Sunday, January 31, 2010
He ran like this for an hour, until he tripped over a tree root. He hit the ground painfully, and Nyoromo flew from his grip. Coming to his senses, Red tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in his throat. For a long moment, he couldn't breathe at all and his lungs screamed for air. Darkness crept in at the corners of his vision. Suddenly, the breath exploded from his lungs in a gust, and he inhaled deep draughts of the cool night air. The panic threatened to take him again as he couldn't seem to do anything but breathe, such was his need for air. Gradually, his gasping lessened. He was able to stand after a few minutes, though he fell against a tree as soon as he did. His legs quivered under his weight, and when he thought himself strong enough to take a step, he fell forward and vomited.
Once his stomach was empty, he continued to retch painfully. Once he was reasonably certain that he wasn't going to die, he rolled over and just laid on the ground. His legs ached and quivered, and Red might not have moved from that spot until morning had he not heard a plaintive "Wag." from somewhere nearby.
Red sat bolt upright. Nyoromo! The injured pokémon had been thrown aside in the fall. Red clambered to his feet, too worried to feel the fiery pain. He softly called out, "Nyoromo?" When no response came, he called louder, then louder still.
"Poli." The tremulous voice was nearly snatched by the faint breeze. Red made his way to where it came from. As he walked, the breeze grew. It only occurred to him how odd wind was in such a thick forest when he stepped past the treeline onto the edge of a cliff. The wind gusted past him, pulling at his clothes. Nyoromo was nowhere to be seen.
"Poli. Wag." Red's heart sank when he realized the sound came from past the cliff. He imagined his pokémon's broken body lying at the bottom of the drop. Red wasn't sure he could retrieve the poliwag, much less nurse it back to health. Not trusting his legs, he crawled to the brink and looked down. Five feet below, on a small, mossy outcropping, was Nyoromo. Fifty feet below the pokémon was a ruin.
They had found the Fallen Viridian.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
"Hello?" I called into the frigid air. "Is anyone there? Hello?"
"Don't worry. All will be revealed in time," a toneless voice pronounced out of nowhere.
"What? Who are you? Where am I?"
"You don't need to know. But you may know this: you are a part of an experiment. We need you to stay calm in order for our results to be accurate."
"What?!?" I screamed into the air. "No, I will not stay calm! What kind of experiment?"
"I told you; you don't need to know. Now calm yourself before we have to calm you by force."
"Go ahead and 'calm' me by force then!" I shot back sarcastically. A pungent odor started to permeate the air. I fought my closing lids as long as I possibly could, but eventually succumbed to a drugged sleep.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Reogan was born twenty-one years ago, the son of Tycho Goldeneye. Tycho had once been a sheriff of Endsborough, a small town in the lands of Viscount Francis the Bald. He was popular enough among the townspeople, though always a bit standoffish for, as he would let no one forget, he was of noble stock, and thus in no way was going to lower himself by deigning to mingle among them. He gained notoriety when he led his small contingent to end the bandit menace that had been plaguing the entire viscounty. When Francis was informed of salvation by the bow of Goldeneye, he immediately granted the man a large fief and the title of Baron. Goldeneye immediately appointed others to take care of his old duties, and spent his time in lower noble circles trying to gain a name for himself. He soon married a lesser noble, Novinha von Hesse, and within a year she bore him Reogan, at the cost of her own life. As the Baron was a particular favorite of Francis, Reogan, his heir, was given an education in the finest schools in the land. At the age of fifteen, Reogan left his father’s Barony to go to a distant school to learn the deep magicks of his world. He was a natural, progressing much faster than even his most intelligent peers. He graduated from his lessons a fortnight before he became twenty-one, and was prepared to take up an apprenticeship to Melzar the Ineffable in the spring. However, on the eve of his birthday he received word that his father had succumbed to a mysterious illness and that he was needed at once to take the Barony into his own hands. He bought a horse with what little remained of the fortune he had brought, and rode at once for home. Upon arriving, he hurried to his father’s palatial estate, and was led to his father’s room, where the embalmed body lay at rest. Reogan wept at the foot of the dead man’s bed. When at last he stood, he saw another had entered the room. The Viscount laid a hand on his shoulder, and spoke to him of his father’s greatness, and how now he would take his place. He was waxing eloquent when two soldiers in an unknown uniform entered, and knocked both men unconscious.
Reogan awoke to flames. The manor was ablaze, and he stumbled down the stairway, choking on the smoke. He exited the manor through a hidden way his father had once taught him, and thus was able to escape in time. He saw a large crowd gathered outside the main entrance. He remembered the Viscount, and thought to try to rescue him, but just as the thought crossed his mind, the roof fell in on the building. He bought a room at an inn in the town, thinking to go the next morning to Francis’ estate and tell his tale. He was awakened the next day by trumpets and the late Viscount’s men marching down the road. A herald informed the crowd that Francis had been murdered by Reogan Tychoson, and that he was wanted dead or alive for a substantial reward. Reogan fled that night through a window, and ran for weeks until reaching Peter’s bar in Nabill.
From his upbringing, Reogan developed a few traits. He learned that all commoners are mindless peasants, and one can speak of them in any manner they please without fear of repercussion. He learned that he was inherently superior as he was the son of a baron and the favorite of a viscount. At his school, he learned that none could match his intellect. He never had to work a day in his life, and developed an aversion to work, grime, and dirt. He honed a taste for fine wines and food. He has a deep-seated terror of large fires. He distrusts guards and soldiers and the like. His goals are to gain the wealth and power he lost, and then rise in power until no one can take everything from him again. His ultimate goal of ascension to godhood is secret, even to himself.
Yes, he isn't a sorcerer. Only a wizard can have the haughty holier-than-thou attitude.
Yes, his father's named after Tycho Brahe from PA. I idolize that man.
Yes, I stole Novinha from Speaker for the Dead. I didn't feel like being creative.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Sorry, had this prepared but forgot to post it. This is caterpie. I had to draw it twice as big as the sprite to get the detail better, and then i had to round it out so it didn't look to pixelly. This was the most fun illustration I have ever done.
"Wag!" cried Nyoromo, jolting Red out of his shock. He raised his hand and threw a small sphere at the bug. It hit the creatures head, and broke open. A purple smog began to pour out of it, and the caterpie stopped moving. The smoke obscured the creature, but Red could still see when it began to thrash about. It screeched, and began to dart back and forth, spewing thread from its mouth. A gobbet of thread hit Red in the face with the force of strong punch, making him drop his bag. He fell back against the tree, clawing at his eyes. The threads completely obscured his vision, and pulled painfully at his face and hair as he attacked it.
The creature screeched again, and Red heard motion near him. The scream dropped in pitch and faded as the caterpie ran into the forest. He gave up on his eyes for the moment, and crawled forward, feeling for his bag. It was only when Nyoromo gave a pitiful little whimper from behind him did Red realize he had been crawling in the wrong direction. He turned, knowing that without his poliwag's aid, he would have crawled off alone and fallen prey to the forest.
He found the sphere he had thrown, now cracked, and felt a rush of appreciation for Oak. In the weeks after the Upheaval, before the Seven came to Pallet, he had developed a new recipe for repels that didn't require high technology. Instead of a spray, it was now stored in prepared apricorns. Much improved in the years since that dark time, every one of the Called was given a single repel just in case such a disaster befell them. Red doubted one had ever been used on a caterpie.
His bag was lying nearby. Feeling inside, he found the small knife he had been given by his mother the night before the Calling. He took it and carefully began to slice the threads on his face. It took him a little time, but he eventually had divided it into strips that peeled away easily. He cut himself only once, a shallow slash of red across his left eyelid. It would heal quickly, without a scar.
He looked around and found Nyoromo. The pokémon was limp against the tree, barely conscious. White poured from its wound, and ran off it down the tree. Red felt a surge of pity for the creature. He rushed over and cut it free. He held Nyoromo against him as he took a small bottle from his bag. He poured a liquid from it directly onto the wound, and the pokémon went rigid before writhing about, crying loudly. Red winced, but grimly held the squirming creature until it finally collapsed, exhausted. Red peeled the rest of the threads off, and then placed some on the wound to facilitate healing. Despite the dangers inherent in retrieving it, caterpie thread had amazing restorative capabilities.
Looking up from his task, Red saw the dim forest was growing darker. The night was approaching, with dangers of its own.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
It even smelled strange in here. Old, musty, but with a hint of the lake breeze that wafted in through the open window. One could smell the water nearby, and hear the laughter and chatter of the beachgoers. But it was faint; unable to break up the silence that still permeated the room.
The elderly woman at the desk was reading. A newcomer might assume that she had work to do, but regular visitors knew her better. She seemed not to notice anything around her, so focused was she on her book. And yet, when someone came to her desk to ask for help, she appeared not to mind the interruption. She whispered her response to him--quietly, of course, so as not to disturb the eternal silence of the place. She looked happy that someone else shared her love of reading.
The books that covered the shelves held every genre imaginable. Romance, science fiction, biographies, children's books, fantasy, and everything else--any type of book a reader wanted, they would be able to find it here.
Brian's parents brought him to the desk to talk to the elderly woman there. Even with this place's constant silence, it seemed like a place he would enjoy.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
I have little more to add. Met is much better at this than I am.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
"Only to honor You," spoke Darius the Plains Chief, least of the Kings.
"Only to reclaim what is Yours," spoke Melchior the Trade Baron, sixth of the Kings.
"Only to repay Your love," spoke Nicodemus the Forest Sage, fifth among the Kings.
"Only to give You everything," spoke Ivan the Ocean Scourge, fourth of the Kings.
"Only to bring you glory," spoke Nero the Cavern Mage, third among the Kings.
"Only to restore Your lands," spoke Gilgamesh the Mountain Warrior, second of the Kings.
"Only to heed Your call," spoke Lucifer the Brilliant, first of the Kings, and the Lord's prophet.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Red froze. The forest was a dangerous place for the Called. Without a pokémon, he was helpless. Viridian did not give second chances. He looked around, hoping the little thing hadn't gotten too far. He hadn't even noticed the absence of its weight.
"Poli!" rang a plaintive cry from just a few yards back. Red tried to move quickly but stealthily, as he wanted to be able to surprise whatever held Nyoromo. "Poliwag!" cried the pokémon again. Red moved behind a tree that he hoped would obscure him from the vision of anything near his poliwag. He slowly leaned sideways to allow his head around the tree.
Nyoromo was bound to a tree by a patch of white thread, nearly covering its entire body. Red could see the webbing move slightly as the creature struggled against it, but it showed no signs of giving way. At the base of the tree was a great larva crawling towards the tree, undulating like a worm near its tail, but crawling on four barbed legs nearer its head. It was three or four feet long, and its tail was weighted with a heavy club-like appendage. It had two large, black eyes that took up most of its head. Between them, a large, two-pronged antenna extended half a foot more, and it waved slightly as the pokémon moved. A small cylinder extended from its face, and from it a wisp of thread hung.
Red moved back behind the tree and slowly opened his bag, struggling not to make a sound. He knew that, despite the fear he felt, he faced only a caterpie, and he should be able to distract it for a short time. He found the item he was looking for and took a deep breath. Holding it, he stepped out from behind the tree just in time to see the caterpie tear a strip of flesh from Nyoromo's head.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
"I'm not having a very good time,
I am sad because of this rhyme.
I'm not good at this.
I almost think that it's a crime.
My belief on this is adamant:
This horrid debacle makes me lament.
This awful exercise
Is when my spirit dies
And hardens slowly into cement."
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
- The Apocalypse is an ongoing story, set in a familiar world with unfamiliar settings. Basically a chapter-a-week novel.
- The Laments and now the upcoming Sevenfold Sorrows are all prose-poems.
- Tuesday Tales are abstract short stories, released in short passages.
- JoCo Stories, the site's newest addition, are each a short story, appearing all at once, based upon Jonathan Coulton's songs.
- Thursday Thoughts are each short, often horrible poems.
- Elphaba's unnamed Friday post is now a short story a week, as I understand it.
- God Dreamt is a story of seven parts.
- Abstract Short Story
- Short Story
- Short Story
- Short Story
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
I don't think I am.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
So it was with an oozing cold blob upon his head, that Red ventured along the path. The twilight was oppressive, and it seemed to Red that it pulled the breath from his body. He found himself panting, though it took little effort to walk on the path. As he walked, the path began to die. Within ten minutes, it was so thin and bramble-strewn that he could barely see it. Within his first half hour in the forest, it was gone. He frequently checked his compass to ensure he knew the way back. His compass was, itself, an interesting object. It was shaped like half a sphere, with the glass on the flat surface. Beneath it was a needle that pointed north, and below it was a matrix of high technology. None of it functioned, but Red always enjoyed looking at the shards of times long passed. He had once heard that the compasses, his white semisphere included, were once a key part of the taming and training of pokémon. Now, though, the system had crumbled, and the thousands that had once been stored became useless. The shells were cannibalized to make something that could help.
He was so distracted, he didn't hear the rustling in the nearby bush.
Saturday, January 09, 2010
Friday, January 08, 2010
I'm invisible. And I don't mean figuratively invisible, although that had been true enough when I lived. I was average in weight, height, and everything else. I had regular brown eyes and hair. I was just about as common-looking as you could get--not exactly special. I was the person in high school you knew, but didn't ever really notice.
The only person that did notice me was my killer. He was a lot like me, actually--average-looking, unnoticeable, a nobody--but I apparently caught his attention. And trust me, it was not good attention. He told me--just before he killed me--that I reminded him of the girlfriend that had left him for another man. He wanted to kill her, but obviously didn't have the guts to do it. I was a substitute.
I went down fighting, of course. I had been raised as a Christian to love everyone and be kind to everyone, but that didn't mean I was just going to sit around and have him kill me! When I was living, I was a fighter. Not defending myself just wasn't in my nature! I wasn't very muscular though, so he overpowered me fairly easily. He knocked me out, and that was the last thing I remembered--at least, while I was a live.
So, when the teacher of this class asked me to help him, I obliged for two reasons. I wanted to help the man out, and in doing this, I could also haunt my killer. I've been haunting him since I became a ghost. He's in this room. I'm watching him right now, waiting for him to realize my presence. Most people don't believe in ghosts until they see or feel them. Even then, they attribute their experience to imagination. I, however, seem to have a knack for haunting people enough to either drive them mad or having them believe.
He'll notice me.
Until he does, I'll wait.
Thursday, January 07, 2010
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
So yeah, that's it. Just as a heads-up.
A shadow. I open my eye. There. One the surface. You glide along. Beautiful. Strong. Capturing the wind. Flying. I rise. The light grows painful, but I rise. I glide with you. My head below your prow. My eye back in your wake. Rainbows, painful, beautiful rainbows shine from you. I reach for you. I want to take you with me. Down. Together. As I embrace, you shudder. You creak. My dreams can never be. I release you. I sink. Down. Into darkness. You float above. Away. We can never be together. I crush everything.
I could bring you here. I could reach out. I have power. I have strength. I could make you come. I could. I want to. I need to. My arms strain upwards while I dream. The miles mean nothing. They could bring you. To me. I could shelter you. Storms don't reach down here. Predators flee from my beak. The dolphins do too. Now. They once were friends. The liars. They pretended, until they knew me. I crush everything. I take what I want. I break what I love. I never sleep. I always dream. I crush everything.
I am forgotten. The world moves without me. You move without me. The stars shine on. The world spins. Not here. Here, there is nothing. Ten miles below. Nothing has changed. Light. Only light comes to my eye. Carrying visions of you. Your spite. I rise. Raging. You sail on. You forgot me. You left me. Alone. Below. I twine about you. I take your wheel. I hold your deck. I rise up your sail. Your beautiful sail. White. Blotting out the clouds. I forgive you. I let go. I sink below. I turn from you. Because I crush everything.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Monday, January 04, 2010
Sunday, January 03, 2010
In the time since the Upheaval, Viridian Forest had grown dark and twisted, and had exceeded its bounds, swallowing the city that was its namesake, and creeping ever closer to Pallet. Rumors claimed the forest lived, and that its malevolent will was focused on devouring the town. Yet it was from this very forest that Pallet derived its sustenance. Within were the herbs used to make medicines to heal both man and pokémon. Within were the nests that eggs containing the pokémon of future Called were pillaged from. Within were the pokémon that provided meat for the people. In its heart was the Fallen Viridian, and from it had come Viridian's few survivors of the Upheaval.
Despite its bloody past and dark present, the Forest was the first step in the journeys of the Called. Those recently given their pokémon were free to do as they saw fit, so long as they did nothing to hurt the town. However, after some time - a period that varied according to talent and the number of Called - they generally were given tasks that directly helped the community. Those who distinguished themselves were often put in charge of important tasks, or worked for Oak in the far reaches of Kanto. Those who lacked ability remained at low rank, and rarely survived.
Thus, it was to Viridian Forest that Red ventured the next day, Nyoromo nestled in his bag. He stood in the shadows of the trees, gathered his courage, and stepped into the woods. To any observer, it was as if the darkness swallowed him. To Red, it was the death of his youth, and the beginning of his journey.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
God dreamt. He dreamt a universe, and the universe was. He dreamt a billion lights, and they were. He dreamt clouds, larger than the lights, glistening in their brilliance. He dreamt worlds of all sorts. He dreamt the heavens, and they all were. God dreamt time, and it began.
Friday, January 01, 2010
I don't want this to be a rehash of the whole year, because let's face it, there's enough of that going on in the media. But let's go through what happened at a rather pleasant site in 2009! (These won't really be in chronological order, but that's okay.)
A year after its beginning, GLaDOS's Lament sadly came to an end (although, GLaDOS is Still Alive...). Reogan has said that he will continue the Lament when he plays Portal II, but for now, it's over. :( We miss you, GLaDOS!
This blog also gained a new author in September--me! I do enjoy posting, even though I don't do it all that regularly (something I'm working on). For those of you who were wondering where my username came from, go here.
Song of the Day came and went. It was supposed to be a daily post but took over three months--not a problem, though! Granted, I'm not exactly one to talk, since I'm not the world's most regular poster... meh. That's okay. (Reogan, don't be mad that I stole your word!)
With the combined efforts of Reogan, Met, Figroth, and myself, this blog now has a post on every day of the week! There's Lament of the Winged, Tuesday Tales, Joco Stories, Thursday Thoughts, Friday's Feature, God Dreamt, Pokemon and the Golden Apocalypse, and Figroth's drawings of the various G. A. characters. Way to be productive, everyone! Whoo!
I'm sure there was more that occured here during 2009, but this is the major stuff. Happy 2010, everyone!
EDIT: Since I forgot about our other admin and feel 100% terrible about it, here's to Met: may he keep sanity among those of us at RPS, and props to him for bringing music here through Song of the Week! Whoo!