Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa

 

Although I actually learned that the copy I had was missing two of the stories, which is like finding two more cookies at the bottom of the box that had fallen out of the plastic packaging. And we're talking really good cookies here.

 

Wait, so is this good or bad?

 

Good point. I meant to imply that this was good, because you didn't expect to find the cookies there and that means there are two more; but I guess they could also be stale and possibly unsanitary. All right, more like two more presents under the tree you forgot to unwrap? From someone whose taste you trust, so probably no indecently colorful hand-knit sweaters.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Last book I read was Mogens and Other Stories by Jens Peter Jacobsen, I believe. Although I actually learned that the copy I had was missing two of the stories, which is like finding two more cookies at the bottom of the box that had fallen out of the plastic packaging. And we're talking really good cookies here. Jacobsen has a very plain but penetrating style with a simple descriptive beauty. I learned about him from Rilke via Letters to a Young Poet, a very great read also, by the way. I'll have to pick up Jacobsen's Niels Lyhne at some point.

Right now I'm reading Diana Maryon's O Love How Deep. An emotional, intellectual, and spiritual novel. I'm taking it at a slow pace and really enjoying it.

Oh, and this will shock you: I'm also reading through all my Calvin and Hobbes collections right now. Couldn't have guessed that, could you?

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Dimension of the Pink Ones

"What foul, Great Being forsaken, debauched, and most likely boring world have you taken me to today?"

But the mask was characteristically silent.

Vezon looked around. There was sunlight here. There wasn't always. Once there hadn't been any light at all, which had made it difficult to tell the voices of the natives from the voices in his head. He preferred it when there was light.

"Only one sun here. I liked the place with 37 suns, now that was a hot hangout. My dear, Vezon, did you just say that out loud? You burn me up. By the Great Beings! That was terrible. Shut up." Vezon looked around again. "At least it has trees . . . I like trees."

Vezon raised his staff—no Spear of Fusion, just a handy toy he'd picked up in a pocket dimension inhabited by sentient sand—aimed at random, and an energy bolt shot from the tip. It arced into a tree and exploded. The remaining branches flamed pitifully.

"I like trees. Nature is so beautiful."

He didn't know exactly why he'd done that, but then, he rarely knew why he did anything. Sometimes a little voice in his head said, "Here's an idea . . ." Vezon's response was usually either, "What the Karzahni, why not?" or "Gear off, I'm trying to think." More often the first. He walked on.

With each step he took, some new shrill-voiced forest fluffball squealed in horror and ran away from him. Some of them were birds, some of them were little furry things, some of them were pretty soon dead. He was beginning to think that there was nothing in this dimension but trees, and Rahi he found frankly too small and too cute, and if that was true, it was going to be a dull day. He was warming up his staff again when he saw a break in the trees up ahead. He stepped out from under the canopy and into the full, unadulterated sunlight.

"It has buildings. A little primitive, but I've seen worse."

Suddenly something screamed, and several other somethings started screaming, and many somethings started shouting and screaming and it got very loud very quickly. Vezon was looking around. The city street seemed to be lined up and down with the most revolting creatures he had ever seen, and we can take his word for that; he had seen a lot of revolting creatures.

"What the Tren Krom are these unearthly Makuta spawn?" He retched on the words. He could hardly breathe in the air filled with their Great-Spirit-awful stench.

He was horrified. These filth were a stain in the universe and an offense to the dignity of being. If the woodland critters had personally repelled him, the very existence of these new abominations scandalized existence itself.

They were small, soft, skinny, and pink, with strange, indecently colorful cloths draped on their feeble bodies. They were walking anatomical comedies. Their feet were barely bigger than their twiggy ankles, their arms smaller and shorter than their legs, and their heads defectively small, not to mention deformed. The tallest of them was still at least two feet shorter than Vezon. He grabbed one as it was trying to run out of a large metal box, and picked the creature up in his hands to examine it closely. He tried to ignore its ear-splitting screams. It battered his face and chest with punches, which felt about as painful as being beaten up by an adolescent Ussal. But the moment he'd touched it he felt sick, and he dropped it soon. Their bodies were so squishy it was like holding Muaka droppings.

"Why, Teridax, that Kavinika!" Vezon murmured to himself. "He must have put the moves on Roodaka. And what lovely children they have!"

Vezon sprang up on one of the metal boxes in the street, which creaked and dented under his feet, and one of its glass windows shattered. He tutted. "Pathetic." In a louder voice, he announced: "Attention, all you mindless, smelly pink inhabitants of this egregious waste of creation's resources! This is a public service announcement! I am now going to vaporize you all, as a public service to the universe. On the other hand, if you can understand me, you can all bow down to me immediately and name me your supreme potentate and I'll spare a few of you to keep as slaves. If you can't understand me, please just keep screaming and I'll just vaporize you all. Thank you."

The frail pink creatures kept screaming.

Vezon jumped down from the metal box. "Right. Well, what's first? Caustic shots of crackling explosive energy stuff, a violent and possibly messy melee, or hey, maybe I can topple one of these buildings and watch a bunch of the pink things get flattened. You think so?"

Before he could test, he heard a loud wailing sound, something like a Doom Viper being bestially tormented. Vezon turned to look, and he saw one of the metal boxes down the street. It was moving, so obviously it was some kind of vehicle, and this one sported bright lights flashing red and blue. But what interested him most was the fact that it was coming toward him instead of carrying its passengers in the opposite direction at high speed in hopes of preserving their lives a little bit longer. Either these pink things were particularly courageous, or particularly stupid.

The vehicle swerved and stopped, and two of the pink disgraces got out and pointed little metal objects at him and shouted something. They seemed to be trying to communicate. They weren't so primitive that they didn't have a language, it seemed. Vezon regarded the pink ones curiously, shrugged, and blasted their vehicle and them to the Red Star.

Two more screamed toward him from opposite directions. They pulled up short, pointed their little metal objects, which Vezon realized were weapons, and opened fire. It was like being peppered with pebbles. Really fast, really really tiny pebbles. They glanced harmlessly off his armor, and Vezon sighed.

"Look," he began, "I admire what you're trying to do here, truly I do, but—" He broke off as one of the pebbles flew into his open mouth and he gagged on it. As soon as he recovered, he stood up again and pointed his staff. One of the pink ones ducked behind the door of the vehicle, as if that would protect him. Vezon resumed, "Anyway, you're just bugs. Pointless, insignificant bugs. I'm sorry to tell you, but it's the truth. You're pathetic. But see, this is your purpose. You're meant to be destroyed." His staff hummed as it warmed up for another blast. "What else could you possibly exist for?"

Vezon stopped. He put a hand against his face. He felt a tingling sensation in his head. Now, Vezon knew that meant one of three things: one, that he was upside-down, which he was not; two, that he had been hit very hard in the head, which he had not; or three, that the mask was warming up again.

"Karzahni," Vezon muttered. "Never mind!" he yelled to the pathetic pink Makuta spawn. "Forget everything I said. Carry on with your lives."

The next moment in a bright flash Vezon was gone.

~ ~ ~ ~

I almost put this in Comedies, but I figured it wouldn't quite have fit in there. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. I always have a great time writing for Vezon, and actually, I have a few ideas (and at least one definite plan) to use him in some more serious work. His could be a fun character to explore on a less superficial level.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Wow. Creepy, dreamlike, a little pensive, a little sad, and actually in a strange, dark way, rather beautiful. Great inspiration, too. I really enjoyed this piece.

Definitely one of its outstanding qualities is the style. You used almost nothing but short, snappy sentences, which made the story flow faster and contributed to the ethereal, dreamlike feel. My only complaint there is that it started to be too much; short sentences are powerful, but in excess they begin to lose that power. That said, there's no denying that there were moments when you used them to great effect. For instance:

It was gaining on him.

And then he dropped dead.

These were powerful sentences, and they stood out because of the way they were placed: in a paragraph by itself, and at the beginning of the last paragraph, right before a longer sentence. The juxtaposition in the end there was just beautiful. And that's something else I would like to point out, that when you're using so many short sentences, the long ones begin to stand out, too, and that can be effective as well. I think these two sentences were the longest in the whole story:

The crab thing that he was running from jabbed him in the stomach with one of it's nasty appendages.

A Suletu hit the ground, and the Toa lay there, unmoving, waiting to be found by six Matoran and a Toa.

The latter is the last sentence, and like I said, very well done with the contrast there. The former came at a perfect time, too, rushing in just as the action was coming to a head. I actually would have liked to have seen you take advantage of that juxtaposition a little more; it would have helped to balance things out more, too. But on the whole this was very well done. You experimented with a style and used it very effectively, and I commend that.

As far as plot, like I said, I really liked where you drew your inspiration from. Those little gaps in the main storyline, where there are questions unanswered and little details left unknown, can be the best places to get ideas and to have some fun coming up with a story to fit into the hole. You did a great job of that. I did think the backstory was a little hard to follow, partially because of the dreamlike quality of the story which makes that sort of detail a little harder to swallow, but mainly I think because I'm so out of the BIONICLE universe these days and it took me time to realize this was Karzahni.

Also, though it seems a little unnecessary when your story is already deformed by whatever recent coding hiccup, I only noticed two typos and when the number's that small, I figure I might as well point them out:

He couldn't hear the things [should be possessive, not plural] thoughts.

They didn’t want to be force[d] into slavery as well.

Otherwise, excellent work. Keep it up!

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

I always enjoy reading your work. You have a streamlined, pithy style that always makes for a fun, smooth read. Simple story, but excellent, dramatic without being cheesy, strong dialogue. Really good work.

Keep writing,

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Nick beat me to the topic and Katie beat me to the kittens and Kraggh beats me to the bad puns . . . well, gee, what's left? Oh, yes, the cake!

There seems to be something in the frosting . . . but I think most of it's still salvageable.

Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

The wind whipped into the compartment. Passengers screamed as papers ripped themselves out of their hands and briefcases and bags and hats tumbled along with the rushing air, joining tumbling books and empty cups and expensive fur stoles in a whirling dance. I shattered the remains of the window and heaved half my body through. An attendant grabbed me by the foot, but I kicked him in the face. The momentum propelled me out the window and I plunged downward through the sky.

I slung the parachute over my back, fumbling with the harness while struggling to keep it from flying out of my grip. It worked itself free of one shoulder and I barely caught it before it absconded into the blue yonder. It probably would have been smarter to put this on before I had jumped through the window, but I might not have fit that way. Besides, I like to work on the fly. Or rather, on the fall.

I managed to strap on the pack and pull the ripcord. As soon as I was descending at a safe speed and my heart rate had a chance to slow, the view of the city strangling the Seine was actually quite beautiful.

I was right on course to land in a lovely little park, but the wind had other ideas and I descended on a church spire instead. I guess it was a spiritually uplifting experience.

Apparently I had attracted a lot of attention, because a large crowd of people were pointing and shouting, but I couldn’t be sure because they shouted in French and pointed in French too, of course, and they might just have been admiring the architecture for all I knew.

Pretty soon I started hearing sirens. I was surprised the sirens didn’t siren in French, but I guess you can’t have everything. Wait, is siren a verb?

After the fire department got me down from the spire, the police started asking me questions. I tried to communicate yo no hablo francés by gesture, but that got us nowhere. I tried to translate his French—something, I thought, about passing harbors or possibly wine, and maybe something about a crazy, stupid derriere—but one year in high school Francais didn’t cut it.

I was taken downtown, talked to someone who spoke English, I was asked if I had a passport, I said No, and all said and done I ended up in a cell.

And as the French say, voilà! A holiday in Paris without having to pay for reservations.

Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

I'm here to share my birthday wishes because Tekulo forced me to you're both awesome people.

Now imagine I said something wishful, maybe dramatic, maybe even inspirational. And don't sell me short, imagine I said something very clever and creative. And preferably imagine it has something to do with your shared birthday. Something good. Just remember to be imaginative, because if you're going to imagine I said it it has to be very imaginative.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Dear Mr. Jerkface,

It’s really more of a tableau than an actual story, isn’t it? But that’s just an observation. I don’t mind it as long as it’s done well. Is it done well? I had mixed feelings; we’ll take the bad first.

My first criticism, my only criticism, but a big criticism, is the lack of any emotion. Soooo much neglected potential. He should be confused, he should be trying to figure out what’s going on. Think about what it’s like when you first wake up suddenly: you’re surprised, and your first thought, perhaps a frantic one, is to get your bearings on where you are and what’s going on. Factor in that he’s in a strange place he doesn’t recognize and he can’t remember a thing: he should be bewildered, and just because it’s Tahu, maybe even a little angry. There’s a lot to of emotion to look at here, but instead, all we get is a cold pensiveness. It’s a missed opportunity.

Now for the subjective. Early on in the story, I was wondering why you didn’t take advantage of the experience of being built. That’s an important part. But then I found you had a good reason. Personally, I’m not a fan of making BIONICLE characters into humans. It seems pointless to me. It can be done well, but in a piece like this, I don’t see it as being worth it. Just a matter of taste, really.

Now for what I did like. Your style: very straightforward, very smooth, very few instances of awkward or confusing sentence structure. Your descriptions: simple but informative. I especially liked the first few sentences, you did a powerful job of setting the scene; with a little more sensory detail (roar of the waves, call of the seabirds, maybe the salty tang of the air, etc.) it’s golden. Also, no typographical errors: always a plus.

Like I said, the “story” itself was pretty simplistic: Tahu wakes up, gets a grip on his mind and his senses at least, remembers his name, and wanders instinctively toward Ta-Koro. But you end on a successfully ominous note that portends Tahu’s arrival, conjuring for any diehard fan the scene from MNOLG (except now we have Orlando Bloom cast as Tahu).

On the whole, it wasn’t done poorly, but it wasn’t done quite well, either; there was too much missed opportunity. There’s promise in it, definitely. But you said yourself that it was “a doodle-type deal,” so from that perspective it’s pretty good. I hope to come across more of your work . . . particularly, work written this year.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

I suppose I otter wish you a happy birthday, since I forgot yesterday . . .

I especially owe you compensation for that pun.

So happy birthday, Hairy-Nosed European Tarsier.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

For those of you who are busy with finals, good news - we're extending the deadline another week! You now have until Tuesday, December 17th to write something for Unfortunate Event.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

It must be a BIONICLE story? Typo?

. . . Next time I minutely examine every word before posting.

Thanks for catching that. =P

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Congratulations to Legolover-361, winner of "Now Only Five" with his story, The Innocent, the Victim

Good work all around! We'll see you back in the Library in two weeks. Can't live that long without an FFFC? Our current OTC competition just started with a dreadfully dreary theme.

And it's time to return for a new writing prompt . . .

"Moving in"

December Writing Prompt

Use it as a theme for your story, use it as an opening line, use it in the middle, at the end, twist the words--it's up to you. Just incorporate it into your story, in one way or another. Let it inspire you.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Theme #11:

Unfortunate Event

Deadline: 11:59 PM PST on Tuesday, December 17th.

Any interpretation of the theme is valid, but your entry must be an OTC story and it must adhere to the rules posted above. Also, just for fun because achievements really aren't worth much, keep in mind the December Writing Prompt: "Moving in"

Member: Nuile

Theme: Now Only Five

Word Count: 562

Story: Stung

Please don't make me the only entrant. That would be awkward. You know the feeling? Like in class you're the only one who raises your hand, or worse, the only one who doesn't? Or somebody tries to start a wave at a shuffleboard tournament and you're the only one who waves? Don't make me that person.

If you don't quite make the deadline, don't worry, we'll forgive you this once if you're a couple hours or a couple days late.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Footsteps cried out in the night, joining with the unending wailing of the wind and the steady sobbing of the sea. Varying hues of darkness painted the waters, shadows danced across the rocks in the moonlight, and a Matoran, cold, shivering, hurried over the slippery stone.

I have to get off this island.

He lost his footing and slid down a boulder and stumbled on again.

We should never have come here.

His breathing came in ragged gasps. The salty sting of the ocean air burned at his eyes and in his throat, the wind tried to squeeze all the breath out of him, and the rocks with their slimy surfaces tried to pull his feet out from under him and guide him down, down the cliff face, down into seething waters below.

He stopped for a breathless moment, listening. Was that—? Laughter. Was it laughter? He ran faster.

If only this Kakama was any good—oh, Karzahni!

He stopped dead and fell to his knees, panting, tired, weak. He had a Mask of Power. He had a Kualsi. The Matoran was just sport! And as soon as he was tired of the game, the Matoran would be dead.

“I am disappointed in you. I thought you had more spirit in you than that.”

The Matoran looked up. A Toa of Iron stood over him, looking down at him with a cold, disdainful glare. Yet behind the Mask of Quick Travel there was a gleam of amusement in the glowing red eyes.

“I trusted you,” the Matoran said, “we all trusted you! We were counting on you to protect us, so I helped you—and you’ve betrayed us!”

The Toa laughed. “You wish to judge me? Do as you will, I cannot expect you to understand.”

“The others will stop you! They’ll find out what you’re up to before—”

“The others!” The Toa kicked the Matoran in the mask. He kneeled down, put his hand at his victim’s throat, and smiled. “Clearly I misjudged you. I thought you were more intelligent than the others. I thought it would make matters more exciting to turn your own wits against you. But you have disappointed me. You might be the biggest fool of them all.”

With his hands tight around the Matoran’s neck, the Toa lifted his squirming prey into the air. The Matoran squealed in pain and fear.

“You think the others will stop me?” said the Toa. “The others think I am dead. The others think I have paid for my crimes, and so I will—when I have seen to it, that you have all paid for yours.” His fingers tightened and the Matoran’s eyes grew larger. “You will be the next to pay. For crimes against the Great Spirit, I hold you guilty. How do you plead?”

“Please—don’t—”

“I thought as much.”

The Toa ripped the Matoran’s mask from his face and hurled the Matoran over the edge and watched as his body plunged into the foam. He thought he heard a crunch as the next wave struck the cliffs, but drowned in the sobs of the sea it might have been anything. He might have imagined it. He had hardly heard the screams.

With a sigh, the Toa turned his back on the sea. “Another gone. How disappointing,” he whispered to himself. “Now only five.”

Until I realized what the background picture was, I thought this was a reference to five days until MLP:FiM's Season 3 premier.

Wait, this is posted in the Bionicle forum but must be a COT story?

Good to know some people actually read the whole post. =P Good catch! Fixed.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Theme #11:

Now Only Five

Deadline: 11:59 PM PST on Monday, November 25th.

Any interpretation of the theme is valid, but your entry must be a BIONICLE story and it must adhere to the rules posted above. Also, just for fun because achievements really aren't worth much, keep in mind the October - November Writing Prompt:"They'll see in time . . ."

Congratulations to Zox, winner of "Fall" with his story, Running for a Shooting Star!

We couldn't come to an agreement for an honorable mention; we barely agreed on a victor. Thank you for great stories, everyone. Keep up the excellent writing!

Our next competition starts this Monday, November 18th, over in the Library. Keep your eyes peeled!

Congratulations to Baltarc, winner of "Rise" with his story, The Kal!

Honorable mention goes to Click's "As the Sand Rises"

Pahrak, Baltarc, Click, excellent job; this must have been the closest FFFC we've had yet. Picking one story above the others was tough! Thank you for entering so regularly, and for giving us your best for our tenth theme. Congratulations!

Our next competition starts this Monday, November 18th. Keep your eyes peeled!

Attention previous entrants: Unfortunately I have no way of tracking down the entries lost during the downtime, so I'll have to ask you to post your stories and submission forms again. Preferably by the deadline, but if you miss by a few days we'll forgive you. Thanks!

Theme #10:

Rise

Deadline: 11:59 PM PST on Monday, November 4th.

Any interpretation of the theme is valid, but your entry must be a BIONICLE story and it must adhere to the rules posted above. Also, if you are an Ambage member, keep in mind the October Writing Prompt (to get more achievements):"They'll see in time . . ."

And don't forget to enter the Library competition, Fall!

Attention previous entrants: Unfortunately I have no way of tracking down the entries lost during the downtime, so I'll have to ask you to post your stories and submission forms again. Preferably by the deadline, but if you miss by a few days we'll forgive you. Thanks!

Theme #10:

Fall

Deadline: 11:59 PM PST on Monday, November 4th.

Any interpretation of the theme is valid, but your entry must be a COT story and it must adhere to the rules posted above. Also, if you are an Ambage member, keep in mind the October Writing Prompt (to get more achievements):"They'll see in time . . ."

And don't forget to enter the Library competition, Rise!

I'm late on this, but such things transcend time, don't they?

Felicitations and best blessings to the happy couple!

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Well, now we're waiting on the monster contest. Once that's over, the FFFCs will be starting again. Keep your eyes open, and in the meantime, don't forget to keep up with the monster contest. Voting will probably be starting soon.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith