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Author Topic: ~ Word of the Day ~  (Read 123831 times)

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Offline persephone325

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Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1500 on: September 29, 2018, 04:24:14 PM »
"They say music soothes the savage beast."

"I know. But I'd rather say pacify."

"Why? It doesn't have the same ring to it."

"It makes me sound smarter."

"....For god's sake..."

Offline Liam Dale

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1501 on: September 29, 2018, 08:32:20 PM »
The marshal stepped into the throne room, his head low in defeat. The court's eyes following him with judgment. He stopped before they royal couple, waiting for his sentence. The queen looked at him with disgust and disappointment before hitting the man on the head with her scepter.

Offline persephone325

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Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1502 on: September 29, 2018, 08:33:13 PM »
Today's word of the day is....

nocuous
adjective NAH-kyuh-wus

Definition
: harmful

Offline Jaclyn

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1503 on: September 29, 2018, 10:02:53 PM »
  The atmosphere became increasingly nocuous the more she tried to be helpful. Eventually, she persisted yet in less obvious ways.

Offline persephone325

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Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1504 on: September 30, 2018, 03:25:53 PM »
"Your offer seems legitimate, but I must consult with my cohort. This business is a fifty-fifty venture."

Offline Loiosh

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Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1505 on: September 30, 2018, 03:58:06 PM »
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Offline Lilias

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Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1506 on: September 30, 2018, 06:33:35 PM »
Grandma officially transferred my mother’s trousseau to me on my fifteenth birthday, and for the longest time I didn’t know what to do with it. It was my inheritance, yes, but how could I take over the personal possessions of a mother I only knew through stories and photographs? She had died in childbirth, closely followed by my twin brother; our father had gone off to sea and never come back, and it had been just Grandma and me ever since.

It was the hope of finding out more about her, something that even Grandma’s stories could not convey, that made me put the key in the lock in the end. The woven wicker chest--a corbeille was what my father’s people called the bridal stash, and this was literally one--showed very few signs of wear, its contents meticulously protected in silk lining and sheets of tissue paper, pristine.

I knew the wedding gown would not be here; she had married in traditional costume, heavily embroidered layers of red, black and white, and Grandma had offered it all to the local shrine, to make altar coverings out of them, an old custom that everyone would prefer to see extinct. The rows and rows of silver coins that had decorated her were there, however, as were her engagement ring and wedding band, an embroidered shawl with a very long fringe weighed down with pearls that I had seen her wear in photos, and a set of real tortoiseshell combs that I thought I had seen as well. The household linen was gone, all used, but at the bottom of the chest was the softest bathrobe I had ever felt. A little net pocket sewn into the lid held a pair of pointe shoes, worn around the box but lovingly preserved with their frayed ribbons neatly wrapped around them.

There were a couple of sundresses, a knit suit that could only have survived moths all those years if Grandma changed the cedar balls in the chest every year (and the smell suggested she had) and a black sheath dress finer than any LBD I had seen. I couldn’t resist trying it on, and it fit well, despite making me feel self-conscious. My mother had married at sixteen, how on earth could she carry this without looking like a little girl playing dress-up?

Grandma chose that moment to poke her head in without knocking, and promptly burst into tears. I had seen her cry over her daughter before, but never like that. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking,’ she admitted once calm enough to be coherent. ‘You conjured up the shade of your mama, darling, and for a moment it was like having my child back again. Don’t mind an old woman. Seeing you in your mama’s finery will take some getting used to.’ I could only nod; I was just beginning to suspect my inheritance was more than material.

Offline persephone325

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Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1507 on: September 30, 2018, 09:01:28 PM »
Today's word of the day is....

rodomontade
noun rah-duh-mun-TAYD

Definition
1 : a bragging speech

2 : vain boasting or bluster : rant

Offline Flower

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1508 on: October 01, 2018, 04:30:37 AM »
Today's word of the day is....

manifesto
noun man-uh-FESS-toh

Definition
1 : a written statement declaring publicly the intentions, motives, or views of its issuer



Today's spook filled picture is....


Offline Liam Dale

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1509 on: October 01, 2018, 08:23:06 AM »
What started as a quiet night of winter at his cabin, soon became a living nightmare when an odd sound was heard louder than the crackling of the fire. He perked up, glancing at his friend who had just noticed the same noise. Looking out the window, seeing only snow, they decided to go for the door and peer outside. There was something there, behind the trees, bombinating, lurking and luring them away from the house.

His friend stepped toward the limits of the glade, and he tried to stop him, whispering his name, cowardly walking closer to the other, feeling like a poltroon.

The sound was now going away, accompanied by heavy and slow steps. They saw a shape between past the tree line, a human-like silhouette, beckoning them. Then they heard a cry. Was it a wounded person? Was it someone asking for help? Hesitating, he advanced, his eyes moving from the mysterious person to his friend, who followed him from close. They reached the trees and stood right where that... Person stood moments ago. There were footprints. Human footprints, getting deeper into the weald.

They looked at each other. Should they go? Should they leave the safety of the cabin, and its light, to enter the forest? A louder cry carried in the win suddenly forced them to decide. It was a person, a wounded person. There was no doubt. They rushed now, following the footprints until the warm light of the house couldn't be seen. The footmark disappeared then, and they're gazes met. Where did that person go? The falling snow wasn't enough to cover the trail so quickly.

There was a growl behind them. They both turned, their eyes finding the shape from before, although now it was bigger, taller, crowned with antlers and covered in a white fur coat. Red, gleaming eyes staring back at them. Stumbling backward, finding they're way back blocked by the creature, they knew they had to run. The town wasn't too far away, only a few miles through the snowy woods. They could make, they had walked to and back to town before.

In unison, both men turned around and volted away from that growling beast. There was no time for questioning. They knew that thing was real; they could see it, heart it, smell it. They both were aware of tales. But, those were supposed to be only campfire stories, right? The stomping behind them forced them to believe even more, that they were being followed, chased, by that thing. Did they dare to say it? That silly legendary word?

Skinwalker.

Soon, they found the path leading to the nearby town, dirt and moody snow guiding them in the grey, phantasmagorical light of the night. The road would lead them straight to their destination, but it was still a long way to run, wheezing in the cold air.

He ran faster, fear fueling his muscles. He could still hear his friend's steps right behind him, and the salivating groans of their persecutor.

A terrified scream rose, and he cried. The light steps of his friend couldn't be heard anymore, the heavy steps of the beast were slower now. He knew his friend's fate. He knew he'd left him behind. He couldn't blame himself though; he didn't want to stop, he didn't want to look back.

It was then, when he heard his friend's voice, crying for help. It was like a dagger sinking into his heart.

He stopped.

His head slowly turning over his shoulder, his torso gradually following that first motion, and then his feet moved. Now he stood in front of that thing that was reaching closer. The voice of his friend coming from an unseen mouth in meaningless words. He trembled, he whimpered, tears burning down the cold skin of his cheeks. Only for a moment, he dared to look away, hoping to find something to fight the creature back, but he could only see what he didn't want to.

He found his friend.

Parts of him. Here and there. A skinned arm. A leg.

And blood. So much blood. Sprayed on the ground. Splattered on the trees, A manifesto of the creature's cruel and savage nature.

He wanted to escape the scene but his body wasn't responding, and that thing was getting closer. The white body growing larger as the distance between them disappeared, and he found himself tilting his head up, looking right into those bright red eyes.

Offline boyhearthou

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1510 on: October 01, 2018, 06:49:45 PM »
You have to want something more than the other person to gain it. This can be applied anywhere. A battle of wits, a contest of sports, a show of sound.

A fight.

It's not, pretty. It's not supposed to be. People don't talk about how pretty doing the right thing is. People don't talk about how writing your manifesto feels like writing a blood-stained confession. People don't talk about how manifestos are confessions, in their own right. And maybe that's why you never wrote it down. The bat was heavy, the skin wore thin, the fray of string from online-bought hero supplies. Like you could be. Like it was easy.

The facts were still the same though. You wanted it more, so you'd win. Your bat strikes the ground, once, twice. It's metal, this time. You normally didn't go with metal, since wood was so smooth in your hand, so warm. Though there had to be a modicum of distance. Some way to save room, to avoid fracture. You shout something, and even you can't tell what it is with the rain coming down like it was. The alley forgets the intersection it's adjacent from. The buildings look the other way.

The streetlights buzz and flicker, then go dark.

Offline Endscape

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1511 on: October 01, 2018, 08:24:15 PM »
Damned city boys.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve managed to find...something.” The guy said. He was one of those weird sorts. The type of person who would go out looking for bigfoot, getting together a big expedition. Not because it was a fun something to do, but because he believed it was real. It was all a bunch of comedic nonsense in Shawna’s opinion. “Yeah. It’s not like it’s bear season or anything.” She replied, eyes sifting through the trees. The guy was hunched over a large clump of thick fur, glistening with a gooey red substance. While he was poking around through the forest, I would be on watch for wild animals. The bears especially had been more aggressive recently, venturing further out ever since a few months back when that meteor shower happened. Since then, there’s been two reported maulings, and two more people gone missing. The governor refused to put out a curfew. What a pompous tool.

“The fur would be thinner.” He replied. He grabbed a twig and poked at the clump, separating bits of fur. “Oh? You’re an expert now? Thought you said you’d never been around these parts before.” Shawna asked, her tone sardonic. So long as he was in her peripherals, she’d continue to scan their surroundings, since the bears weren’t the only aggressive animals out and about. The guy was far too relaxed. It wasn’t a surprise he’d hired her a few days earlier. If she knew he was that dense in the first place, she might’ve just passed on his offer. His money wouldn’t do her any good if he ran off and got himself added to that list of maulings. “I don’t have to be from the country to read.” He said, turning back to look at Shawna, tapping his index finger against his temple. She always hated when people did that. Especially city folk. Yes, people’s brains were in their heads. Didn’t need to point that out.

Shawna spared him a glance. “Look, it’s going to get dark soon, and it’s a long hike back to town. I’ve indulged your fantasy bullshit for long enough. There are bears and mountain lions and all manner of wild animals that I don’t want to have to shoot if I can help it, and there’s a nice warm recliner, a bottle of whiskey, and new episodes of Dancing With The Stars waiting for me back home.” She moved towards him, standing in what most people would consider their personal space. “Let’s go.” Turning, she started to walk back down the hill, slinging her rifle over her shoulder. When she didn’t hear footsteps behind her, she stopped and looked back up at him, making sure to give him ‘the look’.

He wasn’t even paying attention. Damn city boys.

“Look, over there. Did you see that?” He asked, a wide grin on his face. “It had antlers.” Okay. He was well beyond grating on her nerves by that point. She turned and walked back up the trail. “Deer. Deer have antlers.” Grabbing onto his arm with her free hand, she jerked him around with a strong tug. That caught his attention, and he turned to face her. The guy was still smiling! “Deer aren’t twenty feet tall, miss Romanchuk. I know what I saw.” He had the look about him. The one idiots got when they wanted to ignore good advice and stick it out in the wild after dark. If she didn’t have a firm grip around his arm, he might have just turned away to walk off into the woods. “Whatever you’ve been smoking, you should probably lay off--”

Whatever that sound came from, it was unnatural. It wasn’t the cries of any animal Shawna recognized. There was the creaking of wood that followed the unnatural whine, the last few leaves hanging onto their branches being shook loose. Shawna let go of her client’s arm, spinning around and dropping to a knee as she brought her rifle up to aim at whatever made the noise. It was reaction, more than anything. The fear she felt melting down her spine was unlike anything she’d experienced on tour. They should have been running. They shouldn’t have been out there in the first place. Shawna’s rifle was pointed at something she couldn’t explain.

“Ah, finally..” The words came from beside Shawna. The man still wasn’t afraid. If anything, he was excited. When he started to walk towards the thing, Shawna didn’t move a muscle. “What are you doing?!” She cried out through clenched teeth, her eyes darting away for a moment. His reply? “Adding this one to my manifesto.” That’s it. He was certifiable. “Get back here!” The rifle lowered for a moment as she called out to him, but she was too afraid to move forward. So much for her payday. Gritting her teeth, she brought the rifle back up to sight in the target. It was just as large as he’d mentioned not long ago. It looked like a giant human-shaped tree with antlers, and it was covered in a dark red ichor. Nothing seemed to deter the man as he made his way forward. The creature took a step forwards. It was silent, despite the immense bulk behind its step. “Have you ever wondered, Miss Romanchuk, why you often hear about cryptids, but never see them?” The man’s step started to pick up pace, and the creature hollered once more. It was so loud that Shawna had to drop her rifle to cover her ears. It shook her to the bone, and she curled up into a ball, eyes closed. The chilling howl didn’t last for very long. Seconds after it stopped, Shawna’s eyes were back open, and she was scrambling for the rifle. What she saw caused her to pause.

There was nothing there.

No monster. No man. Nothing, except for the leaves floating gently to the ground. Somehow, that was more terrifying to her than anything else might have been. Shawna grabbed her rifle and turned tail to huff it back to town as fast as her legs would carry her. There was no amount of money that would be able to pay her to go turn back around and look for the man. Not after what just happened. She wanted nothing to do with him, or the forest, ever again.

Damned city boys.

Offline Flower

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1512 on: October 02, 2018, 04:23:22 AM »
Today's word of the day is....

cloister
verb KLOY-ster

Definition
1 : to seclude from the world in or as if in a cloister

2 : to surround with a cloister



Today's spook filled picture is....


Offline Remec

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1513 on: October 02, 2018, 06:25:58 AM »

The chrysalis quivered and spasmed before splitting wide open with a loud sound that was sort of cross between a snap and a crack. Geoffrey stared at the figure that was emerging into the shadowy light of the perpetual twilight that filled this particular faerie realm. The form shook itself, bits of unidentifiable slime and moisture was flung all about the glade
and then a pair of large wings much like a monarch butterfly unfurled from the woman's back. "Hi Geoff," Gemma said, the joy she seemed to be experiencing evident in both her voice and smile. "What do you think? Aren't I just resplendent?"

Offline Liam Dale

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1514 on: October 02, 2018, 07:58:36 AM »
Distorted violins echoed in the night
Hypnotic dancers showered by the full moon's light
Cloistered from the world
Eight bodies touching
Music and dance, in an eternal waltz.

Offline Flower

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1515 on: October 03, 2018, 04:51:57 AM »
Today's word of the day is....

weltschmerz
noun VELT-shmairts

Definition
1 often capitalized Weltschmerz : mental depression or apathy caused by comparison of the actual state of the world with an ideal state

2 often capitalized Weltschmerz : a mood of sentimental sadness



Today's spook filled picture is....


Offline Liam Dale

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1516 on: October 03, 2018, 06:54:17 AM »
There was a man who played the violin.

His music was like a dream, and people never wanted him to stop playing for them.

His melodies were light and cheerful, slow and passionate.

Play it again! They would say. And the man would play, the same songs time after time.

He never stopped. He couldn't stop. His fingers bled against the strings, then lose their flesh until bare bones clasped around the instrument.

Sunken in his Weltschmerz, the musician never realized he was now a lost soul, a skeletal specter, wandering in the night, tormenting people in the new moon's dark.

Offline Remec

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1517 on: October 03, 2018, 07:39:41 AM »


When the cloister doors opened, the flowing dancers slipped out in their shadowy habiliment to take their assigned places upon the stage…each awaiting the skeletal maestro to begin the evening’s ritual. At first, none could see anything but darkness and feathers, but the wings pealed back and revealed that this year’s instrument of choice was a violin. And he began playing…and they began dancing…slow and fast and slow and fast…losing themselves in his nocuous milieu of Weltschmerz, until they were one with the sound and mood; like the assembled pieces of an emotional panoply that no one was likely to escape from unscathed.

Offline Flower

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1518 on: October 04, 2018, 05:00:04 AM »
Today’s word of the day is....

intestine
adjective in-TESS-tin

Definition

1 : internal; specifically : of or relating to the internal affairs of a state or country



Today's spook filled picture is....


Offline Justric

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1519 on: October 05, 2018, 05:59:57 AM »
Today’s word of the day is....

peripeteia
noun pair-uh-puh-TEE-uh

Definition

1 : a sudden or unexpected reversal of circumstances or situation especially in a literary work



Today's spook filled picture is....


Offline Endscape

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1520 on: October 05, 2018, 03:06:58 PM »
Dance Beneath the Smiling Moon


Dear mother and father,

I know you'll miss me, and that's okay. All children eventually leave their parents to start lives of their own, so please don't be sad for me. I'm just taking flight and leaving the nest earlier than others my age. This is what I want. Unlike the Smith kids last year, my decision isn't based on a dare or a whim. Ever since I was young, I've been thinking about it. Wondering what's outside town. Why we're not supposed to leave. Why we almost never see anyone from the outside world. Most of all, I want to know where they come from, and where they go. Their music is beautiful, like nothing I've ever heard. When everyone else cowers in fear, I sit up and listen intently. My eyes are closed, but not squeezed shut, because I don't want to miss a moment. Have you ever taken the time to let the melody reach your ears? To let it sink into your heart? I know we're told not to go out once the daylight festival is over, but tonight is the night where I make my choice. Their music calls to me. It doesn't just play to me. It plays
for me. When you find this note, know that I am gone, and likely to never return. Over the past few years, I've carved a small hatch into the wall in my closet, behind the chest. That will be the beginning of my new journey. Don't think of it as the end for me.

I love you,
     ~ Jonathan



Everyone knew the date. It just before the harvest. Before the sun dipped low over the horizon to make way for its lover, there would be a grand celebration, with tables lined with food nearly as far as the eye could see. Longer than the road that ran through town! There would be music, fireworks, games, and performances during the day. It was a great and wonderful time of the year, where the entire populace of the town gathered together to give thanks, express how grateful they were for what they had, and share with others their labours of the year. Some people worked all year long, dedicating a great deal of their time to create colourful explosives for the sky, or decorations to be spread along the eavestroughs of the homes and businesses down main street, or even to grow the biggest pumpkins and gourds.There would be cheering. Toasts. People out and about with their families, watching shows and playing games. People out with their lovers, taking part in couple’s competitions...or sneaking into the alleyways for a little bit of fun. The elderly would smile as they saw the couples sneak off. Tell stories to crowds, and act as judges for competitions and performances. All in all, it was an absolutely wonderful time of year.

A time that would only last until the sun set.

People of the day were grateful, because they knew what could be taken from them. When the sun began to dip low to kiss the horizon’s razor edge, that was when people started to gather their wits about them. It was time to gather up the children and those who had lost themselves in the revelry of honeyed ale. Time to say parting words to loved ones who lived in other parts of town. Heartfelt confessions of passion and lust were made during this time, as were admissions of regret and guilt. People sought to confess whatever their thoughts were to the people close to them. Any vitriol that people may have had for others, any grudges that were held during the year? They were all let go before the day’s end.

As the final celebrations of the day came to a close, people brought out their lanterns. Each of them were handmade, one for every member of the town. The candles inside were meant to last until the light from beyond the horizon cast feathers of the phoenix into the sky, the soft orange glow of the lanterns replaced by the sun’s warming gaze. It was with high hopes and hearts full of fear that the candles were lit. The peripeteia cast upon twilight’s embrace would undoubtedly confuse outsiders. The highs of the celebratory joys experienced during the day seemed like they could have carried on forever into the night. Much to the relief of the populace, visitors were rare. Rarer still were those who would visit, and heed not the wise words of those who warned them. With each lantern strung from tree branches and bannisters, or set upon the tables and steps, the townsfolk scurried back to their homes. Quick were they to close their doors and board their windows.

Families huddled together quietly in their homes. No home held light, each abode shrouded in darkness. Furniture was shoved up against the doors and the windows. People held onto each other tightly, with their eyes closed. The hope was that in the darkness, in the silence, they would go unnoticed. No attention would be on them; only on the feast left out on the main road. There was more food laid out on the tables than what the town could eat in a single day, and what couldn’t be finished was left for the vermin of the forest to gather up and nibble on. Crows and coyotes and other scavengers of all types descended upon the main road to take part in the feast. The secrets buried deep within the intestine of the town would soon be laid bare upon the full moon’s rise.

In the far distance, there were voices. There was music, and the pitter patter of feet. Instruments of percussion and string and brass and wind signalled the introduction of the Moon-Cursed. It was the name the townspeople had given them. Shades, spirits, skeletons and other macabre visions of an ethereal past, drawn to the town during the night’s harvest to take part in much darker revelries. Even the vermin only had the merest of moments to satiate themselves on what would become offerings for the Moon Cursed. Laughter punctuated the presence of the first arrivals, and sent icy shivers into the bones of those in hiding. Corpses of powdered and preserved noblesse cartwheeled into the streets like jesters, while others waltzed their way in with dance partners, swerving and rotating and spinning in step with the rhythm of the music performed by the undead. They would soon fill the main road, partying with just as much enthusiasm as their living counterparts had only hours prior to their arrival.

Nobody knew where they came from, or where they went afterwards. Not even the town elders, who had passed down stories for generations and generations knew when the Moon-Cursed started making their way through town. Only that when they arrived, those who were unfortunate enough to be discovered outside were pulled into their cloister, never to be seen again. There were theories as to what happened, but nobody really knew. Why did they come? Why did they dance and sing and make merry like the living? Why did they take those found outside? These were the questions that the younger generations asked. The adults never bothered trying to answer those questions. That was why, every few years or so, a number of the younger generation would make plans to sneak out and see the show. Curiosity of these such children typically left their parents weeping for days after their disappearances, many of them sinking into deep wells of malaise and weltschmerz. The morning after would see the offerings for the Moon-Cursed swept away, along with the glowing fires of each lantern. When there was no more music or laughter, and the sun's warming rays tried to force their way into the homes of the scared and tired, was when everything would return to normal. The dead would move on, the offerings of the town picked clean.

Only, one year, there was a single lantern still lit. The lantern that belonged to one Jonathan Barrick, hung from the large twisted oak in the center of town, still had a soft orange glow from within.

That was the year when everything changed.



Offline Shores

Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1521 on: October 05, 2018, 09:52:19 PM »
(WOAH! There's pictures now!?)

The peripeteia made the audience gasp as the son turned out to be both the murderer of his sister, and the one who was then murdered by his own father.

Offline RampantDesires

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Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1522 on: October 06, 2018, 11:48:25 PM »
Today’s word of the day is....

gloaming
noun GLOH-ming

Definition

: twilight, dusk



Today's spook filled picture is....


Offline RampantDesires

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Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1523 on: October 07, 2018, 11:59:12 PM »
Today’s word of the day is....

scintillate
Verb SIN-tuh-layt

Definition

1 : to emit sparks : spark

2 : to emit quick flashes as if throwing off sparks : sparkle

3 : to throw off as a spark or as sparkling flashes



Today's spook filled picture is....


Offline Lilias

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Re: ~ Word of the Day ~
« Reply #1524 on: October 08, 2018, 07:30:00 AM »
‘Eight paragraphs? Seriously?’ Kathleen dropped the printout on her desk without even reading through it. ‘Come on, mate. We need a statement, not a manifesto. You don’t have to include everything. Cut that to about half and it will get a nice neat column, okay?’

George rolled his eyes. ‘Anything to stop you dropping Rogue One quotes, Kath,’ he said, reaching for the paper. Kathleen grinned.

‘You’d better hurry, then. We’re detecting a massive object emerging from hyperspace.’ She pointed her thumb at the window, where a rust-coloured full moon could be seen hovering just above the rooftops.

George groaned, but she was right. It was almost dark, and deadlines aside, there was such a thing as going home for the night. He headed back to his desk, mulling over his edits in his head as he went.