Author Topic: Write By the Beat  (Read 1933 times)

Vera Silvertooth

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Re: Write By the Beat
« Reply #15 on: June 15, 2017, 08:43:23 PM »
Thanks for starting this game, Matra. It was fun to participate, though I had a little Moana music going in the background, in an attempt to keep some kids out of my hair. Worked, for the most part.

So, I write with music all the time and it has varying effects on me. For this game, the early stages of music were first almost nostalgic sounding, then took on a more festival/celebratory vibe. I went with that and pulled out some characters from the novel series I'm working on and slapped them in a festival that I know happens in that world, though I've never really written about it.

For the bulk of the story, I half tuned out the music and tried to figure out where the characters were going. Never did figure that out, which I think the story will show. Snatches of music went through my consciousness and tried to tug things in different directions, though every time they did, the music changed tone again on me and I couldn't transition smoothly.

So this is kinda pointless, meandering backstory that plays into a bigger series in my head, somehow. :-D I cleaned up the spelling, but didn't bother checking it for any more obvious errors, so this is obviously pretty rough draft.


Spoiler: show


The streets of Castle Crimal thronged with people dressed in their Festival finery. The red fox emblem of Crimal flapped from banners throughout the city and vendors sold their wares in the market squares and bands of musicians populated street corners, just far enough from one another that they didn't quite have to drown out each other.

There was a chill in the air this autumn day and it promised to only get colder as the shadows lengthened. A group of four friends sat on the edge of a fountain, eating roasted ears of corn and hot buns.

One of them, a young man with striking blue eyes, watched a pair of musicians play nearby, his finger tapping the rhythm out on his leg. His companions didn't seem to notice, but kept arguing among themselves quietly.

Eventually, one of them glanced over at him. “What do you think, Fabian? Fabian?”

He gave a little jerk of his head, then turned his attention to her. He shrugged apologetically and made a few quick signs with hands.

Fabian couldn't speak, an accident having stolen his voice a few years before.

The young woman, who wore a hooded shoulder cape that hid her head and most of her face, shook her head at him. “You can't draw any attention to yourself, Fabian. Standing on a corner and playing music would do just that.”

“Mattia's right,” another young man said, holding his ear of corn up so the raven at his shoulder could peck at the kernels. “I know this is your festival, Fabian, but we can't draw attention to ourselves.”

The autumn Festival, also know as Sulamasiel's Festival, celebrated the Myseran god of the arts and creation. Music and beautiful works of wood, wool and stone were given their full due this day of the year.

Fabian stuck his tongue out at the two who'd spoken and turned his back on them.

The fourth companion muttered. “Idiot.”

“Be nice, Derica,” Mattia said. “He has a right to want back what he lost.”

“You don't see me pining after what I lost. He's not the only one who's life changed.”

The young man with the raven interrupted them both. “Don't you two get started again. Can't you have one day where you don't fight.”

“I'm getting a drink,” Derica snapped, pushing herself up and away from the fountain and stalking off to one of the nearby vendors who sold mulled wine.

The raven let off a harsh caw, then launched from his master's shoulder, drawing a few shouts from people as he winged low over the crowd before working his way up and between buildings.

“He'll keep an eye on Derica,” the raven's master told Mattia.


She nodded, then looked back at Fabian. “What about you? Need a drink?”

He shook his head, his attention back on the musicians.

“Maybe we should head back to the inn for some cards?”

“Tyr, this was your idea.” Mattia laughed. “Who stays in the inn during the festival?”

Suddenly, Fabian stood up and strode quickly across the square, leaving his two friends behind.

“Where's he off to?” Tyr asked, half standing.

“I'll follow him. Why don't you join Derica? Get drinks for us all, I guess. We'll meet back by the Great Goose.”

She took off after her friend as he walked through the crowd, not quite rudely pushing, but obviously moving with some purpose. Mattia was smaller and more lithe. She wriggled through the crowd like a fish swimming up stream and caught up with Fabian as he reached another pair of entertainers on a street corner.

This group had cleared a space around them and there was apparently a large number of performers there to take turns. Right now, a woman and a man were singing a popular love ballad and Mattia, who had a rather good ear for music, recognized the skill of woman. The man was good to, but his partner obviously had great skill. She stopped at Fabian's elbow and tried to get a good look at his face. He stared at the woman with wide eyes.

A couple lines into the song, Mattia recognized the banner set behind the singers. A traveling performing group called the White Rose Wanderers, and suddenly Mattia realized why Fabian seemed so enthralled.

Before the accident that had taken Fabian's voice and half crippled him for a the better part of a winter, he'd traveled and performed with the White Rose Wanderers. That had been his family.

The song finished, and the singers bowed and stepped back for quartet of acrobats to take their place.

Fabian shoved his way around the crowd, Mattia following in his wake, as they circled the performers' area and followed the two singers. Fabian made a strangled noise, as if he were trying to speak.

“Excuse me,” Mattia called, trying to get the singers' attention.

The couple hesitated, the man stepping between Fabian and the woman, until she gave a cry of delight.

“Fabian!” She ran up to him and embraced him. “Where have you been? I thought something awful had happened to you.”

Mattia stepped up closer, but kept her head angled down. “Sorry, but I'm his translator. He can't speak now, you see.”

“Still?” the woman said, sounding pained. “But the healers though maybe his voice would come back.”

Mattia watched Fabian's jestures. “It hasn't, I'm afraid. Um, he says your name is... Clari? Is that right?”

The woman looked between Fabian and Mattia. “How do you know what he's saying?”

“We've been traveling together for a while and have kind of made up our own language for Fabian. A bit handy, really. With the hands.”

The woman just blinked at her and Mattia shrugged. Your name is Clari, right?”

“It is. Yes. And you are. “

“Mattia.”

Fabian started gesturing again and Mattia spoke. “Fabian says that you sounded beautiful. Your voice has only gotten more lovely.”

She smiled, but tears were in her eyes even as she did so. “It's so sweet of you to say that... Oh, this is Richille. He's my new partner.”

Mattia said, in translation of Fabian's gestures. “Dolish didn't work out.”

Clari laughed and Fabian grinned in response. “You know Dolish wouldn't. He's a sweety, but no great singer.”

Richille cleared his throat. “I'd like to think I was a more than adequate replacement.”

Clari set a hand on his arm. “You're a wonderful singer, Rich. Just...” she hesitated, glanced at Fabian and said quickly, “Just wonderful.”

No one seemed to be fooled that she'd been going to say something else, but no one made a deal of it.

“Would you like to join us for a meal afterward?” Clari said, as Fabian started to sign that he should probably go. “It'd be very nice to visit again.

Mattia waited for Fabian's response, not having mentioned his last signs. Her friend seemed to consider it.

Then Fabian shook his head.

“I don't want to keep you from your work,” Mattia translated.

“I can't sing all night,” Clari said. “I'll let the others take over at sundown. Please, Fabian. I haven't seen you in so long and I thought you were dead.”

Fabian shook his head and once more Mattia translated. “I can't stay. I have things to do myself. It was good to see you again.” Before the words were out of Mattia's mouth, he had turned his back on Clari and began pushing his way back into the crowd.

“I'm sorry,” Mattia said. “He, well, I think he's homesick, if you can be homesick for a lifestyle instead of a place...”

Clari blinked quickly. “Oh, won't you try to talk to him. Bring him back.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Mattia promised and turned to go. Then she whirled back around and said in a hushed tone. “We're at the Great Goose, over by the west gate.”

She nodded and Mattia turned to trot after her friend, who was momentarily lost in the crowd to her. Mattia had to jump a few times like a rabbit before she caught sight of his head amid the other heads.

Eventually, she caught up with him. “You knew her, I take it?”

Fabian signed, We used to sing together.

“She has a lovely voice.”

She does.

“You know you could spend some time with her.”

He shook his head. That part of my life is over. It's best forgotten. I shouldn't have gone over there at all. I could put us all at risk.
 

Vizon

Re: Write By the Beat
« Reply #16 on: June 15, 2017, 09:26:31 PM »
I had a really hard time getting started. It was hard getting out of the mindset that my story had to somehow "match" the music. I decided that the music reminded me of a jaunty flight or twirling, mid-air dance. Or a fight against the wind - maybe in a storm? I thought of flying things - pegasus and dragons, and how I didn't want to mimic existing stories like "Fantasia" or "How to Train your Dragon" or any of the thousand other stories about riding dragons. So I took the concept of flight and flying in a storm and dragons and took off at last. Time stopped right at the climax of the story so I went ahead and kept writing until it was at an ok stopping point. 850 words isn't much for so long, but like I said - I do better without music. Especially considering it deviated from the ultimate mood of my story!



Spoiler: show
Arch waited as the rolling cloud of black smoke engulfed the village, a precursor to the doom that was to soon follow. His heart raced and his insides fluttered with adrenaline butterflies. So often he had played at battle, imagining the thrill and practicing the maneuvers, but watching the danger unfold before him and the pressure and fear that pressed him down was an entirely different experience. Excitement was replaced by dread as the clouds infused with fissures of fire. If an entire village of grandmothers, women and babies weren’t relying on the taskforce to prevent their eminent death in a hellish inferno, Arch might have followed his gut and melted like wax into the nearest hole in the ground. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his legs so tight in the saddle that his gryphon, Miar, bucked slightly. They were bound for life, but it didn’t stop Miar from clacking his beak testily at the seventeen-year old.

“Sorry, buddy.” He patted the feathery neck then glanced at the duo on his left – Marty, a stocky youth, and the piebald gryphon, Wyle. To his relief, Marty appeared as sick as Arch felt, ashen and perspiring. Marty and Arch were both part of the same group of new recruits, and had never faced a real storm dragon. Their unit had practiced the defense strategy daily, however, spending countless hours flying in rain, wind, and even hail. He knew he should feel more confident, but the dark sky boiling with ominous plumes was enough to set even a beast as courageous as a gryphon dancing with nerves.

Arch thought of the children in the valley below, crouched under their houses in dark cellars, waiting to see whether or not their homes would burn. It was a powerless sensation, and one Arch had determined never to experience again. Little had he known the same fear would plague him even now as a trained sky soldier, poised at the edge of battle.

“Eyes to the sky! Ready your mounts!” the call rang forth and Arch steeled himself. The nose of the dragon protruded from the blackness, larger and nearer than expected.

“Launch!” Miar sprang into the air with a throaty caw and Arch fell instinctively into riding form, becoming one with the beast beneath him as they soared through the air in a “V” formation. The brigade was twenty strong and many were experienced veterans, but Arch could only feel how insignificantly small they appeared compared to the black-scaled monster that broke through the manufactured firestorm on wings half as wide as the village itself. They rose high above the menace, circling, cautious of the true storm clouds forming overhead. Lightning was almost as much a danger to the sky soldiers as the storm dragon itself, but it was the best position to ride as the dragon’s focus settled on the settlement below.

“Lances ready!”

Arch slid one of the long, barbed harpoons from the holster, gripping it tightly in his fist. This was when trophies and awards meant nothing. This was when boys became men and courage either conquered fear or waned into stuttering cowardice. Arch watched the other circling soldiers and set his jaw decisively. This was his moment.

Smoke clouded his vision as the dragon reared its head, inhaling deeply.

“Strike! Strike!” the voice of his commander shrieked with a note of desperation. Miar fell into a dive and Arch embraced the familiar breathlessness of freefall, pressing himself against the feathered body of the gryphon to speed their rapid decent. The black scales of the storm dragon were wet, glistening like oil and as they approached Arch could even make out the thin, hair-like spikes protruding around the silvery eye. He released the harpoon just as Miar flared his wings to curb the dive. The lance pierced the orb and the dragon threw back its massive head, sending its apocalyptic breath skyward in a spray of lava. Several of the soldiers were vaporized, unable to turn out of their dives. Miar screeched as bits of flaming debris burned holes through his wings. More screams filled the sky as the storm dragon curled and thrashed midair. Sky soldiers dropped all around, maimed and aflame as the mountainous dragon slowly succumbed to the brain-piercing dart. At last it fell, wings paralyzed with death, smashing with a resounding crunch into the hillside.

****************************

Arch sat on a bench afterward, bent over, head in his hands. Commander Aradeus approached, stopping just beside him.

“Arch, is it? That was some fine marksmanship you showed out there today.”

The boy said nothing. The commander sat down beside him, sighing deeply, folding his hat between his hard hands. Finally Arch dropped his hands and stared ahead at the smoking black heap in the distance. His eyes were rimmed with red and he sucked in a quick, shuddering breath before blowing out a long, composing sigh.

“Is this what it feels like to be a hero?”

Aradeus pursed his lips and grunted. “Afraid so.”

Arch recalled the image of a scorched Marty falling through the air, his gryphon a half-burned skeleton, and broke down, sobbing.


« Last Edit: June 15, 2017, 10:10:40 PM by Vizon »

Rascal

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Re: Write By the Beat
« Reply #17 on: June 15, 2017, 09:26:51 PM »
The first part of the song was the most influential. Immidietly I saw wide open spaces with dark undertones, like the beginning of an adventure. There is a mystery to solve here. As time passed the music filters into the background. Occasionally I see flashes of scenes happening when the music picks up the pace. The heavy crash of sound a narrow escape for our adventurers.

The song reminds me of a play setting, like those old black and white movies that have only a piano accompianing them and no voice work. So my story does have any dialog.

It's about three fox adventurers venturing forth into a dark gloomy wood to in search of a monsters lair. Now, I personally hate high magic settings, but I love whimsical stories, so the critters here are are a bit skewed from normal foxes, their gear is pure steam punk and the monsters have no explanation of what they are or how they do what they do.

Spoiler: show
 The sun come early this morning. Wet dew drops cause the ground to sparkle as flowers bloom and grass reaches for the sky. It is hard to imagine that Shadows were dancing here just hours ago.

                Trevor stands up, dusting grass off his leg. Their trail is surprisingly easy to follow, the dead grass practically beckons the adventurers to find them. Trevor did not like this, he did not like this one bit. The others seem hardly concerned however, only nodding to the fox as if reading his mind.

                Being the less experienced Trevor is resigned to following their lead. Like him they are foxes but of different colors than the scruffy red hide he has covering his scrawny self. It’s hard to say which is in the lead, the tod or the vixen.

                The tod, Charly is taller than his arctic counterpart, his fur is as black as the Shadows themselves with grey undertones. He has a bit more muscle to his arms than Rioko the Vixen but not near as much weight. Despite her fa- ahem, ‘fluff’ the vixen shamelessly wears a leather vest that leaves her midriff exposed. Charly fancies himself a silk tunic.

                Both wear matching black felt caps.

                Trevor thinks they look more like an odd couple out for a walk than a pair of daring adventurers, but so far they are the only ones he has seen brave enough to approach this close to the Shadow’s Wood. Well, besides himself that is.

                But as those trees draw ever nearer the younger fox feels his bravery sapping away. They stand above them, branches sprawling outward like Shadow Claws, as if warning them to stay away. Without turning around Rioko catches Trevor’s, dragging him further into the wood despite how he tries to flee.

                It is probably safer for him to stay with the group anyway he concludes with a sigh. Shadows love to prey Kin, especially tasty foxkins who stray too far from safety. As they draw deeper into the wood it becomes harder to track the Shadows. A thick mist rises from the ground and the light grows only darker. Trevor finds himself clutching his long slender tail, fondling the lion like tip as he shivers.

                The others put on a good show but he can see it for what it is. Their long bat like ears flicker at the slightest noises and their paws never stray far from their weapons.

                Eventually even the morning sun loses its bravery, abandoning the three heroes to the darkness of the wood. Only the light of their lamps guides the way. If nothing else the fire flies inside seem to not be afraid of the dark, thinks Trevor. Trevor’s bravery might be put to the test however if only he would turn around and see that their party of three has become a party of four.

                A trio of bright red eyes appear from the darkness behind the young fox. The eyes blink before widening with shock. They rotate in a circle as the darkness behind them begins to /move/. It’s hard to describe what shape, if any the creature takes. Shadows are not patient enough creatures to cling to only one shape. For now it lurks behind Trevor like a night following day.

                It tilts its V shaped head left and then right, examining the small Foxkin infront of it. Arms form at the Shadows side, growing foot long talons on its hands. The creature extends its deadly weapons towards Trevor, stopping a hair short of touching him, instead trying to gage the size and shape of the red furred beast. It sticks out its tongue, making a noise of disgust that catches Trevor’s attention. He turns swiftly, spear at the ready, but there is nothing for him to sink it into. He lingers a moment until Rioko whistles for him.

                Once his back is turned the trio of eyes return, the Shadow moving through the trees until it is above the party. It looks at Charly this way and that, making a face as it tries to decide if he is worthy enough to be lunch. And then out of the corner of its eyes it spots Rioko.

                The creature becomes alert, licking its chops. Reaching behind itself the Shadow produces a bib that was not there a moment before, one as dark and wispy as its own fur. From the tree tops it prepares to strike. Its claws grow longer, its muzzle opens to reveal long serrated teeth. The body changes as well, its upper skeleton turning crimson under its skin. The beast lines up its shot, wriggling like a cat about to pounce on a mouse and it leaps.

                Its jaws however find only open air. Even before it can descend upon the party with murderous glee a second pair of claws grabs the beast by the tail, pulling it backward and slapping it silly. The Shadow slouches, kicking its head back as if to say ‘WHAT?’

                The second Shadow, a burlier creature than his over eager counterpart, points to the party, specifically their weapons. It points to the smaller Shadow before running a claw over its own throat, lopping off its head. Its eyes turn into giant X’s as the tongue sticks out.

                This however only illicit an eye roll from the first Shadow. It grabs the other beasts head from its own hands and slams it back down onto its shoulders. It shoves its breather away, yelling something about not letting the glutton wanting all the tasty foxkin to itself. An argument is only prevented because both Shadows finally notice that in all the commotion they have garnered the attention of their prospective prey.

                An awkward silence ensues as both Foxkin and Shadowkin stare at each other. The original Shadow makes an attempt at nervous laughter, rubbing the back of its neck and trying to downplay the scene with a simple ‘fancy meeting you here?’ …in a language that the foxes probably do not understand it realizes.

                Another awkward silence follows.

                And then the Shadow attacks.

                Trevor wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen. He has only seen Shadowkin from the safety of the village wall. One thing for sure he is certainly NOT expecting the creature to explode into a dozen different limbs, each tipped with a deadly claw, its shrill shriek drowning out his scream.

                Unfortunately for him the Shadow knows the weak link in the party and targets him first.  A trio of spikes tear through his iron breast plate, pinning him to a tree. A spike goes through the iron cauldron above his shoulder and at either side. In a fit of panic he lifts up his arms and the scrawny foxkin slides out of his armor, the tunic underneath torn where the spikes nearly impaled him.

                The Shadow also seems to be stuck, if only a little bit, as it struggles to retrieve its claws from the tree. Even though Trevor is filled with fear he lets out a roar of defiance, pulling back his spear and throwing it at the very heart of the Shadow!

                It sticks deep into its flesh…and does nothing. Well, that’s not quite true. It ticks the creature off enough that its inner skeleton begins to glow again. That’s something at least. Charly has a bit more luck though. Loud cracks fill the air and globs of blue energy burn holes through the Shadow like lances.

                As her companion fires his pistols at the creature Rioko draws her blade. It takes one or two pulls on the choke before the saw along the edges comes to life. The sound makes the Shadow’s eyes widen even more than being show. Buzbaldes? Oh no, it is not having ANY of that nonsense. Rioko leaps into the air to deliver a fatal blow, instead she is flicked aside by a stray tentacle.

                She screams, tumbling through the air. Tucking herself into a ball she spins, thrusting the blade into the earth before landing. At the flick of a switch handle bars appear on either side of the hilt for her feet to rest on. With the buzzing blade in full motion the fox is propelled forward on her makeshift mount.

                There is a moment of shock on the Shadows face that will forever etch up Trevor’s memories as the fox rides her weapon towards the monster. She pulls back and the blade rides up the creature’s midriff, sending gobs of black goop across the forest as the blade comes out the other side.

                Once again propelled into the air Rioko spins cutting the Shadow once, twice, thrice on the way down, tearing it to pieces.

                The Shadows head lands at the proverbial feet of its brethren. It gasps once before its eyes turn into large X’s, its tongue falling out the side of its mouth.

                The Shadow says something along the line of ‘Told you so,’ before regarding the adventurers with a slightly annoyed, slightly bored look. One it keeps as it fades into the background.


« Last Edit: June 15, 2017, 09:32:54 PM by Rascal »

Vin

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Re: Write By the Beat
« Reply #18 on: June 15, 2017, 10:13:28 PM »
First of all, I'm freaking impressed y'all wrote so much. Like, wow.

I didn't write much at all— in fact, I stared at the wall for most of the time. Now, usually I wrote really well to music. Pop on anything, and I'll write and write and write. So I was a little confused at first— where were the words? The only thing I could think of? I love classical music. A bit too much, maybe. I kind of just sat there like, wow, what a good song. Yeah, for almost an hour.

My actually story started out promising. I like to start with a line of dialogue, because characters are my favorite part of writing and I usually shape my work around them, rather than vice versa. I like to think dialogue is the best reflection of a character in a story. After that line, I shape a dialogue between a few characters, before filling in the rest.
At least, that's how J do the shorter things I write. About two lines of dialogue in, though, I changed the story, which was initially about a vampire trying to buy a flat, into a vampire being interrogated by a police officer. I've only got a few lines of dialogue, and it switches between the two story ideas halfway through. You'll see— it's not exactly a finished product. At all. I blame classical music for being so interesting.
Spoiler: show
“So I have to ask…”

“Mhm?”

“I noticed you put down, uh… ‘might make a few bloodstains, don't worry about it, I'll clean it’ in the ‘About Me’ section…what’s that all about?”

“I’m a vampire,” he drawled laconically. “I seduce young women, bite their necks and suck their blood, and then maybe wash it down with an espresso or two. What more do you want to know?”

“So you’re admitting—”

“Vampirism isn’t a crime, detective.”

“No. But sucking blood without consent and murder damn well are crimes for sure.”

“I’ve never had any complaints.”

“Your victims wouldn’t exactly be in the state for that, now would they?”

“Look. I don’t have time for this. I’ve got things to do and it’s getting early. I know my rights. Call me when you’ve got hard evidence.”


« Last Edit: June 15, 2017, 10:17:58 PM by Vin »

Vizon

Re: Write By the Beat
« Reply #19 on: June 15, 2017, 10:19:58 PM »
Pffff ha hahahaha! For being so short, Vin, that's pretty hilarious. Both concepts sound like fun short stories. Glad you participated. And yeah, it's a good song. Thanks, Nutkin.

Matra Hammer

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Re: Write By the Beat
« Reply #20 on: June 16, 2017, 05:33:14 AM »
A festival, a dragon assault, a vulpine Shadow showdown, and a very frank vampire. What a wonderful array of stories. Extremely strange seeing which avenue we all took. Is it a life experience thing? A personality thing? Environmental? Probably all three, and part of me wonders how this experiment would change if, say, a starting prompt was offered with the music. Like "write a dragon fantasy story."

I found something genuinely enjoyable in each one. And, yes, Vin's is absolutely hilarious despite the brevity. Reminds me a lot of the Irish vampire from Preacher (gritty show on Netflix. It's...okay, but the characterization is spot on, like Vin's dialog!)

Vizon's is the most vivid with half-melted gryphons and sprays of lava darkening the sky. How much of this is after-the-fact polish? Did the music inspire the lines or the ABSOLUTE GRIT cut through on its own?

Vera, you mentioned the tunes provided a nostalgic feeling. How so? I'm curious because it took you to an established world where performers mewled over time and talent lost. Are you a singer and I didn't know it?

Seems Rascal and I found a bit in common with the crashes of the music spurring our story's pace. What dropped you into the fox-themed hunting party? You say you've no explanation for what they are and how they came, but was that the music or did you say "Three foxes let's go."

Rascal

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Re: Write By the Beat
« Reply #21 on: June 16, 2017, 06:57:05 AM »
I'm glad to see you enjoyed your little experiment :3 I had foxes on the mind lately. I have been trying to find a story for the race I was used here, think fox creatures but with bat ears, lion tails, and cat like patterns of spots and stripes.

I was going to go with only one fox, but I decided three was easier to flesh out each characters personality especially in so short a time. The back story was the shadow creatures are harassing a village each night so they hired a husband and wife duo of passing dubious adventurers. Trevor is wanting to be an adventure so he grabbed a cheap pair of rental armor and followed them out there.

The characters were made up on the spot but their character traits we're a hodgepodge of other ideas I have but have no where to put them. Giant shape shifting shadow creatures, (a lot of my writing has interdimensional creatures in it) the portly vixen is taken from an rp character I use else where, Rioko is my usual fall back for female names. I usually apply it to a for outspoken character who would be more effective as a warrior if she wasn't a lazy selfish glutton. The buz blade sword came from a scene for a steampunk story, just a scene no plot, where the hero rides his mechanical blade like a deadly chain saw unicycle to catch up to an air ship. Trevor and Charly we're mostly created on the spot, their personality growing more after listening to the music rather than being planned from the beginning.

The story has all sorts of Grammer and spelling errors on...uh...uh....purpose! Y-yes. Let's go with that.  C: Mostly I had the ideas in mind before hand, the music just gave me a chance to put them somewhere. it was a strange little story but I had fun writing it
« Last Edit: June 16, 2017, 07:00:59 AM by Rascal »

Vera Silvertooth

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Re: Write By the Beat
« Reply #22 on: June 16, 2017, 07:29:45 AM »

Vera, you mentioned the tunes provided a nostalgic feeling. How so? I'm curious because it took you to an established world where performers mewled over time and talent lost. Are you a singer and I didn't know it?


I think I'd already half decided to try to write in my Mysera world, rather than come up with something new, so when the music gave me that feeling, I went with the character who had suffered an injury some years earlier and essentially lost who he was. He was the one who would most likely been nostalgic.

I'm not really a singer, other than endless rounds of "Itsy Bitsy Spider" to my kids and congregational singing at my church. I've got a low voice that's good for singing alto parts, but I don't know HOW to sing alto very well. I do know how to play the flute, which is something that Fabian in the story can do, but I don't think I mentioned it in this particular piece.

Vizon

Re: Write By the Beat
« Reply #23 on: June 16, 2017, 08:00:31 AM »
Vizon's is the most vivid with half-melted gryphons and sprays of lava darkening the sky. How much of this is after-the-fact polish? Did the music inspire the lines or the ABSOLUTE GRIT cut through on its own?

I think the only thing I went back and added/changed was Arch's deciding to overcome and be a hero before the dive. The rest I wrote while listening. Or perhaps, in spite of listening.

Also, because Youtube has autoplay, I am uncertain that all of the music near the end was part of the initial orchestral playlist...