Nom

[hide=]Yeah, they put him through a bunch of simulators and then threw in the real battle without him knowing. He was commanding the entire army, so he was indeed sending messages to the commanders.[/hide]

Scientific proof of how God can be omniscient! Whoda thunk?

The Lady of the Waves The Lady rolled gently in the calm waters of the bay. The sea rippled prettily as far as the eye could see, disrupting the moons reflection with undulations that made it glitter. That was on the port side; to starboard, the sea was just as calm, but portrayed a far different picture. The sky reflected there was moonless, a roiling mass of dark clouds streaked liberally with the angry red of fire and blood. The ripples made it seem alive, twisting and pulsating. Above the reflected city rose the pillar of fire, tapering to a hazy end in the false world. Rather than be cloistered in her cabin to while away the hours sleeping, Tandys was on deck, with only the night watchmen and her own beloved ship for company. Therefore she heard the impact, relayed to her ears as only water could do. She focused on the city to try and spot the disturbance. The city wall extended a good ways out into the sea, like two arms reaching out to embrace the waters. The bay itself was a natural harbor, but very wide, and the city had merely claimed the choicest of locations to eliminate competition. The walls were a caution, a prudent one, but they did no good against a blockade. Half the Nerusian fleet was concentrated in the waters at the bays mouth, arrayed in a slight curve from one end to the other, completely cutting the city off from the sea. The army on the mainland served a similar purpose. The city was well and truly under siege. It was quite a magnificent city, even in the darkness of the days earliest hours. The wharves were sprawling, covering every inch of the considerable shoreline ensconced by the walls. Tall, skeletal shapes rose up, attesting to the presence of many vessels, all anchored, all stranded. Higher still rose a secondary wall that separated the docks from the main bulk of the city, and highest of all rose the outline of the palace, the only structure large enough to peer over the walls. Its many turrets and towers were dark, save for one. That one shone brightly, its flat top among the highest points of the palace. There was something going on up there, Tandys knew. Perhaps they were planning a counterattack. It certainly had to be a war council. Many of the windows below the balcony were lit as well. That tower was the center of enemy resistance. Was it enemy resistance that had made the noise? Tandys could not tell. This side of the city was all calm, her fleet seemingly asleep. She knew that every ship was alert and ready, but they did not show it. Nothing had changed at sea, so something must have happened with the landed siege. It made her uneasy. A well-directed navy could be the deciding force in a battle, even a war, but seagoing vessels could not destroy an army, as little as an army could affect a war fleet. There were two very separate battles being fought, and Tandys could not trust the rabble on land to do their job properly. She called out to a nearby watchman. The man hurried to her and stood at attention. Yes, captain. As a watchman he wore no armor, simply a dark tunic and pants with the insignia of the Nerusian fleet on the chest: a six-pointed star worked around an anchor. Send for Melissa, Tandys instructed him, and be quiet about it. I will keep your watch until you return. Quickly. The man saluted and hurried belowdecks. Tandys turned back to her study of the city, though she scarce expected to glean any new insight in the short time it would take for Melissa to come. The girl did not disappoint. She arrived within moments, clad only in a short sleeping shift that was obviously discomfiting to the watchman. Her dark hair was tousled from sleep, but her golden Nerusian eyes were awake and alert. Tandys dismissed the watchman and beckoned Melissa closer. I have an assignment for you, she said quietly. There is something going on the other side of the city; I heard some sort of disturbance, and it sounded big. Go get dressed. Youre going to investigate. Hurry. Melissa dropped a curtsy difficult, in what she was wearing and said, Yes, milady. She retreated belowdecks once more. Tandys summoned the help of two watchmen and readied one of the boats, loosening it from its harness and assigning them to hold the ropes until it was time to lower Melissa into the water. The girl returned speedily, now clad in dark blue pants and shirt, tight-fitting and invisible in the dark. A wide belt girdled her hips, a dagger swinging from one side and a pouch from the other. Tandys beckoned her closer. Be exceptionally careful, she said. Do not let yourself be seen at any cost. I dont know what has been happening over there for the last few weeks, and they dont know what has been going on here. Nothing, as it happens, but that is beside the point. She waited for the girl to nod, then pointed to a rocky outcrop that tipped the southern end of the bay. Land somewhere near there. Hide the boat, dont destroy it, I expect you to return. Gather what information you can, and do not be seen. Understood? Of course, milady. Melissa dipped her head in acquiescence. The Lady of the Waves is most wise. Shall I be going? She climbed into the boat without help, and the watchmen lowered it into the water with nary a sound. Once it floated firmly in the water, Melissa shoved away from the hull of the Lady of the Waves and began to row south with strong, sure strokes. She would not be challenged as she threaded her way through the blockade; the nearest watchmen had seen her depart, and would pass the word along. Tandys went back to the deck rail to study the city once more. She knew she should retire, but something kept her awake. Melissa would be a long time in returning, and nothing had happened of note since the siege began, weeks ago. So why did she feel so uneasy? ---------- I have decided on a total of six different POV's for now, so expect one more new one. I may add more as the story continues, but for now there will be six.

Option 3! "Yeh." That's how I was intending it to be pronounced, anyway. It was just that typing "yeh" made me think of Hagrid, which I didn't want happening in a pirate scene.

. . . XD Actually it's modeled more after George RR Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire, which I just finished getting up-to-date on. Each chapter in those books is simply titled after the POV character. I'm also angling for the widest scope of moral ambiguity, so you'll find no Shai'tan vs. Dragon Reborn. I'm simply telling a story from mutliple POV's and letting the reader make the judgments based on the characters, which is what a good story is all about. The medieval fantasy setting at this point is pretty generic, though I hope to add more specifics to give it its own flavor in time. The wardrobe, however, I admit to being inspired by Jordan. It just seemed to me like the best fit for the setting, and went well with the puffed-up Ramsay. Who doesn't have any magical powers. No one does, except for Samson, and I'll elaborate on that later . . . I'm glad to see you look forward to my publication. Hopefully it will actually happen :lol: One step at a time. Can't screw the baby steps in this one; I have to finish the book first ;) Now I think I'll get down to writing the next part.

For the sake of readability, I would put spaces between paragraphs, and where you have a break use a double space or dashes. The biggest problem I saw was comma splicing. There's lots and lots of it, like these: Edits in bold. Those were both in the second paragraph, and it happens a lot. Other than that, very nice. A bit hard to understand at times, but if you work on separating those sentences and do something to make it easier on the eyes that shouldn't be a problem :)

I was driving home from school a few days ago and decided to go a different way than I normally do. Got stuck waiting for a frikkin' train.

Samson Youre going to get yourself killed, you know. The dust was still settling on the city wall as Samson climbed atop a rocky outcrop for a better view. The angry red sky was almost directly above their camp, which Mikhael found unnerving enough, and the city wall was a mere mile distant, which was enough to drive the older man to near wretchedness. Samson told him so, while he squinted at the cloud of dust and rubble that concealed were the projectile had hit. You really are going to get yourself killed. Wretchedness. I find a corpse more pitiful than an old cautious fool, so get your [wagon] off that rock before someone feathers you. Samson ignored him. The cloud had finally dissipated, revealing a sizeable dent in the top of the wall. He thought he could see figures moving around it, and even in it, but he couldnt be sure. The wall would survive, it was clear. Whatever had done the damage had not done a particularly good job. The question of what had done it seized Samson, and he turned to the sprawling camp that covered every inch of the mile between his perch and the city and more. Behind him were the siege engines, being constructed at the rear edge of the camp to protect them from archers on the wall. None of them were finished. The trebuchets and catapults would not be ready for another few days yet. So what had hit the wall? Armored soldiers moved about the camp everywhere in sight, evoking the image of an enormous anthill. The tents and pavilions were subdued, somber grays, except for the largest, near the center of the camp. These were bright and showy, the quarters of generals and lords. All of them, whether red, blue, green, striped or solid, were bathed in a ruddy, dancing glow like firelight. Left with nowhere else to look, Samson raised his eyes to the unnatural thing that dominated the camp. Rising from the approximate center of the armys camp was a pillar of fire. A hundred feet thick, it shot into the air as high as the eye could see, vanishing among clouds that it stained red and orange and yellow. It stood straight, remarkably so, writhing and boiling but keeping its shape. Sometimes a tongue of flame would leap from it and crash back down in an intensely burning arc. It lit its nearest surroundings as if by day. Those surroundings were mostly parched grasses; the pavilions had been established two hundred yards away from the base of the pillar. Samson imagined that it must be scorching inside them. The fire must have done it, he told Mikhael, watching one of the arcs flash and twist. The fire? Are you daft, boy? It was a flaming rock. No arcane pillar of fire ever busted a wall down. Rocks dont burn, and fire dont have clout. Now get down. It was the fire, Samson insisted. He didnt get down. None of the siege engines are complete. Go see for yourself. There arent any siege engines close enough to hit the wall even if they were. Did a giant throw the rock? More likely than a flaming flame. The old mans face was deeply lined but rugged, and the look he gave Samson was dangerous. Get down, now! Samson had just decided that it would be wise to listen to Mikhael when he heard a faint zip. Suddenly he was crashing to the ground at Mikhaels feet, his abdomen on fire. He felt bones break, and lost consciousness. When he regained it Mikhael was leaning over him, saying things that Samson didnt understand. Probably cursing. He blacked out again. When he came to it was in a strange place. It was still dark, so he hadnt been out long. He sat up. In front of him stretched the sea. Puzzled, he stood, and nearly lost his balance at the edge of a precipice that dropped straight into the foaming waves below. The outcropping they had been hiding out at was a sort of coastal spit of rock. I must still be on it. Hey. Samson nearly lost his footing again as he whirled to confront the speaker. Mikhael was sitting on a nearby rock, watching him coldly. He twirled an arrow between his fingers. What happened? he managed to get out. The look on Mikhaels face was cowing. Youve forgotten already? His voice was iron. That made Samson quail, too. Ill tell you what bloody well happened. You were being a stubborn [wagon] as usual, and got yourself killed. Killed? That didnt make sense. Except . . . he remembered the twisting pain in his gut, and he felt the bones breaking, shattering Yes, killed. Mikhael stopped spinning the arrow and held it out to Samson, point first. A drop of red liquid fell from the head as he stared at it. I was shot? he said incredulously. I see youre as quick as ever. Mikhael withdrew the arrow and sat glaring at Samson for a long time. Samson could do nothing but stand and try not to meet the old mans gaze. He looked out across the water. He absently touched his stomach, feeling the smooth, unbroken skin. He had been shot. Why wasnt he dead? He had never known someone to survive an arrow in the gut. That was a dumb thought; he had never known anyone to show no sign of injury a few minutes later! He looked back at Mikhael. The old man frowned more deeply. I dont know whether I should laugh or cry, he said finally. He stood and tossed the arrow over the cliff. It fell all the long way down, and Samson watched it rather than look at Mikhael. If I didnt know before, I sure as hell do now. Youre exactly what I need.

Hehe, Raining Blood. I had a miraculous run one day and got 180k for a 4-star. Woohoo. I just beat Lou. Lol. Yes, you read that right. I just now beat Lou. Go me.

If Dante's hell was applied to television, Jerry Springer, Wilkos, and Maury would be forever masticated by the three-headed-dragon Satan. Actually, let's just toss Brutus, Cassius, and Judas out and throw those in the real one's jaws.

I still think you might get more out of it if you were able to speak the local language, but whatev. Spain or Greece.

I thought you might. I have a better image, with a BORDER, but there's no option to upload straight from your computer anymore and Imageshack utterly butchers the quality. Oh well. No update tonight, if I don't study for this math test tomorrow I'm going to get pwned even worse than I am already. Can't guarantee anything tomorrow either, but I'll try. The weekend fo' sho'. :thumbup:

I think the idea is to choose the country that speaks the foreign language you are studying.

It strikes me as ironic that a lot of the posters saying that teens should be charged as adults are teens themselves.

You have promise. I recognize the sort of writing that I myself produced a few years ago, and I've stuck with it and become a million times better, so I hope you will too. I like the way you've portrayed the players as ignoble, rather than amazing and uber like most similar stories. Similarly I like the description of the world as less than ideal. There are plenty of really awkward prose moments, primarily in description, but since this is so long I'll just leave it at that and hope you gradually see it for yourself and improve. Although I will take this as an example, since it stuck out to me the most: That doesn't make any sense, it's contradictory. Also, a few wordlbuilding notes. Make sure you sort out the technology, because some of it seems out of place in a world like Runescape. (I've never seen a toilet in the game, but I guess it stands to reason since it has random taps and a sewer system.) A large problem I noted: the "secret" training ground. If a city is trying to raise an army, it doesn't matter where they train at or who knows, because the idea is that the army is to defend the city. If it's a problem that the enemy can find the training ground, then the enemy has access to the city, which pretty much means the city is screwed. Why does every occurence of the word "strong" say "s[bleep] [bleep] [bleep] [bleep] [bleep] Trong" instead?

Conversely, if you were the one who commited the crime in a fit of indiscretion, you would probably be in a pretty wretched state hearing that you could go to jail for the rest of your life.

Ok, I think we're getting too confused here. Sylar's whole story last season was finding Mohinder so he could get his powers back. As you said, he still had his "how things work" power, but he couldn't use any of the powers he took even though he knew how they worked. (He killed that one chick that he woke up with, the one who could make illusions, but he couldn't use her power even though he took it.) He got hold of a vial of Claire's blood from Mohinder in the finale and used it to heal himself, so now he can use all his powers again. I'm pretty sure that's right.

The Garden Lord The midnight sky glittered with the light of a thousand stars, and the moon shone full from the apex. The entire dome was laid out to the eyes of the lords and ladies on the balcony, and all of them could see the fiery hue that bathed the eastern horizon. Most chose to ignore it, and its source, and instead partook of wine and small talk. The upkeep of the polished marble floor was a difficult task when it was exposed to the elements, but it shone nonetheless. The ladies slippered feet glided across it, and the lords embroidered boots strode. Their wearers did their best to remain oblivious to the city and its peril. Ramsay was utterly bored. He sipped his wine in a corner, next to a leafy potted plant taller than he was. He had dressed in his finery just like everyone else; his finest embroidered green coat over a snowy white shirt, and creamy leggings tucked into knee-high boots. It served nicely to camouflage him with the potted plant. He wanted nothing to do with the other lords of the court; he would sooner not be there at all, but for the Kings decree. Why would I wish to be here, he mused, where the flames are hottest? His own seat at the Maze was far removed from the conflict, untouched by the flames. Although all it takes is one spark. He smiled at the irony. Did you see that, Selyse? A smile, on the Garden Lords face! A rather old, thin woman had appeared, tottering slightly, with a rather younger and curvier woman in tow. Ramsay could have groaned out loud, though not without an appreciative look for the brunette Selyse. The grey-haired one started squawking again. I say, for one who rules over such a pleasant place as the Maze, your face could chill ice, Ramsay. Where did that smile go? A passing amusement, Lady Maribel, Ramsay said politely. Ruined by you. Ah, yes, hiccupped Maribel. The Lady of the Near Fort looked as much like a vulture as ever, with her long and wrinkled neck and huge beak nose. Her daughter, however, was much fairer to look upon. It was a shame that Ramsay was compelled to feel irritation whenever the annoying old woman swooped in to shove her in his face. She is as subtle as a mongrel looking for scraps, and rather uglier. It didnt stop her from trying, or prattling on. I trust you would have many more, eheh, amusements with a woman for company. No doubt I would, acknowledged Ramsay. But I do not particularly feel suited to a marriage at this time. Why, now is the best time! Here we are, all herded together on this ludicrous floor, with our future uncertain. The Maze needs an heir, and its not like to have one if you dont take someone to wife, and soon. I am sure that would be the height of courtesy, to go sneaking off while a guest of His Grace. His Grace doesnt give a fig what happens in this castle tonight. Hes got other concerns. Ramsay glanced over the womens heads, to the red eastern sky. That he does. And you would need to marry first, of course. Why, I can have arrangements made quite quickly, you dont know -- Begging your pardon, but I havent agreed to anything, Lady Maribel, Ramsay said firmly. Excuse me. It was a wonderful relief to be away from the crone, but Ramsay could not help but give the Lady Selyse one last look as he slipped away, one which she returned. He shook his head and threaded his way through the press of lords and ladies, who barely gave him a glance. He preferred that to the solicitous attentions of the Lady of the Near Fort. He stopped at the edge of the marble-floored balcony and looked out over the city. It was utterly dark, the Kings curfew in full effect and his subjects wisely keeping it. He spotted a patrol moving down one street, but his eyes were inevitably drawn to the wall. The men atop it were but specks at this distance, moving restlessly. He averted his eyes from the sight beyond the wall. He felt as much a coward as the other nobles for doing so, yet he could not help it. Ramsays gaze was drawn back to the wall, and he watched small group of tiny soldiers climb the stair on the city side. They were almost at the top when that section of the wall exploded. The noise must have been deafening; it could be heard loudly at the top of the castle where the nobility was gathered. The lords and ladies behind Ramsay let out a general gasp and rushed to the edge to see what had happened. Ramsay kept his eyes on the wall, watching the dust settle to reveal a huge dent the straight line of its top. He did not notice Lady Maribel approach, and jumped when her cackle erupted in his ear. Youd best be marrying my daughter now, or youll be dying a bachelor!

He got them all back at the end of it . . . ? I know he has his psychic power, and I don't think he ever ran into another telekenetic.

". . . am afraid." Literally, "I have fear." :)

Um . . . No? Is this even a serious question? A 15-year-old rapes a woman. A 30-year-old rapes a woman. They both are most likely the same amount of maturity, although they're probably seriously [bleep] up in the head. Shouldn't they be tried the same way? No. The mind of a fifteen-year-old =/= that of a thirty-year-old. I never said that there should be no punishment, but the punishment should not be the same for a teenager as an adult, because teenagers aren't adults. Rehabilitation will most likely work on a teenager, and it's definitely worth the try. I think he would thank society a few years down the road for showing him some mercy and not taking the rest of his life away from him.

Um . . . No? Is this even a serious question?

What if such a teenager murdered someone? Are you still that full of empathy? I know I won't be. For all we know, that teenager could be at a critical point in his life that drove him to such a drastic act, and locking him away or giving him the shot isn't going to help him through it. He could turn out to be a wonderful person with some help, because the fact is that a teenager has not fully matured, and won't until around age 20. That is not to say the act should not have repercussions, but treating a developing teenager the same way as an adult who can, in fact, take full responsibilty for his actions shouldn't be the standard. The kid has his whole life ahead of him.

The title sounds like something Mohinder says in the opening of an episode of Heroes. As for me, I don't wonder about this, because whatever the point of life is it certainly isn't to wonder about the point of life.

Depriving a teenager of those years by chucking him in jail is pretty inhumane if you ask me.