Before I was ever a programmer, I was a writer. I wrote my first short story (Super Fork) when I was in third grade, and got first place in the entire grade in my school with it. Ever since then I've written stories on and off. Some were epic fails, like the robot one... It was really more like a cross between Snow White, The Lord of the Rings and sci-fi. It was original, though. Others, like the sci-fi I made, spanning over two hundred pages (I spent a whole six months writing it) were moderate failures. The one with Rosalie and her superpowers was pretty successful, I think. I've also written a large number (15-20) of short standalone stories.
But this RPG is heaven.
I'm finally being appreciated, wowing everybody with my skills. Nobody can believe I've never role played before. Some people have actually said they feel intimidated by my skills. I'm seriously loving this.
Sure, it's about horses. It makes it rather difficult at times... But even so - I'm having fun. I've always loved writing. Here's another sample. I couldn't resist putting it here.
The Exiled Soldier
| Salvor cantered over the last hill, finally reaching the plains, darkened to almost black by the lack of the moon. Only the stars lit his path. He had been wandering for the past few years, in exile from his homeland on charges of murder. Many a mile he had travelled; many a dark forest had been his home; many a wolf had died under his dark hooves, powerful as they were. He was a soldier without a general; he was a lover without a love; he was a father without his children. Many things was he, but none could even offer a glimpse into his pain, lest it be the many scars that coated his body, deep and long. The scars were from the very wolves that killed the only one he ever loved. She was so sweet to him, so small, so weak – he almost gave his life protecting her in that final battle, and would have if it could’ve saved her to live another day. But fate was cruel, it not only stole her away, but took her in pieces from his grasp. Salvor shook suddenly – a shudder down his spine; a tear ran down his cheek as he neighed loudly and broke into a fierce gallop to try to wipe the memory from his mind. The image of dismembered limbs gradually faded from his imagination, replaced by those of dead wolves strewn about the forest. He had repaid them in kind – he did nothing wrong to them. They deserved what happened to them. They killed the only one he had ever cared about. Nothing could bring her back to him. As he slowed back down to a trot, his hooves sending snow up behind him as he moved, the images blurred in his mind. From them emerged the old scene engraved in not only his mind, but so many of his old herd: a dead wolf – still dripping with blood – thrown in front of an old gray horse, a sign of victory and yet also of vendetta. From that scene arose his banishment from the land. He never saw the old geezer after he was dead. The others had buried him; they kept Salvor from approaching. Hardly a moon had passed by before they exiled him forever. Salvor remembered well the long, hard months that passed. They hadn’t allowed him to go to the south, towards the grazing fields, but had instead forced him to the north into the wild lands. For what seemed like years he traveled aimlessly, searching for his next place of shelter, his next meal. He crossed deserts, devoid of life, as hot as his rage towards those who’d wronged him; he crossed vast stretches of endless mountains, as cold as his heart towards those who’d shown no pity; he’d forded rivers as full as his heart had been for she whom he had loved – she whom he had called his sister. No one had had any right to take her from him. She was his to protect; she looked up to him as a father. He could remember the way her eyes danced with joy as she looked upon a field of flowers; he could remember her attempts to tame the squirrels to play with her, the laughter, the giggling as she played; he could remember the softness of her voice as she tried to sing to match the doves. Truly her voice had been as sweet, if not the same. No one had any right to take her from him. A tear fell down his cheek, and he shook it away roughly. “Strong stallions don’t cry,” he could remember his father telling him. Pah – his father had stood with the others as he was exiled. Still, there was meaning in that phrase. He stood to it, he would never let another see his tears. Maybe strong stallions didn’t cry… But it was his heart that was weak. Salvor shook his mane and continued onwards. Far ahead, he could make out the shapes of many horses huddled together in the snow. He had arrived at the Bachelor Lands. He had many reasons for being there. As a soldier, he needed a general. Though he wanted peace, he needed war. As a lover, he needed someone to care for. It wasn’t enough to take care of himself. As a father – albeit an honorary one – he needed foals to look after and protect. The memory his sister was firmly lodged in his mind, even after so many years. He had trained for a few years straight after her death, working to become powerful enough to take on the very wolves that had taken her from him. He spent at least two years in exile; this was the second winter he had seen. He was eight years of age, and in his prime of life. Why, then, did his heart feel so old? Staying close to the line of trees on his right, he approached the sleeping herd. No reason to alert them to his presence, and the darkness of his coat would be sufficient in the starlight to blend him with the trees. He heard scuffling noises coming from within the forest after trotting a short way, and his ears pricked up – he knew that sound. Wolves. He felt his blood burn within him – there was little he loathed more in the world than wolves, and if one dared to approach him or even make itself visible, he would kill it. Just wait. They’ll come out; they’ll attack. Wolves are always hungry in the winter. It would seem it wasn’t so – no wolves approached him as he trotted towards the equines in the plain, and before much longer the trees fell behind him and he was in the open once more. Steering towards his goal, he moved softly and silently through the night. Glancing briefly at the sky, he saw that clouds were moving slowly overhead from the west, beginning to block what little light the stars provided. He would need to hurry. Soon enough he reached the group of horses, and he could feel their warmth as he approached, the combined heat of a hundred horses bringing strength to him. Carefully, cautiously he approached the ring, and lying himself down close to the edge of the ring, he prepared himself for sleep. Food and water could wait until tomorrow. Salvor awoke to the sound of foals playing about him. Opening his eyes and lifting his head, he saw several of them clustered around, looking at him, and he almost smiled. It had been so long since he had seen their kind. A tall overo foal, a beautiful dun filly, another filly that looked just like… The soldier rose to his feet and turned away from the young ones. He needed his head to stay cleared. Without a clear head, he had no chance of finding a herd. He cared not what faction he landed with, be it neutral, lights or darks. He only wanted a home, and peace. But he needed war. There was rage in him he needed to release, and if fortune would allow, perhaps battle would bring him back to his homeland. His revenge would be swift. | ||
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