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When in his daemon-form, he can transform his motorcycle into a HUEG sword. That also doubles as a cannon. Due to its vehicular roots, it can be "revved", adding more daemonic energy to it and powering it.
This is utterly ridiculous, but it's just as crazy as everything else in the story.
x.x Holy shit why did I have to do that?
Anybody want to look it over to see if it works well? I'll PM it to you. I plan to have an rp involving it (a full one) so I don't want to paste the list here, leaving a pseudo bestiary. Plus it has over 170 items on it, so it is kind of long
It's all in my head. I'm waiting till I make my hypothetical animation company before I start this.
Basically, it deals with a fantasy world where magic is cast through language--language you create yourself. You must make your own unique conlang to cast magic, with the grammar determining how spells are able to be used.
Nouns define the element used in the spell. Verbs are how the spell is casted (ball of energy? Explosive trap? Large, sweeping AOE?). Adjectives add different effects to the spell.
....I wonder if anyone would want to read this.
Vanilla's still a bitch, though.
Post!
Tombstones dotted the hill like grey teeth against the red
sky. They were purely ceremonial, and the corpses they belonged to were far
away, probably stripped of anything valuable and left as carrion for the birds.
Alistair affixed the last one and wiped his brow, long blond hair matted and
darkened with sweat. The tombstones were unmarked and roughly chiselled, but
the names didn’t matter to anyone else. Alistair noted, not for the first time,
that he was placing them there for his own sake and felt guilty. Perhaps
placing the tombstones was a chivalrous gesture, but the way they brought upon
Alistair’s self-pity made him question his motives. Enough was enough, however;
he had been deliberating this for weeks, ever since making home at Orstheim,
and knew the thought would never leave him until he did it.
Content with his work, Alistair set off down the hill. It
was marked by red Autumn leaves that crunched under foot. Alistair always found
the rhythm of treading on fallen leaves mildly comforting, if only for the
memory of juvenile days spent remorselessly crushing Autumn fallings underfoot.
Before him, the town of Orstheim grew in sound and scope into a comfortable
evening bustle of closing shops and last-minute buyers. He moved with an equal
measure of confidence and quietness towards his house aside the church. The
quarters he had purchased for himself were humble for a noble, but he was ill
content to throw himself back into the politics and games of the nobility just yet.
He was, perhaps, on holiday. He hoped, sincerely, that it would be permanent
And frankly, fuck fixing Vanilla's copypasta format issues. Too much work and rechecking and stuff. x_x
It stars a free runner Nick "Nox" Carbine, and a magician girl Vanið.
I'm keeping this on paper till I have a few chapters down.
I can give a plot outline, though, in....anytime from a few minutes from now to about a couple of hours.
[/theguywhoistryingtomakeagame,amassiveworldforthegamementioned,twowebcomics,andseveraltexturepacks]
Alright. Here's a....long rundown of this story's basic plot.
Nick Carbine has already loved free-running and parkour since he was six. By now, at the virile age of 19, he is a near master of it, so smooth and so elusive, people call him "Nox", latin for night--for he dissappears into it so easily....that it's almost magical.
But a 19-year-old needs an education, and it's time for him to buy some textbooks for college. He tries a new store: "Vanið's Books and Stationary. When inside, he realizes that something is off--there's a magical feel to the store. Ever the curious one,he pushes on foward--until the owner of the store, Vanið herself, reveals that she is sealed away. After managing to get inside his head and convince him to unseal her, she reveals some very shocking truths.
Turns out there was two races of humans. We are the "Humans". We embraced technology and shunned magic, until all of it dissappeared. But there was another race that chose to take magic instead of technology. They are the "Wir". The Wir and the Humans split off into two different world--Earth and Terra--a long time ago.
Vanið herself is a Wir, who lives in a place called the "Borderlands"--the pathway between Terra and Earth,and where Tech and Magic combine. She was sealed away in Earth for a reason she doesn't explain.
Just then, a man steals a book from her store. Nick chases after him and quickly catches him with his parkour skills--but then he blacks out.
When he wakes up, he's in a Borderlands Hospital. Supposedly, the man he caught had "suicide-bombed" with a spell. Vanið rescued Nick and had him treated--but at a cost. Due to the sheer amount of healing magic used to heal his injuries, Nick has become partly magical himself.
And to make things even more strange, it turns out that he is actually not merely a human being--but also a computer program designed to activate a process that will destroy the world, should it be used on this massive computer in the Borderlands that governs all 3 worlds, running off both Magic and Tech. His real name is "Armegeddon.EXE". And there are many who want to use him to gain power in all three worlds.
Nick is basically a living computer virus.
His response?
"I always wanted a little more action in my life!"
BORGHILDR BRYNULFSDÓTTIR
Silence! I bid of all kinds present,
Of the high ones and of the low ones,[1]
And to my tale the gods and the men shall listen.
Brynulfr’s daughter[2], at last, has
returned to her land!
But not to her home, the grass-sea.
Here the straw-sails do not catch the wind.[3]
Of stone is the ground on which I stand.
Taller than trees are the halls,
Those great stone walls that block out skies[4].
Skjöldr quoth[5],
I brought him:
“I am dazed, Borghildr Slain-chooser[6],
I cannot believe what I see, this craft of ettins.
Where am I? This is not Denmark.”
Borghildr
quoth, Slain-chooser:
“Call me a liar then, son of Skøf[7],
For Denmark it is, though not our own Denmark.
It is our land in a strange age, a distant future.”
Skjöldr
quoth, helm of the Skjöldungar[8]:
“I tire, Borghildr daughter of Brynulfr,
I must rest my aching feet, clean and white[9],
You will let us find bed and food, if you are my friend.”
Borghildr
quoth, friend of Skjöldr:
“I am your friend indeed,
and I will find us a bed and food,
I shall let you sleep like a king,
And like a king I shall let you eat.[10]
“Listen, you, man with no beard,
My king and I seek your father’s hall,
You shall give us food and bed.
“The beardless Dane was deaf to us,
to my tongue, he stared like a baby.
He heard only ‘bed’, and pointed.”
Skøfsson
kvað minnskjöldr: [sic][11]
“How is he a Dane, the man without a beard,
If he does not speak the Danish tongue?
Is this Denmark? Is his short shirt Danish?”
Borghildr
quoth, daughter of Brynulfr:
“True, he is Daneless in ways and dress,
And dumb of our speech, mind twisted[12],
But he knows our ‘bed’, and is his face not Danish?”
[1] These first
two lines are remarkably reminiscent of the beginning of the Völuspá, the first
poem in the Elder Edda. Borghildr presents herself in the manner of Heidi, the
seeress who narrates the Völuspá and reveals her knowledge of Oðinn’s past and
future to Oðinn.
[2] Brynulfr is
the name of Borghildr’s father. It means “mail-wolf”. The reader may also
notice that Borghild has immediately switched to the third person. This is
common in the Norse lays, the Völuspá being no exception.
[3] “Grass-seas”
is a kenning referring to grassy plains, and “straw-sails” refers to thatched
roofing. A kenning is a compound word used to metaphorically represent a
concept.
[4] Here I must
note that Viking Age architecture was humble. All their buildings were one
floor and constructed of wood, even the halls belonging to kings. They had no
palaces.
[5] Skjöldr is
the name of Borghild’s apparent companion. It is also the Old Norse word for
“shield”.
[6] Borghildr
means “fort-battle”. Slain-chooser is the translation for “Valkyrja”. Valkyrjar
are the women appointed by Oðinn to choose the battle-slain and take them to
Valhöllr, the hall of the slain.
[7] Skjöldr
Skøfsson apparently shares his name with the legendary founder of the
Skjöldungar dynasty of Danish kings. In the English poem of Beowulf, this
founder is called Scyld Scefing.
[8] It is
uncertain at this point whether Skjöldr is literally king of the Skjöldungar or
if Borghildr is making a play at his name.
[9] Frankly, I
find it rather strange that Skjöldr would refer to his own “feet, clean and
white”. This is one example of Borghildr’s heavy influence on the text and all
the dialogue spoken by others. It seems more likely the narrator is a foot
fetishist than Skjöldr thinks very highly of his own feet. This little change
should beg the question of the veracity of Borghild’s narration and quotation.
[10] The standard
formula for a Nordic stanza is apparently three lines with four stressed
syllables each. Borghildr follows this formula for the most part, yet
frequently breaks from it. Her rhythm is sometimes forced. Poetry may not be
her strong point.
[11] “Skøf’s son
quoth, my Shield:” A taste of the language, transliterated from the runes. As
stated previously, Skjöldr’s name is the same as the word for “shield”. As
capital letters do not exist in the runic alphabet, it is sometimes impossible
to determine if she means Skjöldr or “shield” in the phrase minnskjöldr, which she uses very
frequently in reference to him. Perhaps “shield” and the name “Skjöldr” are to
her one and the same.
[12] The man’s
mind is “twisted” into something un-Danish.
Yes-- the entire story is going to look like this.
SO CLICHÉD.SO CLICHÉD.HOW CAN YOU BE THAT CLICHÉD.IT ASTOUNDS ME.