Baron of the Walking Ways of Myth

Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 9:21 am

This is a piece written by 'Ironed Maidens'. It is lore-heavy, and that's why I posted it here.


As he awoke, the sounds of the dead caressed his pointed ear. He looked up, and saw the full guardian of his province, the land he dwelt, and the hand he dealt. As the sun peaked low, he realized that his passing was almost complete. The sounds he awoke to faded off, municipally echoed onward by the first streaks of blackness into the sky. As if he had just realized he was awake, he stood up quickly. The accomplice to the silence was looming just next to it, and he got the feeling that his life would never be the same again. He was dressed in a soft fiber robe, from the deranged plants of the shoreline. The lava hurt his eyes as he staggered out from his hiding place. The brightness of the magma candles were the first light he had seen in days.

The only food he had was his own thoughts, and their contingencies. Looming ahead was his goal point, the wound of the world. He slid on, his eyes fixating on the flares of moonlight heading off of the constructs ahead. He went on a mental page about his childhood and how it had thought him through the the terraces of the icy cold ravines. Not that he was a child, but the thought of what he once was, a sire-dipped lame. His mind was twisted around a bush of council, and it burned brightly with his own lust. He liked to dance in the flames every now and again, to touch the faces that burned off of the angelic branches, the coder of the philippic courses that swirled throughout his mind. In his mending, he almost blanked out and nearly walked straight into the closed door, the stone and metal door of destiny, of belittlement. He walked in and was tortured by litanies of prophetic binding, of haggard bounty.

He walked past the tall pillars; which within them held the souls of a thousand brethren; unto the mane of the underground network. His eyes shifted around the abstract libraries, the grounded guards, and the ones with rusted skin. Of course he had been thinking outside himself this whole time, as he waltzed right though, but it was just his inept ability as a thief, as a tainted proclaimer.

'For what more is a thief of words than that a thief of possessions?' he was always asking himself. To none that he asked he had gotten an answer. They were either repulsed by him, baning him to a ground of illness, or they simply did not know. He knew, however. And the answer was right before him. He stepped into the coal-lined ground and into the altar of the mandrake, the eye of the feint. Into the mouth of abandonment he drew forth, his breath visible with every rapid gasp. The air was poled down so far, his negative munition grasping at his legs. He again heard the sounds of the dead, but this time they were not neutral, they were sentient and glamoring to him. He followed with his ears sharply grasping back in and out, tensing and relaxing their many little muscles. He knew. He approached the object, the halogenated flickers from the fires below omnipotent to his body.

They reached up to him with their arms, their smoke-binded arms, coated with just and wight. The moans of the triune eye poked at him, though he could not bare. He felt like succumbing to the silver-tongues of the high fained, the molten waters below his feet, the only thing standing in the way of the two inbound cosmic lovers being the rickety bridge, an almost toothless endeavor. 'My feet would perish first.' he gleamed. But neigh could he look down any longer. The vast coffin of the abandoned heaven was molding, molding to his likeness. He threw straight ahead though, for he knew that what was sitting omnisciently stale right before him would awaken him much more. The world was playing tricks on him. He loosened his belt that bound his soft robe to him and it flew apart.

The ground seemed to tremble with the sight of what he joisted. A small dagger...and crystalline dagger...a homeward and dream-sought dagger. And next to that...a small hammer...a gracious and lamenting hammer which bleated its own rhythm out into the scale of things...it laughed in a harmonic phantasmal gluttony...and it's other half drew in the grand aroma of the gorged light...the light that drew forth from the iron-mended and solemn-trended hammer. On his right hand it waned. The golden hand that seemed to blend in with his own skin. The spiked knuckles and the runes that heated through him, they way they seemed to mimic pulsing with his heartbeat.

He felt a pull. A pull of dermal desire; once he grabbed hold of the hammer with his right hand. The knife begged to be absorbed into besmearing adolescence. As he held the hammer, the once-told and now-forgotten ides of Trinimac, change-anon-insight, the scorched words of his priests and his decayed savants, flowed through his mind. He struck. Then struck struck struck struck struck...and after a final close of his eyes and a final breath, he remembered all who he was and who he was not. His eyes filled with tears, but there was no going back. Struck. One last time. And the paths crumbled. He lifted up into the air, watching himself fly...and the spirit of the world reacted. So gone was the retreat of a botanical homestead, so gone was the melody of sparks and chains that arose from the sparks.

The night was over, the void of magick stumbled on, and it grew to encompass the new thought, the glacial abstruseness and abstract bone movements of the tendons of the beast of the new order of being. He had finally gotten to where he wanted to be, and from his new seat he beckoned his lover and his lover forth, to the climatic and ecstatic gulls of docked bastions.

In his eyes he felt a certain grief, a certain war-sickness. But there was no turning back...not then and not anymore, as it was quickly enamored off by the shining fires of truant idleness. He WAS the serpent of the middle-air. He who resides in the thrice-marked throne, who's base is entailed with mating barbs. He had broken the curse of mortal minds, twice perceived.

He was Him.
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Adrian Powers
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 11:23 am

Paragraphs?
Please?

Don't have time to read it now, probably will later.
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Lovingly
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 10:54 am

Paragraphs?
Please?

Don't have time to read it now, probably will later.


Seconded.
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Shelby McDonald
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 9:28 am

Like I said, the piece isn't mine, so I'm not going to change it. I would ask IM to do it himself, but to be honest it's not that big of a deal, or at least to me. You can always copy it to Word and space it out if you absolutely had to.
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james reed
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 5:01 pm

It's a cluster[censored] and we shouldn't have to edit his own text to make it easier to parse.

"municipally echoed onward "

Er...
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Flash
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 6:23 pm

It's a cluster[censored] and we shouldn't have to edit his own text to make it easier to parse.

"municipally echoed onward "

Er...

Then don't read it then, damn. No one is forcing you to do anything...
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Kellymarie Heppell
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 11:30 pm

I think the point that Albides is trying to make is that: People would want to read it, but IT'S DAMN HARD. It's a huge honkin' chunk of text that I myself am not reading because it's a major pain in the spotted owl to decipher it.


EDIT: I'm one of those people as well that is being put off because it is as Albides put it "a cluster[censored]"
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Rudi Carter
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 5:17 pm

Fine, let me fixit real quick. The author told me it's alright.

EDIT: It's been spaced out.
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Bones47
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 9:35 am

Fine, let me fixit real quick. The author told me it's alright.

EDIT: It's been spaced out.


It's good. :thumbsup:
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katsomaya Sanchez
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 6:39 pm

Thanks for the spacing, also, it's good.


Ironed Maidens did a pretty good job.
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darnell waddington
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 9:02 pm

Seems to me its about vivec or something right before achieving godhood..crystal dagger, small hammer..thought it was bigger than small..haha..and the glove.."On his right hand it waned. The golden hand that seemed to blend in with his own skin"..which must mean this is before the dunmer were cursed to ashen skin and red eyes..also the part about the spiked knuckles..another possible referance to wraithgaurd.

Also thanks for the fix, even though before it wasnt that bad..still readable.
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Caroline flitcroft
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 6:19 pm

Very nice, it really shows Vivec's stealing of godhood very well.
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Carlos Vazquez
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 8:24 pm

Yeah, no problem. Btw, IM really appreciates the comments. Thanks, everyone.
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emily grieve
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 12:08 pm

You're unnecessarily using large words to make yourself sound smart. Stop it.
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jessica Villacis
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 8:07 pm

You're unnecessarily using large words to make yourself sound smart. Stop it.

I am doing nothing. Perhaps if you read the VERY TOP of the OP you'd understand that. :rolleyes: As for your post in general, I won't even comment because you are so wrong. I will leave it at that.
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Javaun Thompson
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 12:35 pm

You're unnecessarily using large words to make yourself sound smart. Stop it.

Oh please. I read it and thre was probably two words that I thought were "Big," in the sense of no one uses them in the vernacular. I find your abhorrence of his lexicon inordinately pejorative and thus indubitably nugatory.
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Solina971
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 4:05 pm

Oh please. I read it and thre was probably two words that I thought were "Big," in the sense of no one uses them in the vernacular. I find your abhorrence of his lexicon excessively pejorative and thus nugatory.

I think it's more in the sense the writing was stilted and awkward. It certainly didn't flow like Vehk's poetry, but more like the writer was trying hard to sound poetic. "municipally echoed"? "The accomplice to the silence was looming just next to it." "The only food he had was his own thoughts, and their contingencies." (The contingencies weren't part of his thoughts?) "unto the mane of the underground network" (Were there lots of shag carpets?) "to the climatic and ecstatic gulls of docked bastions." (WTF? Sounds like an excessively thrilling stroll by a seaside castle, but what's that got to do with anything?)
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Mandy Muir
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 3:30 pm

I think it's more in the sense the writing was stilted and awkward. It certainly didn't flow like Vehk's poetry, but more like the writer was trying hard to sound poetic. "municipally echoed"? "The accomplice to the silence was looming just next to it." "The only food he had was his own thoughts, and their contingencies." (The contingencies weren't part of his thoughts?) "unto the mane of the underground network" (Were there lots of shag carpets?) "to the climatic and ecstatic gulls of docked bastions." (WTF? Sounds like an excessively thrilling stroll by a seaside castle, but what's that got to do with anything?)

In that sense, yeah I can see that.
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Jesus Sanchez
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 8:46 pm

This is a message from the author himself:


"The writing isn't supposed to flow like Vhek's poetry. It's not Vhek, it's all of us. Also, here's a simple breakdown of it.

"municipally echoed" It was a ruling echo. It's a simple play on words. Just...an echo that is more than a simple echo. If you were crawling towards godlihood, would you be using a simple echo?

"The only food he had was his own thoughts, and their contingencies." Is meaning to say his own thoughts are ecstatic. He can't control them himself. Again, just a use of words to liven things up.

"unto the mane of the underground network" Yeah, lots of shag. More like the mane of a lion is the beauty of the loin, as the underground tunnels leading into the Heart Chamber are the beauty of the world...well, to a guy who's trying to overcome said world.

"to the climatic and ecstatic gulls of docked bastions." Metaphors, man. Gull - fool or hoax. Fools docked in BASTIONS

bas?tion (bschn, -t-n)
n.
1. A projecting part of a fortification.
2. A well-fortified position.
3. One that is considered similar to a defensive stronghold.

of god-hood. It's a power-drunk-yet-somewhat-poking-at-how-silly-it-is-to-try-and-be-something-you're-not way to put things.

Also, thank you for the input. And thanks everyone else who took a look. I feel kind of bad, becuase I would rather this was in Fan-Fiction, yet a lot of people wouldn't get it over there. Sorry if I made anyone go, 'Why the hell is this over in lore?'."
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Adam
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 4:45 pm

I know what a metaphor is, but I also know what a bad metaphor is.

"municipally echoed" It was a ruling echo. It's a simple play on words. Just...an echo that is more than a simple echo. If you were crawling towards godlihood, would you be using a simple echo?

Well, it wouldn't be a municipal echo, which is more associated with local government than the regnant and sovereign.

"unto the mane of the underground network" Yeah, lots of shag. More like the mane of a lion is the beauty of the loin, as the underground tunnels leading into the Heart Chamber are the beauty of the world...well, to a guy who's trying to overcome said world.

Again, "mane of the the underground network" to mean "[leonine glory and fabulous pubic sunburst] of the underground network isn't a good metaphor. Especially since the latter is a good enough metaphor in its own right with a bit of tinkering.

It's a power-drunk-yet-somewhat-poking-at-how-silly-it-is-to-try-and-be-something-you're-not way to put things.

:blink: You got that from "the climatic and ecstatic gulls of docked bastions"?

The text said the bastion was docked, not the gulls.

All I'm saying is the occasional attempts at purple prose left me cold. "Glacial abstruseness" indeed.

Edit: I should say it probably could do entirely without them and still stand well on its own. It's all right, even if some of it sounds awkward to me.
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Enny Labinjo
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 1:20 pm

*Snip*

Here is the author's response:



QUOTE
"I know what a metaphor is, but I also know what a bad metaphor is."



True. But I guess it'll all in the eye of the beholder. :shrug:


QUOTE
"Well, it wouldn't be a municipal echo, which is more associated with local government than the regnant and sovereign."


But...but I said said WHY it would be a municipal echo.


QUOTE
"Again, "mane of the the underground network" to mean "[leonine glory and fabulous pubic sunburst] of the underground network isn't a good metaphor. Especially since the latter is a good enough metaphor in its own right with a bit of tinkering."


Fornication is justification, or something like that. If it were to mean '[furry halls decked with shag carpets and full champagne glasses.]', then we'd be onto something. But in the sense that a beautiful part of a beautiful creature is being enveloped into a metal maze of halls, I find it somewhat justified. Oby yearns to be out in the wilds, ya know?


QUOTE
"The text said the bastion was docked, not the gulls."


[censored]. Noted, and will me amended. Thanks for that one, I seemed to have overlooked it even while referring to it.


QUOTE
"All I'm saying is the occasional attempts at purple prose left me cold indeed. "Glacial abstruseness" indeed."


And all I'm trying to do is not leave you in the dark. Besides, you liked it enough to quote from it. :P
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Vicky Keeler
 
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Post » Tue Aug 18, 2009 12:07 pm

This is a piece written by 'Ironed Maidens'. It is lore-heavy, and that's why I posted it here.
As he awoke, the sounds of the dead caressed his pointed ear. He looked up, and saw the full guardian of his province, the land he dwelt, and the hand he dealt. As the sun peaked low, he realized that his passing was almost complete. The sounds he awoke to faded off, municipally echoed onward by the first streaks of blackness into the sky. As if he had just realized he was awake, he stood up quickly. The accomplice to the silence was looming just next to it, and he got the feeling that his life would never be the same again. He was dressed in a soft fiber robe, from the deranged plants of the shoreline. The lava hurt his eyes as he staggered out from his hiding place. The brightness of the magma candles were the first light he had seen in days.

It sounds like Vehk in zombie mode. Err, like he is in zombie mode. Or turning into a vampire, rather.
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willow
 
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