AzBaz, The Wordsmith
Give me an hour.
.. .----. -- / - .-. .- .--. .--. . -.. / .. -. / -- -.-- / --- .-- -. / -- .. -. -.. / .- -. -.. / - .... .. ... / ..- -. .--. ..- -... .-.. .. ... .... . -.. / ... - --- .-. -.-- / .. ... / - .... . / --- -. .-.. -.-- / .-- .- -.-- / .. / -.-. .- -. / -.-. --- -- -- ..- -. .. -.-. .- - . / .. - --..-- / . ...- . .-. -.-- - .... .. -. --. / . .-.. ... . / .. ... / .--- ..- ... - / .- / ..-. .- -.-. .- -.. . .-.-.- / .... . .-.. .--. / -- . .-.-.-
DATE BEGUN: UNKNOWN
ETHICS COMMITTEE AUDITING STATUS: DIDDLY SQUAT
SECURITY STATUS: LOCKDOWN PENDING
NOTES: The sick, twisted experiments of a mad scientist on the Advanced Editor, executed in a state-of-the-art underground laboratory. Stopping at nothing, he seeks to push the poor piece of lovingly crafted code to it's brutal limits. Test subject #23 shows promise, he says, though it will inevitably be discarded. He broke the other 22. Will nothing sate his thirst until perfection? We can only hope the Advanced Editor makes it out without too many scars: be they emotional, computational, or physical...
.-- .... --- / -.. --- . ... -. .----. - / .-.. --- ...- . / .- / .-.. .. - - .-.. . / -- . .-.. --- -.. .-. .- -- .- ..--..
Azbaz looked around as 50,000 strips of mercilessly shredded egos danced in the wind, caressing his horrified face between flecks of blood raining from the searing sky. That was when he realised the World was Godless... No God could ever will such a brutal World. In that single point of insanity, just as his laughter rose to a terrifying crescendo amid the piles of bodies, he heard his calling to become one with savagery, and he liked it.
Er, a bit grandiose.
In other words, inside the sealed vaults of these pages lie my bordering-on-abusive notes about stories. My notepad doesn't like being as full as it already is and started threatening to send letters the NWRC (Notepad Working Rights Committee) the other day. We all know what they're like.So here we areWithin, I explore both the amazing and the abysmal in search of the sweet taste of any hot, salty tears I can squeeze out of the each miserable author who's spent a measly hour 'writing' a 'story' barely worth being the obituary to their shortly approaching demise.
Oh, what's that you say, lolrandom writers? You're safe behind your precious screens, tapping away while you wither pathetically in your parents' basement? Right... well I'm coming after YOU next.
(While 'nice' pushes it a bit and is positively the most boring word in all of description ever, I do actually try to be fair.)
Recent PostsItems and Variables? on 8/16/2017 6:39:48 AM
Items and Variables? on 8/16/2017 6:37:35 AM
The mail said I should say 'Hi', so hi! (newbie) on 8/14/2017 3:21:57 AM
And now for something inspiring! on 8/13/2017 4:13:34 PM
Nazi Scum Thread on 8/13/2017 11:06:04 AM
I failed at skipping this part on 8/13/2017 6:12:09 AM
Summer Slam Self Pity & Loathing thread on 8/12/2017 4:47:41 AM
Draw My Attention (Reign of the Mini-King) on 8/8/2017 11:43:39 AM
1) His Smile
This was great. One minute I'm talking to this guy about Pixar movies, the next minute I'm inexplicably standing on the roof yelling at this other girl I've never seen before. It just seemed so random and went from one scene to the next like some kind of distorted movie.
There were a lot of branching paths, even though most of them led to the same kind of awkward ending, but the non-linearity itself is a plus.
The characters could certainly have been fleshed out a bit more. I'm introduced to this guy within one page and know nothing about him except that he likes Pixar. That's great and all, but Andrew might be a Pixar fanboy who's also financially unstable with no prospects in life. One of the few good endings I found ends with you watching The Incredibles 2 with him. Well, is that it? Maybe he dumps you as soon as the movie is over. Maybe he's a total jerk and just talks throughout the film. You could also have done something romantic in the movie theatre, maybe, but noooo I'm standing on the roof yelling at Lindsey (which admittedly is much more hilarious).
My favourite ending is where he tries to kiss you, and you tell him that you just want to be friends, and he gets sad, and you kiss him anyway, and then you realise that the simple act of kissing has single-handedly convinced you into wanting a relationship with him, but he suddenly doesn't feel the same way and runs away.
-- Saika on 6/12/2017 5:02:33 AM with a score of 0
The Return of The Writing Prompts:The Sequel on 8/7/2017 5:52:32 PM
"Christ! W-Who are you!? How the hell did you get into my house?!" The hooded figure in black throws as big of an 'Are you joking, mate?' look as the inky, obscured hood allows for.
"I 'aven't got all day. Don't tell me you're one of them. Gotta wrap this up before the footy starts."
"Uh?" The great big fuck-off scythe somehow morphs anything beyond one syllable into unreachable esoteric jargon.
"You know, one of them. Wailing into the deathbed, long monologues, teary goodbyes..." Its head cocks at the sight of your blank, puzzled face. "I get the feeling you look like that alot; not a big reader, are you mate? Anyway, you'd've thought I'd be used to all that malarkey by now, what with doin' the job day in, day out, but it puts me on a right spot. Y'know what I mean? Full blown hug is a bit much, and I'm not the best bloke for wrapping your arms around, see. Personally, I'm more down with the 'death is but another adventure' types meself, none of that riffraff with the sobbin' and all that. Sure, they all sound like a bunch of knobs, but it gets the whole thing over and done with quicker."
This has been the strangest day you've ever had and it's barely even begun yet! First the new toaster breaks down and you have to fish out the damn things with a knife, then the weather starts going all over the place and it turns from a gorgeous, quick-put-out-the-washing type of morning to just another cold, grey Monday. It's summer! Where's the familiar waft of freshly cut grass, the laughter of frolicking children, the laboured pants of that one middle aged man trying to keep up with said frolicking children to offer them sweets? Sure, certain allowances have to be made for the unique (shit) British climate, national object of wonder and breaker of ice to all strangers encountering an unfamiliar face at the cornershop, but come on!
"No... But I... Shit! Shit, I definitely knew about... Oh for God's sake! I can't die on a Monday!" The horror sinks in slowly as you look down. Your body is whiter than sour cream, which wouldn't usually be worrying seeing as you get about as much sun as the average woodlouse, but the hovering is more than a little disconcerting.
"Yeah... 'bout that 'God' business... Ah, never mind actually. One of the boys down at limbo'll go through all that." The hooded figure, tapping his foot to the floor with a distant echo, pulls up a draping sleeve and stares overtly at an ectoplasm watch strapped to one bony wrist. "In a bit of a hurry you see. Nightmare down at the office today. I mean, I'm sure this is all..." A chirpy ringtone blares out and the figure whips out a large smartphone, then lets out a groan like screeching metal. "Oh, bloody 'ell. Not another one. Fuckin' Russians, eh? Why can't they just stick to normal roulette like the rest of us? Bloody nutters, the lot of 'em. Working me to death!" The figure chuckles at its own joke from the depths of the swirling, jet black hood. It sounds distinctly like the rasping, dying bleat of an emaciated goat being slowly suffocated by a runt-of-the-litter farmer's son slightly too weak to get the damn thing over with quickly.
In the meantime, there you are, freaking out about not having to breathe anymore. This can't be happening! 'Too young to die' might be pushing it a little (you think, running a hand over what little hair remains on your shiny head), but you have so much to live for! You're an indispensable member of the HR staff of the third largest packaging corporation this side of the county for Christ's sake. The truth has barely even registered, let alone the outdated, realistically-questionable slang dialogue.
"B-But... But I don't want to die yet," you murmur wildly, bottom lip a-quiverin' and a-quakin'.
The figure cracks up. Lovely, more dying goats. "Ahh, ruddy classic, that one. That's what they all say mate!" Death chuckles, sweeping you under its cloak and heading off to the nearest pub to neck a pint before grabbing the first flight to Moscow.
Summer Slam Bragging & Bitching thread on 8/7/2017 8:10:26 AM
I'm not used to comic-style drawing so I've kind of stylised these ones I guess, but I'm not happy with one or two so I'll probably redo them. There's some acrylic mashed in there as well for the intro and title page.
I'm worried it's a little linear at the moment, but the story changes quite a bit depending on early choices that butterfly, so there's only really one major path that's just starting to branch out now depending on what the reader chooses early on. There's a lot of on page scripting. So, uh, kind of still on my first I suppose. I haven't really gotten to the end yet.
Gotta scope out the competition; what are you on?