Zonorhc

Actually, it was gramatically acceptable to begin with, and didn't stick out like a sore thumb as your errors do. You also tend to use a very passive voice in your writing. Try to give the text more of an active voice instead.

CHAPTER TWO: A Raven in Hand Baraek the fur trader did not have a very busy day in the market, though he rarely ever did. At least that was what one would assume if he did not notice the comings and goings of strange men who left nothing but envelopes or hurried whispers for the merchant. As the main front for the Phoenix's intelligence brokering operations, the idea that Baraek was not a very busy man was half-true: he was not a busy fur trader, but he was a hard-working information trader. Hence, Brax had not seen him move from his stall for the entire day that he sat in an upstairs room in the Blue Moon. That was how it should be. The working day was almost at its end, with the sun barely peeking over the city's western wall. Many merchants were already packing their wares and heading home, though Brax estimated that Baraek would not be leaving until the last messenger had arrived. Brax sat back and watched. The fur trader was slowly beginning to pack his small amount of stock, and had just finished covering his stall when a man arrived, whispered something in his ear, then ran off. Brax held his position as Baraek began to walk at a leisurely pace toward his home, appearing as inattentive as anyone could be. Bax hurried downstairs, dropped a few coins on the bar and exited the establishment. He quickly caught onto Baraek's trail and followed him at a distance, keeping to the shadows, though the trader was not glancing about. He loosened his sword inside its scabbard. The last rays of the sun had been masked by the walls of the city by the time Baraek arrived home. As an unmarried man who kept no pets, he was exceptionally vulnerable. Brax knew this, and would capitalise on it. He pressed himself to a wall as Baraek looked up and down the street one last time before he entered. The assassin had not been spotted. He rushed silently to the alley that opened next to the merchant's home, and threw a grappling hook to the roof. With two tugs to make sure that it was secure, Brax swiftly climbed up, pulling the rope up behind him. He crept slowly to where the roof would be directly over Baraek's second-story window, and hurled his grapple around the chimney at the peak to secure himself. He heard the muffled sound of a door opening then closing directly below him. Slowly, he crept over the edge of the roof, maintaining a hold on the rope. His feet touched the window sill, and he kicked off from the wall, swinging back before kicking the window off its hinges relatively quietly, and landing crouched in the room, sword drawn. Baraek was on his bed, and had sat upright as soon as he landed. He did not give the man a chance to shout, as he was on top of him in seconds, pinning him with a hand clamped over the mouth to the headboard. "Dreadfully sorry," he said as the fur trader shook his head frantically, eyes wide with shock. Brax ended it quickly, plunging his blade upward into Baraek's chest, then withdrawing quickly. The former trader's head lolled to the side, eyes still open, with a trickle of blood seeping out of his mouth. He didn't have to die. Brax headed downstairs and walked out the front door, and began to walk to the nearest sewer grate. He heard a click behind him as he walked past an alley. Several other clicks followed, from both sides of the street, followed by the shuffling of booted feet. "Hold it right there," a man's voice said. Brax turned slowly. And found himself facing a group of nine guardsmen, all with crossbows trained on him. This is no coincidence. "Assassin! Move and we'll shoot!" Brax weighed his chances. This was not the time to ponder how the city guard had learned of who he was and where he would be. He feinted a jump to his left, then ran to the right in an attempt to get cover in an alley. Several crossbow bolts whizzed to where he had feinted, though two of the guards did not fall for the trick, and sent their bolts flying at him. He ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding one as he reached the alley. He stood, and was suddenly aware of a burning pain in his thigh. He felt a dampness there, but kept running, turning this way and that, trying to lose the guards in the maze of alleys, though three managed to stay on his tail. He reached a dead end. Two guards crouched, crossbows aimed at him. One spoke, "Come quietly and we will not shoot." They will torture you into revealing the Cabal. Brax came to a decision within an instant. He ran at the guards, a bolt whizzing past him and another grazing his arm. He lunged at the one who spoke, his blade easily sliding into his throat, sending him to the ground gurgling and spluttering as blood fountained from the wound. Brax spun around to slash at one of the crossbowmen, though the man leapt back. He spun around again to face the other, only to find the stock of the crossbow flying at his face. He tried to dodge to the side. Brax's vision flashed red, and the last thing his senses relayed to him was an explosive pain. He blacked out.

It's an extremely well-done expression of a troubled, unhinged person - if that's what you were going for; I've never actually heard the song myself. I like the type of art that makes the audience stop and think, "Hey, wait a second, there's something out of whack here."

No offense, but it greatly detracts from the writing's quality when you have such glaring errors in spelling, grammar and literary conventions such as capital letters for proper nouns. Also, when you write fanfiction, it's generally a better idea to not make it sound like you're actually playing a game. If I wanted a story of how someone played a game, I'd play said game and save myself the trouble of reading.

Is there any way for me to send you the .ter file?

Sorry, I have this nasty habit of neglecting to save the world file, but I've still got the base terrain lurking around on my system. =\ tunaboy692004, I made this to use as a desktop background, so its actual dimensions are 1024x768 :wink:

So I decided to finally succumb to the temptation caused by Nadril constantly mentioning World Machine, and ended up trying it out. Here's what I came out with: Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. I know the texture map needs a bit of work... If anyone has any tips for improving that, it'd be great.

Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and some beholders have odd eyes. I agree with you that many of the ratings made here are extremely generous to the undeserving or extremely harsh to the deserving. That's why I only ask for constructive criticism (and money!) with regard to what I do.

CHAPTER ONE - Dissent A light rapping on his door woke Brax. He sat up in his sleeping pallet and answered, "Yes?" The portal opened and a dirty-looking boy entered with a lamp. "Master Brax," he said with a bow, setting his lamp down on a desk beside the door, "the Council requests your presence." Brax nodded. "Tell them I'll be there in five minutes." The boy turned and exited quickly, shutting the door behind him. Brax stood and quickly donned a black shirt and his leather armour, buckling it securely before fastening a sheathed dagger to its side. He picked up his short sword and likewise attached it to his belt. He crossed over to the door and grabbed his cloak from a peg, hastily putting it on before picking up the lamp and exiting. The guild's common room was nothing really more than an old, dried-up cistern with several chairs arranged around a small fire in the middle, with old sewer tunnels and chambers radiating out from it, now converted to rooms for members, as well as a torture chamber for less privileged guests. He did not acknowledge the greeting of one of the men around the fire as he crossed the room to enter one of the tunnels. This he followed for a minute before arriving at another, smaller cistern, similarly drained. He proceeded down recently-added steps into the centre, and waited in the dripping water and dim light filtering through a grate above. "Young Brax," a voice said from the shadows to his right. "For what reason have you been summoned?" Brax stood silently. He did not know, but this was a matter of protocol. "He is here for a briefing," a raspier voice said from his left. "A client requests the removal of a problem." Brax held his ground, not saying a word. "Your kill two nights ago sparked some uproar against the Black Arm in the populace," said the first voice. "That is good." "The Arm blames the Phoenix for framing them," a third voice, deeper than the others said. "The Phoenix denies this, and any further disturbances will spark a guild war." "The Arm is reluctant to make a move against the Phoenix, however," the raspy voice said. "We, however, need these two guilds to be diminished in power, so that we may conduct larger operations. On the other hand, they must not be removed, as we may not use them as cover in that case." Guild politics, Brax thought. He had little patience for these moves by the council, as the guild's philosophy was to bring to heel corruption at any cost, though secrecy was a priority. He stood and waited. "We need Baraek the fur trader killed. That should be enough to provoke the Phoenix into killing one of the Arm's recruiters in retaliation. Both guilds will do the rest of the work for us." Brax nodded. He did not feel all too comfortable about the task, but his duty to the guild was above all concerns. "That is all," the first voice said. Brax turned on his heel silently and left the chamber. This does not have to happen to further the guild's philosophy. He walked into the common room sat down by the fire, waiting for one of the junior members to bring him food and drink. "What did they need, Brax?" the man to his left, a lean, rat-faced assassin named John -- Brother John, to most of the guild, owing to his former station as a monk of Saradomin -- asked. "Baraek." "The fur trader? Why?" Brax took his plate and mug off the same boy from earlier. "To set the Arm and Phoenix against each other. It doesn't further the guild's purpose, only elevates the station of the Masters." "This is a problem? If it elevates the Masters, it elevates us. We are a guild." "A guild dedicated to fight the same corruption that our masters are displaying," he said with no small amount of displeasure in his voice. John nodded. "I take it you're doing the job tonight?" Brax answered in the affirmative. "The sooner this job's over, the better. I can't stand the way this guild's being handled. When it took me under its wing, it was a group dedicated to justice. Now, it's just another guild of criminals." He stood and headed for one of the main sewer tunnels, leaving his food and drink untouched. John stared off after him, then likewise stood and headed for the Council chamber.

Some of us make our own, and others head over to the media board and buy up whatever surplus we've got.

Marcus awoke to "Rain" gently shaking him. "We break camp in an hour. Prepare yourself." He groggily nodded, then began to pack his bedroll. The morning was slightly chilly, with a thin layer of mist hovering above the slightly damp ground. The mountains covered their campsite with shadow, though a lightness in the sky indicated that the sun had already risen. The smell of cooking meat wafted into Marcus' nose, and he hurriedly finished packing to join the rest of the group around the campfire. "About time you woke up," called Armaneth from the opposite side of the fire as he sat down. "Deep sleeper," added Zonorhc. "You'd make a terrible soldier." "I was just tired," Marcus replied, "besides, the soldier's life isn't very attractive to me." "Why not?" asked Frost as she walked over to him, handing him some bread and a slice of meat. "You look like you'd make a fine swordsman." Simirillion laughed. "He looks like he'd make a fine thief. That rapier he's got isn't for battlefield work. 'Sides, I noticed him observing everyone last night. I wouldn't be surprised if he already knew what we could do." "I noticed you trying to go through my backpack last night," Marcus told the thief with a grin. "You'd have had an easier time if I didn't have locks behind the buckles." Simirillion looked dumbstruck, and everyone else around the fire laughed. Marcus surveyed the group once more, and noted that Aleksander was missing. "Where would the blind archer be?" he inquired through a mouthful of bread. "He went off over the ridge," said Corwin, "taking a walk, he said." "Good idea," said Zonorhc, "it gets the warmth back into your legs. Makes it easier to -- wait! Everyone be silent!" They all complied, and within a moment, they could all hear echoes of sound from the direction Corwin had said Aleksander had gone. Everyone scrambled for their equipment. Marcus ran for his backpack, and picked up his crossbow where it lay beside it. He hastily opened his pack, taking out an extra case of bolts and attaching it to his belt.He loaded his weapon and joined everyone back at the campfire. "Any minute now, Aleksander's going to come over that ridge," Zonorhc was saying as he arrived, pointing to the rise to the east, "and he's going to be trailing whatever's chasing him. Rain, Aming, Aryl and Saben, head over to the higher ridge there. Corwin, Sim and Armaneth, you two stay here and guard the camp with Vandiel, just in case. Kiran, you come with me and Frost. Got that?" Everyone nodded in assent. "Good," said Zonorhc. "Move out." The lancer waited as Rain's group headed out, then motioned for Frost and Marcus to follow him. Instead of heading over the rise, he led them off to the north, signalling that they should keep quiet. Marcus held his crossbow at the ready, scanning the area around him as they moved. The sound of a twig snapping alerted them, and they halted. "Sounds like they've got the same plan as you do," whispered Frost. Zonorhc nodded. "I can see two. Looks like Black Knight skirmishers. Frost, head over to that overhanging rock over there. Kiran, come with me." Frost snuck over to the rock as she was instructed, and gave a little nod, then held up four fingers. Zonorhc motioned for Marcus to follow him a little further. "Stay here," the lancer said. "If you see one coming, shoot." Marcus crouched down, crossbow at the ready. Zonorhc darted off. Half a minute passed, and a shout was heard, followed by a gurgling scream, and three black-cloaked men ran into the small clearing, obviously employing a shoot-and-run tactic against the lancer, who charged in behind them with an already bloody spear. Marcus took quick aim and let fly, dropping one with a bolt through his kneecap. One of the remaining two pointed at Marcus' position and approached as he frantically tried to reload, but was stopped as a two-foot-long arrow punched through his skull, spraying blood and ichor all over the undergrowth. Marcus silently thanked Frost as he took aim at the last one, but Zonorhc was already there, gutting the man efficiently with a charging lunge. The lancer signalled for them to move on, leaving the bloody mess behind them. They moved in a wide arc around what Marcus estimated to be the ambush point at a double pace. The lancer was trying to make up for the time they used to dispatch the flankers. They ran for four solid minutes, mostly uphill, Marcus barely in sight of Zonorhc, with Frost close behind him. They caught up, panting, as Zonorhc halted on a small ridge. Shouts could clearly be heard, as well as the whistle of arrows and the buzzing sound of energy bolts. "Looks like they're holding out," Marcus panted. "We'll give those knights a little bit of a surprise," said Zonorhc. "Frost, stay here and give us some cover fire." Frost nodded, nocking an arrow and holding another in her mouth. Marcus followed the lancer down, away from the Black Knights' position, and made their approach, hugging the sheer wall of Frost's ridge. "There's an archer behind everyone else," Zonorhc said to Marcus. "Can you take him out first?" Marcus nodded, took aim, and sent a bolt tearing through the man's back, dropping him with a spray of red and pink. "Draw your sword and follow me," called Zonorhc as he charged forward. Marcus complied, and they took the Knights from behind by surprise, rendering their cover against the other group useless. Frost dropped two in quick succession, and Zonorhc charged at one, impaling him and pinning him, twitching, to the tree he took cover behind. Marcus noted Saben taking the advantage of the halt in archer fire by charging forward to close in. Marcus continued his own charge at an archer who swiftly dropped his bow and drew a short sword, ducking under a thrust that threatened to split his face in twain, and ramming into the man's stomach with an elbow, pinning him breathless to a tree. He noticed movement behind him and dropped prone, rolling to the side and allowing another archer to stab the breathless one in the gut, before jumping to his feet and lunging at the second archer's throat. The man fell to the ground gurgling and clutching at his sundered jugular vein, before succumbing to extreme blood loss. A man flew past him and struck a tree with a loud crack as Saben delivered a mighty blow, and all was silent. Frost ran up to meet them, clutching a small cut on her shoulder. "My apologies. Two got away. One was named Arven, the one who shot me was named Smedos. That arrow..." she collapsed.

Four-dimensional, huh? I only see three.

I don't like it, because: a) The sword's structural integrity is damaged by the odd shape at the top, and the fact that it can't possibly stay in the hit for very long, as whatever's holding it in there is going to be far thinner and lighter than the blade is. As a rule, the blade should not be wider than the hilt as it comes in. B) The odd shape at the top is practically useless. c) It's aesthetically bad. d) It follows a very JAGeX-ish design concept. That's a big no-no in my book.

PROLOGUE: One In A Blue Moon Brax darted through the streets, his movements hidden and silenced by sheets of rain pounding on stone walls and pavement, as well as the clouds obscuring the moon. As planned, he arrived at an alley near the Blue Moon Inn several minutes before his mark would be due to exit the establishment, heading home inebriated and practically oblivious to everything. That was how it should be. That was not how it was. Ignoring the severe dampness of his cloak and the occasional raindrops being blown by the wind into his eyes, he listened intently. The inn's door swung open with the accompanying sound of laughter, singing and idle chatter from the common room. Heavy boots made contact with puddle-ridden pavement, slowly and inconsistently. The stagger of a drunken man. A shadow cut across the mouth of the alley, through the wavering lamplight from just above the inn's door. This was his man. Brax waited patiently for the figure that cast the clumsy shadow to come closer. Come closer it did, and Brax's arms quickly shot outwards, grabbing the startled man and pinning him to the alley wall. Sobriety quickly re-entered the man's flushed face, and his eyes opened wide with fear. Brax continued to pin his head to the stone with his left, and with his right, drew a dagger. "I suppose you know why I'm doing this," he said calmly with a lightly scolding tone. The man was still for a moment, weighing his chances, then shook his head furiously. Brax's eyes narrowed, and he softly recited, "'Varrock's two prominent criminal guilds are the Phoenix and the Black Arm. The Phoenix keeps its operations mainly to information gathering and blackmail, while the Black Arm takes a more hands-on, back-alley approach. However, I have uncovered substantial evidence that points to the existence of a third guild, the Ravens' Cabal, which carries out assassinations in not only Varrock, but also Falador, Ardougne and Lumbridge.' Does that sound familiar to you?" The man's eyes widened, but he continued to shake his head. "You wrote that. Come on now, be honest." The shaking slowly turned into a nodding. Apparently this man had reconsidered his "best" course of action. Brax gave the man a friendly grin. "I thought so." He plunged his dagger into the man's ribs, keeping his hand over his mouth. Within a moment, the man's eyes rolled up into his head, and his body ceased convulsing. Brax let him drop to the ground, his flowing blood staining rivulets of water flowing between cobblestones red before draining into the city's sewers. Brax knelt down and turned the man's head over. With his dagger, he calmly engraved the image of a flexed arm onto his cheek, before turning his head back. Wiping his dagger on the man's clothes, he stood and calmly walked away from the scene, muttering, "Some things are best kept dark."

But. The blade. The hilt. *Blinks* Love, hate, clouds. *Collapses*

I detest Dragonball in every way, shape or form. Other than that, the sig's not too bad, except: 1) Lifetime is only one word. 2) You mis-spelt "lose."

I'm personally happy about the way this turned out, especially the glaive, so here it is. I think I've learnt my lesson about shading pencil sigs in Photoshop. I'll just keep them black-and-white from now on. As usual, constructive criticism, monetary offers, etc. are greatly welcomed.

I don't like it too much, probably because the blades are too flat and wide. Those things would break the second you hit something with them. A tip for the future, when you feel the need to do an artistic rendition of a weapon, don't try to emulate Runescape's depictions of them. You'll get better results, trust me.

Methinks thou missed mine subtlety.

No offense, but I think I'd prefer something aesthetically pleasing to glorify all 1024x768 pixels of my screen. *Points Sir_Tallin to something called Terragen*

I could hold it in stasis for you unless someone else buys it first. :wink:

You made that? :? Negative, but I found you some parchment, at any rate. That's what you were looking for, right?

Bump! I fixed that foot (shudders) and gave it a bit of brushing. How's that?

Personally I think you should use more shades of green for the grass, same goes for the rock. I like the atmosphere, but I think there's a little too much glare from the sun, and you should probably lower the haze to fix that. Also, the water looks like it just ends... Did you render this close to the edge of the map?

That period was horrible. Almost every sig looked like the same person made it in a different colour. Nowadays, the premade brush scene isn't as frenzied, though it still gives art an overused look. I don't actually have anything against those brushes themselves, mainly because I've never felt the need to use them in my art.