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Deputy Regional Minister of the Planning and Development Agency(March 8-May 19, 2014)

Local Council Member(April 24-August 11)

Court Justice of TSP(August 15-December 7)

Quotes

"The 1% is like a 1% battery charge. It will die out if it is not charged(the charge is the 99%). But if you don't charge it, it will die for sure, sooner or later"
- Me (2001- Present)

"Change is the world's blood"
- Me (2001-Present)

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I liked it especially the science fiction part and the way both species came from us Angel\Gnomes mashup.

Planning to write one this weekend *fingers crossed*

Escade

~ Positions Held in TSP ~
Delegate | Vice Delegate 
Minister of Regional Affairs, | Minister of Foreign Affairs | Minister of Military Affairs
~ The Sparkly One ~

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(This post was last modified: 04-05-2017, 10:00 PM by Escade.)

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So, doing the CULT writing competition has left me in a more writerly and inspired mood than usual, so I present to you my response to the challenge I set here some weeks ago.

Celestial Rights

It had to be here, there was nowhere else.

The old Mistone Abbey had stood for hundreds of years as a bastion of Elfin orthodoxy and purity, overseen by an Abbot who was considered, even by Elfin standards, to be a hardcore Elfin Supremacist, who preached of the fire and brimstone of Khehennu for anyone who even looked at a non-Elf in the wrong way. That the Abbey fell first into disrepair and then into utter ruin after the Abbot’s death was much more a testament to fear the old elf had instilled in Mistone’s populace than it was any sign of lessening tensions between the Elfin population and the other, marginalised races.

There was another church in Mistone, after all and the old Abbot’s legacy could be heard there every Starday, morning and evening, without fail. The attitudes overheard on the whitewashed doorsteps were just the same as they been centuries before and for the Gnomes and halflings, the humans, dwarves and half-wraiths who lived in the slums on the edge of Mistone, life was as hard and as unforgiving as it had ever been.

But the ruins of the Abbey were peaceful. No one went near them for fear of the old Abbot’s ghost and as the stone gradually crumbled away and the yew trees grew tall and strong, it became a garden of refuge for those who had nowhere else to go. It had been there, whilst hiding from a gang of Elfin youths in vicious high spirits, that Dolborn had first met Hirael, her appearance to him like an answer to a forgotten prayer.

And now he waited for her. Hardly able to see because of the thick grass and shrubs that choked the sanctuary, it didn’t much matter where he stood or which way he looked, but he would know when she arrived. It was unmistakable.

The grass started to shiver in a breeze that Dolborn could not feel, though his arms dimpled with gooseflesh nevertheless. The birds fell silent for just a moment, then burst into full song, melodious beyond avian artistry and then the world seemed to brighten, the colours coming into sharp focus until everything was hyperreal, even the old grey stone of the Abbey.

And then she was there, standing beside him, her wings folding in behind her. She smiled at him - not the mysterious shy smile she had worn on that day five years before, the one that had intrigued as much as it had terrified. No, this was a special smile, a secret smile she shone only at him, the one that magmafied his little stone heart and set his nose tingling.

“Are you both ready?” the Dwarven priestess said and both Gnome and Angel turned to her and nodded.

“You have your vows?” she asked and, again, they nodded.

“Then let us begin.”

Founder of the Church of the South Pacific [Forum Thread] [Discord], a safe place to discuss spirituality for people of all faiths and none (currently looking for those interested in prayer and/or "home" groups);
And The Silicon Pens [Discord], a writer's group for the South Pacific and beyond!

Yahweo usenneo ir varleo, ihraneo jurlaweo hraseu seu, ir jiweveo arladi.

Salma 145:8

translate

The LORD is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love.
Psalm 145: 8

(This post was last modified: 04-09-2017, 10:27 AM by Seraph.)

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I've updated the OP to include a link to our new Discord server, The Silicon Manor, which I hope to be the start of a new and exciting period of the group.

Founder of the Church of the South Pacific [Forum Thread] [Discord], a safe place to discuss spirituality for people of all faiths and none (currently looking for those interested in prayer and/or "home" groups);
And The Silicon Pens [Discord], a writer's group for the South Pacific and beyond!

Yahweo usenneo ir varleo, ihraneo jurlaweo hraseu seu, ir jiweveo arladi.

Salma 145:8

translate

The LORD is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love.
Psalm 145: 8

Reply

Here's mine for the Gnetting a bit Gothic

Expected

I shifted to fifth, I’m back at the tarmac.

“We interrupt this program for a breaking news, the McCraken Epidemic has taken another, this time it was our beloved Tilda Pantingson, the young actress famous for her imaginative pieces and flighty persona as well as her role as Adan in the famous "Expected series lies in a coma--"

I stopped the radio that time.

I don’t need another narrative of what I need to do. Tilda was sick from the epidemic long before the broadcast.

I knew it because I was tasked to retrieve her cute for I have to save her, it was custom after all in situations like this for the male partner to risk his life to save his female. I knew it because I was tasked to retrieve her cure, they say I need to save her, it was a custom in these things that the male partner risks his life to save the female. Despite the challenge, her father promised me much if I could do this task, including his daughter, so I accepted the offer.

I slowed down. We're here.

Pratterson church, or what’s left of it. The guy told me to meet him here, saying he had the cure that was supposedly locked up away by the government. Why choose somewhere so distant from civilization?It seemed like a heck of a drive, with the long and winding road taking a toll on me. I parked near a fallen cross and got out to be greeted by the cold wind.

I felt a shiver, an action that was thought to be a reaction to fear, was actually the physiological action of the body to become warmer. The snow crunched under my boots as I walked towards the ruins, until I heard a rush of water coming from the fountain in the center. Strange. The water's still running even though it's freezing here. Then, I decided to take a drink from it due to the cold weather drying me up, even though it was a bad idea.

The water was delicious, people say it’s quite foolish to eat cold things in cold weather, I say that the cold weather retains the temperature of what we consume. Did it have an effect on me? I guess not, my body is still alright, water poisoning should quickly take place after consumption. So I felt refreshed, and went to look around the ruins, waiting for the associate to enter. I found myself behind one of the large walls of what once, was the church for the million that lived close. The sun shone, and a light beamed towards me from a window up top, you can see the specks of dust and snow flying around the place, the wind gushed, blowing the dust up.

When I decided to take a cigarette from my pocket, I heard the sounds of harps from the fountain, I decided to investigate, and an angel with skin white as snow made heavenly tunes unmatched by others. It lured me towards her, and next to her, she continued playing in my presence, and when the last string was pulled. She stopped, and looked at me.

“Dear traveller, what is it that you seek?” She asked, I didn’t answer.

“Traveller, one could not escape the shadow, no matter how fast one runs. Why seek her, when you knew she swindled you of yourself? Did she not cheat on you with another?” I was shocked, how did she know this? The thought of my source was an omnipotent angel does not come to mind.

Yes, I knew she cheated on me, I did not thought that it was still going on, the angel showed me the vision, of how she had trapped me in her possession. Every touch of the cheek, lips and every pull of my pants, were naught.

“Why should you save her? Stay with me… Stay with me, and come in to my embrace, ravage me.” The alluring voice enchanted me, and I couldn’t move away.

“Stay with me traveller.” She said once more, and embraced my face, grabbing my face with her two soft hands. I was blinded by the embrace of rest, the rest from all the bad things that would happen in this world, only if I stick with her.

It was then that a tiny hand tugged me away, and pulled me away of the fountain, and from the angel. Another glance saw the angel’s grotesque face, of fangs that ejected from the porcelain beauty, and she screamed her anger.

I looked at my savior, a tiny gnome pulling me with immense power away from the premises. I was confused, and tried to resist for an explanation, but the power was large for such a small body, and tugging me to the woods.

“Did I not tell you to do anything stupid? Now you done it, you’ve woken it! It would surely grab you if I hadn’t intervened. Losing yourself like that, shameful.”

“What’s going on?”

“We’re going back, and we’re not giving in just yet.”

We both ran from the ruins of the church, the terrifying scream continued from voice what I thought was heavenly. I nearly escaped.

The End

"毎日の小さな努力の積み重ねが歴史を作っていくんだよ。"

---

Put a little effort everyday and it will stack up and create a foundation for you.

- Doraemon


Treasure Island Awards Best Roleplay 2020
Treasure Island Awards Best Roleplayer 2020
Cocos Winner for Best Character Writer 2017
Cocos Winner for Best International Event 2017
Cocos Winner for Best Overall RP 2017

Things to know: Medical Intern and Biomedical Scientist from Indonesia, Muslim, 188 metres tall, loves trains

(This post was last modified: 07-07-2017, 05:12 PM by Hammerstar.)

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This is my entry for the CULT Writing Prompt as well
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EXPOSURE

It was always nice sitting in the swings, especially in an atmosphere such as this. It’s serene and lovely, pure from discord. Breathe in, the air is tasty, the breath of life. This is what it feels to be alive, alive and well. We took it for granted.

Over time the more we are exposed to such luxury the more we forgot that it was a blessing in the first place, when a black unicorn came in, it promised a burning feeling of goodness. Indeed, as it burns, it feels… Liberating, enabling us to escape such stress that the world brings, making us immune from the challenges brought by the harsh winds. The harsh winds moved the swings, shaking it, but the black unicorn provided a burning sense of security unmatched by others.

But we were wrong, its goodness came with a price, the longer the black unicorn lingered, the dirtier the atmosphere became. Every breath did not feel liberating, instead, every attempt of inhalation ended with a fitting of coughs laden with smoke. The black unicorn merely brought temporary affection. How could we not see, of the graceful and free life we had before was much more valuable and longer, how could we not see it?

By the time the area is distraught, and every breath is hard, the black unicorn charged at us, into our hearts. Our breath is useless, and we fall. Falling down deeper than the earthly surface itself.

"毎日の小さな努力の積み重ねが歴史を作っていくんだよ。"

---

Put a little effort everyday and it will stack up and create a foundation for you.

- Doraemon


Treasure Island Awards Best Roleplay 2020
Treasure Island Awards Best Roleplayer 2020
Cocos Winner for Best Character Writer 2017
Cocos Winner for Best International Event 2017
Cocos Winner for Best Overall RP 2017

Things to know: Medical Intern and Biomedical Scientist from Indonesia, Muslim, 188 metres tall, loves trains

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I also finished with my short prompt of the Duolingo Challenge
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Peter see postal workers in the evening

Peter sees postal workers in the evening, every evening for the last 20 years. He had not a partner, nor an offspring, him seeing the unknown faces of postal workers in the evening was all he has. Indeed, after the workers are gone, he is left alone, in his tiny box overlooking the storehouse.

He never felt the business of day, he was asleep like a bat, yet unlike the creatures of the night, he is confined in a cage where his sole duty is to protect. Protect what exactly? What is to protect from a place that sells gravel? It’s the same gravel as the ones outside!

He saw the company motto, “Roadcorp, making roads that to the endless points of the world.” Upon such motto is a photo of a man riding a car with a cherry smile. He had thought that if such roads are endless, shouldn’t the journey in the road be endless as well? Happiness such as mr Cherry smiles in the wall are temporary, and when you’ve been riding the same car in the same road for an eternity, you may feel that all is at lost.

Maybe if such a man existed in such an endless universe, with a forced smile sown on him as eternal punishment, it only takes time to break the man, and he would do anything to see the end of such hell. The man known as Peter perhaps could sympathize with the man on the wall, how could he not? The man on the wall is his only companion for the night, and the night before, and all nights since.
Peter sipped his coffee, blacker than a moonless night, hotter and more bitter than hell itself. He read the newspaper left from his co-workers in the morning, if they actually remembered the old Peter. It was the only method of entertainment, there wasn’t any television nor a book. Just the morning news with stories of what goes on outside his tiny little box. The faces of horror from plight, remorse from crime, or joy from victory, and whatever that are unexpected, at least they have an exiting life in the world.

The people in the newspaper, their emotions and lives, no matter how far or close from happiness, would make them missed. Who would miss Peter? Peter’s friends are long gone from the war, and he is left alone guarding this storehouse. The other workers forgot his presence, let alone the big cats. They say gifts are given to those who devoted themselves to the trade for a long time. What’s the point if no one remembered Peter anyway?

He had sent all he had to charity, for it is the day the road ends, life is all about decision of course. He has done what was done, and what could be done. Now, he’s done.

Peter reached the end of his “endless” road, and Peter sees the postal workers in the evening, from another tiny box.

"毎日の小さな努力の積み重ねが歴史を作っていくんだよ。"

---

Put a little effort everyday and it will stack up and create a foundation for you.

- Doraemon


Treasure Island Awards Best Roleplay 2020
Treasure Island Awards Best Roleplayer 2020
Cocos Winner for Best Character Writer 2017
Cocos Winner for Best International Event 2017
Cocos Winner for Best Overall RP 2017

Things to know: Medical Intern and Biomedical Scientist from Indonesia, Muslim, 188 metres tall, loves trains

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So, I've been in the mood to write, but struggling to actually do so for various reasons, so I began looking through old stuff to see if there was something I could feel inspired to continue. I found this fragment, which was the opening to the first story of a cycle all about a fictional fantasy city called Tsanteresht. I thought I'd share the fragment here to see what people thought and maybe get the encouragement/inspiration needed to continue it. I've included my notes about where the story was supposed to go in a second spoiler tag underneath, for anyone who wants a better idea of where this was headed ('cos the fragment is really very short).

Fragment

'The Founding of Dzhaun Drezhed'
Galavezhk was running out of breath. The dim light of dawn was spreading above the distant wooded hills, the baying of the lancehounds had become muted and confused somewhere behind and a man could only run so far across a dimpled plain such as this. He slid down into a stony hollow, pressed himself flat against a slab of exposed rock and tried to breathe normally, hoping that, at last, he might have lost them.
It shouldn't have turned out this way. It was never what he had intended - at least that’s what he kept telling himself. It was all just a terrible misunderstanding; he would deny anything else to his grave. And yet there was no denying that his brother Kezhuvard was dead and that he had been exiled from his people with no hope of return. However just he might have thought the decision of the tribal elders, it was clear that there was no turning back.
Like so many brotherly feuds, this one had begun with a girl. Her name was Egran, she had just survived her fourteenth summer and there was no one more beautiful among the tents of the Dzhaun. Egran’s father and Galavezhk’s had long been friends and hunting companions, so the brothers had known her since the day she had been born and they had dismissed her almost as long. She had been little more than an annoyance for most of their lives and, as she grew older and more shy of the older boys and closer to the girls of the other families, they had seen her less and less often. So, on the day Galavezhk had returned, the first to arrive back from a hunting trip, to see her beating the yak hides in the late summer sun, her straight black hair turned almost silver in the intensity of the light, her young breasts just hinted at beneath the folds of her garment, it had been something of a revelation. And as quickly as he had realised her womanhood and beauty, he had also known that he wanted her.
His initial approach had been tentative, almost shy. He had dismounted from his horse smoothly as ever, approached with confidence, smiled the smile the girls before this one had liked so much, but as he got near he found his usual swagger had left him and as he opened his mouth to say something clever his throat went dry and the words seemed to melt away in his mind.
"Galavezhk?" she had asked, seeing him approach out of the corner of her eye, "Does my Father need me for something?"
"No, ah..." he began, struggling for words, "I just saw you and..." she was staring at him now, her eyes a misty blue, sparkling with sunlight, the corners of her luscious mouth twisted in... concern? amusement? - he couldn't tell and the silence was getting awkward.
He felt like a fool, like a boy unblooded and short of hair, still watching over his mother's cookfire.
"-And I thought you'd want to know. Your Father killed a massive boar. It will take a few people and quite a bit of time to prepare it. You should get ready."
It was no less pathetic for being true.
"Oh," she replied, almost in a daze, as if she had been expecting something else, then, regaining her composure, added, "of course. I'll tell mother right away!"
The hides were abandoned and Galavezhk watched as she vanished into her family's tent, her silken hair the last thing to whip out of sight.
"What are you staring at, Galva?"
He didn't need to turn. It was Kezhuvard.

Notes

This should tell of a young man, exiled from his nomadic tribe - the Dzhaun - for some crime - possibly leading enemies to their camp? who discovers the amphitheatre by the river where they could shelter safely. This place should have the remains of some ancient ruin in it and an old man camped there - a missionary of sorts, who the young man will kill, followed by some religious/mystical/magical sign which makes him decide to turn back and tell his people.
The place will be called Dzhaun Drezhed, meaning something like Sleep of the Dzhaun.
Include some recent history of the Dzhaun, how they were a nomadic tribe, briefly settled as part of a desert empire (analogous to Khazar Khaganate) until war forced them to move on. Now they are in a new, lusher land, but beset by enemies and without any place they can settle for more than a few weeks. The amphitheatre at what will be called Dzhaun Drezhed is perfect for their needs - especially if protected in some mystical way. (Blood shed? Sacrifice? Perhaps their protector is something less than savoury - could lead to an overall story arc?)

Thanks for your time.

Founder of the Church of the South Pacific [Forum Thread] [Discord], a safe place to discuss spirituality for people of all faiths and none (currently looking for those interested in prayer and/or "home" groups);
And The Silicon Pens [Discord], a writer's group for the South Pacific and beyond!

Yahweo usenneo ir varleo, ihraneo jurlaweo hraseu seu, ir jiweveo arladi.

Salma 145:8

translate

The LORD is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love.
Psalm 145: 8

(This post was last modified: 07-29-2017, 12:58 PM by Seraph.)

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Okie dokie folks. I started this a LONG time ago and not a single person has seen it. So well here... It's called Cindy.

Spoiler

  I remember my name, my first name; Cindy. I remember a pair of eyes greener than anything I could even try to think of to compare them to. And I remember a melody. I can't place it and it never stays long enough for me to recreate it, but I remember.       
    Nancy says that's important. She says that I should just let the memories come to me. I have been in this place for six months and nothing has changed. Nancy is my “personal mind enhancer therapist” which is a fancy name for a shrink who deals with amnesiacs. When I first came to this place(I have no idea where exactly I am as I am never allowed outside the walls) she was formally friendly. Kind of like the doctors. But now she seems to be alright with my never changing status.         

  She is sitting on the rocker by the windows with her notebook on her lap and her pen in her mouth staring at the wall. She has been like that since she woke me up from another one of my “ I-don't-know-what-is-scaring-me-because-I'm-awake-and-can't-remember” nightmares. I can tell she is frustrated   even though she thinks her face is blank.         

  There has been at least three of these a week for the past two months. Nancy thinks it is because no one seems to know who I am. There have been ads and news stories about me since I was found seven months ago but so far no one has stepped forward and said “Hey, she belongs to us!”. Nancy says they are thinking of going international but are afraid because of the dangers that could come from it. No one knows where I am truly from since apparently I am fluent in a number of languages with an accent no one can place.         

  “Nancy, are you going to sit there all night?” I only wanted to know so that I could fall asleep. It was annoying to have someone in the room with you while you were trying to sleep. You don't know what they are going to do. It's just plain uncomfortable. She just sat there and let her red hair fall as she tilted her head to the side. Nancy could be pretty if she wanted to be. I told her that once. She said that being pretty didn't mean anything if she had to be a size 2 to even get considered.       

    “No, no I won't, sorry dear. I was just thinking about something that's all honey. Now get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning.” She got up from the chair and came over to my bed. I could tell just  by her posture that she was going to lean in to kiss my forehead, she keeps getting sentimental on me at the weirdest times. Nancy patted my head and walked to the door. She turned and stared at me like she was going to speak but just shook her head. “Good night honey.” she said as she walked out the door. “Night Nancy.” I said as she shut it.       

    Sometimes I think Nancy forgets that I'm, well I don't know how old I am, but, I do know that I am much too old for her to baby. I think she only does it because the other kids  have all started to get better and I haven't. I think she thinks that this makes me special or something. Plus the other kids have families who visit them and such. I think (again with all of this I think stuff, I really need to stop thinking so much) anyway, I think Nancy thinks that it bothers me that no one has come to see me yet. It doesn't. I try and tell her that but I don't know, she just won’t listen. I am perfectly fine with the fact that there isn't anyone to “collect me” as it's called. I have my own room for starters, which is rare for this place. Most kids have to share with at least one other person. Some have to share with two. Nancy says I'm a special case so sometimes that means I get special treatment. The only thing I can say is that the other kids get someone to clean for them. I have to do all of my own chores. Nancy says it's only fair, which I guess is the truth. Look at me. I've been blubbering on about all of this and you have no idea about anything I'm even saying.         

  Well let me start at the beginning. My name is Cindy. I have been at “FLYERS” for about 6 months now.

It isn't finished as this is as far as I have gotten but I hope you like it. And if you have ideas and comments please feel free :-)

This is Penguin!!
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Penguins shall one day rule the pie!
And by "pie", I mean "World"!!
Goddess Empress Queen Princess Lady of TSP 
Lilium Inter Spinas // Non timebo mala
I have done a lot of things in the Region in my History.
There's a list somewhere if you wanna go looking. 

(This post was last modified: 07-29-2017, 10:53 AM by Penguin.)

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- snippety, snip -

I liked it.  You give a good sense of character of building mystery without giving too much away.  There are a few places where the parenthetical interruptions are a little jarring - they feel in-character, but I found their placement a little confusing, although this could be because I was constantly interrupted in my reading by a chattering three-year-old, so maybe it's nothing!  I'd be interested to see where it was heading.

Founder of the Church of the South Pacific [Forum Thread] [Discord], a safe place to discuss spirituality for people of all faiths and none (currently looking for those interested in prayer and/or "home" groups);
And The Silicon Pens [Discord], a writer's group for the South Pacific and beyond!

Yahweo usenneo ir varleo, ihraneo jurlaweo hraseu seu, ir jiweveo arladi.

Salma 145:8

translate

The LORD is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love.
Psalm 145: 8

Reply