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Messages - ArcaneArtsVelho

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1006
Writers' Corner / Re: Problematic races?
« on: February 19, 2015, 10:24:52 AM »
@bookish_fantasy Even though you decided to change things, I want say one thing:
Especially since there is no "good vs bad"-distinction, you could very well use skin color to separate races, even if the colors are black and white, IF you explained the reason(s) for it.

For example, it could be that the skin color is the reason for the magical abilities of the other race (due to how the sun's magic absorbs in to it???).

But, of course, even if you explain it, there will most likely be people who will find that kind of setting offensive.

So, as Jmacyk said in the very first response, if there is no good reason for the color of the races to be different (let alone black/dark and white), then you probably shouldn't make that distinction.

And at least I wouldn't call the other (the white) race humans if I were to write such a story (or any story really).  :-\

That's my two cents. I hope no one gets offended by my opinions: Though I am somewhat indifferent about the topic I do not wish to be viewed as being insensitive.


1007
Writers' Corner / Re: Music when Writing
« on: February 06, 2015, 04:23:22 PM »
Radio Rivendell works quite well for me.

https://www.radiorivendell.com/

Most of the music there is instrumental fantasy themed music; game music and whatnot. And even the few songs I have heard there with lyrics haven't really bothered me as much as "normal"/pop music (with lyrics) while I write.

1008
My first post here.

I went with a little less "sciency" fiction of dystopia. I haven't really written that much SciFi (or fantasy for that matter) in English but I hope it's all right. It might not be the most error free text but... English hard, time little.  ;)

1498 words including the title according to LibreOffice.

Spoiler for Hiden:
Two and one

“This isn’t a very nice way to start questioning someone who came in willingly”, said a man sitting in a chair with his hands bound behind his back. He was struck to his face with a huge fist. “I hope you realize you’re killing me.”
   “Shut up!” the puncher grunted and struck again the bound man who was wearing a heavy ballistic vest over his torso. Three other thugs standing in guard laughed at the victim’s empty attempts to stay their friend’s hand.
   The man in the chair shook his head a little to clear it and then spat blood on the dirty marble floor of the atrium. “I can’t tell you much if you kill me. Not that you have asked me anything.”
   The tall, bulky, bald man with the huge fists pulled back his arm ready for another strike but he was interrupted before it landed.
   “That’s enough, for the moment”, a skinny man dressed in worn pinstripe suit instructed his minion, coming out to the atrium from a safe like room with thick steel door. “What is it exactly that I’m supposed to ask you, mister killer? You ARE here to kill me? Or have I mistaken your intentions?”
   “Well I WAS here to kill you but it would seem I have failed”, the bound man replied, “You do know who I am, do you not?”
   The man in the suit smirked. “You are the Merchant. Mercator as some would say”, he replied and brushed his greasy hair away from his slightly grooved forehead. “You take things and lives from people and then sell them to others.”
   “That’s right. And I, for one, would be immensely interested in knowing who is willing to pay for my life.”
   “Many people would be willing to do that as far as I know. I just need to find the one paying the most”, the Suit interrupted.
   “But you are missing my point. You ought to be just as interested in knowing who was willing to pay for your life”, the Merchant said smiling, “I could tell you that if you were to keep your cave troll at arm’s length.”
   The bulky man tilted his head looking at his victim.
   “Yes, you got it. I was referring to you”, the Merchant clarified.
   This was clearly enough for the man-troll as he ripped his shirt apart unveiling his over-developed upper torso and a large picture of a vulture tattooed on his chest.
   “Beast, stop that!” the Suit shouted as the hulking mountain of muscle was ready to tear of their captive’s head. “Get away from him!”
   Reluctantly the Beast retreated.
   “What on earth do you feed that one?” the Merchant asked.
   “Nothing special. It must be the radiation.”
   “Must be”, the Merchant smiled to the excuse given to anything unnatural ever since the bombs fell. Then he looked around and finally halted his gaze to the Suit. “You know the town closest to the east of here?”
   The Suit nodded.
   “It was the local mayor there, or whatever he is, that wanted me to kill you. I guess your men wandered to his lands one time too many to loot his possessions.”
   “That fool wants me dead? That fat shit, cowering in his mall? Hah!” the Suit laughed.
   “Says the skinny shit, cowering in the vault of his tumbledown bank.”
   The Suit glared at the Merchant and turned towards the Beast. “Take his gear and kill him.”
   A wide smile appeared on the Beast’s face as he walked to the man in the chair. He smote the Merchant’s face one more time before moving on to figuring out how he would be able to rid the prisoner of his armour.
   “He isn’t cowering anywhere any more”, Merchant said hastily. “You could get to him now if you hurried.”
   “Wait!” the Suit said to Beast who growled for the interruption. “Where is he then?”
   The Merchant smiled. “He thinks you and most of your group are dead. He is here, in the bar,  talking to the locals about expanding his reign to this little town as well.”
   “Do you think I’m a fool?”
   “No. I think a fool would let the chance pass by”, the Merchant said, “You wouldn’t pass the chance to kill him? He is there. With only a handful of bodyguards. He is there, vulnerable and at your mercy.”
   The Suit stared at the Merchant for a few seconds. Then he gestured for the Beast to come closer and whispered something to the muscle-man’s ear.
   And the Beast was happy once again. “Let’s get killing boys!” he shouted and marched out of the building. And after him the three guards and a dozen or so men from other rooms departed with their arms at the ready.

A moment passed. The Suit took a sip from an old whiskey bottle that was stored among other fine looking bottles in a cabinet by the vault’s door. “Should I offer you a drink? Set you free now perhaps?” he asked.
   “No need for any of that”, the Merchant replied, shaking his head.
   “So, what? Should I just go ahead and kill you then?”
   “I’d like to tell you something before you do that.”
   “Sure, I suppose a dying man should be allowed to say his piece”, the Suit stated and then sat behind a nearby table which was topped with all sorts of weapons. He took another sip of whiskey, this time from a glass in his right hand.
   “How decent of you. A civilized man among the rubble. You are a fellow Brit? Or at least were at some time before all the bombs and the end of the world. You came here with great hopes and dreams”, the Merchant said and the Suit nodded. “It’s really amusing how even though the world shatters to pieces around us and our lives are ruined by acts of stupid, ignorant leaders and the unforgiving, wayward nature we refuse to change. We, as in people, still cling to same illusions of hope and trust and whatever other bull shit we used to hold on to back when every day wasn’t a struggle for survival.”
   “Your point being?” the Suit asked.
   The Merchant did not answer but only stretched his back and rolled his shoulders. “People put their trust in hope and hope in trust”, he said absently, “Guess that’s some sort of oxymoron.”
   “Are you calling me a moron?” the Suit demanded, springing up from his seat and striding a few steps closer to the captive.
   The Merchant laughed. “I could”, he said and glanced at the standing man who still held his drink in his right hand. “Let’s take you as an example. You trusted whoever told you I was coming to kill you. You trusted your men – just barely enough I presume – to kill or capture me when I came. You even trusted me when I told you who was after your life.”
   “You lied then? You are saying I misplaced my trust.”
   “No, I told you the truth about that”, the Merchant swore, “And you can’t misplace something you never really had. There was but an illusion of trust. Or only hope of trust.”
   “That makes no sense. Your pseudo philosophy isn’t very entertaining”, the Suit said and strolled to the cabinet to fill his glass again.
   “Bear with me. I want to tell you I am no better than you when it comes to trusting and hoping. I trusted that I wouldn’t get caught when I sneaked in here yesterday. I trusted that your man – wearing a vulture symbol on his jacket – heard me when I boasted last night in a tavern that I was coming to kill you. I trusted you wanted to capture and interrogate me. This was my biggest gamble thus far. Thank god it paid off.”
   The Merchant smiled for a moment looking at the Suit who was still trying to enjoy his drink but clearly getting anxious, glancing around: At a vulture painted on the wall and at the table of weapons a few steps away.
   “I’ll be brief”, the captive said, “Now come the important parts. I trusted that your men wouldn’t take my vest. I trusted they wouldn’t frisk me properly to find the M1911 pistol hidden inside said vest. I trusted you to send most or all of them to kill my employer who, by the way, isn’t in town if I’m perfectly honest. I even trusted that I could free myself from my restrains. And I do trust you die when I shoot you twice to the chest and once to the head.”
   As the Merchant spoke, the Suit inched towards the table, still grasping his glass.
   “You see, we’re the same: Simple fools of trust”, the Merchant said smiling, “And now, at the latest, the hope enters. You hope you are fast enough.”

There was a sound of shattering glass. And two gunshots, and then one.


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