Seeking worlds at the end of a writer's pen.

Started by Tenebrous, October 08, 2021, 10:29:14 PM

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Tenebrous

Introduction

Hello Dear Reader,
it is a pleasure to see you.

What you will find here is a collection of ideas strewn together in a pile that will grow and change with time.
Some are darker shades, while others merely formalities to the light adventures at hand.

To me, it is not the story alone that matters. It is the words chosen. It is the dream like quality that even a fraction of a second between breaths can hold.
So, when asked which genre I prefer? Well, that leaves me a bit stumped, but read on Dear Reader.
Perhaps and maybe, I'll touch upon a string you enjoy.
Maybe and perhaps, we'll even come to pluck it together to hear the note it produces.



What to expect from me.

Long winded posts with the attempt at once a day.
My job calls for at times sudden nearly twenty four hour shifts, and so there may be some unexpected gaps.
I can write as any gender, though prefer to do it through the lens of a male. That is what I know best.
I can write as any form of creature, though prefer something with a humanoid shape or form. It is also what I know best.
You will not find pure smut here.
If the story is interesting? I'll write as a fly on the wall if I must to hear the end of the tale.

I am here to write, spin yarn, and dance in the lyrics of our making.



What I expect from you.

Any message of simply 'hi' or 'how are you' or something that short isn't going to get a response.
I am here to write, and though that may sound harsh, I find others having similar type of words in their 'offs'.
"When's the porn?" If that is a thought in your head, I am not the one to be your partner I'm afraid. I'm here for story first and foremost. Please be of the same mind.
Be honest, direct, and willing to push the story in a way you wish as well.
In my pathways through the stories, I will always leave loose ends for this very reason.
Later I will think 'Oh wouldn't be awesome if it tied together like this?' or 'The reason for A should be B now that we know B'.
Please feel free to take an unexpected turn, thought, or idea.
That is why I'm here Dear Reader, I'm here for your talent.



Genres.

No pure smut and no to most fandoms.
Sorry, not versed in fandoms in the slightest.
Other then that? Yes.
I specialize in... well I guess you could call them dark fairy tales. How dark? That is up to you Dear Reader.


Examples. Cravings.

My Introduction thread which contains work, my greeting, and my foolish nature.

Iudex
Modern fantasy. Monsters, murders, and dreamscapes.

[Concept]
A dreamer finds that the dreams they’re having are more impactful than simply whisps of imagination.
Strange as it sounds, they swear they’ve been waking up with sand between their toes, and in their hair.

Are they having these dreams because what is hunting them in the waking world?
Or is the thing hunting the dreamer in the waking world the cause of the nightmares?

Besides, is any of it real to begin with?
---
[Structure]
You Dear Reader will take upon the mantle of the Dreamer, and I the guise of a man in the dream.
We both can take turns with the thing that hunts outside of the boundaries of slumber, or I will happily grin with its fangs.
---
[Simplified Version]
I seek someone to write a character who will be played both in a dream world, and a modern realistic setting. Two settings in one. Fantasy and Realism that can and will bleed together at times.
---
The Man in the Dream
Six two roughly, and looks like a knock off of one of those spaghetti westerns that always used to play on dear old Dad’s television.
With Clint Eastwood’s, (The young up and coming star version) trademark glint in his eyes, two days worth of stubble, and even the handkerchief about his neck the color of bandit red.

Worn though was the trouble, the clothing that was, as if not a costume at all but indeed true what he chose to wear.
A Texan maybe? Surely that cowboy hat and sun touched cheeks told that this was more than just some sort of Cosplayer.
Even those holsters that held heavy irons at his hips seemed to be weathered, and salted by travels.

As with Dreams, there is a logic to the pattern that will start to show itself.
Maybe the first one is on a road, a brief interaction between them.
The second town is on the horizon.
The third is in the dead heart of something that should as well be out of a movie.

They would interact with the townspeople, and then in his black hat would ask a simple question.

“Guilty or Innocent?”
Iudex means judge afterall.
The man was just there to enforce the ruling.
---
Child of Ninth
Most people these days know inherently that monsters, the kinds with wings, dragon jaws, and claws do not exist.
Sure, there are things in the deep, unseen sharks in lightless depths, things that phosphorus in the gloom, but these creatures are not the kind of monsters we pay money to go see in the theatre.

This was one of those Monsters.
No ticket stub required for this ride.

After the first judgement, it hitched a ride upon the Dreamer.
Through the sands of sleep, passed the gates of Nod, and right into the real world.

Does it stay to taunt the Dreamer like some infectious parasite?
Does it skedaddle and have an adventure to grow?

These questions I do not know, nor do I know the face of it as of yet.
Those will come when I learn more about the Dreamer, so I can manifest the horror correctly.
---

What occurred inside my skull when this idea was born.

The sky hung overhead upon the hooked chains of bitter daylight.
The bleaching light filled the world in hot breaths, and even hotter burns if skin was left exposed.
Wide brimmed hat of western make, kept the heavy pour of the light away from his face, still those hard worn eyes of the color blue squinted into the distance, but there was not even a mirage to make dreams illusive.

There was only hard packed earth accompanied by small deviant patches of yellow and almost black hard grasses on occasion in the miles.
Endlessly the expanse of dried, cracked, and ruined early extended outwards to the horizon without logic. Surely there should have been a peak, a boulder, or even some sort of change to be seen.

Though such wishes were but frail things that frail people wished for.

Out here, in the Between, there was no room for frail people.
Not anymore.
Not since the world had moved on.

The lone figure, moved beneath the weight of the sun, boots not even daring to kick up small patches of dust.
No, everything seemed still, not even a slight breeze to cool sun soaked skin. Red handkerchief had been wrapped about the nose, and covered the mouth.
It helped keep the dust out, even if it was not stirred by a breeze it was still a wise measure.
It also helped preserve the moisture between breaths, but never mind this desperado looking character who moved through a dead world.

This place once had been vibrant.
Once it had been alive.
It had flourished once upon a time… but that time was over.

Now it was simply the between.

Heavy irons, or so they were called in the old movies that starred such fine talents as young Clint Eastwood, and the sway of hips that held two holsters was that defined motion to which the actor brought to the screen.
It was not the sway of sexuality, but of a gunslinger.
Every stride gave slight bounce to holsters upon the side of his thighs, but fingers twitched as if pointing north towards those triggers.

Every muscle, cocked, ready to go, but swayed with the causal grace of a dismounted cowboy.
The man was trained to use those weapons at his hips, and there was no way of hiding that fact. Every motion, movement, or glance of the eyes… screamed the fact the man was a soldier.

The Between was not an empty place, no matter the empty sky and field, it merely seemed that way.
Unless you knew how to look for the paths, one would never find them. Such was the nature of dreams.
The figure of six foot and a few pennies did know, was taught not only where, but how to look.
From beneath the longer duster jacket a small device was procured, though the word device seemed a touch grand for such a simple trinket.
A small brass tube with inlaid lenses could pull the world closer. It was a tool that let him see afar like a hawk, but it was not prey to which the man sought.
Instead he turned the ‘device’ skyward.

It wasn’t something physical, as in something one would directly look for.
Instead it was the effects that it caused that naked eye had hard time determining.

There, just there, did you see it?
A cloud passed something in the air, and a small bit of it was sliced away from whole
As if a loaf of bread pushed against a butcher's knife.

Even a lone crow, not uncommon to see soar passed and vanish into the nothing distance, seemed to turn its course.
Though well below that line where clouds had touched, even avians had their suspicious nature, and would not fly near that layline in the sky. 
Adjusting himself to square shoulders that very invisible vertex in the sky that could alter heavens itself, and forward he moved.

Hours? Days? Seconds?
How does time and distance translate in a Dream?
Does it matter at all the inner workings?
Or does it matter more that at last the next destination had been reached.


Logic would dictate that a building should not be able to stand like this. A mere fraction of it carved from the whole like a slice of cake.
As if taken from that very moment where the Dreamer had fallen asleep, it was placed here into the empty stomach of the Between.
Pipes, conduits, cables, laying exposed and sliced through as clean as a hot knife through butter, but what logic was there to begin with in a place like this?
For the objects within the section that had been uprooted and planted here? Still on the shelves. Pictures on the wall. Not a disturbance. Not a sound.

Such was the logic.

Shoulders suddenly squared, and already steady steps took on a more military march like steadiness.
Hands kept clear of sleeves, and the fingers kept away from the guards of triggers.
It was the approach of respect, weapons in clear view and making no sudden movements.

Blue eyes glinted like bullet shells against the hardlight of the sun, even if they were shaded by the brim of that black cowboy hat.
A voice that was touched with the grace of southern gentleness spoke out clear and true.
It was a call that was used to being heeded, heard, understood and obeyed. It was the voice of order, law, and judgement.

“Iudex! I am your Carnifex.”

Right hand lowered only slightly from its raised hold near the side of his head, index and forefinger pointing out, only to be used to tap his throat three times. It was his people's way of sealing a promise. It was his way of making an oath.

Even the strange words, why did those words sound so familiar?
The Dreamer knew everything about that man standing in the desert. The Dreamer knew that at the age of twelve he had earned the right to step forward as a man. The Dreamer knew that the gunslinger would serve faithfully no matter what.

The Dreamer knew him so well at this moment, and not well enough to know the meaning of this.

Such was the way of Dreams.
Such was the way they first met.
Such was the first moment the Dreamer knew the mans name.

Olem

---

Hunger empty betw-een
These were things that were no good.
No good at all.

It slithered through the cracks of this empty world like a black snake.
It grew by devouring what little morsels of crows, mice, and bits of other world it could ensnare.

Then it saw, though saw wasn't a right word for it, for the thing didn't have eyes yet.
It smelled something it never had before.
It breathed in the scent of something not of this place.

Like cancer it stretched itself through the edges of this dead world, though no bigger then a pythons length, it reached towards that sliver of the world that had been deposited here.

It had no name.
It had no true form yet.
It had no purpose.

What it did have though was its first emotion other then hunger.
It was curious




Why a request thread this way?

Some people are often after specific story, I may have my cravings, but it's more to me then just a given topic.
A great match, partner, or story teller could bring to life a tale about a toaster and keep me hooked.
It's not about the destination but every step between.
Have you a story you always wished to try?
Is there a dream there Dear Reader that could use a dark touch?
Though I do have a plethora of stories at my beck and call in the catalogs of my overthinking, perhaps it is the one we make together that catches fast.

In conclusion Dear Reader,
it is indeed my pleasure to lay this invitation upon your screen, and even if it is not to taste, I bear no ill will.
If though I sparked just even a hint, please reach out to this newcomer among your midst.
-Tenebrous