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Post by TheMacroprosopus on Mar 12, 2004 15:19:43 GMT -5
Here's the beginning of my story. I moved it from the Nethers area.
The streets were quiet that night. Quieter than ever, it seemed. As he wheeled the marked police cruiser around the corner, John wondered why he even had to be out that night. “Because quiet nights are prime times for criminals,” the chief had said. Right, John thought. Real action-packed tonight.
Officers in the other cars had begun telling jokes to break the mutual boredom. “Two cannibals are eating a clown,” one began. “One of `em turns to the other and says, ‘hey, does this taste funny to you?’” Some of the officers may have laughed, but John didn’t. It was probably the only joke that the guy knew. And he told it all the time. “That’s not funny anymore, man,” another officer said. Silence. “Anybody else? Crane?” John didn’t answer. Silence again. Then, suddenly, the dispatcher broke the silence. “Is anyone near the caves on the outskirts?” John, being the closest, said, “Yeah, Brenn. What’s up?” “John, we’ve just got some reports of what looks like bonfires, or something, up there,” Brenna explained. “Alright, I’ll check it out.” He put the siren on and sped up.
Ten minutes later, John was leaning against the side of his car, the roof lights silently flashing, watching the caves. A burst of flame sent three kids running from the cave at the top of the hill in front of him. Damn kids, he thought. Gotta keep blowin’ stuff up ‘till one of ‘em dies. Drawing and cocking his gun, he walked up the hill.
The darkness was deep. John felt like he was being sucked into it. Then, out of the void came a deep, booming voice. “Why must you torment me so?” Echoes, John thought. It had to be. Nothing could sound like that. “This is the police! Come out with your hands up!” John called. “Hands? My dear man, please, come in,” came the reply. “I repeat, come out with your hands up!” John was slowly starting to feel a bit of fear. Why did this person ask about hands like that? And why the hell are they being so courteous? “Are you coming in, or no?” The voice sounded to be getting impatient. These bullets will stop anything, John thought, so why not? He stepped forward. The air emanating from the cave was hot. Really hot. John took a minute to adjust to the temperature and to prepare himself, taking out his flashlight. Then he went in. Even with the light, he could see almost nothing. He began walking forward and found himself winding through a complicated maze of tunnels. Finally, he rounded a corner and saw a yellowish orange light around the next turn. He slowly stepped forward. What John found took a few seconds for him to comprehend. The first thing he saw was a small eye that glinted yellow at him, as it reflected the flashlight beam. John adjusted the beam of the light and the circle of vision grew. It seemed that there was a bony, spiked eyebrow above the still glinting eye. Clearly not human. Then, moving right, the light revealed a long snout and sharp teeth, with no lips covering them. Quickly shifting back left, the light moved over sharp horns that protruded from the back of the creature’s head. The head seemed to be made entirely of bone, and it looked to be about two feet long. As John went to look further down the body, the beast blew flame from its mouth. The blast came from two small holes in the sides of the beast’s mouth, just before the joining of the bottom and top sets of teeth. Liquids shot from the holes and met about a foot from the front of the head. When the liquids mixed, a flame was produced. “I trust you had a good look?” John couldn’t see anything but the face of the monster. “No? Well then, look again.” Another, longer burst of flame and John saw the full body of the creature. Wings were in the place of arms and large, powerful hindquarters were close behind the base of the wings. A long tail followed the back legs. Just before the flame went out, the wings unfolded, displaying a thirty-foot wingspan. John could not take anymore and pulled the trigger in fear. The flame went out and the beast roared, a terrifying sound. John felt a deep, sharp pain in his left shoulder and realized the thing had bitten him. All went black.
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Post by MAX on Mar 12, 2004 19:12:42 GMT -5
Oh, this is that story you mentioned before. Well done! Keep up the good work...
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Post by TheMacroprosopus on Mar 12, 2004 19:25:16 GMT -5
Heh, thanks. I think, now that I scrolled the page, that I should really divide up that last paragraph...
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Post by rohan on Mar 12, 2004 21:42:06 GMT -5
Demn. I wish I could write like that.
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Post by baleheadnutcase on Mar 12, 2004 23:28:58 GMT -5
Whoa DOOD. I love the description in it! Have you by any chance seen Reign of Fire (high five to all my balehead buddies!)?
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Post by TheMacroprosopus on Mar 12, 2004 23:31:16 GMT -5
I have and that's where the flame production thing came from.
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Post by baleheadnutcase on Mar 12, 2004 23:32:21 GMT -5
I have and that's where the flame production thing came from. that's why! I noticed that too but i thought (since i haven't read a lot of dragon books) that it was common dragon knowledge.
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Post by TheMacroprosopus on Mar 12, 2004 23:34:07 GMT -5
Nope, Reign of Fire was the first time I had heard of that idea. Usually it comes from the throat or the nostrils, I think.
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Post by Xenia Onatopp- Bale on Mar 13, 2004 7:06:57 GMT -5
Great work, Stuponfucious. You're a prolific writer.
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Post by BlackDragon on Mar 13, 2004 14:15:20 GMT -5
Very very good! I love it! Great story U have there!
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Post by baleheadnutcase on Mar 22, 2004 20:54:18 GMT -5
I'm waiting......for...more.....!
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Post by Xenia Onatopp- Bale on Mar 22, 2004 21:22:32 GMT -5
Yeah,more, Stuponfucious,more!!!
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Post by TheMacroprosopus on Mar 22, 2004 22:12:45 GMT -5
It's comin', y'all. I'm gonna try to work on it tomorrow or Wednesday, so there'll be more soon...
This is Monday, right?....Yeah, so tomorrow or Wednesday I'll try to do some more.
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Post by TheMacroprosopus on Mar 25, 2004 19:46:24 GMT -5
Alright, so I lied: This is Thursday. I haven't even put this in Word yet. This is straight from the Hilroy in Law class (slow day on the school front). It isn't much, but it should work until I go mental in Word again...I will add to the end though, otherwise there would be no point in putting it.
"Ah, good. You're awake," the beast was saying. It was sitting in the corner of the cave opposite to John, tending to its wound. So I did hit it, John thought. "What the hell are you, anyway?" he asked. Suddenly, John realized that he could not feel his left arm. He tried to move it, and the feeling returned. Quickly and brutally. He gave a short scream and blacked out again.
"Welcome back to the land of the conscious, again, John," the creature seemed to enjoy speaking just as John's eyes opened. "To answer your last question, I am a dragon." John took a minute to take this in. "But dragons are mythological. You aren't real! And this is the weirdest, worst dream I have ever had. Really soon, my alarm will go off, and I'll wake up. ...Wait. What if....what if, 'cause it was a slow night, I fell asleep at the wheel. ...Well, I wouldn't be dead. You don't dream when you're dead, 'cause you're..well, dead. Dammit, maybe I'm at the hospital, in a coma or something. The dream thing kinda makes sense though; that would explain how you know my name." John would have continued, but the dragon broke in, "It is a bit to take in, isn't it? And I may have gotten your name from your identification. But, I didn't. Dragons are rather special creatures, you know." John looked around the cave, which was lit by a fire the dragon had started in the cave's centre. John's eyes moved over the exit tunnel to the cave and he could faintly see the flashing of the cruiser's lights. Comforting, John thought. It was night. "How long have I been here?" He asked. It can't have been too long... "Two days," came the dragon's reply. "Well then, I really must thank you, I think, for saving my life. I should get going." "NO!" the beast shouted and was instantly standing in front of John, it's huge talons on his chest and left shoulder. The pain was almost unbearable for John. Blood began to run down the dragon's arm, as the gunshot wound had been reopened when it got up. The dragon lifted it's claw, and both watched as a drop of blood fell. The drop hit John's shoulder and seemed to deliberately move toward one of the bite marks. The flesh of John's shoulder burned and smoke became visible. John screamed, and the dragon drew back. John almost passed out for a third time, but managed to fight it off. They both watched as the wound miraculously healed itself. "Ummm...what just happened there?" John asked. "I have not the slightest clue, but I think you should stay awhile." The dragon could not understand the situation either. "Can I at least go shut the car off?" John needed some air. "I should probably go with you," the dragon answered.
John managed to get to his feet and stumbled through the tunnel. He slid down the hill to the car, with the dragon close behind him. He got in the car and shut everything off. Just before he switched off the radio, he heard that there was a search to be conducted for his body. They assumed he was dead. Damn. Thanks guys, he thought and turned the dial to "off". He pulled himself out of the car and began towards the dragon. Then, for some odd reason, his hands began to feel very warm. Then, they started to burn. Flames spontaneously sprang from his hands, engulfing them from his wrist to six inches beyond his fingertips. He raised his hands in horror and the flames shot into the air. He looked at his hands again, and the fires were out. To his and the dragon's surprise, his hands had no markings. "Hmm..." was the only response the dragon had.
That's it for now...I think I shall try to break up that one long paragraph in the first part of the story, though...
...Done.
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Post by baleheadnutcase on Mar 25, 2004 22:07:07 GMT -5
Not that I noticed it was a long paragraph but... how come nothing happened to his hands?! Did mr. Dragon Man do something to him in the two days? This is a great story....and I'm sure even my bro will agree when I give it to him! (just spreading the creativity)
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Post by Xenia Onatopp- Bale on Mar 26, 2004 6:35:30 GMT -5
Awesome,are you planning of publishing it?
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Post by TheMacroprosopus on Mar 26, 2004 20:43:59 GMT -5
Not that I noticed it was a long paragraph but... how come nothing happened to his hands?! Did mr. Dragon Man do something to him in the two days? This is a great story....and I'm sure even my bro will agree when I give it to him! (just spreading the creativity) Mr. Dragon Man? haha. Ummm...nothing happened cuz...well, I don't even know yet. I left it open so I could have a couple of days to figure it out myself. So far, I think that the mixed blood gives him certain abilities the dragon has, such as regeneration and flame shooting. Which means, If the dragon doesn't burn itself blowing fire at stuff, John won't either. I kinda feel like Thomas Harris here. When he wrote the Hannibal trilogy, he wrote that he felt as though he was following Will through the corridors, that he actually met Lecter. So, it's sort of the same with me. It's as though I'm actually seeing this with the characters; with the readers. Only, I can know what the characters think. So, I tell it when I learn it. Kinda a cheap answer, I think, but that seems to be the way it is. Awesome,are you planning of publishing it? Not sure....
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Post by TheMacroprosopus on Mar 26, 2004 21:27:58 GMT -5
This is long. Really long. I really must apologize for it. But it explains what I meant when I said I felt like Thomas Harris. I think you should read it though... "I want to tell you the circumstances in which I first encountered Hannibal Lecter, M.D. In the fall of 1979, owing to an illness in my family, I returned home to the Mississippi Delta and remained there eighteen months. I was working on Red Dragon. My neighbor in the village of Rich kindly gave me the use of a shotgun house in the center of a vast cotton field, and there I worked, often at night. To write a novel, you begin with what you can see and then you add what came before and what came after. Here in the village of Rich, Mississippi, working under different circumstances, I could see the investigator Will Graham in the home of the victim family, in the house where they all died, watching the dead family's home movies. I did not know at the time who was committing the crimes. I pushed to find out, to see what came before and what came after. I went through the home, the crime scene, in the dark with Will and could see no more and no less than he could see. Sometimes at night I would leave the lights on in my little house and walk across the flat fields. When I looked back from a distance, the house looked like a boat at sea, and all around me the vast Delta night. I soon became acquainted with the semi-feral dogs who roamed free across the fields in what was more or less a pack. Some of them had casual arrangements with the families of farm workers, but much of the time they had to forage for themselves. In the hard winter months with the ground frozen and dry, I started giving them dog food and soon they were going through fifty pounds of dog food a week. They followed me around, and they were a lot of company--tall dogs, short ones, relatively friendly dogs and big rough dogs you could not touch. They walked with me in the fields at night and when I couldn't see them, I could hear them all around me, breathing and snuffling along in the dark. When I was working in the cabin, they waited on the front porch, and when the moon was full they would sing.
Standing baffled in the vast fields outside my cabin in the heart of the night, the sound of breathing all around me, my vision still clouded with the desk lamp, I tried to see what had happened at the crime scene. All that came to my dim sight were loomings, intimations, the occasional glow when a retina not human reflected the moon. There was no question that something had happened. You must understand that when you are writing a novel you are not making anything up. It's all there and you just have to find it. Will Graham had to ask somebody, he needed some help and he knew it. He knew where he had to go, long before he let himself think about it. I knew Graham had been severely damaged in a previous case. I knew he was terribly reluctant to consult the best source he had. At the time, I myself was accruing painful memories every day, and in my evening's work I felt for Graham. So it was with some trepidation that I accompanied him to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and there, maddeningly, before we could get down to business, we encountered the kind of fool you know from conducting your own daily business, Dr. Frederick Chilton, who delayed us for two or three interminable days. I found that I could leave Chilton in the cabin with the lights on and look back at him from the dark, surrounded by my friends the dogs. I was invisible then, out there in the dark, the way I am invisible to my characters when I'm in a room with them and they are deciding their fates with little or no help from me. Finished with the tedious Chilton at last, Graham and I went on to the Violent Ward and the steel door slammed shut behind us with a terrific noise. Will Graham and I, approaching Dr. Lecter's cell. Graham was tense and I could smell fear on him. I thought Dr. Lecter was asleep and I jumped when he recognized Will Graham by scent without opening his eyes. I was enjoying my usual immunity while working, my invisibility to Chilton and Graham and the staff, but I was not comfortable in the presence of Dr. Lecter, not sure at all that the doctor could not see me. Like Graham, I found, and find, the scrutiny of Dr. Lecter uncomfortable, intrusive, like the humming in your thoughts when they X-ray your head. Graham's interview with Dr. Lecter went quickly, in real time at the speed of swordplay, me following it, my frantic notes spilling into the margin and over whatever surface was uppermost on my table. I was worn out when it was over--the incidental clashes and howls of an asylum rang on in my head, and on the front porch of my cabin in Rich thirteen dogs were singing, seated with their eyes closed, faces upturned to the full moon. Most of them crooned their single vowel between O and U, a few just hummed along. I had to revisit Graham's interview with Dr. Lecter a hundred times to understand it and to get rid of the superfluous static, the jail noises, the screaming of the damned that had made some of the words hard to hear. I still didn't know who was committing the crimes, but I knew for the first time that we would find out, and that we would arrive at him. I also knew the knowledge would be terribly, perhaps tragically, expensive to others in the book. And so it turned out. Years later when I started The Silence of the Lambs, I did not know that Dr. Lecter would return. I had always liked the character of Dahlia Iyad in Black Sunday and wanted to do a novel with a strong woman as the central character. So I began with Clarice Starling and, not two pages into the new novel, I found she had to go visit the doctor. I admired Clarice Starling enormously and I think I suffered some feelings of jealousy at the ease with which Dr. Lecter saw into her, when it was so difficult for me. By the time I undertook to record the events in Hannibal, the doctor, to my surprise, had taken on a life of his own. You seemed to find him as oddly engaging as I did. I dreaded doing Hannibal, dreaded the personal wear and tear, dreaded the choices I would have to watch, feared for Starling. In the end I let them go, as you must let characters go, let Dr. Lecter and Clarice Starling decide events according to their natures. There is a certain amount of courtesy involved. As a sultan once said: I do not keep falcons--they live with me. When in the winter of 1979 I entered the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane and the great metal door crashed closed behind me, little did I know what waited at the end of the corridor; how seldom we recognize the sound when the bolt of our fate slides home.
T.H. Miami, January 2000" Taken from the Foreward of Red Dragon, 2002, Dell Publishing
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Post by TheMacroprosopus on Mar 29, 2004 17:03:09 GMT -5
Mmmmkay. So, I had planned on posting some more by today, but the whole planning out what the hell is going on seems to be a bit challenging. I was thinking of ideas and had put them in the story during Law today, but I thought about them on the way home, and they don't work the way I want them to. Well, one of them at least. So, give me a few days, and all should be going smoothly again...
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Post by Libby on Mar 29, 2004 17:17:56 GMT -5
Mmmmkay. So, I had planned on posting some more by today, but the whole planning out what the hell is going on seems to be a bit challenging. I was thinking of ideas and had put them in the story during Law today, but I thought about them on the way home, and they don't work the way I want them to. Well, one of them at least. So, give me a few days, and all should be going smoothly again... Don't give up...these things take time to work through...it's a process of evolution. I re-edited my last story for weeks before submitting it (and even then there were things I wanted to change)...
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Post by baleheadnutcase on Apr 3, 2004 16:40:39 GMT -5
That's ok, you don't have to rush (note that behind the happy face i'm bursting HURRY UP!) jkjkj take you time
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Post by TheMacroprosopus on Apr 12, 2004 12:47:30 GMT -5
It has been a fair while since I last added to my story, so I figured I'd try to explain a bit. I am still rather lost as to what is going on with the new found abilities, but it's coming to me. The writer's block is slowly dissipating, so hopefully I will be able to continue the story soon enough.
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Post by TheMacroprosopus on Apr 16, 2004 16:25:07 GMT -5
Now, I wrote this over a couple of lunches, but I was unable to finish. The reason will become clear. Help would be great.
"What emotions did you feel when it happened?" They were back at the cave and the dragon had been asking various questions. It had been several hours since John had gone to the car, and they had gotten no further with their understanding of the event. "Mainly rage, anger. I guess. The thing that started it, I think, was hearing that there was a search starting for my body. My dead body." John tried to think of anything that could have caused something as strange as his hands spontaneously combusting. "I suppose I should tell you some things, John. They may help you to understand what I think is going on," the dragon said after a few moments of thought filled silence. "Okay." "I'm not sure where to begin. Perhaps I'll start with this. There are really two main things that make dragons what they are. Fire, and the ability to fly. We know that you possess one of these abilities. "However, your power of healing. I doubt that has been with you all your life." "Just today," John replied. "Then that must have been a biproduct of the blood combination. I do not know of even dragons healing like that. Interesting." John pulled the neck of his shirt aside and checked for the holes. They were gone, leaving only faint scars. "Yes," the dragon continued. "See? Alarmingly quick. Now. Back to the flame. As I showed you, dragons shoot two chemicals from their mouths...well, two ducts between the jaws, to be exact. We must still pinpoint what it is that made you essentially produce fire from thin air." "Wait, wait," John needed a moment to take this in. "Are you saying that I can fly?" He thought this was rather humourous. "Doubtful. I wouldn't go that far. You don't have wings." John laughed. "Alright." A long silence followed. Finally, John could take it no longer and spoke. "So, what is your name?" "I don't really have one," the dragon answered slowly. "I hatched alone. No parents, no siblings I learned all I know through the ages I have witnessed." "Cool. How long have you been around, then?" "Four-hundred-seventy-two years on the thirteenth." "Oooh...A Friday. Haha. Well, in that case, happy birthday!" John was successfully and happily changing the subject. "Don't you think it's about time for a name?" "I really have never needed one." "Didn't you ever want one? Everything has a name. You must have noticed that in your learning." "I did notice that, yes." The dragon looked at John. "I'm not sure what I would want to be named, though..."
So, as you can see, I need...nay, the dragon needs a name. Any help is appreciated. Greatly.
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Post by baleheadnutcase on Apr 16, 2004 21:50:08 GMT -5
PUFF! (jk jk jk) Roofus hehee sounds like a cute dog
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Post by Xenia Onatopp- Bale on Apr 17, 2004 7:50:39 GMT -5
This becomes more and more interesting. I love your work, Stuponfucious.
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Post by TheMacroprosopus on Apr 17, 2004 14:09:27 GMT -5
Heh, thanks, Onatopp.
And, "Puff"? Hmmm.....that has given me an idea....
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Post by MisterAnderson on Apr 17, 2004 19:27:34 GMT -5
As for a name for your Dragon, how about "TROGDOR...the Burninator!!"
Sorry, couldn't resist - I love that StrongBad episode. ;D
Hmmm....I'll have a little think to see if I can come up with a name for you Stup.
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Post by baleheadnutcase on Apr 17, 2004 22:10:27 GMT -5
*Puff the magic dragon lived by the sea/and frolicked in the ocean bay in a land called Honaleeeee!* I luved that songw hen i was a kid! (i still luv it!)
Trodgor oooo osexy name...sounds like the LOTR hehee ;D
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Post by TheMacroprosopus on Apr 18, 2004 9:40:07 GMT -5
Yeah, Mr. A's idea does sound kinda cool. I may want to change it a bit. But it's a good base. Thanks for the help so far. This is great.
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Post by MisterAnderson on Apr 22, 2004 18:25:53 GMT -5
This is the Strongbad episode I was remembering: www.homestarrunner.com/sbemail58.htmlThe song at the end is the funniest part. ;D Another idea is to maybe find all the ways the word "Dragon" is pronounced in other languages and to chose one particular variation that you like the sound of.
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