Thursday February 4th, 2010

The exercise:

We're going to try something a little different today.

The exercise today is: part two. Go digging for a previous bit of writing you've done, here or elsewhere, and continue it. I think we're all guilty of writing things here that could easily be continued (I'll gladly admit I'm the guiltiest of all) so let's start making amends!

Due to the beg... er, requests of several of you, I shall be continuing this today.

It got a little long. And yeah, there will most likely be a part three some time.


The man made no move to continue, instead taking up position in the middle of the road and sheathing his swords across his back, the blades forming the most dangerous ‘x’ in the eastern provinces. He would wait for them to come to him and then let fate decide his hand. And theirs.

A cloud of dust on the horizon was the first visual indication of their approach and it wasn’t long before he could discern the dark silhouettes of five horses and their riders amidst the light brown cloud that nipped at their heels. The man crossed his arms across his chest and shifted his weight slightly to the right as the riders spotted him and slowed their mounts to a more cautious canter.

“Hail,” the lead rider called as they drew to a halt twenty paces away. He sat confidently upon his mount, a black beast thick with muscle and heavy with the scars of regular combat. The man’s thin black hair lay slicked back against his head and his beard was well trimmed. The markings on his chest plate indicated he was a captain of the royal guard.

“Hey,” the man replied with a slight nod, causing the captain’s eyes to narrow slightly. The man looked up to the clear sky overhead and added, “Lovely afternoon, isn’t it?”

“What business have you on the royal road?” the captain asked as his men formed a solid wall of steel and horseflesh from one side of the path to the other.

“I come with a message for the king,” came the reply in a bored tone. “Say, I don’t suppose I could catch a ride with you kind gentlemen? I hear it’s a long way to walk.”

“I do not think so,” the captain answered, allowing a sneer to corrupt his expression. His men laughed quietly, knowing enough not to anger their leader through overly obvious adulation. “Perhaps, if we deem the message worthy of his royal ears, we can deliver it to his highness for you and save you the trouble. What is your message and what name should be attributed to it?”

“Well that is mighty, mighty kind of you. Unfortunately these lips of mine are quite insistent on their need to speak directly to the king, so I’ll have to take a pass on your generous offer. But I would appreciate the use of that fine horse you’ve got between your legs there. This road of yours is making my feet awful sore.”

“Turn back,” the captain growled as he drew his sword, his men following suit without hesitation, “or be left to feed the vultures.”

“Going back is not an option, my friend. But perhaps my name will change your mind?” The man reached over his shoulders and pulled his swords free in unison, his body taking up a Tonzen warrior stance with practiced ease. “I am Rohman Greywood, lone survivor of the massacre at Desmond Manor perpetrated by your so-called king. I will have his head before I go to the Great Sky Dream and I will have yours as well if you dare stand in my way. The choice is yours.”


g2 (la pianista irlandesa) said...

DUDE. A part three is not optional. A part three, at this point, is mandatory. Ya hear?

Gypsy Fiddler, pt 2 (or rather another side of it)

I knew they'd come looking for me sooner or later. With my history, I would've been an idiot to not have expected some kind of consequence.

I spotted my soon-to-be pursuer, a big hulking creature who sent chills down my spine. As soon as he caught sight of me, trembling at a street corner, I knew it'd be suicide to stay any longer. I had to make for the mountains.

The only thing I brought with me was my fiddle. My heart and soul. Starve me, beat me, drown me, I don't care, just so long as nobody touches my precious fiddle. Hurt it, and hurt my will to live. As weak as I look, I'm a flighty creature under the proper circumstances. I took to the trees as soon as I could, so as not to leave footprints. I knew my history, I knew full well that footprints had led to the demise of many before me. I couldn't risk that, not at this stage.

My pursuer was much lighter than I'd anticipated, he came after me with such speed and ferocity he caught up much more quickly than I'd expected. I sang to the treetops with my fiddle, lamenting my probable downfall soon to come. But, when his crashing was more distant and his oaths became faintly more numerous I celebrated with more songs of my people.

Those songs are becoming fewer and farther between, however. I hear him coming closer every minute, and I'm reaching the edge of the forest. I either take to the mountains, or turn back the way I came. Either way isn't promising. Either way I risk suffering the consequences of my people's actions. Either way I chance having to tell of my unspeakable past.

Either way I can't rely on my fiddle forever.

Greg said...

Well, I'm pleased to see a continuation of that story! And it's suitably exciting and dramatic as well, and all set for a sudden plot twist. I'm with g2, I shall wait for the next continuation prompt to see the next installment of this.
Oh, and I see you've added to How the Best was won too, so I shall catch up on that today :)

I figured I'd add a continuation to my comment on Cave Exploration:

Cave Exploration (part 2)
Jermaine's squeals were panicked but muffled by the mass of rock he was squeezed between. I felt slightly sorry for him, as it was the closest to suffocation you could get without actually being suffocated. I also knew that the more he panicked the more he'd hyperventilate, which would expand his chest and make the claustrophobia worse, as well as sticking him firmly in place.
His briefcase was locked, little combination dials expecting not three but five digits. I twisted it to show St-Pierre who sucked air through his teeth in a mechanic's whistle and produced his caving knife.
His knife was an eight-inch long blade, sharp as sarcasm on the cutting edge and serrated on the back to provide a sawing edge. The handle, he told people, was a form of mineral calcium; I knew that he'd made it himself from the femur of a caver as unlucky as Jermaine. Whatever way you cut it, attacking St-Pierre was unlucky. He slipped the blade between the two sides of the case and twisted: the locks pinged brightly and split apart.
The contents of the case rolled on the rock underfoot.

Greg said...

Quick heads-up; I'll be in Brighton this weekend, so I probably won't be able to comment till Sunday. Hope everyone else contributes twice as much in my absence!


summerfield said...

hello, everyone. how's your weekend shaping up?

i feel so honoured, albeit a tad inadequate, in the company of all these fantastic writers. greg and marc, i am eagerly awaiting to read the next instalments of your stories. you guys are pretty good at getting a grip on your readers. bravo!

i wrote two possible continuation of my "titanic" random book prompt. i'm still playing around with it still. a little bit cliched (read: corny) but i know i'm capable of something better. here goes:

“So this is how it is to die,” I remembered thinking as I sank down the cold sea water.

It surprised me that I did not mind the cold that engulfed my body and the darkness that pulled me to the bottom. I actually felt like I was floating and that I have become one with the sea. I did not even feel the pain of the bullet that had pierced through my head.

Despite the darkness, I could still make out the shadows of bodies floating around me. Sometimes a ray of light filtered through the dark waters and I saw the body of a child, floating. I actually saw the faces of people floating around me and I realized that as I was going downward, these people were actually floating upwards! Calmness etched their faces, their eyes staring towards the water above and they had smiles in their lips. Bbut below, in the darkest depths, I hear moans laced with fear as I saw other people on a fast descent. I knew I was not supposed to hear any sound but I did. I let my body sink down into the darkness even as I looked around for Daniel. I rued that I let him drown. But we're both dead now so what did it matter?

"Why are we going down and they're going up?" a woman’s voice startled me and I thought there was something wrong. We were already dead, how can this person talk.

I looked behind me and I saw a woman wearing a ruby red Jezebel cut gown, the large diamond pendant floating in its chain still hanging around her neck. Her blonde hair covered part of her face but I could see that she was beautiful.

"I don't know," I said confused at the fact that I could talk underneath the waters.

"That's because we are dead," came another voice.

"Nooooooooooooo!" the woman in ruby red gown screams. "I can't be dead. I don't want to die!"

Suddenly, we were no longer floating but standing on a large cave. A man, wearing blue silk pajamas and a matching silk robe, adjusted the pipe in his mouth, appeared before us.

"Welcome! I am your host," he leered as he gave us a once over.

"Are we in hell?" asked another soul whose face I couldn't make out in the dark behind me.
i won't feel bad if i get a bad rap out of this. :-))


Marc said...

g2 - haha, glad you like it. I'll get around to writing more eventually.

It took me a bit to remember what you were continuing (alternating?) but once I did I was very pleased indeed :)

Great idea and wonderfully done.

Greg - I see two can play the Part 3 Game. Haha, awesome. Now I have extra incentive to continue mine, knowing that you (better) continue yours.

And have fun in Brighton! See you when you get back :)

Summerfield - well you certainly should not feel inadequate, especially after writing that!

Now I have even *more* reason to do another continuation prompt - I reaaally need to know what happens next! :D

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