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Indistinguishable From Magic
...any sufficiently advanced technology...
Intending to rewrite this at some point and pull the two main characters and their story out of this realm. Yes, it's fanfiction... OCs written into David Gaider's gorgeous Dragon Age universe. Locations, society and characters belong to DG and Bioware, natch'.

Love and obsession, madness and greed...Collapse )

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First bit of an exaggerated but semi-autobiographical piece. Parallels the decay of a relationship with the decay of New Orleans.

(Mildly edited before posting to remove specific references to people.)

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All aboard the bandwagon! First chapter of a WIP about the assimilation of fantasy creatures into suburban America. Werewolves on mood stabilizers, vampirism with the stigma of an STD and incubi who just want to be loved.

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This fits in the same universe as another post-apocalyptic piece that I'm working on but, other than that, am just seeing where it goes... May need to learn something about nautical terminology as well.

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This is a pretty good example of how I like to write. The subjective flashback, peeling back the layers of motivation one little bit at a time.

Background
Daeron is out brooding protagonist. He has returned to the land of his birth after fleeing at a young age. Even as a boy he had lived in something of a fantasy world, living well beyond the town with his strange and reclusive mother. That home is gone now. (The chapter does continue after this bit, but it would involve a lot more background. The flashback is pretty self-contained.)

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Trying to come back from my hiatus, skimming through to do some more edits. Want to keep tweaking some of the phrasing, as I think my style's gotten a bit more refined since this was written (too much practice, perhaps?)

Thought I'd throw it up, though, as it's the intro chapter for these two characters and I miss them. Heh.

(the lady and the slave)Collapse )

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((Comparing descriptions from the first and second books))


The sea crashed on, steady, rhythmic and, when she first heard the sound, she could almost mistake it for the whispering of waves. Yet there were strains, growing, cascading, louder now than before. She felt her mouth gape, but Roma did not care.

Their language was tonal – almost akin to whale song, the melodies of summer insects – and yet it moved, bursts of energy here and there, packets of half-buried words. Not even the romance languages could hope to slur together their consonants with such celerity. Two of the men were moving down the slope now, bare feet sliding easy in the shifting sands. Between them the speech grew rapid, the tones almost dissonant, a minor chord. They were arguing.

((Later: a walking song))...As the train stretched out before them, a snaking swath of graceful grey, the whispers rose again. They were staggered, melody and countermelody, setting the pace as they bore the strangers on. And still she stood, just for a moment more. Never would Roma forget the song of the terrans.


((12 Generations of Slavery Later:))

As the man stepped into the moonlight, Daeron gasped. Black hair hung loose about his shoulders and the pale light reflected in his coal-black eyes. His skin, though, was the pallid grey of the tunnel men, as if he were covered in a fine powdering of ash. It was once said that the T'Ren had roamed the Southern sands before the Magi came, lithe of build with skin as deep as the grey of summer storms. Hidden so long from the sun, the lysterum mines had dimmed them to their deathly pallor but grew them strong as oxen.

...He remembered hearing that most tunnel men were soft-spoken and light on their feet. Any extraneous noise in the mines had a way of bringing the smothering earth down on a man's head. Even when he had rushed him, Daeron had had to strain to hear the man.

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Need to get to editing, but here's a bit...

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It was pointed out to me that, despite writing like a maddened thing, I haven't been posting anything to the "writing journal."

Shame perhaps? Recent discovery of fanfic causing me to hang my head? (Some of the titles alone merit flogging.)

It is nice to actually have people EAGER to read your work, though. Also nice to be able to finish something in a single sitting. And then there are the BOUNDARIES: development within a framework and not really being allowed to run away with the plot. Practice, practice, practice.

Yes, I've admittedly flipped out over a video game, but at least it's in my genre of choice. Am ACHING for my own characters, though. Was going to post something original (hey, look I AM being productive!) but perfectionist editor brain woke up and I'm just too tired to try and pick out a passage tonight.

A few more bits to type and I should have a massive editing copy of the second book to scribble upon. Also, need to do the same with the NaNo and finish this query letter for the first book.

Am slacking. By writing.
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An underground battle rages and our druid-esque hero is huddled to the side, doing his part to direct the flows of earth and magic. In walks the girl.


She came like light over the rocks. He had been lost to it, the earth, the close air, each tumbling spray of movement coming to him in electric shudders. Life perhaps it was, the currents of the world, but she sliced them through, a rising sun in a room of candles. It slipped away, the connecting threads unraveling, his concentration lost. And yet she was there, lithe and coiled even beneath her cool mask of death and filth. It blazed in her beyond any other, lighting her eyes even in the dim. The currents did not so much slip as swell, as if all that he had felt was drawn away, coalescing in her. Here was a vision of life itself.

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