Iron Pen 4: "It was a dark and stormy night..." - Stories, Comments, and Voting
- Thread starter Valka D'Ur
- Start date
Thanks to everybody who voted! I did not know that competitors were also allowed to vote, otherwise I would have.
My take on the stories:
The Gift of the Storm
I can't judge this objectively even as my own work, since I had so much fun writing it. I typed up about 300 words of a more serious story, but I became so frustrated that I deleted it and just wrote anything that came to mind. The result was Dr. Seuss style writing in the opening scenes, Hitchhiker's Guide humor for the rituals, and the finale was a parody of those dog movies where the protagonist and the original owner are calling to see who the dog is willing to come to. I think I probably went too far, here, since even comedy typically needs some sort of serious element.
(There were a couple of reviewers who said that I made 'typos'. I don't see that I misspelled anything, and the sloppy grammar in the beginning is deliberate. Typo is short for typographical error.)
Porch Chimes
This one is definitely the best of the lot. The first paragraph contained way too much description, but the writing is reasonable, if a bit blunt, from there on out. The slow buildup and reveals are perfect, and it is very natural to empathize with the characters (especially those like me who love storms too.
)
Two Knights
The author wrote this as a deep and philosophical story, yet it doesn't entirely pan out. There's more allegory than there needs to be, and the action of the story doesn't show us anything- we're told straight up that the knights are fighting to keep their 'honor', 'way of life', 'memories'. None of this is shown. I did like the way certain things were presented, like when he talks about the arrival of guns and the decline of the warrior, but there's a disconnect between what happens and the reason it happened. The 'both warriors fall and die at the same time' cliche was unnecessary, but the ending was alright. Philosophical stories are one of the hardest things to write, remember.
My take on the stories:
The Gift of the Storm
I can't judge this objectively even as my own work, since I had so much fun writing it. I typed up about 300 words of a more serious story, but I became so frustrated that I deleted it and just wrote anything that came to mind. The result was Dr. Seuss style writing in the opening scenes, Hitchhiker's Guide humor for the rituals, and the finale was a parody of those dog movies where the protagonist and the original owner are calling to see who the dog is willing to come to. I think I probably went too far, here, since even comedy typically needs some sort of serious element.
(There were a couple of reviewers who said that I made 'typos'. I don't see that I misspelled anything, and the sloppy grammar in the beginning is deliberate. Typo is short for typographical error.)
Porch Chimes
This one is definitely the best of the lot. The first paragraph contained way too much description, but the writing is reasonable, if a bit blunt, from there on out. The slow buildup and reveals are perfect, and it is very natural to empathize with the characters (especially those like me who love storms too.
)Two Knights
The author wrote this as a deep and philosophical story, yet it doesn't entirely pan out. There's more allegory than there needs to be, and the action of the story doesn't show us anything- we're told straight up that the knights are fighting to keep their 'honor', 'way of life', 'memories'. None of this is shown. I did like the way certain things were presented, like when he talks about the arrival of guns and the decline of the warrior, but there's a disconnect between what happens and the reason it happened. The 'both warriors fall and die at the same time' cliche was unnecessary, but the ending was alright. Philosophical stories are one of the hardest things to write, remember.
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jackelgull
An aberration of nature
My inspiration was actually a Japanese anime called Seven Samurai.
Did I really seem like I was trying to be philosophical here? I was going more for a period piece. As I've said before, this was inspired by Seven Samurai. More specifically, I wanted to capture the strange beauty inherit in the end of an era the way that show managed to. I do agree I was too abstract. I'm not sure though how I can make honor tangible for the reader though. And what do you mean by "disconnect between what happens and the reason it happens"? Finally the both warriors die cliche... yeah can't really defend that. After the deadline, I realized I probably should have had one knight bury the other, and move on with his life, wondering if the dead guy isn't better off.
Absolutely.
What makes you think the two are mutually exclusive?
Never seen the movie. I know, I should really rectify that.
Just write what one or the other is thinking at the moment. A single sentence or phrase can go a long way.
You simply describe why they are fighting. I don't see the characters acting it out- all they do is fight.
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I'm sorry, I should have mentioned that.
Yes, of course Iron Pen authors are allowed to vote and comment.
Serutan
Eatibus Anythingibus
I see. Is that an animated version of the Kurasawa movie?
jackelgull
An aberration of nature
Yes. It is no where near the quality of the movie though. Somehow within the three hours he has, Kurosawa gets more out of his setting and characters than the anime does. Still, I enjoyed the anime, and the show really felt like it displayed the strange beauty inherent in the end of an era.
JohannaK
Heroically Clueless
That's why it's such a good movie, although my favourite Kurosawa may very well be Rashomon.
I just read my entry again (I'm tracking down every piece of writing I have online) and wow, I know I was going for a dumb/campy feel but that is some *cringy* wordplay. Threw together a revised version that doesn't make me throw up in my mouth. 
One dark and stormy night, a lightning bolt hit the necromancer's tower. The necromancer climbed to the topmost spire himself to inspect the damage. As he looked around, he discovered that one of his experiments had gotten fused with a stray dog!
"How in the name of Baphomet how did this happen?" the necromancer wondered out loud. "I don’t let animals wander my tower. But this twisted abomination still behaves like a canine. Perhaps it can be trained."
It was better than the necromancer had hoped. His new creature craved human flesh, but still adored its master like any dog would. Even housetraining went smoothly; the mutant learned to vomit out the bones of its unfortunate victims far away in a field.
But everything changed one evening, as he was taking a walk. Without warning, a bloodred portal crackled into existence above him. Blackened fire billowed from it. And a giant tentacle snaked out and seized his pet!
"Stop right there!" the necromancer thundered. He ordered his skeleton guards to attack, but it was too late. In one swift move, the tentacle pulled the dog back inside and the hole closed once more.
The necromancer fell to his knees. "No! Buster!”, he cried. He knew he only had a short time to get his pet back!
The necromancer raced back into his tower, his cape billowing behind him. He darted up floor after floor, past the chamber of souls and the halls of zombification. Finally, he arrived at the very heart of his fortress - an dark empty room lit by a crimson crystal floating in the center. The necromancer quickly opened a shelf door and took out three more red crystals, each smaller than the last. He performed the rites, cut off his right hand (he had plenty of spares under ice), and dunked all three of the crystals in his blood. They lit up, and the two smaller ones began circling the larger crystal, until - in a flash and crackle of energy -
"Hello, you have reached the Office of Perdition. If you'd like to contact Death, please press 1. If you'd like to ascend to lichd-"
The necromancer tapped the smallest crystal. The ghostly head disappeared, and a floating skull appeared in its place. "Sorry, but Death isn't available at this time. Would you like to pass on a message?"
He replied, "It's me, the mysterious necromancer. Me and Death are old friends! He shows up at my tower and plays Go with me every Sunday. He won't be pleased to hear about you keeping me from talking to him!"
The skull frowned, or somehow gave that impression despite not having eyebrows. "Sir, I don't know anything about this, but policy very clearly states that no special privileges are given to anyone. I'm afraid that I can't allow you access to Death at this time." With that, he winked out of existence, leaving the necromancer to stew in anger.
He put his face in his hands. If he couldn’t access the afterlife, there was no way to track down where in hell the portal had come from. "There must be some way to contact Death - but of course! I feel so foolish now!"
He went back over to the transceiver and redialed, slicing off his left hand this time. Again the response sounded, but the voice didn't get very far before the necromancer nudged the medium-sized crystal - it was number 2, the path of lichdom. This time a pair of disembodied eyes stared back at him. "Would you like to become undead today, sir?", a voice rasped.
The necromancer said, "Yes!"
"Then please complete your ritual and look directly at the basilisk. And remember that your phylactery must stay in contact with you at all times." The eyes vanished, to be replaced with a floating pair of binoculars. The necromancer put his eyes to them and then dropped to the floor, dead.
He awoke in a huge and gray field, with a monochrome sky and blackened arms reaching up between the rocks. As he glanced around, a hooded apparition appeared to his right. As he turned to face it, the thing suddenly cackled and flew over his head. "Haha! Another necromancer forget his phylactery? When wi - oh, it's you, George." The apparition sighed and dropped to the ground. "What is it?"
The necromancer, who now had both his hands, replied, "I'm here to get my pet back. Some tentacled thing from hell stole my mutant dog! Besides”, he added, "you still owe me a few favors, don't you?"
Death folded his arms. "I'll find your pet for you, but doing that AND letting you come back to life is going to count as two favors!" With that, he vanished.
The necromancer waited and waited. At long last, Death appeared again. "There's a demon who has a beast like you describe, but claims that it bred it himself. I can't just take someone's pet without proof." But the necromancer was adamant. "Buster knows me. We'll just see which person he sees as his master!"
So Death took the necromancer to the Plane of Eternal Bliss, which was not really very blissful - it was just billowing flames without anything solid to stand on, forever. He materialized a platform and placed the necromancer's dog on it. "Thus," Death declared, with the arbiters of hell watching, "whomever the creature comes to shall be declared its master!"
Now the necromancer first shouted, "Here, Buster! Do we want a WALKIES?" And Buster wagged his tails and stepped in his master's direction.
But the demon with a thousand tentacles took out a flaming morningstar and cracked it against its hide. "Don't you want to come to your real master, Asggiravetiryst?" it hissed. Now the dog took a step in the demon's direction.
The necromancer groaned miserably. His pet had begun walking towards the opposite end of the platform. It looked as though it had all been for nothing. But suddenly, Buster darted forward and tore the morningstar apart with his jaws, acid spraying from his mouth. As the demon jumped back in surprise, Buster raced back over to be embraced by his one and only owner!
The Gift of the Storm
One dark and stormy night, a lightning bolt hit the necromancer's tower. The necromancer climbed to the topmost spire himself to inspect the damage. As he looked around, he discovered that one of his experiments had gotten fused with a stray dog!
"How in the name of Baphomet how did this happen?" the necromancer wondered out loud. "I don’t let animals wander my tower. But this twisted abomination still behaves like a canine. Perhaps it can be trained."
It was better than the necromancer had hoped. His new creature craved human flesh, but still adored its master like any dog would. Even housetraining went smoothly; the mutant learned to vomit out the bones of its unfortunate victims far away in a field.
But everything changed one evening, as he was taking a walk. Without warning, a bloodred portal crackled into existence above him. Blackened fire billowed from it. And a giant tentacle snaked out and seized his pet!
"Stop right there!" the necromancer thundered. He ordered his skeleton guards to attack, but it was too late. In one swift move, the tentacle pulled the dog back inside and the hole closed once more.
The necromancer fell to his knees. "No! Buster!”, he cried. He knew he only had a short time to get his pet back!
The necromancer raced back into his tower, his cape billowing behind him. He darted up floor after floor, past the chamber of souls and the halls of zombification. Finally, he arrived at the very heart of his fortress - an dark empty room lit by a crimson crystal floating in the center. The necromancer quickly opened a shelf door and took out three more red crystals, each smaller than the last. He performed the rites, cut off his right hand (he had plenty of spares under ice), and dunked all three of the crystals in his blood. They lit up, and the two smaller ones began circling the larger crystal, until - in a flash and crackle of energy -
"Hello, you have reached the Office of Perdition. If you'd like to contact Death, please press 1. If you'd like to ascend to lichd-"
The necromancer tapped the smallest crystal. The ghostly head disappeared, and a floating skull appeared in its place. "Sorry, but Death isn't available at this time. Would you like to pass on a message?"
He replied, "It's me, the mysterious necromancer. Me and Death are old friends! He shows up at my tower and plays Go with me every Sunday. He won't be pleased to hear about you keeping me from talking to him!"
The skull frowned, or somehow gave that impression despite not having eyebrows. "Sir, I don't know anything about this, but policy very clearly states that no special privileges are given to anyone. I'm afraid that I can't allow you access to Death at this time." With that, he winked out of existence, leaving the necromancer to stew in anger.
He put his face in his hands. If he couldn’t access the afterlife, there was no way to track down where in hell the portal had come from. "There must be some way to contact Death - but of course! I feel so foolish now!"
He went back over to the transceiver and redialed, slicing off his left hand this time. Again the response sounded, but the voice didn't get very far before the necromancer nudged the medium-sized crystal - it was number 2, the path of lichdom. This time a pair of disembodied eyes stared back at him. "Would you like to become undead today, sir?", a voice rasped.
The necromancer said, "Yes!"
"Then please complete your ritual and look directly at the basilisk. And remember that your phylactery must stay in contact with you at all times." The eyes vanished, to be replaced with a floating pair of binoculars. The necromancer put his eyes to them and then dropped to the floor, dead.
He awoke in a huge and gray field, with a monochrome sky and blackened arms reaching up between the rocks. As he glanced around, a hooded apparition appeared to his right. As he turned to face it, the thing suddenly cackled and flew over his head. "Haha! Another necromancer forget his phylactery? When wi - oh, it's you, George." The apparition sighed and dropped to the ground. "What is it?"
The necromancer, who now had both his hands, replied, "I'm here to get my pet back. Some tentacled thing from hell stole my mutant dog! Besides”, he added, "you still owe me a few favors, don't you?"
Death folded his arms. "I'll find your pet for you, but doing that AND letting you come back to life is going to count as two favors!" With that, he vanished.
The necromancer waited and waited. At long last, Death appeared again. "There's a demon who has a beast like you describe, but claims that it bred it himself. I can't just take someone's pet without proof." But the necromancer was adamant. "Buster knows me. We'll just see which person he sees as his master!"
So Death took the necromancer to the Plane of Eternal Bliss, which was not really very blissful - it was just billowing flames without anything solid to stand on, forever. He materialized a platform and placed the necromancer's dog on it. "Thus," Death declared, with the arbiters of hell watching, "whomever the creature comes to shall be declared its master!"
Now the necromancer first shouted, "Here, Buster! Do we want a WALKIES?" And Buster wagged his tails and stepped in his master's direction.
But the demon with a thousand tentacles took out a flaming morningstar and cracked it against its hide. "Don't you want to come to your real master, Asggiravetiryst?" it hissed. Now the dog took a step in the demon's direction.
The necromancer groaned miserably. His pet had begun walking towards the opposite end of the platform. It looked as though it had all been for nothing. But suddenly, Buster darted forward and tore the morningstar apart with his jaws, acid spraying from his mouth. As the demon jumped back in surprise, Buster raced back over to be embraced by his one and only owner!
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