check the Remember Me feature every time I log in, but it's only to keep Gaia from automatically logging me out after I've been away for too long a time (yes, it'll do that, if you haven't already noticed). I also log out when I'm done, meaning I'm forced to remember my password for this (even though I have it written down), but I find it good practice.

- My password...well, I can't say whether it's easy to guess or not. ;3 It's simple, though, as in it only contains lower-case letters and numbers in a random order that I find suitable yet memorable. I don't think I could forget it, even after four months straight of being gone.

- I don't have any close friends in real life that I would ever trust with my password, nor would I entrust my password to my online friends -- save for maybe a few of them, but only if it was an emergency. And no, I don't know anyone else's passwords. Why? Were you planning on taking them for yourself? :3

I endorse this idea.

Perhaps she could be a sex-crazed, horrifyingly-grotesque monster with teeth on the inside of her v****a, which eats the penises right off of her victims.

Joking aside (or maybe I'm not joking :3), it could be a gay man being raped by a straight woman...or a woman of some kind of sexual preference where she wouldn't mind doing a guy. >.> Anyway, it's possible that he doesn't want it, but she forces it on him, and...yeah. :/