Hello. It's me, Pitka ("Ninja" to my friends), your morality guide. Together, we will embark on a journey filled with lessons on life and ethical behavior, while having fun along the way, of course!
I've written a series of short fables for your benefit. Come, take my hand as we navigate through life's innermost difficulties.
Entry for Bucky's Year's End Contest
The Providence of Kria consists of two major nations: The Kingdom of Brelia and the tribal territory of Rath. The ten-year peace between Brelia and Rath is quickly unraveling. In attempt to prevent another war, heir to the throne of Brelia, Prince Urijah, is sent on a diplomatic mission to appeal to the Rathans. In your older brother's absence, the burden of defending the kingdom falls to you. Your choices will determine the fate of the kingdom.
Runner-up for Corgi's Unofficial Contest: The Lords of the Land.
9/1/19 Update: Corrected a few punctuation errors
Taking place during the Golden Age of Piracy, assume command of The Sanguine as you plunder and search for treasure in the profitable Caribbean. In this swashbuckling fantasy, you embark on a dangerous quest to an ancient Aztec civilization. Peril lies behind every tree, stone, and indigenous spear.
The story adds fantasy elements to events occurring in the 1700s. There are many real life characters and places in the story. Many are factually accurate, and many are not. I highly encourage you to research the people, places, and deities after reading.
Entry for Gower's Battle in the Ruins of a Dead Civilization contest.
1852 - The Territory of New Mexico
The hunt has taken me to to the outer edges of civilization. Out here, lawlessness abides. There are no godly folk. Only heathen. The inner demon in me can relate to the call of anarchy. No rules, being bound by nothing; it sounds like freedom. In the end, that "freedom" is simply the self-indulgent, care-free living that is a poison upon humanity. If killing a man will save society from the infection of lawlessness, then I will gladly do what is necessary.
You eye the journal at your lap. The freshly written ink expands and bleeds to the perfect width of the quill. Satisfied that it won't smear, you shut the book and toss it aside. The meager fire at your feet does little to warm your body, but its original use was already completed. The frail, thin-boned squirrel did little to satisfy your hunger. Still, it would keep you alive until the next meal. You pull the leather waterskin from your pack to gauge how much longer it would last. With a gentle shake, you estimate it'll last a couple more days with strict rationing.
The road is lonely. In a former life, you dreamed about wandering the world without any responsibility or burdens. The reality of the road's harsh living conditions were nothing like the trigger-happy romanticized versions of the lawless west. Here there are no home-cooked meals, no warm body to lie next to yours. It's only you and the necessary task. Someone had to die.
You gaze up at the night sky. It seemed foreign at first. Without city lights to disorient the constellations, it looked like an entirely new sky. If you traveled at a good pace, you'd reach Canyon Diablo by midday. You pull the bone-carved pipe from your pack and light a match against the sole of your foot. You lie down on your bedroll, breathe in the relaxing tobacco, and drift off to sleep...
The Wild West is a dangerous place. Be sure to make good use of that "back" button. I've hidden three achievements throughout the story. Yes, your total score will show if you've discovered them or not. The highest score possible is an 8/8.
Achievements: 1 point each
Epilogue: 5 points
Entry for mizal's Lone Hero contest
8/28/19 Update: Fixed the symbols appearing in the description
There is no escaping our nature. It simply exists. The voice within me, the one that causes me to commit terrible deeds, burns a low ember. Still, it remains, always present, always looking for fuel to burn. It wants to escape. I feel its lust. It wants to devour. This day is no different. I must battle the darkness within.
In various sections, you will be given the option to view a simultaneous event happening in the story. While not directly affecting you, the reader's path, they may create a more cinematic feel to the story.
Originally written as the last page for Sixteen Words,
I hope you enjoy my full adaptation of Contemplation.
Free Writing Software?
on 4/1/2020 9:55:03 PM
I write on my MacBook with Pages, which is the free equivalent of Word. I'm not a big fan of Scrivener, even though I have that as well. All the new pages/chapters are great for organization, but I've found they hinder my writing flow, so I just keep everything in one huge "Word" document.
OUTBREAK FEVER Writing Jam!
on 3/31/2020 10:44:22 PM
Strong imagery will make or break a scene like this. I was stuck on the image of a "slithery ghost" as I tend to view ghostly figures solely with words such as "lightless, transparent, floating, and hovering." Really cliche words, I know. A "slithery ghost" feels so sinister, dangerous, and elusive. The combination of a predatory descriptor with an already unsettling creature creates quite the mental image. Better yet, the inclusion of its deceptive characteristics are the fine brush strokes to an already detailed painting in my mind.
Roll of Honour - 25 March 2020
on 3/25/2020 8:59:27 PM
Barely squeaked by into nobility. Nice.
The Weekly Review - Edition 48
on 3/23/2020 10:37:29 PM
I didn't see Mizal bumped my story twice. Thanks. And thank you, Will, for the nice comment. I do hope the community enjoys reading it -- and not because they feel obligated to. As much as I like feedback, I enjoyed the process of creating the story and discovering where it took me. The great stories on this site entertained me for hours on end (no pun intended...ok, pun intended), and I hope my contributions add to the site, positively, and have the same effect on random people stumbling in.
Prompt: Write the Last Page of Sixteen Words
on 3/23/2020 9:16:05 AM
Sixteen words? More like sixty thousand!
OUTBREAK FEVER Writing Jam!
on 3/21/2020 4:52:10 PM
Wind sweeps through the empty streets, filling the air with natural whistle, creating a steady tap, tap, tap from a loose door that can’t decide if it wants to stay open or closed. A low layer of dirt sitting on the more hardened ground picks up in tiny clouds, moving, unable to hold itself steady. Groaning, a sign marked SALOON sways back and forth, held only by a single corner, the opposite free from its binding. Horse posts stand lonely, no company tied to their wooden beams.
Off in the distance, a crow squawks, the only sign of life present.
Another gust of wind flutters down the street, sending a tumbleweed sprawling. It picks up, intensifying, guiding the tumbleweed past the SALOON, BANK, and SHERIFF’S OFFICE. An approaching wagon creaks from the outskirts of town down the main street. With sharp squeals, the wooden wheels roll, engaging with the ambient music of the silent town.
The tumbleweed runs into one of the wheels, stopping for a moment as if in thought, before another strong gust wills it past. A shiny black boot, not a scuff in sight, steps onto the dusty street, it’s owner finely dressed in a matching black suit. The man steps past the painted side of the wagon, searching in the back for something. He pulls a dark leather bag from underneath the canvas and stands holding the bag, surveying the street.
Opposite of him, the end of the street fills with dark shapes. Huddled together, tightly, their shadowy form takes the shape of men, but they can no longer be considered as such. Limping, heads cocked to the side, they slowly approach, a gradual wave of shadow. The man watches them draw near. They’re almost to the SALOON, like black clouds spreading over a clear night. The man returns back to his wagon, setting the bag in it’s original spot. The shapes pass the BANK, their eyes glowing a primal yellow. Filling his hands, the man replaces hardened leather with the smooth texture of the Winchester’s polished wood. The shapes reach the SHERIFF’S OFFICE.
Spinning the cylinder of his Peacemaker, assuring it’s loaded, the man loosely sets the weapon at his hip. He repeats the action for the other. The dark figures, the townsfolk, arrive, reaching the painted side of the wagon. A sea of yellow, cat-like eyes stare at the man, hungry to feed. Their arms reach out in front, anticipating their meal, revealing animalistic nails covered in blood and dirt. The man steadies his gaze, fully intending to make every shot count. A flash of light bursts into the night air, adding a coat of red to the side of his painted wagon. With the smell of gunsmoke heavy, the wagon reads DOCTOR.
OUTBREAK FEVER! Have a Corona!
on 3/20/2020 6:36:28 PM
It just so happens I know a story that could use a review.
OUTBREAK FEVER! Have a Corona!
on 3/20/2020 6:03:16 PM
Interesting... I'm in aerospace and defense procurement.
OUTBREAK FEVER! Have a Corona!
on 3/20/2020 5:12:08 PM
Colored Lines and Dark Tunnels
on 3/20/2020 9:33:58 AM
Don't feel obligated on our behalf. You don't owe us anything. I, for one, enjoy the thread, but if you don't like it, then no need to keep going. You're clearly very talented in both writing and reviewing, and we're happy to have you here, should you return. Wish you all the best, TB. I really mean that.