As the blood drips from my quill, I mull over the multiple opportunities and roads that the two protagonists from my latest Fanfiction, but those who were here in the year of 2005 will not be unfamiliar with the title of the work. That's right, Tarnished Scars is back for another revision/rewrite. The premise is the same, but the location has changed, the main plot has changed, but the only thing that has remained the same is the characterization of the main character Thatcher Greslin. I hope you enjoy this preview, taken from the Prologue of the story: "Fall of Blackthorn."
The fic is coming out this summer, and presumably soon; that is, if everything goes according to plan. If everything does, it may come out sometime this July, and I will write every chapter as time goes on. It's time I go back to my roots: write at will, not plan everything out, see a beta reader, and release the chapter. Anyway, I have changed as a writer, as you will soon see, and I truly hope you enjoy what I think is the greatest work of fiction I have created.
A WORD OF WARNING: There is some strong language here: two expletives are evident at the end of the preview, as they emphasize a certain aspect of futility and disaster. Moderators, if you feel as if this is inappropriate, feel free to notify me and I shall immediately edit the thread.
Without further ado, the preview for Tarnished Scars.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It was a graveyard.
A bomb had hit the town of Blackthorn at 5:31 P.M., destroying everything in its wake. The entire city burst up in flames, the crackling sound echoing through the lifeless town. No creature was alive. The once thriving metropolis was now just a smoking heap of ashes. Soot was abundant; nothing was granted mercy by the ruthless soldiers.
A solider knocked down the door of a burning building with his heavy boot and four of his comrades followed him. Obviously the leader of this group, he grabbed his rifle and pointed it at a scurrying rat that escaped with some scraps from the family’s dinner, now a collection of five ashy skeletons. Two of those were of children no older than four-years-old.
“Find it! The Boss wants us t’find the thing fast!” the commander ordered, pointing his weapon at his fellow men. The soldiers obeyed orders with a unison “Yes sir!” and rummaged through the burnt chests found throughout the house. Burned books, melted jewelry, pottery, and pictures were abundant, but this ambiguous object was not found. The soldiers threw the books on the floor, broke through the floorboards to see if it was hidden, but to no avail. The object was gone.
“God dammit, it’s not here. Men, go out and search the Dragon’s Den; it shouldn’t be too far away! And if the beats pose a threat: annihilate them,” the leader said unsympathetically. All of the soldiers uttered, “Sir, yes sir!” and hustled out of the edifice. The commander took his gun––attached via a strap––and placed it on the table, sat down, and rested his head in his black, charred hands.
“Major Kimball, y’sure he want’d us t’do that, y’know, kill them Dragonairs?” one of the soldiers––Cadet Wilkens––inquired. He wasn’t the brightest guy in the 65th Platoon; in fact, he only got into the army because of the Johto Draft. When he took the exam in June of the past year, he only earned a four out of a possible 400 points. You were given ten points for filling in the paperwork properly.
“Cadet, I’m sure that that will not be the case. Dragonair only attack when provoked, so you really have nothing to worry about.”
“I really hope you don’t eat those words, sir,” retorted another cadet.
The group of four men separated, each man exploring each of the four different corners of the Dragon’s Den. The large cave, which housed the Blackthorn Lake, home to the various draconic creatures of the city, was as dark as the smoky city outside, but the lake still retained its beauty. Unlike the dreadful blackness that the city was in, the Den was like a soft, gentle, wintery evening, the crystals shining like snowflakes falling from the heavens.
“Cadet Wilkens!” Major Kimball yelled from yards away.
“Suh!” he replied.
“Anything, cadet!?”
“No, suh! You!?”
“Nothing! Cadet Hawkins!”
“Nothing, sir! Sorry!”
“Son of a bitch,” Major Kimball muttered under his breath. “At this rate, the pendant won’t be found. FUCK!”
The fic is coming out this summer, and presumably soon; that is, if everything goes according to plan. If everything does, it may come out sometime this July, and I will write every chapter as time goes on. It's time I go back to my roots: write at will, not plan everything out, see a beta reader, and release the chapter. Anyway, I have changed as a writer, as you will soon see, and I truly hope you enjoy what I think is the greatest work of fiction I have created.
A WORD OF WARNING: There is some strong language here: two expletives are evident at the end of the preview, as they emphasize a certain aspect of futility and disaster. Moderators, if you feel as if this is inappropriate, feel free to notify me and I shall immediately edit the thread.
Without further ado, the preview for Tarnished Scars.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It was a graveyard.
A bomb had hit the town of Blackthorn at 5:31 P.M., destroying everything in its wake. The entire city burst up in flames, the crackling sound echoing through the lifeless town. No creature was alive. The once thriving metropolis was now just a smoking heap of ashes. Soot was abundant; nothing was granted mercy by the ruthless soldiers.
A solider knocked down the door of a burning building with his heavy boot and four of his comrades followed him. Obviously the leader of this group, he grabbed his rifle and pointed it at a scurrying rat that escaped with some scraps from the family’s dinner, now a collection of five ashy skeletons. Two of those were of children no older than four-years-old.
“Find it! The Boss wants us t’find the thing fast!” the commander ordered, pointing his weapon at his fellow men. The soldiers obeyed orders with a unison “Yes sir!” and rummaged through the burnt chests found throughout the house. Burned books, melted jewelry, pottery, and pictures were abundant, but this ambiguous object was not found. The soldiers threw the books on the floor, broke through the floorboards to see if it was hidden, but to no avail. The object was gone.
“God dammit, it’s not here. Men, go out and search the Dragon’s Den; it shouldn’t be too far away! And if the beats pose a threat: annihilate them,” the leader said unsympathetically. All of the soldiers uttered, “Sir, yes sir!” and hustled out of the edifice. The commander took his gun––attached via a strap––and placed it on the table, sat down, and rested his head in his black, charred hands.
***
“Major Kimball, y’sure he want’d us t’do that, y’know, kill them Dragonairs?” one of the soldiers––Cadet Wilkens––inquired. He wasn’t the brightest guy in the 65th Platoon; in fact, he only got into the army because of the Johto Draft. When he took the exam in June of the past year, he only earned a four out of a possible 400 points. You were given ten points for filling in the paperwork properly.
“Cadet, I’m sure that that will not be the case. Dragonair only attack when provoked, so you really have nothing to worry about.”
“I really hope you don’t eat those words, sir,” retorted another cadet.
The group of four men separated, each man exploring each of the four different corners of the Dragon’s Den. The large cave, which housed the Blackthorn Lake, home to the various draconic creatures of the city, was as dark as the smoky city outside, but the lake still retained its beauty. Unlike the dreadful blackness that the city was in, the Den was like a soft, gentle, wintery evening, the crystals shining like snowflakes falling from the heavens.
“Cadet Wilkens!” Major Kimball yelled from yards away.
“Suh!” he replied.
“Anything, cadet!?”
“No, suh! You!?”
“Nothing! Cadet Hawkins!”
“Nothing, sir! Sorry!”
“Son of a bitch,” Major Kimball muttered under his breath. “At this rate, the pendant won’t be found. FUCK!”
