Demondaze

Oh, sure. Suck the fun out of it, Fun-sucker! Okay. I'll help anyone who needs it. Maybe I'll pop out a few writing tip tuts, or something. After all, that's what I do. I write. It's more or less my job description. ^_^ Now if only I got paid for it. This whole pro-bono, free-lance thing sucks. Why don't I ever get published. Oh, no, the guy with a poem about toasters gets it, and I get stuck goofing off on the internet. When I make it big, when I bust, see if I ever help out that rich company executive who ignored my talents! Wait... what? Sorry. Point taken, though. ...Shutting up.

I never really watched DBZ. I tend to stay away from children's shows. But I am a big fan of the Love Hina Winter and Summer Specials. Actually, I tend to watch Harem Anime. Anyone ever seen "Ichigo 100%" or "Shuffle!"?

Honestly? The Celtic myth of the Otherworld; the misty land where spirits go to when they die. Rolling fields of emerald green, fog enshrouded valleys, cool days and warm nights, all that jazz. Couple that with a somewhat FF-esque battle against evil, and you've got pretty much what I was writing about. Like, the narrator was one of those "heroes wrongly slain", and he's telling the tory of the war, but he's torn between the beautiful Otherworld, and his own home, the land he came from. In the end, he decides that if the stars he knew from home have come here as well, then perhaps he could fall in love with the world of the fallen warriors as well. If you preferred not knowing the story, just diregard what I said and go back to however you'd like to interpret it. Seriously, it's all the same. By the way, you'll almost never see me be that serious again. Cherish the moment. And the subtext is supposed to say "Steal it and I'll hunt you down and gut you like the Grinch!", but letters got cut off. I just thought I'd throw that out there.

::Sure, here's a brief Chapter 1. Enjoy, keeping in mind that this is a rough draft, eh?:: : ^_^ .S. The dragon disapears quickly, and isn't important until later anyhow. It'll come back. Don't worry:: Chapter One: The Castle of Mentor Destin sat up in his cot, the sheet dropping away to reveal his muscular torso. Scars laced his chest and abdomen, most of them small cuts or paltry wounds. One or two were serious, but those were older than the others. His long blonde hair was tangled and stuck out on the side, and his normaly clear green eyes were slightly blurred, as if he hadn't gotten enough sleep. Sunlight was pouring in through his window, however, which meant that daylight had broken and he was running behind. Swinging his legs down to the floor, he reached for his clothes, all of which were piled up at the foot of his bed. He pulled on his pale tunic and breeches, shoved his feet into his boots, strapped the latter to his legs, and grabbed his over coat from the door. As he thumped down the steps leading away from his tower bedroom, he pulled the knee length garment over first one arm, then the other. The right sleeve of the dark green coat ended at his shoulder, while the other fell a few inches above the elbow. Taking the hallway at the base of the stairs at an easy jog, Destin belted the coat at the waist, pulling the material tight across his chest, and showing off his strong figure. As he turned the corner, he brushed his hair down with his fingers, and tied a broad red headband across his forehead to keep his hair from his eyes. Still hurrying, he pulled a pair of leather gloves from his pocket and pulled them on. He shouldered his way through the armory door, grabbed a broadsword from one of the multitudes of racks that lined the walls, and paused at the heavy wooden door at the far end of the room. Leaning casually on the wall to catch his breath, he counted to ten, then pushed the door open and strolled through casually. "You're late." Destin stopped, glanced over at his gaurdian, an elderly mage known only as Mentor, and smiled. "Well, you know me. Sometimes it can take me hours to get ready for a war." "Take a seat, your highness, and we will fill you in on the details you've missed." Mentor offered grandly, gesturing to the high backed chair at the head of the table. Destin pulled out a chair near the middle of the table and ignored the throne completely. Already seated at the table were Mentor's trusted luitenants, many of whom Destin had kown since he was a child. From the top left sat Maelkom, the dollmage, whose long, graceful fingers were adjusting the straps of his doll-sized golem's armor; Duran, the warrior, whose feirce bearded visage Destin remembered from his training; Coran, Duran's younger brother, a one time Knight of Archaina; Warren, a relatively young wizard and apprentice to Mentor; Alicya, an amazon mercenary from the jungles far to the south; Letitia, a preistess from the Island Temple Avalon; and Lance, a self-proclaimed Knight of Archaina, despite the fact he was only a squire when Archaina fell. Everything Destin knew about war he had learned from one or the other. Duran had taught him strategy, Coran had taught Swordplay, Maelkom had taught mathematics and fund management, from Letitia he had learned first aid, from Alicya archery, from Warren history and from Lance... well from Lance he had learned humility. Warren was the first to speak, fidling nervously with his long, green robes, "As you know, Lord Destin, we are planning a raid against the imperial bases in the region of Salhome. Your region, actually." "Quite." Maelkom continued, smiling smugly as he got the armor just right, "And this time, not just for supplies. This time we drive the bastards back to the highlands!" Duran laughed, a deep bellowing sound erupting from the chest, "What my overzealous freind means to say is that we will drive them off of your land. We are not going to chase them all the way back to the highlands!" Mentor leaned forward in his chair and looked Destin hard in the eye. "You will take command of this engagement." Destin looked at the old wizard incredulously, and then at the other, more experienced rebels. None of them were joking. "Why me? I'm not qualified to lead." "We know. But we'll clean up your messes for you." Lance spoke up for the first time. "Don't worry about it; just give us our orders. We'll pull through. At least, we always have." This from Letitia. "If Warren says you are ready, then you are ready." Coran encouraged from across the table. Destin looked at all the smiling, encouraging faces, and he resolved his doubts then. If they thought so much of him, then perhaps he did have what it takes, after all. "Are you ready to give out your orders, Commander?" Destin looked from Mentor to the map on the table. It was a large, hand drawn map of the former Salhome District of Archaina. The lands his family had ruled ever since the kingdom was established. From border to border it was a hilly, forested region at the base of the Charlotte Mountain, so named for the first man to climb it, Gregory Charlotte. The Castle of Mentor was actually situated on the slope of the mountain, just outside of the Salhome District, which made it the perfect staging ground for the raids they conducted once every month or so. Now, however, it was to be the base of operations for the first assault of the new rebellion. "There are six towns here in Salhome, so we'll send six units, one for each, to liberate them." Destin said, studying the map. "Why not one just one massive force?" Duran asked from down the table. "Because the enemy can skirt around one large unit and retake the towns behind us. We could end up surrounded, with nowhere to go. On top of that, smaller units can move faster. We hit them when they are not expecting it, and they'll fall, one by one." Destin said, glancing up to see Duran's approving grin. "Alicia, you take the archers and a small group of soldiers and head up to Bash'kahl, the slopes are higher there, so you'll have a good range to shoot from. Pick your shots carefully. We do not want to hit civilians." Destin said, tapping the location on the map. Alicia nodded, stood up, and left to go prepare. "Maelkom, take... your soldiers, and a few human ones too, and head for Dahn'kar. It's a small town, so your soldiers won't get too spread out." Maelkom nodded, grinned, and stood up, beckoning for his little soldier to follow him. The little warrior jumped up, waved emphatically at Destin and hopped off the table to follow his master. "Creepy. Duran, take some soldiers, head out to Garr'mahl and free the prisoners they're holding there. We may need reinforcements, and there are few better than angry prisoners." Duran nodded and left. "Coran. Mahl'karr has an imperial hospital. Take some wizards with your usual unit and smoke them out. If they don't surrender, kill them." "If they surrender?" Coran wanted to know as he stood up. "Bring along some chains. Clap them in irons, protect them from the locals, and lock them up in the dungeons up here. See if they like it." Coran nodded, and left. "The second biggest Imperial base in Salhome is Sahl'more. Warren, Letitia, that's you. Use the healers as support only, but feel free to throw around some fire. Show off a bit. But try not to burn down anything too important." Letitia and Warren both rose to their feet, exchanged a glance, and walked out. "What about Castle Salhome?" Mentor asked from behind the young Lord. Destin looked away, saying, "That's mine. Prepare your troops Lance. We leave at once." ---------- It was near noon when the troops of rebellion were ready to be mobilized. The stood just within the gates of the castle, the captains on horseback, the soldiers on foot. The only exception were the Doll infantry, which were each carried by a soldier in a specially prepared pack. What had earlier been a scene of confusion and chaos was now a neat, orderly rank-and-file. Destin, a breastplate strapped on over his coat, and a shoulder-pad and gauntlet contraption strapped to his sleeveless arm, sat astride his mount, Lance at his side, and took a deep breath. This was it. By this time tomorrow, his father's land would be his, and the hated empire would be run off, licking it's wounds. It all began now. He raised his hand, glanced at each of his captains, and gave the signal. Mentor watched from his tower as the last soldier rode away. His gaze grew misty as he watched the clouds drift across the sky. At last, he blinked, whispering softly to the winds. "So... your story begins here. Let's see if you can learn to fly." ::Okay, so it needs work. I'll edit it when I've got the time::

The birth of video games? Pong, Galaga, Donkey Kong, Pacman, Dragon Warrior, Ultima, Link's Adventure, Super Mario Brothers. Now those are old. But these games here... The ones on the website... I still play these games...

Sorry about being picky, but it's in my nature to be bung hole retentive. No offense intended by this. 'Manga" are books. "Anime" are animated features, or tv episodes. Or, if you were around in the eighties, it would be "Japanimation." And my favorite anime movie is a tie between the Gundam Wing: Endless Waltz and Escaflowne: Girl in Gaea.

Creation Asylum. I love that place. So fun. Rival CA? Why not? I'll help. Someone with some artistic talent, back me up. What we need to make it big are some Uber-games. We make a few Uber-games, and people will flock in because we've got the juice. So, let's get cracking. I'll write anything. Hit me up. Uber-gamedom, here I come! Seriously, how can you read my posts and not give the screen funny looks? I'd think it's a natural reaction.

This is your last chance. Whatever brought you to this moment, wherever or however you found these words, back out now. Put the book back on the shelf, throw the magazine in the trash, close the browser and delete your history. Whatever it takes to keep you from reading, do it. If you don't, then you risk your world being pulled out from under you . If you don't turn back now, everything you know will be proven to be a lie. Everything you thought to be real will be stripped away, bit by bit, piece by piece, until all you're left with is the cold, awful truth. This is your final warning. Turn away while you can. Alright. You didn't listen. But don't say I didn't warn you. Remember those nightmares you had when you were a kid? The monsters under your bed, the bogeymen in your closet, the goblins under the stairs? They weren't just your imagination. Creatures dwell in the hidden places. They watch you, stalk you, and prey on your body and soul. The life you lead is a lie. Your darkest fears aren't make believe. And we are not alone. Beneath skyscrapers, leering gargoyles, factories spewing smoke and streets packed with the mortal press lurk things we were not ever meant to see. Crimes no man was ever meant to witness, much less understand; acts of charity at once beautiful and bizarre. Silent miracles and vicious curses the likes of which no modern man could hope to achieve, even in their wildest dreams. A world so unlike our own, it drives men crazy to try and conceive they are one and the same. Hey there. My name is Jimmy. Just Jimmy. I'm not giving you a last name, or even a job title. You wouldn't be able to track me down even if I did, but sometimes it's better safe than sorry. If you're reading this, then something happened to you recently, something that opened your eyes and drew back the blinds. You've caught a glimpse of what lies beneath, and now you can't look away. You can't ignore what you know and go back to a life of quiet desperation. You can't shut up and pretend everything is fine. In short, you've refused to eat crap and smile about it. I'd like to help you, but I can't. You'll have to figure this out on your own. I can give you advice, though, and in that respect I have just two things to tell you. First, you are not alone. We may not be many, but there are those of us out there who know "reality" isn't quite what it seems. We usually refer to ourselves as freaks or lunatics, if we bother to at all. We're not a brotherhood, or a union, or anything like that at all. Everybody else we do have a name for, however. We call them the Clueless; a classification that included yourself not to long ago. If you survive long enough, you'll learn how to tell us apart from them. It's something about the way we carry ourselves, about the look in our eye, that sets us apart. And about the Clueless; don't get them involved. Most people don't notice the things going on around them because they choose not too. They're just not equipped to handle the truth. Pull back the curtain too fast, and you might make them go blind. Or worse, you might taint them with the Darkness, and then you're in a whole new world of trouble. Best just to let the Clueless be. Hey, look at it this way. What the Clueless don't know won't hurt them. Various factions have been feeding them morsels of information for years. Montague Summers; Alastair Crowley; The Mad Arab; White Wolf Game Studios; Anne Rice; all fronts, all feeding the Clueless just enough to keep them blissfully ignorant, and not one giving up a fraction of all they know. What's more, even if you do manage to separate fact from fiction and fit the pieces together, you won't have begun to even scratch the surface. It's like a great big puzzle, only the more pieces you find, the less of the picture makes sense. And when you finally think you're done, and you sit back to take a look at all your hard work, you find out the pieces never really fit in the first place. That's the other thing I have to tell you. You think you're searching for hidden truths. But you will never find the truth. You won't. The best you can hope for is some sense of how much you don't know. Finding the truth was never really a reasonable goal in the first place. It's a maze without an exit, and the door you entered isn't there anymore. Record what details you can, forget the things that haunt your dreams at night, and remember the only truth you'll ever learn. Shadows conceal only more shadows.

You cannot walk on water You cannot run the sky You cannot kill a god And legends never die You cannot break a broken sword You cannot bend cold steel You cannot feel the killing stroke You cannot see the real You cannot make them live again You cannot make you die You cannot fix what you have done You cannot learn to cry You cannot turn away and run You cannot feel the fear You cannot live, You cannot Die For all you know is near You cannot love, you cannot hate For you there is no now You cannot be the man you've made Until you've bled the ground, You cannot live, you cannot die There is no here and now In your eyes reflect the storms Growing in the clouds. ::Unlike Other World, this one is pure character. My character in the Grand Drama of Life, actually. Love me; I need it:: ::Okay, so I'm full of crap::

Introduction The light was harsh and glaring, even through his closed eyelids. It was so bright, it burned him just to lay there, but when he opened his eyes and looked around, it was no more than a single flame, dancing atop a candle. He turned, and looked at the cot he had been laying on, and a cot it was no longer, but the long, curling tail of a noble blue dragon. Somewhere in the distance, there rose up the sound of a roaring flame, and the room was bathed in the lights of a thousand flickering candles. Destin stared about himself in amazement, awash with curiosity and wonder. Destin... The young lord looked about himself, though he knew with a strange certainty that he would not find the source of the voice. Awaken, Child of Fate... thou time is nigh... Even as the voice echoed through the vast chamber, candles began to flicker out one by one. Atop a pedestal in the center of the room, around which the noble dragon coiled, the pages of a vast tome rustled in a breeze Destin did not feel. He stepped forward cautiously as yet another candle went out. The pages of the tome, though old and yellowed, were still legible, though just barely in places. It read, as far as he could discern, ...A thousand and ten years shall pass from the time of the Great War to the rise of the new King of Hell. In those thousand and ten years, the Stars of Destiny shall fall, one by one, to the darkness, until only Ryukaon, the Radical Dreamer, remains. It is to this Star that the Child of Fate will be drawn, and it is upon the shoulders of this child the future hangs... Here the script ends, and only blank pages follow these words. Destin turned the pages desperately, hoping for more, an explanation, anything at all, but just as he found another page of writing, the candles blew out. He stood alone in the darkness, knowing with absolute certainty that the Dragon, the voice, and the tome were gone. He stood in the center of a swirling mass of not the darkness caused by the mere absence of light, but the absence of anything at all. It was not the darkness of a windowless tomb, but the darkness found only between the stars. Even as these thoughts burst into his mind, a single flame, as of a solitary match in a world of shadows, lit the distance like a lighthouse in a storm. Destin ran toward it, ansd though he ran as hard as he could, it never drew any closer. A voice rose up in the darkness, a voice no less terrible for it's disembodiment. Child of Fate... The Destined One... The Chosen Boy... you will fall to me. You and all you hold dear. You are as a fly in my web, a helpless babe in the wolf's den. Your 'fate' is inescapable! You are mine! A great armored form rose up before Destin, and he backpedaled hurriedly to avoid running headfirst into it. The black armor of the thing somehow stood out clearly against the darkness, and it's silhouette was far from human. The head was too low on the chest, and too broad. The horns that thrust out from the sides of it's great dome were curled, like the horns of a ram. When it reared back, it was far to muscular to be a mere man, and the enormous axe in his hand was at least as broad as it's wielder. The voice that echoed from deep within the monster was more like a thousand screaming worms than the voice of one thing. It laughed mirthlessly, and Destin knew, without any doubt, that inside the hideous armor, there was nothing at all. You are as nothing, boy! You are naught but a worm before my master! The Ogre, and Destin knew instinctively that's what this beast was, brought his axe up, preparing to tear the boy in two with a single blow. Destin reached out, and his fingers closed instinctively on the hilt of a sword. He brought it up, and caught the blow almost casualy. When he rose to his feet, pushing the beast back, a blinding white light washed out from the golden armor he now found himself to be wearing, though he had been clad in just a bedshirt only moments before. He pushed back on the beast until the huge creature fell to first one knee, and then to both. The beast howled in agony as the Destin's light filled the empty eyes of it's massive, dog mawed helmet. The young lord pulled the blade back and said, a half smile on his lips, "Send my regards to your master." The blade fell, cleaving through the ebony steel of the Ogre's massive head. The Ogre itself fell back, now nothing more than empty, lifeless armor. The light slowly faded away, as did the golden armor, until only the darkness remained. The one flame Destin had seen in the distance drifted closer, and Destin could see, in it's light, the face of a beautiful young girl. Destin had never seen her before, but a strange warmth flooded through him. He fell to his knees before her, though he could not say why. She looked down at him, a small smile on her lips, and said, "You should rise, sir. There are always dangers about." Destin did as she advised, feeling a bit foolish. "I have come to give you a warning. You cannot trust what you see. Not everything is as it seems.", She said, "You have to learn to trust your heart, and you must choose your friends carefully." When she had finished speaking, the light faded, and with it, the girl. Before she had faded completely, she spoke just three words, "Wake up, Destin."

Well, I'll do my best, eh? Let's just hope everyone else enjoys my being here. I've actually been chased off before. It wasn't pleasant, please don't bring it up. I'm still scarred.

Deadly fangs of human mind Envisioned by children pretending A sorrow unlike any kind ...a world slowly ending. Naught compares to home I know Though still the memory flees The tempting beauty of falling snow ...or warm nights like these. Legends of a tragic world Victims of their peers' desire Melded swords, sensations hurled ...towards the light as Dark grew tired. Ten thousand enlightened years Between the grave descent As darkness speaks of whims and fears ...they force it to repent. Painted by a science blurred the planet lies in pain Those who died are soon referred ...to heroes wrongly slain. Sands of light from high above planets meander afar I watch, observe as they fall in love ...with the world the fallen are.

Hello. Salutations and well-met on this fine eve. I find myself here after an extensive and exhausting search for yet another web-site on which I may spread my particular brand of humor and video-game writing talents. Thus, I will, in short order, irritate almost everybody on the board with my unusual writing style. And prithee, should I slip to ye olde English, pray take mine humblest apologies and fare thee well. I do weird things from time to time. If anyone needs a writer, though, I'm all over that like white on Eminem. Or... well... you get the point. - Peace, Jimmy