Romulus, The Expert Scrivener

Member Since


Last Activity

3/27/2017 4:06 PM

EXP Points


Post Count


Storygame Count


Duel Stats

84 wins / 91 losses


Infrangible Warden Exemplar



Just an ordinary student from the deep southern depths of The Netherlands. Well apart from saying that I write really really slowly and that I often have loads of ideas for stories, but I then abandon them for a couple of months/years, there is nothing else I can think of to write here.

Oh, and I am always happy to help out with something, just send me a message.

P.S Since you have time to read my profile page, why not read (and of course rate and comment on) one of my stories. ;)


Trophies Earned

Earning 100 Points Earning 500 Points Earning 1,000 Points Earning 2,000 Points Won 2016 Ballad Contest (traditional) and 2016 Mizal Short Story Contest Having 2 Storygame(s) Featured Given by BerkaZerka on 01/10/2017 - Quality Contributions to the Site~ Given by EndMaster on 01/18/2017 - For multiple contest wins and featured stories. Given by madglee on 07/01/2013 - Sonnet Contest. Congrats, very well written!


Featured Story A Hero's Odyssey

A great war is about to erupt, the greatest  the world has ever seen since the Trojan war. As the Greek city states are about to be engulfed in civil war, one man has to undertake a great journey. A dangerous road lies ahead, but you must take it, for the odyssey of one will decide the fate of many. This story is loosely based on the famous Greek epic: the Odyssey, by Homer.

Note that this is more of a story than a game. Depending on your choices, it can be either pretty long, or very short.


Rise of a Hero

The people of Azrya live in fear. An evil group of wizards, that call themselves The Black Veil, hold the country in an iron grip. Their leader: Sarces, singlehandedly killed the previous king and his royal guards. When all hope is lost, a small light appears in the darkness. A hero is born ...


I know that this isn't a masterpiece, but this just my first story and I'm not a native speaker of English so advice or comments are welcomed.

TBLHQ: Round 2

The sequel to my first quiz. Welcome back to the Big Little History Quiz! After ending at the Middle Ages last time, we now focus on the time between approximately the 14th and 16th century in a few, short questions. 

In this instalment, I've added a wildcard system, that let's you continue after a wrong answer, and a scoring system. Though I guess you'll notice when you get a question wrong, 850 means you have answered everything correctly. You can view your score after you comment ;)

The Big Little History Quiz

Welcome to the Big Little History Quiz, the best quiz about history from all over the world! This first part mainly focuses on ancient history of European and Middle-Eastern civilization, but later parts will discuss later historical era's and other parts of the world.

Edited 17-07, added some more historical info and corrected some spelling errors.

Featured Story The Raven

Inspired by the famous poem by Edgar Allan Poe, 'The Raven' tells the sad and dreadful tale of a man torn apart by his love for his lost love. However, the past does not rest easily and the arrival of a shadowy messenger unlocks memories the heart desperately tries to forget.


The Thief and the Crown Puzzle

The fate of a nation lies on your shoulders. You have infiltrated the royal palace of Arkhendale to recover the most priceless object in the realm. After fighting your way to the treasury, you are but five locks away from your prize. However, time is short as guards are coming your way. Will you be able to solve the puzzle in time?

I made this short game as a test of a puzzle type that I might implement in a future game. It also functions as a teaser of a story that I'm thinking of writing.

And His Name Was War

From Out the Verdant Sea

It's the middle of the 19th century: Napoleon is rotting in his tomb, industrialisation is speeding up, and the Great Powers of Europe are scrambling to colonise the furthest reaches of the Earth. In the far East, on the tropical islands of Southeast Asia, tales are emerging of immense riches: temples to deities long forgotten, filled to the brim with treasure. It only takes the conquest of the untamed jungle for any dedicated adventurer to earn wealth and fame for all eternity. 

The Ghost of Pembroke Hall

"Dear Watson, you do not really believe in ghosts, do you? No, I believe that we are dealing with a mere mortal man."

When the jewels of the dowager Duchess Marbrough go missing and mysterious deaths shake up the town of Brightmore, Holmes and Watson are called in to crack their hardest case yet.

The Last Days of Winter

The Panopticon

"...A huge, grey monolith, towering above the run-down tenements arrayed in a circle around it. Its smooth surface broken only by a thousand mirrored windows, giving it the impression of being a restless giant. Never was one certain if he was being watched. Even within the 'privacy' of one's home, one could feel the eyes of the Party prying into them, looking for the slightest hint of deviancy."

Welcome to Whynaere, the marvel of the modern world. A society under the watchful eyes of the Party, where crime is non-existent, and the people prosper. Follow John Blair, as he delves beneath the surface of this so-called utopia. Would you sacrifice the safe status-quo, for the promise of freedom? Risk breaking down the pillars of society, to pursue a dream for a better future? For when the day is done, what is freedom compared to security?

Recent Posts

Writing Prompts Week #11 on 3/20/2017 5:13:26 PM

I promised myself I'd finally try one of these things. I'm not really happy with the result, but here's something for prompt 3: 

I had been dreaming again tonight. The same old dream I’ve had for some time now. I guess it’s more of a memory than a dream, actually. Or at least I’m pretty sure that I didn’t just dream it up the first time.

You see, about a year ago, I took a stroll through the woods outside our house. By myself, to clear my mind. In hindsight, it was a quite beautiful day, with sunlight streaming through the leafless branches, while the forest floor shone with vibrant colours. But I didn’t really notice at that time. There were so many thoughts crashing through my head that I barely knew where I was walking.

My son, you know. My wife had been gone again all day.

The paths were barely trodden that day, and some of them were so concealed that my feet plodded along on instinct, somehow managing to stay clear of potholes and snags. I don’t know how long I walked, how far I came, before my sorrows and fears caught up to me. Before they came bellowing out in a wail that sent the few remaining birds off scampering towards safer lands down south. Adrenaline rushed to my head, and the ground came rushing towards me as my eyes started tearing up. Before I even realised, I was lying on a bed of freshly-fallen leaves.

I noticed the woman long before she lay a gentle hand upon my shoulder. She rustled over the carpet of leaves like the warm winds of an early spring, and the air around her filled with the scent of fresh moss after mild, summer rains. She spoke to me in whispered words, her voice creaked and cracked like a weathered oak, and the haze of emotions briefly lifted from my mind.

But as she helped me back up on my feet, I could not help but wonder at how young she looked, and yet so old. She looked as if she had barely outgrown her twenties, but her eyes… It’s difficult to explain. Her eyes pierced through me as if, to her, I was not standing there. As if my whole life, my whole… me, was but an insignificant fraction of the world in front of her. No matter how hard I tried, I could not break away from them.

Gazing off into the distance, she asked me about the pain I felt, about the doubts and fears that I had kept stubbornly hidden from the outside world. She asked about little Jack. I tried to answer her, wanted to ask her how she knew, but she lay a moss-covered finger on my lips, and bade me not to speak.

She spoke no further, but stared at me, knowingly. Only then did I notice that the shadows of the trees had started to lengthen. That vibrant autumn colours had slowly faded to a dreary black. A cold wind blew through the barren forest, and whispered through the fallen leaves with a thousand chattering voices. Whispered with promises beyond my wildest dreams.

The woman had removed her finger from my lips. Her weathered hands now lowered one strap of her faded, moss-covered dress, to show the line of scars that covered her chest. Perfectly straight lines, flanked by staple-like dots, that cleaved her rib-cage. I knew then what that woman came to offer me. What the voices, now whispering through the ring of ivy-leaves on the young, yet ancient, woman’s head, were offering me. And the price they asked.

I woke up inside my home while the sun was still shining, with tears streaming down my face. If not for the dried mud, and faded autumn leaves that caked the bottom of my shoes, I would have convinced myself I had been dreaming.

My wife brought Jack home for good that day. I still remember how he came running towards me in his hospital gown. The broad smile on his thin face. The hoarse laughter of a voice weak with disuse. How healthy he looked, despite his bald head. How fast a year can pass.

I had been dreaming tonight, but I was woken up by the wind, whispering through the dry branches of the trees outside. Soft footsteps echoed in the room next to ours, Jack’s room. I ran there as fast as I could, my wife yelling after me in her sleep-drunk state, but all I found was an empty bed, and an opened window.

Moonlight streamed through the barren forest outside, as one, final gust of wind whispered through its leafless branches. It smelled like fresh moss after summer rain.


Make private forums. on 3/17/2017 2:56:57 PM

I'd say the only sane thing to do is give him his own private forum, where nobody else can post, and exclude him from the main ones.

Poetry Prompts - Week 8 on 3/16/2017 6:02:57 PM

Obituary for Democracy

She took the poor and huddled masses
And carried those too weak to walk.
Beloved wife
Devoted mother
Our shining light within the dark. 

She raised us up and gave us voices
And listened to our every thought.
Our hopes and dreams
Our fears and sorrows
Equally valued, every one.

But little voices grew up quickly.
Ran off
And rebelled
Heard her cries of care and caution.

Mother dearest was ignored. 

Then others came, and we all listened
To hatred
Delusions grand
Poor old mom we soon forgot.

We like to think she suffered little
Just slowly dimmed towards the end.
Glowing softly
Euthanised by mass consent.

Coffee and cake will be served at four.

Poetry Prompts - Week 8 on 3/14/2017 6:04:09 PM

@Bannerlord @Crescentstar @Orange @Mizal @Lancelot @Mayana @Betaband @Kwism1127 @Leoscales7 @bbshark @Drew8521 @BerkaZerka @TheBlackDragon04 @StrykerL @Palepaper

Here's the updated point list, please correct me if anything's wrong. I apologise for the late post, but I've been a bit busy (again) lately. 

Orange:         13
Crescentstar:    8
Bannerlord:        6
Leoscales7:        6
Mayana:            5
Drew8521:        3
Kwism1127:        2
Palepaper:    2
StrykerL:    2
TheBlackDragon04: 2
Bbshark:        1
BerkaZerka:        1
Betaband:        1
Lancelot:        1

As always, giving feedback is encouraged, but please don't reply to the entries directly if they're not edit-locked, so people can still change them if they want to.

Poetry Prompts - Week 8 on 3/14/2017 6:03:29 PM

This week's topic: Anything at all. 

It's already the eight week of these prompts, believe it or not. I therefore thought it would be a nice idea to let you decide what you want to write about. Show me what you've been dying to write a poem about, but never had the opportunity to. No rules, no guidelines, write something you want to write.


This week's optional requirement: Write a poem in free verse. 

In the past few weeks, we've focused focused pretty much on different technicalities of writing poetry: metre, rhyme, general form, etc. This week, we're stepping away from the more classical forms of poetry, with their strict requirements of form, and focus on free verse. 

Briefly said, free verse is poetry without restrictions. Basic elements of classical poetry like rhyme and metre are not necessary if you want to write free verse, nor are any real guidelines. Instead, free verse allows the poet to write a poem that they themselves think sounds good. 

While this sounds easy, in practice it might be difficult to write a poem that appeals to more readers besides yourself, of becomes a random, meaningless mess of words. Generally speaking, an even greater emphasis on the choice for certain words and phrases, to ensure a certain structure or quality, is thereby placed on free verse than with 'classical' poetry.

Instead of monotonous lists of words, poets that write free verse generally try to elucidate a certain rhythm by choosing certain words. This doesn't mean that they adhere to metre, like in the poems for previous weeks, nor do their rhythms have to be consisted throughout the poem; but they do make sure that every word they put on paper sounds good in its proper place.

Authors like Whitman furthermore ensure a certain form of structure and rhythm throughout their poetry through the use of punctuation, besides their choice of words. Stops and pauses can for example be suggested through line-breaks and commas. 

And that's already all for this week. As free verse, as the title implies, focuses on a poet's freedom to write what they want to write, all you have to remember for this week is: 

Free verse: Poetry without any strict guidelines, as long as it sounds good. 

Have fun writing!

The Animal Farm? on 3/14/2017 6:54:21 AM

Animal Farm actually spans from the 1917 Revolution until the end of WWII. If I remember correctly, the attack on the farm by the ousted farmer and colleagues was for example meant to symbolise the invasion of the Soviet Union by Nazi Germany. The 'Lenin' pig also dies quite early on, and the whole book is more or less a criticism of Stalinism. 

Anyhow, Animal Farm's a really good read. Orwell managed to write a book that's as easy to read as a children's book, but still recognisably references many of the flaws with the development of communism in the Soviet Union. And he sort of predicted the eventual outcome of the Stalinist/Soviet-style communist system. 

I also agree with the 1984 recommendation, it's a great book. I actually like it even more than Animal Farm.

You can say what you want about the Trump administration, but at least it's bringing back the golden age of dystopian novels.  

Chaos Contest on 3/8/2017 1:21:05 PM

To be fair, he did say he was going to get those points back after winning the contest.

Chaos Contest on 3/8/2017 11:17:50 AM

If I remember correctly, going in debt means you actually have to win the contest to get your points back. 

February Flash Fiction Contest Results on 3/8/2017 3:32:07 AM

Woohoo, thanks guys. And congrats Berka!

Poetry Prompts - Week 7 on 3/5/2017 8:12:14 AM

@Bannerlord @Crescentstar @Orange @Mizal @Lancelot @Mayana @Betaband @Kwism1127 @Leoscales7 @bbshark @Drew8521 @BerkaZerka 

Here's the updated point list, please correct me if anything's wrong. I'll probably give feedback on last week's exercise somewhere in the following days. 

Orange:     11
Bannerlord:    6
Crescentstar:    6
Leoscales7:    6
Mayana:        5
Drew8521:    3
Kwism1127:    2
Bbshark:    1
BerkaZerka:    1
Betaband:    1
Lancelot:    1

As always, giving feedback is encouraged, but please don't reply to the entries directly if they're not edit-locked, so people can still change them if they want to.