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Author Topic: Jack's Little Idea Emporium (Now Featuring- The Witch's Lighthouse)  (Read 1371 times)

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Offline MrDiamondBackJackTopic starter

  • "The thing in the coffin writhed, and a hideous, blood-curdling screech came from the opened red lips." - Bram Stoker, Dracula
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Welcome to my little idea emporium.  Here you will find my ideas for solo games.  I a not currently looking for more games to join, but I would welcome a partner on The Witch's Lighthouse and I am open to other ideas.  You can still PM me if you wish. I enjoy meeting new friends.

Here is a complete list of the games I am currently in:

Frankenstein Redux, with Poisin

The Case of the Vanishing Ventriloquist, with Spice

The Highlander's Rose, with Daylily

New Hope, with Lyria

A Fish out of Water, with Sashira

Dr. Flint in the Pacific, with Drift

The Witch's Lighthouse, with DiamondBackJack

The Rose Cottage, A Social Supernatural Soap Opera

On the Shores of Lake Horrid, a Fantasy Themed Social Thread

LINKS TO MY OTHER THREADS

Diamond Back-Jack's Preferences

Jack's Big Idea Emporium

The Outsiders Vs. The Screaming Hall (a serial adventure)
-------------------

Taken


The Bride of Frankenstein Redux





http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=84438.0

Type: Broad comedy mixed with romantic comedy OR More serious Gothic adventure/horror

Frankenstein's monster realizes that his master never is going to get around to making him that bride.  He decides that he will make a bride for himself, so he bashed Frankenstein on the head, and locks in him a cell of the castle.  (This assumes that the brain which he was given might have been criminal, but was also from a genius.) He makes the woman for himself, making out of a patchwork of parts.  She wakes up and starts to fall in love with the captive doctor.  She escapes with the doctor and takes flight to the extreme north, where she is followed by the monster.  The entire time Frankenstein tries to get lose, but she is obtuse and does not realize that he does not love her like she loves him.   Still, he realizes he can't escape, so he gives in and starts to realize that he is attracted to her.  In the end, he saves her from the monster's wrath and ardor.

I would be open to a co-author modifying this a bit and then working with the modified version.  I just really like some story structure.  Please read my preferences before you respond.  PLEASE PM me your response, rather than posting it here.  Thank you.

« Last Edit: October 11, 2010, 09:03:17 AM by MrDiamondBackJack »

Offline MrDiamondBackJackTopic starter

  • "The thing in the coffin writhed, and a hideous, blood-curdling screech came from the opened red lips." - Bram Stoker, Dracula
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  • Gender: Male
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Blood Red Christmas
« Reply #1 on: September 09, 2010, 01:39:25 PM »
Genre: Comic Fantasy/Horror  Setting: The North Pole and other mythical places

Blood Red Christmas

In this story Krista Kringle, daughter of Santa Claus, teams up with one of Santa's elves to help save Christmas.  The forces of the Goblin King, King Krustyknob, have been fighting the forces of the Santa Dynasty for decades.  Krustyknob IV wants to turn December 25th into a day of horror that would make Halloween look like a Sunday school picnic.  He wants to leave body parts in stockings, wrap dead pets in packages and tattoo his initials onto folk, while they are dreaming of sugar plums.  Our duo must stop a team of assassins, who are waiting at a certain house for Santa, torture them to find the location of his secret castle, and then break into the castle and save Christmas.

Please read my preferences before you PM me.  Please PM me, instead of posting here.

Possible Partners:
Leige- You play a female to my Krista
Lady- You play a female to my Krista or I play a male to your Krista


« Last Edit: September 28, 2010, 11:00:09 PM by MrDiamondBackJack »

Offline MrDiamondBackJackTopic starter

  • "The thing in the coffin writhed, and a hideous, blood-curdling screech came from the opened red lips." - Bram Stoker, Dracula
  • Deverified
  • Bacchae
  • *
  • Join Date: Sep 2010
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  • Gender: Male
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Doctor Flint in the Pacific
« Reply #2 on: September 09, 2010, 04:42:35 PM »
POSITION FILLED

The Thread is Located Here: http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=81847.msg3609694#msg3609694

Genre: Comic Adventure
Setting:  WW II in the Pacific
m/f

DOCTOR FLINT IN THE PACIFIC

Deep below the Pacific Ocean, an American submarine speed along.  Her name was the Persephone.  She was a quiet, powerful creature with a thick metal skin and a deadly purpose.  Inside her belly, navy men were huddled together as they traveled toward the Japanese occupied Island of Jujuba.  Their mission was to stop the evil Nazi super scientist Dr. Holly Bader.  She was turning prisoners from the islands Japanese POW camp into zombies, bent on eating their fellow Americans.



In a secret laboratory, deep in the bowels of the submarine, Dr. Augustus Flint IV was pulling at his thick graying hair in frustration.  He was pacing back and forth, across the cramped, littered floor of his make-shift laboratory and spitting out curses.  His pale blue eyes were shot through with red and he had not shaved, or eaten in forty eight hours.  There were chemical stains on his white lab coat and one of his oxford shoes was untied.

Dr. Flint, doctor of biology, chemistry and mechanical engineering, was one of the most brilliant men in the world.  He had studied at the finest universities and authored twenty well respected books.  He had won many awards and was the toast of the academic cocktail party circuit.  What he was not was patient, humble or forgiving.  He was from an old blue blood family and he was better than any of his ancestors.  If you asked him, he would assure you that there wasn't a finer mind in the whole world, than his.

"I just don't understand it!  The formula was perfect!  I accounted for every variable and I made sure that everything was recorded correctly.  It should have worked!!!"  Behind him, rows or guinea pigs in cages mocked him.

One shouted "What's up Doc?  Can't even create a simple self pleasuring super serum?  Look, its working!"  The pig started to moan and groan, before falling down with laughter."  Indeed, the formula had not worked.  The somewhat good doctor had been working on mist that could travel over a battle field, and cause any enemy, including zombies, to desire nothing more than to lie down on the ground and masturbate.  It should be able to end the war in a day, if they could drop the mist on a Japanese city.  Still, it wasn't working!  Some of the test subject had grown wings, or learned to talk, or started to scratch their bodies so much that they lost most of their hair, but not a one was going at it, with his own little paws.

"Something is missing!"  Dr. Flint smashed his hand into a counter, bouncing the beakers around.  "We will be at the island in twelve hours and they are expecting me to perform a miracle."  He needed a miracle....  He needed coffee.  Where was that daft girl?  She was always running off when he really needed her assistance.  "Miss Shaw!  Where are you?"  He started moving around the laboratory, peering behind filing cabinets and under tarps.
« Last Edit: September 28, 2010, 10:59:26 PM by MrDiamondBackJack »

Offline MrDiamondBackJackTopic starter

  • "The thing in the coffin writhed, and a hideous, blood-curdling screech came from the opened red lips." - Bram Stoker, Dracula
  • Deverified
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  • *
  • Join Date: Sep 2010
  • Location: Chicago Area, U.S.A.
  • Gender: Male
  • "Life is hard. After all, it kills you." - K. H.
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The Highlander's Rose
« Reply #3 on: September 09, 2010, 05:29:11 PM »
POSITION FILLED

Genre: Time Travel Drama; Modern Woman in Ancient Scotland
Setting: The Scottish Highlands in 1521
m/f

http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=82158.new#new

The Highlander's Rose

The mists hung low over the highland hills, as Willy MacNab move quietly down, toward the encampment of MacNess bastards.  He moved quickly, but carefully, so his brogues wouldn't slip on the rocky ground.  His basket hilted claymore was bare in one and his round targe in the other.  He was a tall, lean muscled man with a mess of dark brown hair.  His thick brow furrowed as he watched for activity in the camp.  The sun still wasn't over the horizon and the heathens were still sleeping off their latest debauchery.



His red and great tartan looked dull in the still dark morning, and his sword was held behind the folds of his tartan, to keep it from glinting.  The fire below was dead and cold, as the men around it soon would be.  The rutting pigs.  His fine feature face was a dispassionate mask, as he crept past the man on guard at the base of the hill.  He was sleeping like the dead.  Willy quietly cut his throat, to keep him where he was.

There were six of them around the fire, wrapped in their tartans, with rocks for pillows.  There was another shape as well, wrapped in a gray blanket.  By the sun just breaking the hill, he could see tangled red hair coming from beneath the blanket.  If she was one of their lasses, he would have to kill her too.  Blood called to blood.

For five long years now the Neishes had been harassing the MacNabs, with their dirty little raiding parties.  They were a degenerate lot, the sons of bitches, living in their ruined keep.  They raped and pillaged, without a thought for anything up the needs of their stomachs and their dicks.  There had been talk of making a mass raid on the hive of vermin, to destroy it down to its foundation, but nothing had come of the talk yet.

Willy considered for a moment.  He could probably kill one or two more with stealth, before they were one him, but then it would be a hard battle indeed.  He steeled his heart.  Cousin Rob's blood still stained his skin, from where Willy had held his head as he died.  He could remember sweet Molly lying naked and still on the floor next to her husband.  Her swollen stomach spoke of another life that was never to see the world, this side of Heaven.  Dead didn't matter.  The bastards would pay and he would cut their heads off and throw them to the crows!

They had not been the first and would not be the last.  Willy had seen lovers and kin die in their raids.  He has seen the land soak up honorable MacNab blood.  He knew that blood was the price a man paid to keep his family safe in this world.  Still, he wondered if the killing would ever end.  He supposed that it would end for sure, at least for him, if they wiped all the vipers out.

He ran forward, his blood in his brown eyes, and stabbed his blade into the stomach of one of the prone men, twisting it upwards as he did.


Please do not post here.  If you are interested, read my preferences and then send me a PM.  Thank you.
« Last Edit: September 28, 2010, 10:59:05 PM by MrDiamondBackJack »

Offline MrDiamondBackJackTopic starter

  • "The thing in the coffin writhed, and a hideous, blood-curdling screech came from the opened red lips." - Bram Stoker, Dracula
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  • Join Date: Sep 2010
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The Adventures of the Son of Tintin: The Haunted Castle
« Reply #4 on: September 11, 2010, 07:31:27 PM »
The Adventures of the Son of Tintin
The Haunted Castle




Marlinspike Hall was abuzz with preparation.  Master Archie was coming home for the holidays, after his first full semester studying at Oxford.  Nestor had directed a small team of lads, hired for the occasion, on sprucing up the house. He had already made is displeasure know to the masters, Tintin and Captain Haddock, that he considered lads ill-suited to the task of cleaning up the mansion, but he had been ignored.  As they always had, Tintin and his beloved Captain Archibald Haddock had surrounded themselves with males whenever possibly, with the exception of that diva of the musical stage, Madam Castafiore.  The Captain was feeling pretty old these days, and looking it to boot, but Tintin never left his side, or looked at younger men.

There had been a bit of trouble in their relationship some eighteen years ago.  Tintin had grown a bit distant and sullen, or so the Captain thought.  He started to complain again about how much Haddock drank, about his cigars and about his colorful language.  He had even taken a trip to Sweden, by himself, leaving in the middle of the night while Haddock lay sleeping in their bed.  Five years later, Tintin took another little trip alone, to Sweden, and returned with little Archie.  The lad had been the spiting image of Tintin, but Tintin had not talked about the lads origins, other than to say he had adopted him and that the lad was the son of a relation of his, who had died quite suddenly.

The lad had thrived at Marlenspike.  He had loved running through the forest and investigating the village.  He had tormented the staff, almost as much as another small visitor who had once made Nestor's life a living Hell.  He became the apple of Tintin and the Captains' eyes and the biggest joy of their long life of adventuring.  It surprised no one when he started to accompany them on their adventures and turned into the very model of his adoptive father and his beloved Captain.

Professor Calculus and Inspectors Thomson and Thompson were already installed in the guest rooms and repairing for the afternoon extravaganza.  It was not just the return of the young adopted master.  They were to meet a mysterious guest he was bringing with him.  Tintin had been sure from Archie's letters that it would be a young lady.  The Captain had sputtered that his name sake was to start to fall for a skirt, and he was sure it was some university bloke.  Either way, they would know soon enough.

Snowy III had been sulking for months.  He had not seen his boy since that summer!  His beloved boy had left him home, and went off to university!  The very idea.  He knew that Grandfather Snowy would never have let himself be left behind!  He saw all of the activity, and heard the talk of his boy returning, but it did not faze him.  He was very sure that he would sleep through Archie's return, until the inconsiderate boy had left again.


OOC:  Yup, it is what you have all been waiting for!  (Or is it just me?)  This is the story of the adopted son of Tintin, going off to fulfill his destiny, with his fiancÚ by his side.  Also, this story will solidify my believe that Tintin was gay, and that Haddock was his life partner.  PM me if you are interested.  Please do not post here.  This game will only use canon characters for a short time, before they leave for a mysterious Scottish Castle.

« Last Edit: September 28, 2010, 10:58:42 PM by MrDiamondBackJack »

Offline MrDiamondBackJackTopic starter

  • "The thing in the coffin writhed, and a hideous, blood-curdling screech came from the opened red lips." - Bram Stoker, Dracula
  • Deverified
  • Bacchae
  • *
  • Join Date: Sep 2010
  • Location: Chicago Area, U.S.A.
  • Gender: Male
  • "Life is hard. After all, it kills you." - K. H.
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  • View My Rolls
  • Referrals: 0
Stars and Moons and Silver Knife
« Reply #5 on: September 12, 2010, 11:23:49 PM »
Genre: High Fantasy Adventure
Setting: Original World - Steampunk and Magic

Stars and Moons and Silver Knife

The midnight blue bow topped wagon moved through the narrow streets of Cambrintown, headed toward the town square.  It sides were painted with silver stars and moons and its windows were covered with thick black shutters.  Two short, sturdy mounted horses with thick winter coats pulled it down the cobblestone streets.  Motorized carriages blasted their horns in annoyance at the slow moving vehicle and sped by, throwing belching smoke at it.

The driver had a red scarf pulled over his narrow face.  An aquiline nose poked out over it and his large brown eyes were red and tearing. His messy dark brown hair was cut at short on the sides, but stuck up in odd directions on the top.  He had on a black travel cloak, which hid his clothing, but long fingered hand poked out, holding the reigns.



"Steady on lads!"  He called to the horses.  A mounted guardsman road past him.  His polished breastplate and high ridged hat were at odds with the gloomy and gritty city streets.  The driver pulled his head down a little lower, but knew there was no helping it.  If a guardsman were bored, or looking for a bribe, or trying to fill a quote, the driver often provided a most tempting target. He was obviously not from around here and wouldn't have any local patron to protect him.  He held his breath, but the guardsman rode past, without giving him a second look.  The guardsman was casting his gaze about though, as if something were wrong.

The Cambrintown was the northern capital of the Divided Kingdom of Roswert.  It was bigger and louder than most towns which the driver had been through.  Still, some things were universal.  Where ever people congregated, filth was thrown from windows, rats ran the street, prostitutes hung out of windows and quite out of their dresses and the urchin pickpockets worked the crowds.  He could spot a few now, moving from person to person, always beneath the radar.  He smiled.  Time was that he was such an urchin, getting by as he could.

The urchins started scattering and the motorized carriages ground to a halt, as a troop of five mounted guards thundered down the center of the street.  They wove through the vehicles and passerbys, without a thought for the safety of the citizens.  "Well something is brew now, isn't it lads.  Best we get to where were going and batten down before the storm hits!"  He flicked the reigns to get his spooked horses moving again.
« Last Edit: September 28, 2010, 10:56:48 PM by MrDiamondBackJack »

Offline MrDiamondBackJackTopic starter

  • "The thing in the coffin writhed, and a hideous, blood-curdling screech came from the opened red lips." - Bram Stoker, Dracula
  • Deverified
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  • Join Date: Sep 2010
  • Location: Chicago Area, U.S.A.
  • Gender: Male
  • "Life is hard. After all, it kills you." - K. H.
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The Case of the Vanishing Ventriloquist
« Reply #6 on: September 14, 2010, 12:48:57 AM »
POSITION FILLED

Here is a link to the thread: http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=82373.msg3634044#msg3634044

Genre: Pulp Fiction/Comedy
Setting: The Planet Zeta in the Year 2269

The Case of the Vanishing Ventriloquist, A Dick Handcock Mystery


My name is Dick Handcock.  I'm a private dick.  I specialize in anything that will pay the bills and keep the Ministry of Citizen Recycling from deciding that I would better serve society by becoming a Soylent Green smoothie.  The name from famous movie had stuck around in the public consciousness.  When it came around to a planet like Zeta, which was a shit hole of an ecological nighmare, the product had actually become real.  Now the product was produced on many worlds, under a strict recipe of the Finger-Lickin' Good Corp (a subsidiary of Kentucky Fried Chicken Interstellar).

The local flora and fauna were all toxic for human consumption and Earth breeds did not far well here on Zeta.  The average lifespan of a human born off world was fifteen years from the moment they stepped onto the planet and those bore locally lived an average of forty three years.  Still, all of the human controlled planets were full and this was not the worst world out there.  We were the 1st runner-up.

It was a hot, sticky day on Planet Zeta when I parked my beat up hover car in front of my office.  The temperature was hovering around the temperature required for any exposed skin to start to resemble beef jerky.  A Zetan, with a push cart full of frozen spin backed critters on sticks, pushed past me. Her tentacles look wilted and glossy, but she kept on moving.

My office was located in one of those old brownstone buildings that they built to try to make we earthlings feel at home.  It was like working in a giant brick oven, but the rent was cheap and neighborhood was just that mix of lower and higher class which can give you clients from both sides of the track.

As I entered the office, it looked about like it always did.  Stacks of papers were piled randomly about on desks and filing cabinets.  The windows were open and two metal Old Earth fans were moving the stale air around.  The coffee maker was done brewing the morning sludge and my secretary, Greta, was hard at work painting her nails candy apple red.

I took off my trench coat and hung in on the rack.  I knew that it was crazy to wear a trench coat in this weather, but it was so good at hiding things like guns and pay off envelopes.  Under it my lean, athletic body was clad in a red Hawaiian shirt with white flowers and knee length white shorts.  Greta called it my 'Old Man in Paradise' outfit.

Greta was wearing, or half wearing, quite an outfit herself.  Her skirt was black and tight and would have ended at her lower thighs, if her sturdy, but shapely legs had not been propped up on my desk.  As it was, it had rode up on her thighs to the point I might have laid odds on the color of her panties with confidence.  Her feet were bare, but her toes were freshly painted and had bits of cotton swab stuffed between them.

Her ample bosom was hugged tightly by a black cotton bodice and spilled over the top of her red linen corset.  Her bodice squeezed her plump girls together to form a deep pale cleavage which was only shown as a thin strip down the center. Her neck extended up into a slightly rounded face with thick, heart shaped lips, enormous emerald eyes, a cute button nose and large red dimples.  Her long blond hair was in two long braids, which fell down her front and over her breast.  She was wearing a lot more clothing that was advisable did on days like these, causing beads of sweat to run down her neck and into the valley between her glistening mounds

"Hard as work Greta?  Don't get up.  I won't want to hurt yerself."  I sat down on the edge of my desk and stared, pushing her legs aside, and cocked an eyebrow at her.

Greta was the sort of dame who did not give a shit about the opinions of others about how she dressed or acted.  She wore what she wanted, came in when she wanted and worked if she wanted.  Still, she was the sister of my best friend and I owed her, after what happened.  She wasn't hard on the eyes either, though her charms were about as subtle as a smack upside the head with a Louisville slugger.


OOC: PM me if your interested.  Despite the not to subtle descriptions here, this is a private detective story.  There will be an actual plot.  It's tone will run somewhere between gritty pulp fiction and comedy.  All the writing needs to be done in first person past tense.  You do not need to write for the secretary, unless you wish to adopt her.  She is there, because there is always a secretary in these things.
« Last Edit: September 28, 2010, 10:55:38 PM by MrDiamondBackJack »

Offline MrDiamondBackJackTopic starter

  • "The thing in the coffin writhed, and a hideous, blood-curdling screech came from the opened red lips." - Bram Stoker, Dracula
  • Deverified
  • Bacchae
  • *
  • Join Date: Sep 2010
  • Location: Chicago Area, U.S.A.
  • Gender: Male
  • "Life is hard. After all, it kills you." - K. H.
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  • Referrals: 0
The Witch's Lighthouse (Revised and Expanded)
« Reply #7 on: September 25, 2010, 07:51:29 PM »
http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=83593.msg3683168#msg3683168

FRESHLY EXPANDED AND REVISED!!!



Genre: Modern Romantic Fantasy
Partners: F/F

The Lighthouse

The driving raid hit the windshield of the tiny rented vehicle, obscuring the road ahead.  Zamora knew that her ultimate destination, The Lighthouse Inn, was ahead of her somewhere, but God alone knew where.  The radio was just static at the moment, leaving her alone in a gray mini-cooper, stuck somewhere on the west coast of England.

New York was just a man made series of canyons, filled with busy people, pigeons, religious crazies and the homeless.  She had longed to go some place different.  Her mother had been at her for years to visit Jerusalem with her and see her Uncle Herb who immigrated thirty years ago.  It did not sound like fun.  Sure, it was fun to go to the beach, wear a cute string bikini and jump in the waves.  A desert filled with soldiers with rifles did not sound like fun though.

Zamora had go on the internet and started searching travel sites.  She had already seen Paris, with her father who was always making up for leaving them when she was just a young girl.  She had done the Florida thing more than once, visiting her Bubbe Thalia, though going to the beach with an old Russian Jew was not an ideal situation.  Finally, she had spotted some photos of the English countryside, with clouds hanging low over the rolling hills and idyllic farms stretched out between stone walls.  It had stirred something inside her. There had been something enchanting about that landscape though, as if she would truly be stepping outside the real world.  She almost imagined that she might step through a wardrobe and find a winter wood ruled by a cold and beautiful witch.  It certainly was the last place anyone would expect to find a New York Jewess, freshly spurned by her bitch of a lover.

The bed and breakfast's website had been enchanting.  It had showed an old lighthouse pushing up from the top of a longer rectangular stone house.  It had shown photos of couples watching the sunsets from the top of the tower, waves of the channel hitting the rocks below and smiling people enjoying quaint, quiet little rooms.  She imagined herself at the top of the tower, looking out

It was the perfect place to get away too.  New York held nothing for her now.  Mara had seen to that nicely, the bitch.  Zamora held out the locket around her neck and opened it.  A picture of a smiling red headed beamed back at her, with a false satanic smile.  For the hundredth time she almost threw the locket out the car window, but... Well it was raining this time, wasn't it?  There was always a reason.

They had owned a bookshop together, in the village.  They had both loved old books.  They loved the feel and smell of them, as well as the contents.  It had started as a business relationship, but within weeks it had been so much more.  For five long years they had lived together, with their cat Isis.  They had mostly been wonderful years, full of love and companionship. Things had changed four month ago.  Mara had grow more distant from her.  She had been online a lot more and seemed uneasy if Zamora watched her surf.  She had been more distant in the shop and in their bed.  At times she left for a short walk to the corner store and come back hours later without groceries.  It hadn't taken a genius to figure out the lay of the land.  Zamora even knew that lays name now...

Zamora tilted the vehicle's mirror down, as the rain drummed the windshield  The face staring back at her was slender and had decent cheek bones and an elfish chin.  Its lips were plump and painted with a dark rose.  Its eyes were a smoldering dark brown and its flowing black hair was clean and bouncy.

"What the hell is wrong with you Zamora Rachman?" She looked up.  "And why do you hate me so much?  I can't be happy too?  Couldn't you deal me a hand, because my hand sucks!"  She screamed in frustration while hit the car's horn a few time.  "Damn, damn, damity, damn!"


To Be Continued....

OOC:  I REALLY like this character and will be writing this story.  If no one joins, I do not care.  I need to write it.  PM be before joining please.
« Last Edit: September 28, 2010, 10:56:17 PM by MrDiamondBackJack »

Offline MrDiamondBackJackTopic starter

  • "The thing in the coffin writhed, and a hideous, blood-curdling screech came from the opened red lips." - Bram Stoker, Dracula
  • Deverified
  • Bacchae
  • *
  • Join Date: Sep 2010
  • Location: Chicago Area, U.S.A.
  • Gender: Male
  • "Life is hard. After all, it kills you." - K. H.
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  • View My Rolls
  • Referrals: 0
The Caravan
« Reply #8 on: September 28, 2010, 10:54:07 PM »
Before Stars, Moons and Silver Knife, I wrote this.  It is a similar concept, but not exactly the same.  The later was a reworking of the idea.

The Caravan

The soldiers were swarming the gates out of Knotshire.  The red and black of Duke Erlington was everywhere.  Donald almost expected to see a dog walk past, wearing the duke's colors.  They were set up outside the enormous west gate, under white canopies.  The men were all kitted out, with chain mail hauberks, short swords and dangerous looking spears.  These spears were plunged into suspicious looking bags and hay loads, without regard for station.

Donald knew that his traveling wagon was going to attract their interest.  It was a solid bow-top affair, with fancy carvings and more colors than a child could dream of.  The top itself was covered with a tan tarp, strapped down, to help protect the wood of the cart from the elements.  His trustworthy ponies were tired from four long days walking, and needed a stable and a good oat mash.

Donald pulled his wide brimmed, floppy hat down over his face.  He had the distinctive looks a foreigner and that would not help.  His features were as sharp as a knife and a light burnt umber.  His hair was black, thick and long.  He kept it twisted in the long braid common among his folk.  His eyes were a startling pale blue in his dark face; a gift of some distant ancestor.  His body was well formed, though not overly large, with nimble fingers, lean muscles and the reflexes of a cat.

The people here were all fair of hair and broad of face.  Their language was guttural and harsh to his ears.  They lumbered around like cows, chewing their cud and ramming into things.  Still, a rube was a rube, and he needed to make some coin.

The Duke's pet sorceress Mathilda was even at the gate, casting her gaze over every cart, pack and traveler.   Donald shuddered to look at her.  She was quite a beauty, with pale clear skin, corn flower hair and ruby red lips.  Still, her eyes were ancient and cold, like a frozen lake with hidden depths.  Her emerald gown clung tightly to her slender body, but it did little inflame his passions.  She was a pretty poison.  He had heard the stories of her abnormal passions and evil rituals.