My Writing · 1:34pm Feb 15th, 2022
Since I mentioned I've been writing more often lately in the last blog post I thought maybe I should share some of what I've written as just...something to show for what I have said. Saying something is one thing, doing is another. I will need to give some context to certain prompts I wrote, but it'll be better than nothing to say the least. Course I'll have those at the bottom of this, in more recent news I'm still playing League now surprisingly. Been like two months running now which is a lot longer than I play normal games, managed to hit my stats to be comparable with Grandmaster Hecarim players with 70% win-rate after 100 games. Course now I'm switching it up and trying to go up with Ivern. So I've gotten really good with the game all in all.
That's a pretty common thing with me so far. I get really good in a game after a while then drop it. Like one time with TEPPEN I managed to get myself a spot in nationals, well the pregames for nationals. You have to hit the highest rank in the game where you're no longer ranked and given a number on the leader boards to sign up. I was ranked 3700th or something at the time and I beat the guy ranked 2nd once. I ended up losing most of my games and ended up not getting too far, but it was really exciting. Part of me is dreading if the same is going to happen with me and League where I get good enough to get invited for something big, but fumble the ball at the end.
Writing Below
The first one I'm posting was an idea on an isekai that was actually like another world and not just medieval fantasy dragon quest game. I kind of just wrote off the cuff and was around the time I was reading a lot of isekai savy stories, one was Worth the Candle and many others were just generic manga I won't name.
This next one actually came from something I wrote in a discord RP. It was rushed, but it was something that gave me pause and made me want to save it so here it is
Robert could only silently watch. His brows knitted themselves and he had an almost hard look in his eye. Though he noticed after a second and put on his aviators. He tried to relax, but he was never good at that. So he just hid his eyes. It’s why he always carried them, and he’ll need them more in the future.
At first different locations flew into view clashing with each other for prominence. An old cottage in the woods or an old mechanics shop collided into each other shattering apart to open up to a dock filled with unfocused abyss like figures. They turned around and before their faces came to view a flash bang of light went off allowing the scene to shift for one last time to show something more homely. A simple cozy room with a coach, a coffee table, and a TV lazily set up on a dresser.
There was his brother Clint, looking around his 30’s on the coach. They were more fit than Robert in some small ways, but looked older in others. He had faded mossy hair with streaks of grey striking through it. His bangs hover just above those eyes that shown of like amethyst. His right arm was completely gone being just a stump. A testament to what he could've gone through, or just a reminder of something best forgotten. On the other side of Clint was Robert, looking much younger as if he was just in his 20’s. Just sitting on a stool.
He didn’t have that black and red suit and instead was wearing some goofy T-Shirt. It had some wide eyed robot waving around a wrench that looked far too cartoonish for the man Tyrone knew. He didn’t have any small scars or as rough skin here. Unsurprisingly there's no kind of facial hair anymore, but that hairstyle never changed. The man had no bangs to speak of with his hair rolled back entirely as short as it was to begin with.
In between them was a metal prosthetic arm on a coffee table. It didn't try to pretend that it wasn't a real arm leaning heavier into a more sci-fi ascetic with a sleek paint job that seemed baked in while it sat in the box lined with cloth comforts on the inside. Robert was smiling tentatively as he gestured to it, “I made this for you. What do you think? Made it custom fit for you, so go ahead, try it on.”
Clint looked to his brother then to the box. Frowning his eyes furrowed as his hands clenched themselves. For a moment he closed his eyes and let out a held breath before he reached out and grabbed the arm, hefting it up. Seeing what was happening the man across moved to help, but Clint shook his head stopping the movement before it could really start. With Robert backing down Clint continued. Positioning one end of the prosthetic to his stump the machine came to life. Electric arcs spiked out from the limb as metal plates began to move out from inside reaching out to cover the shoulder and part of the chest firmly attaching itself to Clint’s side.
They both watched it nervous, but in different measures. After a moment allowing it to settle Clint started to move it letting the hand rise and fall. Slow movements began to grow faster as confidence rose and he reached out to grab a coffee cup on the table. Wrapping fingers gently around the handle he brought the empty thing to him.
“I can feel it…how?”
“It took me a while, but I had some help. Would you…like to work together? I can show you instead.” Robert stood up reaching out his hand to his brother. His eyes were open watching for the response with hope, pride.
Looking at the outreached hand Clint put down the coffee mug and shook with his new hand. Having a small gentle smile he replied, “Then let’s go. What else you got trapped in that head of yours?”
This next one follows the same general theme of Discord RP stuff where not much context is needed. It's part of backstory really, but I wanted to share even if its been a few months since I last wrote it.
Looking out the window the snowstorm was growing worse. My gaze was locked to a vacant void as the scenery passed as I only briefly heard my parent’s discussion taking place. The buzzing was insistent yet I couldn’t understand what was said, all I knew was that they were increasingly frustrated.
A single train of thought dominated my mind as all else was wiped away, what should I do next? I had turned to say...something, anything truly. I don’t remember what it was supposed to be, I only remember what ensued. Suddenly the car had flown into the air and turned upside down crashing into the ground, glass shattered and the once silent winds had now turned into a deafening drum pounding away. I hung limply, unable to process it for a time, thoughts going through my head.
“Get out!” cried out, and with it I sprung into gear. I was unshackled in a second dropping down from my seat onto the cold metal ceiling coated in glass. I was terrified and in pain so I burst out the door after a few tries. Once I was out I just kept running, I didn’t look back. Minutes turned to what felt like hours. I don’t remember why I ran so hard, but once I started I couldn’t stop. The biting cold was a constant pressure that told me to give up, but it was also what told me to keep going. I couldn’t just lay down and do nothing, yet I saw no end to something for the first time in my life. I was furious, towards the storm and to myself for running without thought.
Regardless of it all my pride wouldn’t let me stop, I had to finish what I started. Once I reached my home and got inside the constant roars stopped. Things became silent and I just collapsed. Laying upon the stairs I stared up at the ceiling to close my eyes to dwell on my final thoughts.
Now for the next one its based more in Demon Slayer and I was kind of spitballing with a friend and I ended up making this. It was less a moment and a series of events which is pretty common with what I write.
Charon had no name, all he had was a collection of name tags from the place he first woke up. That snowy mountain was so cold that even sweat became crystals and blood became ice. Yet it was also so tall, that his first sight of the world drew the picture of wondrous lights. Above the clouds and above the fog, the moon shone with a gentle warmth and the stars gleamed with their own grace.
Having turned in such a strange place he had no living humans nearby in any direction to eat. So all he had were the corpses of those that were left before. Ripping their clothes off their backs he bagged them up for travel rations. No matter how rough the skin, how old the blood, or how disgusting they may be, it was his lifeline.
His life lacked meaning, but he had no time to think about life. Life was precious. Life was short. Life was desperate. Life was cruel. Charon roamed, aimless with nothing but the hope of survival and his first encounter with humans should’ve been his last. Slayers were hunting a demon in a forest he had descended to for weeks, or maybe months, since his awakening and he found himself in the wrong at the right time. They mistook him for the charge they were hunting. With the decomposing bodies tied to his back his scent and appearance became a large beacon that drew demons closer and Slayers even closer. They ran him down and he ran himself ragged. His legs were nothing more than butter with the ease that they cut him down.
Collapsed and unable to move he looked up at them, and before they could remove his head, the one they were truly hunting appeared. It took less than a second before they were there and then they weren’t. Charon couldn’t help but stare, as the demon had dispatched them and dragged them away. In this moment he saw the strong and the weak in the same person. Humans could empower, but so could Demons. There was little difference between their strength to him, only the cycle of constantly topping the other.
This was how he gained a respect for humanity, but also his disregard for their life. They deserved respect to be hunted, because no other creature was worth hunting aside from humanity. Yet he knew he couldn’t hunt them. So instead he learned about them. He’d travel down the open roads they carved, enter into abandoned shrines, find their isolated structures which was what led him into their graveyards. From there he began his life as a grave robber. Taking freshly buried corpses to survive and fashioning himself in their garb.
As time went on stealing from humans, defiling their graves, carrying along that putrid stench as a beacon for other demons, he became an agent of chaos unintentionally. Everywhere he went Slayers would follow only for him to no longer be there leaving other demons behind in his wake that were stronger or more experienced than him. Trade Routes would shut down, and families would become dedicated to hunting demons in the wake of their family’s grave being robbed.
Among demons he grew the reputation as, “The One Who Does Not Hunt” in these formative years before his Demon Blood Art had graced him. That was all the name he needed for the time. Names defined importance, and to him all humans were important. To have something like a name, would be to put himself to their level, and he wasn’t. Sometimes along his travels he would find newly made demons, fresh to the world running on instinct to hunt and survive and to them he extended his hand. He fed them the corpses he always carried and taught them how to protect themselves. Some would follow him for a time hoping that through him they can survive. Many did, only to break off and leave him now wanting to find their own food and purpose. He motivated demons to learn and be more than wild hunters. Fighting was not the only way to live.
When he first obtained his Demon Blood Art his mindset…changed. Years of having lived as a wanderer left him grounded in his respect for humans, and the desire to not fight unnecessary battles. However, that purely pacifist lifestyle was coming undone. He had a DBA! Something that only the more pronounced demons could possess! He had obtained one after so long, but he had a price that he wasn’t sure how to pay. It needed bodies, it effectively doubled his appetite and grave robbing was no longer enough to eat. He either lives with the use of a DBA and starves, or abandon it and stay the same as he always was. His answer was obvious and he won’t ever turn back on it, so with his new found strength he went out on his first hunt.
It was along a familiar trading route that he had gone down many times before. He used his past knowledge of when they would go down this path to set up and ambush like no other. He planted corpses under a thin layer of dirt that they could easily break through, and from the shade of the forest and a pair of binoculars watched from afar. His ability to fight during the day through his DBA was how he caught them by surprise. There were no slayers, and that was all he needed to lay waste to them. So when they were all dealt with he dragged the supplies, and the humans to him. He had attacked a caravan and some of the loot they had were books. Interested, he began to try reading.
This was how he began his hunts, during the dead of night he would set these simple traps and attack people unaware the next day. He would amass books filled with all kinds of knowledge and would have found himself a house within one of these carriages. It was small, cramped, but far more comfortable than the forest floor, and this was his first taste of comfort. He wanted to indulge further, become more than just a survivor, and so he named himself. Flipping open a book he pointed to an old legend and said, “I am Charon, and I shall carry out the cycle.”
To follow that up here's a second one for Demon Slayer where I acted more as a cowriter to a friend like how they helped me with the last one
During her long lifespan as a demon she had taken up a blade and became an Onna Bugeisha. Watching war-torn battlefields from the side she found herself joining them becoming as close to kin among the humans, but as a woman and as a demon her values and skills were called into question frequently from those that didn't trust her. Yet among them there were three that trusted her and became close friends, one being another woman that understood the struggles with the concept of duty and honor that those naysayers were so blinded by and taught how she saw it from her own eyes. While the other two were brothers and helped her solidify her place among their peers, and for that one of them had earned her love.
So she started training among her peers to become a proper swordsman. It didn't take long for her chance to show her merit when the horns of war roared out. She was specifically called for to fight among her friends having earned their trust. With her on the frontlines and the enemy unprepared for the demon she had killed and eaten many. Her efforts made a push that had decimated and shattered enemy morale which secured a victory for her brethren, yet in her rage of bloodlust she had failed to protect her closest comrades. With the battlefield silent she turned around with clarity in her eyes. One of her friends were dead. Panic spread through her, the first time she's felt something so strong to fear, and desperation to find the others. Peeking over a hill at the very top she found the one she loved bleeding out on the ground. Eyes were dim as he looked up at her still alive. Rushing to his side she hugged him, relief flowing over her. Until a hand stabbed through her abdomen, and she looked down upon him to see it was his. What happened after she wasn't sure.
When she had awoken to clarity once more some time later holding nothing but her lover's blade she wept. Rising up from the blood soaked ground she remembered the words of her friends and began to prepare their funerals. As she picked up their swords she held them close feeling the weight behind them, and how they were proud to be able to swing these blades for their cause. Her heart had hardened, as blaming herself would be an insult to their memory. Gazing upon the war-torn battlefield she saw what they had accomplished together.
Years after this incident, Hiai has found herself wandering Japan, cutting down men and women alike. Gathering her strength and honing her technique. She lives amongst humans for a little while and continues her journey to find both a master and her former love. She holds hope that he is alive just like her.
Well that should be all for now, I'm just satisfied that it's out there. Mostly as a back-up so if I ever accidentally delete these or something I have something to go back to and get them again...well that might not be true for the first one I posted. I think it was too long for me to just outright post it though like I did the others. Well in the meantime I guess one reading suggestion I can give would be Mother of Learning. Its a groundhogs day sort of story based around a magic academy kind of setting. It's pretty interesting, but it also isn't my usual recommendation since it isn't anything from this site. Till next time
