Darius_Conwright, The Journeyman Scrivener
I'm your average neighborhood writer and a sucker for shitty generic fantasy works. I draw a bit too, nothing über fancy, so if you have any requests, you just have to sweet-talk me into it. Write me a whole stanza about how awesome you are or something.
Status: contest contest
32k words. Sister arc plus several variable page work. My brain grows numb.
I want to have this story be better than that of Mystic Warrior. Heh. I know, it's a lofty secondary goal and the subject matter of mine doesn't really help, but better aim high. She always manages to pump out 100k plus full quality stories within a month while I'm slowly losing my sanity whenever it approaches the 80k word count.
Some of my thoughts:
I think I want to get a contest trophy. Yeah, let's make that a longterm goal!
×_× my goal is to make it go at least 40k, perhaps I can write a little more and get it to be 60k. It depends, but I'm bad at guessing the final word count.
A cute extra: all the characters of "It's a Boy!" taking a picture together!
Romancing a Werewolf Has Never Been This Family Friendly!
Since there were no little girls left to be sacrificed to the great wolf, the young lad Rufi was sent instead. However, he will not be killed this quickly as he vows to kill the wolf with his own two hands in order to avenge his sister and the other girls.
A spin of the classical tale of Red Riding Hood and inspired by the CYS romance corner and Bucky's contest prompt. "Breathe fresh live into the tale of Little Red Riding Hood." It's written in the cave-of-time style. "It's a Boy" contains a total of 19 endings, good luck finding them all!
Extra warning: The assigned 7/8 maturity rating was not a mistake. Be warned of some very explicit scenes. Go in with caution.
Running a Potion Shop Has Never Been This Exciting!
The country of Riverrock had just discovered a brand new continent called Foundland. Settlers and hopeful souls flock to the promised land. One of them is the young mage Lise and her accomplished teacher. They set up a potion shop, build a house and decorated half of it. All things were fine and dandy till her teacher decided to fuck off and go on his own adventure. Now she has to run it on her own.
This story is basically a mix between soothing slice-of-life activities,attempts at comedy and dark undertones. It will have two main endings and five side-endings. (for people who have trouble finding the mini arcs, please select this white space: herbs, study, potion, entrance.) More mini-arcs and extra content will soon be added. If you have any trouble getting a particular ending, feel free to message me.
Entry for Endmaster's manifest destiny contest.
What Happens When You Have Only This Many Minutes Left
A short story following the last king's final decision in a land on the cusp of the industrial revolution. There are 4 endings in total.
Submission for Corgi's Lord of the lands contest, a product of my sleep deprived mind and fever dreams
Edit: extra drawings added + one extra proofread
Going To Your Backwards Breeding Hometown Has Never Been This Interesting!
Dear young master,
You might not be bothered to read this letter as I'm very aware of your bullheaded character. Nevertheless, I've come to inform you that a dreadful curse has been placed in Winslow. Beasts of inscrutable sizes roam its streets. Even your father couldn't fight it as he had succumbed to this illness. Although your opinions might differ on this matter, Nikolai Percival had been a kind man of great character. His passing had shocked the entire village to their bones. The people are scared, lost what to do. I am aware that you expressed no intention into taking up your father's mantle, but the village needs a new leader, a new duke. I plead to you to at least finish his affairs before making any lasting decisions.
Oh help us all, the mother's milk, I hear the voices sing to me, the elder gods, their song.
Play as a prickly prick and discover the grimy seaside town of Winslow. Similar to "little mage's potion shop", it's an open world setting with multiple locations to explore and puzzles to solve. There's a total of three endings.
Me learning to script! Woohoo!
Recent PostsEndMaster's Prompt Contest 2 on 1/25/2023 3:05:07 PM
Thank you very much for your and Endmaster's mercy. Though it's hard for me to see my statement as a condemnation, but rather as a blessing in disguise. You would be joining the ragtag band of the three CYSketeers along with Ace and Paradox. I even have drawn a badge for this wonderful ensemble. Alas, t'was never meant to be.
EndMaster's Prompt Contest 2 on 1/25/2023 2:27:39 PM
Cel did it without asking, so there's already a precedent.
drawing to drown out the sadness on 1/24/2023 3:11:20 PM
Draw the cover of your story game you'll definitely finish.
EndMaster's Prompt Contest 2 on 1/24/2023 12:04:34 PM
Locked, suffer the same fate as Ace
EndMaster's Prompt Contest 2 on 1/22/2023 3:35:18 PM
This is even more funny than the del Toro Pinocchio vs the Disney Pinocchio. Zweihanderr, I hope you would be the former, but the odds are not in your favour.
Prompt Contest Progress Thread on 1/16/2023 4:04:09 PM
Seven chapters? Good luck my friend and I hope that it won't spiral out of control.
It's actually kind of cute that your wife wants to spell check for you. That's really cool! l'm a bit too embarrassed to let people I know in real life read stuff I'd written.
I'm slowing down a little due to me being a bit busy with real life stuff as always. Wow, I thought I was a big outliner/planner, turns out you got more written down than me.
I generally have the "big" general outline with the character names and quick summary bout them. Yup, I do write this one first before I start writing. This one contains descriptions of the endings and the general paths I want to do. It's just so that I don't accidentally write plot holes/ forget people's names (tend to do it a lot). While I'm writing, I usually go back and add stuff like important details and other plot stuff I forgot into it.
The story and lore is much simpler, so I don't have many things to keep track of. So the outline is now about 1300 words long. If I make it too long, navigation and looking things up would be a pain.
Then there are the smaller outlines I write for every writing session/story chunk which go in detail what I need to cover for this page. I do these mostly in my head, but when I'm a bit stuck, writing it out helps.
Cry the penguin on 1/12/2023 7:21:50 PM
Serbian, Albian, sounds all like Slav to me. Nah, try being a Belgian. Just by applying for citizenship will lower your IQ by half.
Not that it makes a lot of difference for you CrystalPeng
Btw. For one of the admins who will be reading this, it would highly appreciated if you give Cryzzelpeng AKA KingCP an achievement/penalty for this nonsense thread.
Prompt Contest Progress Thread on 1/12/2023 2:46:44 PM
I would envision a Cameron as a gaunt tall man, definitely a smoker and severely underweight. Extra bonus points if other people describe him as a living ghost. He's a man of few words, quiet and reflective, is very awkward in daily conversations. He would be quite the loner with few friends. It would take quite a while for him to open up.
His sleep schedule would be abysmal, seeing that he would carry some dark shadows under his eyes. He's a light sleeper, gets nightmares every now and then, doesn't fall asleep easily. Whenever he sits down, he always has to have something to fidget with in his hands. I think that Cameron would be quite competent at his job, but he's not particularly enjoying it. He kind of drifts through life aimlessly with not a lot of lingering attachments.
I think that he would be thinking about committing suicide from time to time, but he's too much of a " coward" to actually do it. He kind of tends to get in a negative headspace pretty easily, becoming very numb to everything around him.
As for when he would act: hmmm... There would be some form of loyalty, but the type that stems from guilt not out of love or duty. It's more like: "If I don't this now, this person will despise me or I owe this person so much already, I can't have him do this."
If he does anything what could be considered heroic: he would be mentally screaming from the inside and panicking. However, I do think that he wouldn't be nervous trainwreck when it comes to things related to his job, sort of the only thing he's actually good at.
Well, this is pretty much my interpretation of what a Cameron would be like, eh, a massive bumbling fuck up. However, it really is up to you what you want to do with your character. One of the things that I sometimes like to do is to not give characters any names during the planning phase so that I can sort out their role in the story a little easier. Names are a very arbitrary thing.
I do wonder about the identity of that "writer" who wants to write a better story than Mystic, that person must be some nutty halfwit. You have my permission to behead that individual and dip their head in tar.
The Owl's Challenge - Week Two on 1/10/2023 6:51:02 PM
One of the first scenes I thought of when I did a first rough draft on a storygame. Story was scrapped due to branching issues, but I like the idea of such type of opening scene.
Got a spare blade?
Rain drizzled over the grey drab streets of the little fisher’s town called Urkerburg. Just like every autumn, the dark clouds lingered and cast a shadow over the old houses and flats that had clearly not been maintained since the 90’s. Thomas didn’t care much about the innerworkings of Urkerburg’s weather. Well, firstly because the wish for a sunny day in this dreary place could probably only be granted with a deal with a demon and secondly, because his clothes couldn’t get any wetter. After he accidentally stepped on another deep puddle, the water had seized the opportunity to latch onto his socks. His jacket clung to his shirt and his shirt clung to his skin like an holy union of three. The worn down leather jacket with a broken zipper, the washed out tee with an unreadable fond and the man of the hour himself. The ‘holy’ part of it can be scrapped. He sniffed as he walked along the lonely road. On his right side he saw the canal’s greenish water stretch over the horizon. If he bothered to narrow his eyes, he could see the smoke coming out of local steel factory’s towers.
On his left side, there was a simple road with the typical white dotted line in the middle. He sneezed. While he wiped the snot off his face with his sleeve, he looked at another car passing by. Even though he only caught a glimpse of it, that moment shot of the vehicle oozed with decadence. The sleekness, the color, the wheels. If he worked harder, had some more money, then perhaps he would also drive one of those. Thomas buried his hands in his pockets. Empty.
If he hurried, he would be in his crappy flat within ten minutes. A little bit of rain wouldn’t hurt him. Its droplets wouldn’t form tiny knives to stab him in every bodily orifice, wouldn’t it? He sniffed again. He really had to stop lamenting over his life like a pathetic worthless sack of a human. All the time he was spending doing nothing, he could have been working to have a little something left at the end of the month after rent, food and utilities were paid. He knew that he always had the option to ask Dave for help, but he didn’t feel like doing that.
There were lots of things that he had to suck up in order to make enough money, but even for him there existed a concept called pride. Going back to Dave would be admitting defeat and throwing the last thing he proudly owned in the garbage. He pumped out his fist high in the air, just for himself. For a mere moment, he stood there tall and high. Everything around him lit up. He looked up to see his hand glowing, basking in an almost unnatural light.
Then his back met the face of a car.
His brain couldn’t understand what was happening in the beginning. A few seconds before and after the impact were lost to him, completely blank. He did remember hearing honking of the car, the screech of the tires and his fall. He lifted up his hand in front of his face. A few bloody scrapes, the back of the hand had been cut open. His gaze then lowered to meet with the sight of his leg or what one would call remnants of a limb. The wheel had pinned it and thusly also him to the ground. Its crushing weight had bent the bone and flesh in all different shapes, leaving it all crooked. Parts of his skin had been ripped apart and tossed not far from where he lied. Perhaps it was due to the adrenaline or his mind still not fully registering what had just happened, but the pain hadn’t come yet in full force. He tried push himself up, ignoring the discomfort of his bruised and bleeding arms. However, it remained a futile attempt as he saw his leg slowly pulling apart. Faintly he heard a car door open.
“Oh my god, are you okay?”
Thomas turned his head. A young man, about his age and wearing a pristine white dress shirt and dark pants, stepped out of the car. His eyes had widened, his breathing visibly quickened. Thomas could see his panicked hands fumbling around his pockets.
“Shit, we need to call the ambulance. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking and-”
Thomas held up his least beaten up hand to calm the poor sod down which caused him to yelp and let his phone drop on the ground. The glass along with the man’s plan broke within a matter of seconds. Thomas groaned. It had only one gash in the palm, but clearly it was still a little too much for this bloke. It didn’t help that the pain had also started to kick up a notch. Adrenaline may be a good short term pain reliever, but it wasn’t a magical cure like paracetamol. Now that he thought about it, he also had forgotten to pick up some in the apothecary on the way home. He had already used up his last pack yesterday. From here it would be a ten minute walk in the opposite direction in the rain. He put his hands over his face to stifle his laughter, not caring about the smell of stale rust filling his nostrils. Life did sometimes like to spit on his face.
That bloke must think that he was going insane. Look at the way his brows were knitted together, his lips curved in a tentative smile. The rain made his white dress shirt even more luminescent. Thomas’s own jacket looked dirtier, his looked more pristine under the autumn shower. His leg, it was still stuck under the car and looking at the state it was in, Thomas knew that it would take so much money to set the bones right and fix it up in the hospital. He caused him such a big headache. Meanwhile this stupid bloke was still standing there, gaping at him like a dumbstruck idiot with a full pair of legs and a body with no trace of a car crash to be seen. Therefore, he didn’t feel very guilty as he pulled the man closer. His hand seized that white fabric, letting his blood spread all over it, dirtying it. He had no choice but to ask this.
“Got a spare blade?”
All the muscles in the man’s arms and legs tensed up. He stood there, his jaw and eyes wide open, as if he was a ventriloquists’ puppet with his strings cut off.
“A blade, sir?”
“Anything sharp will do, so a blade.”
Thomas tried not to roll his eyes as he nodded to confirm it once again. Why did the man have to be so difficult?
“Sir, why do you need a blade?” The bloke asked while he had every sign that he would soon enter a mental breakdown.
Thomas sighed. Clearly he wasn’t that much of a help, but he couldn’t blame him that much. He looked around and quickly found a few shards of glass in his line of sight. He picked up the biggest piece of the broken phone and held it up to the grey sky. It nicked his finger while he tried to study its edge. A sting and an evidently sharp enough edge.
“Sir, what are you doing?”
Thomas tilted his head and said. “Perhaps run away, just want to give you a leg up.”
“L-leg? Isn’t it ‘heads’?” The man didn’t move.
Stubborn and doesn’t get puns. Thomas shrugged. One cannot have everything in life. He was courteous enough about it to give him a fair warning. He readjusted his grip on the blade and plunged it into his leg. Quick and efficient. He hummed as he cut through the first slivers of broken flesh. First focus on the tendons, then try to carve around the bone to pop out the knee. He was in this aspect quite lucky that he only had to remove his lower leg. If his thigh had been pinned down, he might have needed a bone saw or it would have taken him ages. Blood coated his hands and slid up into his dirty nails. A few open arteries wouldn’t make him lose his consciousness, he was sure of it. With enough practice anyone would be able to do this. It didn’t take that much thought. Although he preferred it to have some painkillers, he could work without it. The more he cut and sliced, the more he sunk back into his own thoughts.
The man that stood next to him, getting paler and paler with the minute, didn’t matter anymore. His ripped up jeans that would soon be repurposed into shorts when he got home can suck it. Finally, the paracetamol, what useless idiot wuss would take pain medication, certainly not him. Soon he would come home and have a nice cup of hot English Breakfast tea. If he came home it would be already way past morning, but that also didn’t matter.
He pulled at his leg again. All the remaining flesh and tendons broke off, leaving him with a bloody messily cut open stump. The bloke took a step back, slightly shaking his head. His eyes were by now opened so wide that they almost popped out of its sockets.
“You’re, I should call.” The man stammered and tried to find his words. “What are you?”
Thomas lifted his brows. It was quite the achievement that he hadn’t passed out yet or had thrown up what was left of his lunch. Thomas shrugged. What was there to say? He worked as a salesclerk in some grocery store, minimum wage, paid way too much rent for a smelly flat and was forgetful enough to not have enough paracetamol at home at any given day.
He stood up, his two legs firmly planted on the ground. One was covered in jeans, socks and shoes, the other was as naked as a newborn. With a confident stride Thomas approached the man. He laid his hands over his shivering shoulders and wiped off the remaining blood left on his skin. Thomas smiled as he showed the bloke his palm. The gash, the wound, the bruises, everything had vanished like snow would do under the desert sun. There was only a plane of smooth skin to be seen. It was as if that unfortunate car crash had never happened.
“See, everything is fine. It did hurt a bit, but ‘tis just a scratch.” Thomas said in a bit too much of a cheery tone. “I have to pick up my shoe and we got to find a way to get rid off my leg, but aside of that everything would be okay.”
As he was about to turn around, he saw the eyes of the man roll back, his muscles slacken and at last his body collapsing under its own weight. He hit head first on the hard concrete road. Thomas took a step back and whistled. That man would get a headache of a lifetime when he woke up. It was also very convenient for Thomas. Saves him the trouble of having to keep things quiet and all. If that man were to blab around, then the only option was to ask Dave for a favor again. Thomas sniffed as memories of a similar situation flooded his head.
“Oh Tommie, I would love to take care of the little mess you made, but you know, you do owe me a favor.”
-And what a favor it was. Four fresh livers. Four, almost as many as the fingers on his right hand who had to carve through heaps of flesh and nerves to get to the goods. It was so messy and it took so much time to regrow. It did make good money, but the feeling of his flesh slowly clumping back together and the sight of his skin reknitting as if he was a lifeless doll, still sent shivers down his spine.
He would never throw that away as well as the coupons and discount items he got while working in the grocery store. Expired tea bags were heavenly and they were calling for him.
Everything you ever wanted to know about CYS on 1/9/2023 6:39:53 PM
I love you so much Cel. Darn, I was really curious about the word count and was fiddling with it for a while. Thanks for clearing it up. To be honest, this could really be made into an article.