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Author Topic: Fortis's collection of started stories (Looking for some advice and feedback)  (Read 248 times)

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Offline Fortis Scriptor

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Hello, Fortis here coming back to the forum for one of the original purposes I joined in the first place, some feedback and help.

Lately I have found myself jumping from story to story, not making much progress and worst of all stopping mid-scene in most which irritates the absolute hell out of me. So I'm looking to you my fellow writers and raiders just to hear your general thoughts on the issue, as well as your thoughts on which of these started stories I put the most effort and love into. I know that sounds odd but the truth is in my mind I love all of my stories a lot, and I want to tell them, it's just a matter of doing it. I realise that I really, REALLY need to settle on one maybe two stories and get cracking on them, and perhaps hearing some outside opinions will help me pry open my productive side for some of these tales.

So without further delay, here they are, a number of stories I have begun in recent times and just not gotten much done in.

The first of these is an attempt at a story idea that's been in my head for about 6 months, I only managed to make a first run at it last month, and I didn't get far. It takes place within my universe, Mithra, and follows a story taking place during the Eclenian Civil War, while being told to a reporter through the eyes of a veteran.

In the Twilight of the Eclenian Empire’s defense of the Heartlands, the Imperial Eclenian Military Institute, Orphirian Academy was designated by General Titus Greene as a fallback, and resupply point in the event of a frontline breakthrough.

 In the late summer of 1886, that event, thought so improbable, became a reality when the largest Merchant Offensive of the war caused the Loyalist Western Front to buckle and collapse. This would mark the beginning of a time of chaos throughout the Eclenian Heartlands as Merchant forces and their mercenary allies raped and pillaged their way through the countryside on their vicious campaign against the Nobility of Eclenia, and any who served it. During the time of Republican oppression, a few pockets of resistance managed to hold their own against the odds, among them was Orphirian Academy.

So many great heroes, and yet almost none are spoken of. It has been 30 years since the war came to an end and yet, it is still a shameful thing to speak of. My parents' generation have done nothing but snuff out talk of Eclenia’s so-called greatest moment of weakness, and Eclenia’s heroes have suffered for it. My generation was brought up thinking that the army is a bunch of drunks and cowards who let our country fall into chaos. I think now is the time for things to change. So against the advice of all of my colleagues I begin my quest to dig up the truth about the heroes of Eclenia who shed their blood for what they believed in.

 Is this suicidal for my career? With the state of Journalism as it stands now, probably, but damn it, I will not stand to see the memory of good men and women tarnished any further, and I certainly will not let what they did be used as a weapon to discriminate against those heroes who still walk among us.

So, what better place to start than with one of the few groups who aren’t seen in a shameful light? The Cadets of Orphirian Academy who held off the Merchant hordes from their ancient stronghold, defending the weak and innocent who their adversaries sought to torture and kill.

You’d be surprised how hard it was for me to track one of these guys down, but by Uriel, I’ve found one of them! 

Former Cadet Decanus, Kalmren Griffinsher, he was the personal adjutant to the Cadet Centurion Major, Jossua Palypsi, the leader of the Cadets during the siege of Orphirian Academy.

Today Kalmren is a beat cop here in Fenrock.

And that's about where I stopped with this one.

Next up is the story which I started for the 2.0 Novel marathon, this one I feel really bad about actually, I started it, it was going pretty good and then mid-scene new story idea and I dropped this like a hand grenade and every time I've come back to it since I just haven't been able to get more than a sentence or two further if that much.


Prologue: An old enemy for a new age.

Vatican City, the Apostolic Palace.

Rays of white light shown through the high windows over the gilded walls of the Apostolic Palace. The sound of heavy footsteps of Marcel Sartre, Grandmaster of the Legio Sanctus De Trinitate echoed down the otherwise silent hall.

The Grandmaster’s face was contorted with rage, his hands were grasped into tight fists, and crushed under one of them was a piece of paper. Marcel had been ordered back to Rome by the Pope himself, an order which even he could not refuse. He was dressed in the full plate armour and surcoat of old, something which he had not worn in years, and had hoped to never wear again, but presentation was a must with this new Pope.

“This better be damn important,” Marcel cursed internally.

As he reached the door to the Pope’s office, Marcel was met by two Swiss Guards, each dressed in their ornate armour as well, neither of them looked very comfortable. They bowed at his approach,

“His Excellency has been awaiting your arrival Grandmaster Sartre,” one of the guards spoke.

Marcel’s expression softened when he heard the guard speak his native language, even with a swiss accent it was a good change of pace. Marcel was not a fan of Latin, or Italian, and he had heard nothing but for three days waiting for the Pope to see him, something which had irritated him even more.

“Thank you,” he replied.

The guard opened the small door leading to the Pope’s office, and let Marcel through.

The office had changed a lot since Marcel’s last visit, the last Pope had been well known for his modesty, the walls of his office had been drab and the furniture bland, though the walls had been lined with bookshelves. The same could not be said for his successor who had replaced the previous aesthetic, with something more akin to the office of a french noble during the days before the Revolution. The bookshelves lining the walls had been done away with and been replaced by rare paintings, a few of which Marcel recognised as still being considered missing in Russia. The furniture was equally ornate, with the Pope himself seated in what Marcel would call nothing less than a throne.

“Arrogant prick,” Marcel thought a smile cracking on his face, “Your Excellency, I have come, as you requested,” he said in Latin, taking a long deep bow.

“Rise my son,” the Pope motioned his hand.

Marcel stood and placed a hand on one of the two guest chairs in front of the Pope’s desk.

“Your Excellency, might I be so bold as to ask why you have summoned me?”

Marcel saw a smile break on the Pope’s face, and he could see that, his excellency was trying to hide it.

“Please, let us speak French, I need some practice in it,” The Pope said in passable, but heavily accented French.

“If it is your wish your excellency,” Marcel said switching back to his native tongue, he was pleasantly surprised that the Polish, Pope Julius IV spoke any French at all, though he had a thick accent which butchered it.

“Thank you. To answer your question, I have called you here today for something that is of the utmost importance,” The Vicar’s expression had changed to a grave look, “It is a matter which I have been told, would be best dealt with by you and your order.” Julius opened a drawer in his desk and removed a large envelope. He held it closely for a moment before offering it to Sartre.

Marcel took the envelope and noticed the missionary’s seal which had marked it. Upon opening the envelope Marcel retrieved what he discovered to be a number of photographs from somewhere in central africa if he had to make a guess. Villages burned to cinders, gore covering the foreground, bodies mutilated and half eaten, and in the background of the last photo, a large blurry figure with bright red eyes could be seen.

The Pope looked surprised when Marcel did not even flinch.

“So, it appears that this is a demon of some sort, if I had to make a guess it is one which has been slumbering for quite some time.” Marcel said with some disappointment showing in his tone.

“How can you tell?”

“It has devoured everything in its wake by the looks of these; most of the time Lucifer’s beasts are tailored to feast upon a specific variety of tastes. However, when one has been sleeping for a few centuries or more, their hunger overwhelms them.”

Julius locked his fingers in deep thought, “You do not seem very concerned, is this not rare?”

Marcel could tell that the Vicar was holding something out on him, he kept his guard up.

“It is not a daily occurrence, but in places as filled with strife as central Africa, it is not a surprise, nor should it be hard to deal with for my order…”

There was a moment of silence between them.

“I must wonder though Excellency, is there more that you are not showing me? By all accounts something as trivial as a few slaughtered villages in the third world caused by a demon should have never reached your hands before mine.”

The Pope stopped hiding his smile now, “Very perceptive

Next we have the story idea which made me drop the previous story. Yeah... This one I hit a writer's block brick wall with mid-scene once again.


Declan Guaire’s first day as a free man, started the same as his last full day as a soldier. He woke up in a cold sweat, drank an oversized shot of 40 year old Mithran Whisky, polished his boots, and laid back down on his bed. He then quietly hummed the tune of a song he couldn’t quite remember the name of, staring at the metal grated ceiling until his alarm went off.

He had pressed his uniform and polished every button. He had shaved off his five o’clock shadow and dressed the burns on his hands. All in all, he looked like a prim and proper Marine Corps NCO. He had too many scars to look like an Officer, much to the dismay of any who laid eyes on the old ‘Mustang’. Declan Guaire was a Captain, but not for much longer. As anyone who knew him were well aware, he had only bothered to pretty himself up for the sake of his retirement papers. After that, it was anyone’s guess to the fate of the dress uniform.

“How does it feel to be a free man?” Colonel Lealan joked, stamping the papers with his confirmation code.

“It feels damn good, but it’ll feel even better once I leave this dump of an outpost.” Declan replied with a smile, taking the small packet from his old CO.

Lealan laughed, “Be nice now Declan, I still call this so-called dump, home.”

“I’m too old for such courtesy, Colonel.”

Colonel Lealan shook his head, “So what’s next for you, Declan?”

“First, a move to Earth, then, hell who knows. Maybe I’ll open a bar, though I’d probably drink it dry before I sell a single beer.” Declan laughed.

“Well I wish you luck, Declan… Now get your ass off my base, you mangy sea dog.”

“Colonel, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to give me that order.” Declan said with a smile.

He saluted Colonel Lealan for the last time, turned on his heel and walked out of the Colonel’s office onto the parade ground.

Declan walked with a slacker-like swagger, his dress coat flipped over his shoulder, and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

As he walked across the parade ground towards the gate, Declan heard the distinct sound of a Mamluk walking behind him.

“Hey, Captain Guaire! Could I talk to you for a moment,” came a deep male robotic voice from over a speaker.

Declan turned and before him was the daunting figure of a Mamluk. A hulking three meters tall and two meters across metal death machine, a twenty eight millimeter GAU taking up its right arm, and a shield on its left, a configuration known as the Defender.

“Hey, Rock,” Declan said with a casual wave.

“You’re not appearing on my scanners as military personnel, I congratulate on your successful retirement.” Rock said with a chipper friendliness.

“Thank you, Rock,” Declan replied, “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Did you see the news today?”

Declan scratched the back of his head, “Yeah…”

“So you’ve heard about the new Samurai Class?”

Declan nodded, “I did, they’re phasing you guys out, just like me.”

So there's three stories which I've started and just hit solid brick walls on. There are a couple more but I think you guys get the idea. Any thoughts, feedback, advice, etc. would be much appreciated. Thank you for taking the time to read this post, I hope you all have a wonderful day.

Offline NSD716

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I've only had time to read the first one, but I have to say I think it's a great idea for an interesting and unique perspective on an array of intense and charged topics. All I can imagine is a VO of a famous reporter typing away an article that is sure anger many people, but that he/she feels must be made. I think this offers a perspective and narration that flashes back to the interviews, then flashes again to the actual battles, and cuts between all three points constantly (I'm a sucker for clever editing tricks like that). Commentary can be added by both the protagonist and by the interviewed people as they recant truely terrible things. In addition the political climat of the present in the story would offer many chances at exploring issues like how society views and treats veterans and the merits of war (especially if you lose). I think it's a great idea and I hope you continue it.