Riisiing Moon

Here's a short story I wrote for my AP English class. There's a sculpture park with a bike path in my neighborhood, and the assignment was to head over there, pick a sculpture, and write a 750-1K word essay on it. I was biking through to pick one, but I saw this picture-perfect scene of a bench and a garbage can that I went with instead. Let's hope my teacher gives me points for creativity rather than fail me for not picking a sculpture. In, out. In, out. In…He forgot what to do next, then recalled and breathed again. Each lazy, swaying step was punctuated by the guttural intakes of air. The otherworldly sensation of motion was relieved only by breath, that periodic assurance that he was in fact still alive and even conscious. The crunchy scent of autumn leaves pervaded the place, the only noise that flooded his numb mind, save for an occasional taxi speeding along McCormick probably headed to O’Hare to either temporarily or eternally abandon this forsaken city. Barely aware of his own legs, he paused to stare at a bench half blanketed in that faded brown tree fodder. He blinked and processed the scene—the bench was as alone and isolated as the sculptures in the park, and yet strangely not as intimately haunting. While the moon cackled in the heavens and no other humans roamed these fields, the statues seemed alien; demonic, even. But the bench was meant for people, and he supposed there was some reassurance in that. The statues rejected him. The bench accepted him. He sat absently upon it and focused again on his breathing before he lost himself to that eternal oblivion. It was welcoming, a sort of sea he felt himself slipping— WHRRWHRRWHRRWHRRWHRR He leapt a distance he didn’t know he was capable of and fumbled madly in a desperate search before his brain processed what it was looking for. His phone appeared in his hand, drenched in a sweat that reeked of scents both physically and emotionally revolting. A picture of a well-groomed, muscled man in aviators and a ski cap atop a mountain danced over the screen’s dreamy light, giving him an eerie thumbs-up. He flipped the device open and faintly wondered why such an odd idea as a mobile telephone occurred to Joey Motorola. He tried to say hello, but it came out as “Grglurgbl.” “Yo, it’s Tyler.” “Yeah, I know.” Was that really his voice? He’d never paid attention to it. “Right, yeah. Hey man, I heard about you and Carol—just wanted to make sure everything’s alright?” “Huh? Oh yeah, we broke up. She kicked me out.” He sounded so far away from himself. Where was he at all? “What? Aw man…Aw, I’m so sorry! You even got a place anymore? Your old one’s foreclosed now right? That’s really rough, man.” “Thanks for the sympathy.” “You need a place? Come over, Sheila’s asleep, she won’t mind.” He felt his mouth open—or more specifically felt the drool drip down his chin and realized his mouth had been open for far too long. He pushed himself back into his body (an action he would forever regard as high on the top ten list of the most difficult he’d ever performed) and decided that might not be a bad idea.But he couldn’t really think of why. The bench was meant for people, after all. He knew the dejection it would feel if he left it. And human beings did not currently hold sway in his own activities. He would be the world’s sole denizen on this everlasting night. Tyler could dwell in his realm, each of his days seamlessly flowing into the prior and the next, just getting on living, and he would make tonight his bare necessity. The bench held this gracious acceptance that was synonymous with this night, and before he recalled the device in his wet palm he fell into it. “So d’you need a place?” “Uh, nah, man, I’m alright.” Tyler seemed to blink over the phone. “Wait, where you gonna stay?” This rage filled him that he’d never felt, and it took him a moment to recognize that that was in fact what it was. This was his world, this bench, and no man could intrude on that, could challenge that, could steal him away into his on home. He would not surrender to another’s will when his own place was here. He was his own statue, the bench his own home. Vaguely reflecting on how the human spirit’s will is revealed in only the most pathetic and desperate of times, he threw the phone and watched it fade into another world, another man’s domain, in an epic display of uselessness. He felt himself irrelevant to everywhere but here, useless to all but the bench. He conjectured that some longtime, luckier couple was watching him through a monitor somewhere, bonding through his own furious tears. He was somewhat of a cliché, at that, but at least he belonged somewhere. Time would pass before he could fall asleep, but at least the bench didn’t make him feel so lonely.

Actually, that arouses a good question. How long do your guys' full-length stories usually span?

More of a portal, but a wholly physical one. The line between the divine and the mortal is sort of blurry in the book, which is one of the underlying concepts--the Mist, effectively, is a god, or a hive-minded group of gods, but it rests in the physical world. There aren't any all-powerful humanoid beings resting in intangibility beyond the clouds, and there are no anthropomorphism--the Mist has no emotion and resembles humans in zero ways of any kind.Go for it, and lemme know when you got a plot built around that.

JKK--The skeletons are not those of Drawa's friends, no, they're just bodies he finds in the desert. Interesting idea, though, I gotta consider that.Aufaire and Drawa's home world are connected by the canyon, within which the Mist resides. The Mist visits denizens of both worlds in extremely rare cases (most of which result in death), but resides exclusively above the Inland. If you want me to paint a mental picture, basically there's a bridge atop the Inland, veiled by the Mist. I.e., the Inlanders never see the sky. Beyond the Inland there is a cavern, and on the other side is Aufaire in its entirety, or more specifically the southern desert of Aufaire. It's thematically dark, yes, but the Mist does not block out the sun. I like the way you think, but perpetual night is pretty restricting, and though it can be fascination for a good amount of time the attitude of bleakness it possesses gets old and boring to read about. Colors have a lot of impact on the reader, even though the tangible words of text are black and white.

I, Riisiing Moon, do here state my intention to join the Ambage, in sickness and in health, in rain or shine, until boredom do we part. I will devote my writing skills in their unfiltered entirety to its ranks, among which I will gradually climb until I emerge as its indisputable dictator. I wish my future minions much luck in the race to inevitable death beneath my pencil-equipped hand.Respectfully yours,--Lord Riisiing Moon

Riisiing MoonA Tale of Makuta

Here's my entry for the 2012 Library Summer Olympics Short Stories Artistic Gymnastic Reimagine (good, HH, you didn't have to make it such a mouthful). Lemme know what you think, and good luck to my fellow contesters!

Teridax had never cried before.What unholy wickedness was this? Chaos loosed without limit, without inhibition, bereft of the goodness he was to uphold. His brethren, his own kind...terror ravaged the land itself. Death was omnipresent. The sky was heavy upon Destral, almost otherworldly in its purple shade. The scene was dreamlike. Nightmarish. The land bled and flooded the waters as shrieks pierced the heavens and Teridax's own heart.The plague was a systematically murderous virus. It knew not the meaning of mercy--it ripped through the body, ripped through the species, but most of all it ripped through Teridax's soul.He supposed that was selfish of him. But he was a Makuta...he was Makuta. He watched his family die, and the agony that overtook him and coursed through his skin and his heart and his bloodstream stole from him his own body. He merely watched as control over his body, the only thing he yet possessed, was ripped from him as well. and tears fell from his face as blood fell into the sea."T-t-t...Teri...Teridax..."The voice was almost unrecognizable in its torment. He who was once so confident, almost arrogant in his prowess was diminished to a creature who felt only the agony. And yet he held on still, and that broke the dam. Rain fell free from the clouds within the Makuta's eyes."Miserix?""T-Teridax...I will die--""My master. Destiny will not f-forsake us...the Great Spirit created us and he will not abandon us.""Teridax. Destiny has..." He coughed up blood, wheezed several times. With each spasm Teridax felt the breath rush from his own lungs. "Destiny has forsaken us because the Great Spirit has forsaken us.""Miserix--""Do you not see, Teridax!"Silence."Teridax, let me finish. I will d-die....I will die if not for y-you. I have...I've given you a squadron. The virus has not yet t-touched them." His voice cracked on this last. "Y-you will find Turaga Girj. H-he will heal us."Teridax gaped. "He will stop this?""He will stop this.""My master...master! Where is the squadron!""They will find you.""Miserix, I will not fail you."At that, Miserix grimaced. The gesture seemed to take all his might--his eyes quivered, and suddenly all the strength left within him was crackling in the air as his own body crackled weakly. The sneer upon his face was pasted there, painted by the same demons that had torn apart his body and eaten his soul and conquered his mind. And Teridax knew he would be dead before he returned.If only to fulfill his last wishes, Teridax would not fail.There will be no failure.

Silence had reigned for the past thirteen hours and twenty-four minutes. Teridax had been counting--there wasn't much else to do in flight. None of them had been much in the mood to talk. Death and the memory of death had a tendency to render any spoken word useless. Disrespectful, even. Yes, that was it...the dead had no speech, only rest. Until the antidote was secured, they were nothing more than an extension of their species, and if the Makuta were quiet they too must travel in silence. They too must--His reflections on the universe were interrupted by Tuck, his voice shrill, almost piercing. The screams that pierced the purple sky knifed through his mind, and his wings wavered as the steel of memory tore through them...he got hold of his body again and shook the past momentarily. He existed now, and memory's pain thrived only in his mind. He would remember his mission, but the sensation would be left to before. "Boss, land to the east."Teridax's head twitched and his body lost total control while his wings were still raised, sending him plummeting before he regained it. He was beyond exhausted; in fact, he felt close to death, but he could not form those words and expel them from his lips while the memory of his brothers remained intact. Tuck chuckled. Binkell shot him a look of dark disapproval--out of the six, Bink was the least likely to approve jokes about the situation. Never much of a humorous individual prior to the plague's outbreak, his lover had died in the catastrophe. Brutally. In an attempt to escape the virus's tortures she'd jumped into the sea, too pained of both heart and body to form final words for her lover. For the past thirteen hours (and twenty-eight minutes, now) his aura had been, to say the least, upset.Teridax recalled the plan. D'vader, the more youthful of the squadron, had flown up further--praise the child for his exuberance and ambition--in an attempt to find land. Once he'd found the place Miserix had spoken of (hold back the flood, Teridax, you're in the company of soldiers), he would light a flare for the rest to see when they flew over. Spearheading the group, Teridax made a lazy right as the others followed. They were still a couple kio too far to pinpoint any fire.Anticipation sparked between the Makuta, but Teridax's ever-cautious better judgment kept him slow and steady. Tuck was literally bursting, barely able to keep in a straight line. Thirteen days and thirty-five minutes without punching anything in the face was quite likely killi--uh, causing immense amounts of mental stress to him.Huski spoke up, her voice gentle, fragile, even, but firm. "You think that's it?"Teridax's chest heaved, several times...anxiety was a force unknown to these guardians of Destiny, and that made it all the more potent. It gave the illusion of relevance, of ability in the face of adversity, denying the reality of helplessness. It stole your mind and caged it in a time that didn't belong to you. In their insufferable anxiety they had all denied to voice their emotion, to actualize it, and Huski had broken that wall in four words.She'd always had a way with words."I think it's worth confirming. We can't afford to screw this up. D'vader's been a reliable informant as long as I've known him."Tohu grumbled. Teridax never appreciated Tohu's grumbles--far more archaic and undoubtedly experienced than the others, he'd been climbing Destral's military ranks for a literally unquantifiable amount of time. He was the wisest of the group, and apparently that licensed him to advise every junior Makuta as to the performance of their every action. "Which is maybe two years, Teridax. He's got less experience than a Matoran with a Toa Stone."Teridax's eyes narrowed, his tone a blade. "Experience and talent are not correlated, Tohu." He huffed, leaning forward in his descent to the island. "You will not correct a senior officer."Tohu laughed from deep within his chest. The noise was uncomfortable to hear in these cirmcumstances.

D'vader's world became a momentary hurricane as the others landed, their wings whipping the air. He bared his teeth, struggling not to fall back in an ultimate display of humiliation. He was the smallest of the squadron, but at least he wasn't old. The older ones had a tenedency to overexaggerate everything, like taking twenty minutes to get their feet on the ground."D'vader! What's the report?""This is it, boss."Teridax's mouth opened, then closed again. D'vader awaited a reply for what seemed to his youthful perception eternity...and then he felt ashamed of his irritation. He was here for the salvation of his brothers, not because a senior officer had commanded him to move. Tohu stood in his smug arrogance, an interesting contrast to Tuck's hyperactivity. The guy wouldn't stop moving, and his enthusiasm at D'vader's confirmation was overflowing. Binkell's gaze followed Teridax's, concerned for a friend. Teridax felt some innate connection to Miserix that the others did not. They all understood the dire straits they flew in, but Teridax's emptiness was somehow more disconcerting than the rest of them.Huski stood almost apart from the rest, observing, reluctant to voice her opinion. She was shy, D'vader had noticed in his few encounters with her, but when she spoke she was surprisingly tactful. He'd never seen her upset anyone. He'd actually never seen her become upset, though he supposed if he did it would be the most evil wickedness he'd witnessed in Mata-Nui's good realm.Teridax found the words, finally. "This is it?"Wise words, boss.Huski prompted him. "This is Girj's island?""Yeah, it is. This is Turaga Girj's island. The locals call it Metru-Nui, and right now we're in Le-Metru, which translates as district, more or less. There're six districts, and locals are sort of fanatic about color coding everything. That's why it's all green."Bink raised an eyebrow. "Color-code? What, is this place the Great Spirit's filing cabinet?"Tuck chuckled. D'vader followed suit. "Actually, you'd be surprised. Mata-Nui spent a lot of time fiddling around here--all the Matoran from each district have almost identical personalities. Everyone from the Ta fire district seems to be hotheaded, the ice district is all cold and distant, stuff like that.""I always wondered if the guy had a sense of humor.""Anyways, here's the kicker. Before he was a Turaga, Girj was a doctor--and he specialized in the diagnosis and cure of genocidal viruses. I swear, Miserix is a propher."Teridax stuttered in. "G-good find, D'vader. Great, actually. Fantastic. Indescribably. Where's Girj? How do we get him?"D'vader bit his lip. The hardest part about reporting the facts was when the boss decided to shoot the messenger. "So that's the tricky part. I figured he'd be living in a hut or something, being all short and all, but he's living in a palace. In Po-Koro, the stone district. Where, I hear, they grow the soldiers hard and fast. Best on the island. And the place is supposed to be incredibly well-guarded.Tuck, ever-enthralled with plans of action--he was generally useless until the battlefield itself, where he served as quite the strategically and physically formidable corporal--cut in swiftly. He seemed to talk exclusively in interruptions. "You didn't scout the place out already?""I'm a Makuta. These Matoran are a bio tall. I'd look like I'm out to kidnap their leader."Teridax sneered. "Shut up. Tohu, what's the plan of attack?"Tohu assumed the air of a master general--he'd clearly been waiting for the opportunity to grace his fellows' presence with some words of stategic brilliance. "Bink, you come with me. We're the biggest, we'll be the distraction. We can afford the collateral damage on the Matoran end--we're guests. And we're saving a species here." Teridax inhaled sharply. "Teridax, man up. D'vader, you're going to get Girj. Tuck, once the halls are clear--they'll need all the help they can get from inside to hold us back outside--you run like a crazy clown through and knock out anyone in the way. Then you and D'vader play good cop bad cop with the Turaga. Keep your fury in check--he dies, we lose any info we have on the antidote's location and function. Tuck, you'll have displayed your rage, so you'll be the bad guy. D'vader, play nice and get him to sing. Huski, you're Destral's scrollkeeper, correct?""Yes sir.""I want you to stay here and write everything down since the plague's outbreak. We are living history, and that must not be forgotten. If, by some astronomically miniscule chance, six enormous terrifying alien beasts fail to wrench a vial of liquid from a bio-tall Turaga surrounded by dwarfish Matoran, you are to carry the tale to Artakha. He is the living channel between our world and the Great Spirit's.""Understood, sir."Tohu paused, apparently waiting for the inevitable stupid question. Teridax seized the opportunity. "And me?"Tohu grinned somewhat madly. "You're my superior, boss. I don't tell you what to do."Teridax swore. "I'll guard the perimeter. Backup, in case you and Bink are, as you said, being detained by an astronomically miniscule chance. Or if Tuck gets lost." Tuck replied with an obscene gesture.Silene reigned again. That silence was perpetual--it was forgotten beneath the sound of voices, but ultimately it returned. Death seemed to creep forth from the grave memory and wallow in it each time no one spoke, and once it sat redemption seemed impossible.Bink growled with a fury that reeked both of primal lust and of a lover's lament. The terrible enemy is the one who has nothing to lose."Just remember. Victors write the history books."

Binkell had been resting atop the Po-Koro palace's turret for three hours when Tohu landed beside him. His voice was a raspy whisper. "What took so long?""I have no idea how to get around this place. D'vader omitted directions." He hissed. "Teridax is pretty broken up about this."Bink let the darkness speak. Circumstances were sufficiently horrible to be broken up about."Of course I'm broken up about it too, Bink, and of course you've got more reason than any of us, but we are logical beings, not emotionally overcharged wretches. It's just irrational to assume we won't do this right. You're a veteran of this business, you know that.""Him and Miserix were close.""We were all close with Miserix. That's why he picked us."Bink glared at Tohu, and Tohu shivered. "He picked us because we weren't dying." Binkell was really the only Makuta besides Miserix himself that he'd ever met who could instill this sense of guilty terror within him. The depth of shadow in those eyes...he was dark, Binkell, not like the others.Bink looked back at the ground, or at nothingness, and his voice assumed sympathy. "Let's shed some blood." The words felt odd, disconnected from his tone. They upset Tohu, who shifted before nodding in silent agreement."Let's."

Violence razed the palace grounds as screams of rage, pain, and bloodlust pierced the sky. Tuck recalled a similar sensation--but memories were for another time. He left his mind in the past as the smell of violence rushed through his nostriles and permeated his being.It felt good.Tohu and good ol' Binkmeister had done a good enough job of clearing a path straight through the entrance, which was more or less bereft of guards. Tohu was right--he and Bink had sucked all the firepower out from inside. If Tuck thought they were a handful, he could only pity the Matoran for the sheer horror they been blessed with. A few still remained inside, armed and ready, if not suffering from mental breakdowns. How considerate. Tuck was in the mood to break something.Still, though, he couldn't attract too much attention away from the big black beasts or else the plan would collapse on itself. Holding back a furious roar of imminent victory, he dashed through the entrance and kicked bones and bodies to and fro in a glorious dance of terror. He'd just cleared the hall when he arrived at a fork, both unguarded and devoid of any apparent bloodshed."To the left."He whirled around, still jumpy. D'vader stood proud, an arrogant smirk traced across his countenance. Tuck furrowed his brow. "How'd you get in?""Just a couple minutes ago, after the majority of the little guys scurried out. Nobody noticed me. Reporter's stealth, I guess." That, Tuck did not believe, had ever been a commonly used phrase.The Makuta appeared perplexed. "You didn't kill anything?""You don't have to to get a job done.""I beg to differ.""Shut up. Go to the left, I scouted the place out."Tuck sprinted through with a delightful exuberance only the young possess, D'vader swiftly stalking after at his rear, slicing the occasional body part of a Matoran aspiring to heroism. D'vader directed the pair to the courtroom, where the doors, enormous (by Matoran standards) and protodermis-laden, stood bold and locked.Tuck snickered and crashed through them with a demonic might and a childish glee.

The Turaga stood utterly humbled by the shadows of the world.He would not huddle in his throneroom's corner as the fools of legends, but stand nobly in its center at the defense of his people.As his people were slaughtered beyond the walls, though, he could not muster the energy in his archaic limbs to resist a tremble.The demons broke through the doors after an interminable seventeen minutes. The one at the pair's head bore an expression of incomparable malice, and as its lifeless eyes tore into his own soul he felt the carnage that lie within it. The destruction, the anarchy--he felt the being's madness and he knew its destination. It was bent on the bloodshed of the innocent, and the Turaga would not abandon his nation in the face of such evil.The creature took two tremendous steps and gripped the Turaga at his throat, and he suddenly felt too small to be significant. It stretched a pale claw toward his throat and a for a moment he was lost to all the--"Tuck. Get a hold of yourself."The being's grin fell to the earth and the Turaga fell to the ground. He heard something snap, but the fear and adrenaline stifled the pain. Another creature, this one smaller and more lithe, stepped out from behind the first's back. His expression was of a sort of sinister sophistication--this one was intelligent. He wasn't sure if that scared him more than the first. If he could be any more scared than he already was.The voice of the second was a deep bellow, but quiet. Almost haunting, as a ghost's."Girj?"The Turaga blinked. The awkwardness was entirely misplaced, but by some cosmic error had overtaken the scene. The bigger demon stood almost frozen over the Turaga's shivering body, just standing, standing, glaring..."You are Girj?""W-what? I am--I...I am Greg."The first regained that insanity, his face beaming of victory. "It's him, D'vader.""Tuck, shut up." The smaller monster leaned in, breath putrid but eyes somehow...charming...hypnotic..."All we want is your research. Then we will leave you to your Duties."The Turaga stammered. "W--My research? My...No! You will not condemn these people to die! Disease will ravage none as long as I reign!"The crazed one growled impatiently. The one he had called D'vader spoke again. "Exactly. That is why we need it. You will save your nation from death by giving it to us."The Turaga knew what he must do.In his research of biochemical genocide, he had naturally discovered the formula for the most simple of killing gases. The ethics of its possession made it far too controversial to publicize--as well to allow him a good night's sleep for years--but he had become addicted to his own constant safety. And this, after all, would be the salvation of all Metru-Nui...Turaga Greg, which in the Makuta language transliterates as Girj, popped open the cork of a certain bottle that contained gaseous death.

Chaos had loosed for about twenty minutes on the grounds of the Turaga's palace before the screams erupted from the northeast tower.Binkell actually felt his senses sharpen, his head snap abruptly in the direction of the agony. The eastern wall of the throneroom had been torn off, the rubble resting atop the vengeful earth. Some kind of vaguely pale steam hovered in the air surrounding the tower, steadily coalescing into a thick cloud through which Bink's vision could not penetrate.The depth of those shrieking throats were unmistakable, though--Tuck and D'vader.His initial reaction was one of a mild surprise, an emotion he would soon feel a misplaced sense of guilt for, considering the magnitude of the situation. The pair had that almighty invincible aura of those soldiers too fresh out of the crib to feel vulnerable, and Bink finally felt victorious as a veteran of war. What immediately followed the surprise was a mighty wave of urgency, and a cosmic kick in the gut by an impossibly large being."Tohu!"The screams pierced the sky, an eerily familiar phenomenon that actually terrified the Makuta. Tohu ceased his huffing and puffing as Binkell watched his comrade's face transform from one of animal joy to graceless shame, which in turn was replaced with that storm of urgency. Wings flapping before their feet left the ground, the pair flew with a speed far greater than they should have been capable of, soaring headfirst into the same torture that befell those friends and saviors of a species in the throneroom of Turaga Girj.

Lost.Teridax stood among this eternal, unfathomable silence. He felt the souls of these dead creatures claw without noise against his skin, their breath an invisible frost in the still air, in the still silence.Lost.He felt his body once again lose itself to that span of the infinity he would never comprehend, felt his spirit convulse and rattle against this hollow shell, felt the silence pierce through his own damp eyes as it had the skies that hung above his dying breed, but most of all he didn't really think he felt at all.Lost.Teridax stood lost and numb among this silence, awaiting the rage and the grief and the fury and the guilt and the blood and the vengeance, but it did not. It hung in the air before him where he gazed at it until his knees gave way to the gravity of mortality, but it would not meet his eyes. All he felt was numb, bland shame, but its taste was not felt upon his limp tongue.Lost as a friend, lost as a leader, lost as a Makuta. He simply was. There was nothing more than his existence. Unity was lost, Duty was lost, Destiny was lost. Miserix was lost. Makuta was lost. Purpose was lost. Only silence remained.Lost.

It is, by Matoran count, the fifth year and two-hundred and thirty-seventh day since Girj's suicide. His death is commemorated as a national holiday, an permanent memory of the salvation of their kind.I do not know why they celebrate the destruction of my people.Teridax has been lost to that memory. He has, in his black oblivion, allowed it to consume him. This newborn cause for him is in no way justifiable, but I empathize nonetheless. I understand him. He is stricken by his loneliness, stripped of purpose, and so he constructs one for himself. I do not believe he sees his own corruption. He genuinely believes in his righteousness.After Girj's death, he adopted a new title--the Black Six, a reference to the team he believed all dead. Four of their bodies are buried beneath the palace grounds that he has conquered as his own, guarded by his enslaved. His cause has been perverted from one of salvation to the condemnation of the innocent. He has renamed Metru-Nui 'Beezee-Koro,' a word in our language that translates as 'vengeance.'I know my own Destiny, but I cannot come to face it. I should reveal my own yet breathing body, I should welcome him into my arms with the warm love of a true sister and carry him home. I should leave this place to its own quarrels. We are not to interfere here beyond Miserix's--and Mata-Nui's--word. But we have no home. And that is the source of Teridax's insanity. It has wrecked him with a hunger so deep he would not hear me. He would kill me too, likely, and bury me beneath my brothers.So I remain in hiding, awaiting the word of Artakha, as Teridax once promised. I will give him this chronicle and he will return with me to my people, if they survive yet. I do not know if he exists, or if he has any reason to leave the security of his own haven. We are selfish creatures, are we not? Why would he sacrifice his own safety in the interest of ours? We are lesser beings, after all. I respect him for that, but I remain in this quiet desperation. I only wish watching Teridax collapse into himself did not tear me apart as it does.So I wait here, on the empire of Beezee-Koro, for a sign of any sort, forfeiting all I once believed in and lived for. Long live the Black Six.--Writings of Huski

Oh, Drawa's killed about four sevenths of the way into the book (measure everything in sevenths, it's so helpful, I swear), and it's meant to be a huge surprise, but it's also not so radical to reveal since it's not the ending or anything. He's replaced by the apprentice skeleton with a soul.I've sculpted Aufaire pretty intricately in my mind, and I've gotta put it to paper and elaborate some more--the fantasy vibe is LOTR-esque, with the absence of non-human creatures, save for skeletons, which are technically human. The culture is gonna be kind of widespread--each of the four kings (excluding the Hu-Kale, of course) rules their respective kingdoms, and each kingdom's culture is determined largely by its king. For example, Tu-Sens, the Island King (ruler of the islands scattered throughout Aufaire) is a more diplomatic ruler, so his armies are generally well-trained but refrain from combat, which prompts contempt from Jek, more rash and tactical ruler of the Southern Badlands. The desert north of the Inland, it should be noted, is directly south of Jek's territory and is the only Aufaire territory under no man's land since it's completely inhabitable.No idea what Bastion is, lawlz, but I plan on mixing a good amount of culture in. Tu-Sens's kingdom takes on a more Eastern vibe, while Jek's got the whole cowboy thing going for him, and Arolla, Magicker Queen of the West, is a more religiously and philosophically oriented ruler whose culture will probably be entirely made up by me.

Here's a summary of a novel that I haven't started writing yet, but have got much more detail on than that entry describes. Thoughts/criticism/questions?

JKK--You sound like the kind of author who's minimalistic (read: lazy) and only writes what they enjoy. Which is a fantastic writing style, because it means your book probably has little to no lulls and consistent thrill, as well as a likely incredibly elaborate plot and char development. You already sound like you're having way too much fun with worldbuilding, and have integrated it with the plot rather well as opposed to just rambling on about locations for chapters.So, props on that, but back to the point--to fit your style, it's really totally unnecessary to name every char from the village. You'd probably work best just envisioning the village, getting a mental picture of what it actually looks like, so that you can grant the image a more graphic life when you write about it. The opposite and ineffective approach would be what you're doing now, which is waiting until info on the village is required of you and then spitting out info at random intervals that doesn't correlate with other info you have. But, you don't need to mention names until you need to mention names--as long as you have the culture and the family dynamic well-discussed within the book and interacted with by the main char(s), the reader will have a vivid enough image of the village. An intricate profile for each villager is helpful, but due to the extreme tediousness probably more painful to your writing hand and head than it is an aid to the book. It's extraneous.Speaking of culture, I find it helpful, like YT hinted at, to ripping off existing cultures. I prefer a more indirect route--like, if you have any trace of a language, the accent and consonance could be a more fluid, French sounding kinda thing, or a harsher Middle-Eastern style. The basics of culture are this, more or less: religion, location, demographic background. Once you decide those three things, details work themselves out. Is your culture monotheist, or polytheist? The former probably results in a more unified and possibly more religiously fanatical tribe, while the second can spur controversy or even civil war within the tribe. Is the tribe in desert territory or tundra, and are they urban or rural? Basic, ten-second junk like that will lend itself to further elaboration at your will, and you fill in the blanks.I feel like we have similar writing styles, judging by the two posts I've seen, so lemme know if you need any help, sounds like you've got an interesting idea!EDIT: By the way, when writing a full-length novel, unless you feel like being interesting at the expense of relevant info, you pretty much never have to come up with every detail of a language or physics or other junk like that used by chars. If they're commonly used by the population, why would some guy go on an unprompted soliloquy explaining why the winds blow in weird directions or why the pronunciation of the language is such and such? If you don't provide more explanation that the basic amount required, it'll provide the illusion of commonness and suspend the reader's disbelief quite well.

Oh, I got something fun for this one.Question--does our plot have to at all correlate with the canon? For example, can I talk about the origins of species whose origins are already canonized and totally different than the ones I'm coming up?

IC--Beast [Xa-Koro Alley]Beast blinked.Then he did it again.Well, that was a lot to take it. He hadn't seen organized crime like this in a while...in fact, judging from the quality of their criminal prowess (which, he might add, was totally based on first impression, but after a lifetime in the profession you started noticing these things), he hadn't seen the likes of a league of trained killers pretty much since Stelt. But now wasn't the time to dwell on old friends.At first glance, it looked more like a rowdy rabble of rambunctious ridiculousness than a faction of seasoned murderers, but beyond the insanity and sheer absurdity there was something darker. Needless to say, money was clearly not the objective of the heist. And he believed Dorian would be at least of triple the importance he'd initially suspected--it wasn't a matter of luck rising to the top of programs like these. And staying there, for that matter.He blinked again."Uhm. What's up."

IC--Beast [Final Problem]The red hulk blinked. "Oh. I was gonna offer my services as a bounty hunter, but I guess I'm in this for free. Where're we headed?" He rose inconspicuously and strode out the door beside Dorian.

This problem doesn't seem to be solving itself, it kind of is escalating. :Plulz maybe ill rent a room do they have those chocolate on the pillowz :3

My bad, thought you were talking about Makuta's Revenge. Bright Star Inn's a bit of a more creative name, not gonna lie.For the record, guys, not that you should tolerate G-modding and the like, but in the event that it does happen hostility's just gonna waste time in the RPG when a bunch of other productive stuff could be happening. It screws up the game, but if it gets reported to a staffie it gets fixed a lot faster. Cheaters stop cheating when they listen to the teacher, not the student.

IC--Kerr [Outside Makuta's Revenge]Kerr shrugged, waved avidly goodbye. "Nice meeting you guys, see you around!"He plopped a seat at the wall beside the girl. The fire'd be put out shortly; some of the locals had directed their attention toward it. The fighting inside should end with someone in prison, he supposed. He really did have to investigate that. "Hey, sweetie, what's wrong? You don't like the attention? Neither do I. That's why I picked this mask when they turned me into a Toa, y'know. I can just...disappear whenever I need to. I get you. It's modest of you. So what's wrong?"

IC--Kerr [Outside Makuta's Revenge]He grinned somewhat madly. "Everyone acts like they got some secret agenda. Me included, I guess, but out of the guys here no one's really got anywhere to be going. Your hands are bloody, whoever you needed to kill's already dead and no longer a threat. Where d'you got to go?" The words scattered to the wind.Seeming weak and desperate was always fun. When guys like him came back armed, the results usually made for great memories.Two Matoran ran outside just after the Toa had disappeared. Probably still in earshot. They bowed. Heh, cute. Kind of disgusting, though. The concept of authority, even his own, was somewhat detestable to Kerr. They inquired as to the whereabouts of a certain Toa of Magnetism."Huh? I don't think so, I've been enjoying the fire. Was just on my way to get some marshmallows, actually." He picked up a stick off the ground and waved it around in a sort of interpretive dance. "Why, what's his name? If I see 'im I'll let you know."

IC--Kerr [Outside Makuta's Revenge]Kerr dusted himself and inhaled deeply. "Ah, smell that fresh Le air. Nothing quite like that sweetness. Thanks, brother, but you know I could've done that on my own right?" He gestured to his Kanohi. "Just needed you guys out here. What happened?"

IC--Kerr [Makuta's Revenge]Ah! Perfect opportunity!"I dunno, lemme check." He once again disorganized himself and found his body within the burning tavern. The smoke was terrible. First confirming there were no witnesses--wouldn't want anyone to think he actually knew how to survive--he created a misty cloud of frost to push it back. Some of the soot managed to enter his lungs. He couldn't last long in here.His game face on, the Toa maneuvered around the flames until he came to a fiery blockade. He swore to himself. Voices shrieked from upstairs...but in anger, not desperation. Yup, definitely fighting going on. Probably related to the arson. But he couldn't climb the stairs...He adopted a different tactic. He found an insofar blaze-lacking corner and started screaming at the top of lungs, which, he would later reflect, may not have been the wisest decision. He estimated a good three minutes tops before his air shorted out completely."Help! I'm trapped! Oh God, Great Spirit save us, I don't wanna die!"

IC--Kerr [Leaky Lewa]Ker rolled his eyes, gulped down air, and then some liquid. Hated the stuff, but he was gonna need it."What a woman...won't even lemme finish my drink." He dissipated and reformed beyond the wall outside, jogging briskly over to the Muaka's Revenge. He could use the exercise. Besides, he was in no rush. Ice couldn't do much against fire unless he had incredible amounts of it, and he wasn't in the mood to get that involved. He just wanted to see things unfold."Elianne! Wait up!"

IC--Kerr [Leaky Lewa]The feigned shock thing worked--she apparently believed she had the upper hand. "Well, if you think I think I'm going to take you home with me, I think you think we both know that I'm not that shallow. Well, not in the mood to be that shallow right now, I think. Ulterior motive? Nothing really concrete--I was just fantasizing about us chumming around beatin' up the bad guys and that jazz. Ask me after a few days when I figure out exactly what I want to do with you."

IC--Kerr [Leaky Lewa]Huh, she was a feisty one. Kind of a narrow thinker, but a bright one. Her goals and abilities could easily be expanded, though, and she apparently had a great foundation. Her personality was...in question. He still wasn't sure if it'd be a help or a hindrance."Don't judge a scroll by its cover. If I was trying to kill you, you'd be dead by now and I'd have weapons somewhere on my body. Unless I'm trying to solicit information, in which case you've probably already told me it and you'd, ah, like I said, be dead by now. Now it's your turn. Ask me anything you wanna know. I swear on my mother's grave you can trust me."

Hey, i just got to Le-Koro, I didn't even know there was already a pre-established tavern.Too late now, I guess, since it's blowing up soon.