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Post by λ U R O N on Jan 5, 2008 11:18:36 GMT -5
You've got the bsic principles in your fic down. But try adding a bit more detail. I took your first paragraph and reworked it a little to show what I mean: And that's in the first paragraph. Don't be afraid to show more action than what you had first intended. The way you wrote it sounded rushed, like you were really trying to get it over with. Just try leaning back, relaxing, and painting a picture with the words. Add some excitement into it. ;D Here's a good place to help you out: www.elfwood.com Just go down to F.A.R.P in the menu area and click on writing. I used to use that place for my fics.
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Post by Xavier Harkonnen on Jan 5, 2008 11:34:59 GMT -5
Thanks! ;D I'll try to get the story to where it's a bit more descriptive. I find it challenging to do it as well as the normal books do. Thanks again, I'll post my updated version as quickly as I can. ;D EDIT ____________________________________________________ The quiet of the serene Draconis ice plains was overwhelming. The only thing for miles was a disturbingly quiet milky plain that extended for as far as the eye could see. The only decoration in this icy hell were towering ice-spires in the distance, remains of ancient Volcanoes that had, thousands of years ago, spewed molten magma forth to form the planet. There was not one living creature on IV Draconis.
On the distant horizon a small speck of black decorated the horizon, three others were positioned around it in a triangle formation; the quiet was then disturbed by the intense roar of plasma engines. The disturbance was a Geidi “Bristleback” Class-II gunship escorted by three slim Kindjal fighters on an attack vector. One of the Kindjal fighters then pulled off, flying intense stunts in and around the spires. The comline was then bombarded with insults, profanity and orders to form back into formation. The Spires loomed almost as if they were trying to crash the pilot. The lone Kindjal then broke off from the joyride and returned to the flight. On a private channel the lead said something about getting himself killed. Back in the Bristleback however, the pilot was tense. He gripped the flightstick with white-knuckled hands. His tension was slightly relieved when, on the Radar, the Machine main city grid loomed. There is my target, Omnius. The pilot thought, almost reluctantly, as if it would bring down the wrath of the enemy, The Machine Evermind Draconis incarnation, the enemy’s leader. Then almost as if demons attempting to block the path to Satan, ten machine interceptors appeared behind the flight. He called to the tail-gunner, “Icru, how many are there?” It was a few eerie moments before he replied.
“At least,” he then counted the specks, “nine Duad.” The pilot then muttered a curse over the comline.
“Segundo Ordos, something the matter?” the leader of the escort fighters mused in a slightly sarcastic manner.
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Post by Xavier Harkonnen on Jan 5, 2008 17:53:12 GMT -5
Behind the flight flew twelve Machine Interceptors, their sleek, razor-like forms cut through the frigid air as if it was paper. The black hook shaped crafts were flying in perfect formation. Able to sustain speeds no human could endure the ships rocketed towards their targets. The lead interceptor transmitted to the flight, “Lord Omnius demands an efficient success here, do not disappoint him.” The others complied without question, as did their programming require. They were now within 2 kilometers to their targets, intimidating Gauss cannon and aerodynamic concussion missiles emerged from their weapon compartments, the hunt was on…
“Icru, keep those demonic bastards off our tail.” The Segundo stammered with hesitation. The gunship was only 3K Kilometers from his target, only a little longer… Just as he was thinking a synthesized voice rang over the comline,
“Feral Hrethgir, prepare to be exterminated. In the name of the Evermind, I shall vanquish you.”
The pilots were surprised by this machine’s audacity, most machines weren’t independent, and aside from a few, and that left only one explanation. Cymek. A human traitor that sold his soul to the Machines, for the price of immortality. A disembodied brain with a machine body. “Come and get it, traitor.” The second Kindjal pilot threatened. “Then you shall find the tranquility of death.” The Neo retorted, with a lingering on Death. Ordos was a nervous wreck; his own perspiration fogged his helmet’s faceplate, he couldn’t stop shaking His white-knuckled hands looked as though he was about to crush the flightstick. “K-keep them off us.” He stammered.
“Will do.”
The Kindjals readied their weapons, and activated their Holtzman shields, they then broke away to engage the machine ships. As the Human fighters careened towards the interceptors, the machines let loose a volley of missiles. The lead Kindjal pilot’s eyes dilated, “INCOMING!” he shrieked over the intercom, but alas, it was too late, one fighter sustained a direct hit, and fell uncontrollably out of the frozen sky, the other missiles missed, only by a hair, while frazzling the remaining escorts. They pulled the triggers on their sticks, but the only response was a solemn click, they then remembered, Concussion missiles will disrupt electrical weapon systems. At first the lead pilot was terrified, then he realized what he must do, “Boa two… accelerate to ramming speed.” he uttered flatly. Ordos, upon hearing this was, to say the least, distressed.
“WHAT?!? We need you back here!” But determined to give their lives for the Jihad, the Kindjal pilots flew onwards increasing their airspeed as they went.
“Yes, you do need us,” admitted the Kindjal leader, then he looked to the sky, “but all of humanity needs you.”Then he yelled as though a soldier of ancient earth, he announced the battle cry of the Jihad, ” For Serena Butler and Manion the Innocent!” Just as he finished, his Kindjal careened into an interceptor, destroying both ships and pilots. The second followed suit, but took two with her.
The pilot of the gunship gripped his flightstick even though he could feel the circulation being cut off from some of his fingers, as if it was the only thing keeping the machines at bay. “They’re on us!” Icru announced through the com system.
The Gauss cannon of the interceptors started belching near-molten lead at the gunship as it narrowly dodged the projectiles. The tail chaingun started to spin slowly then faster and faster until the barrels became a blur. Then the gun started to strike off, round after round until you didn’t hear the separate shots. Icru had to make his shots count, for he only had so much ammunition. He precisely hit three to detonate, and two more to go down, just as he was on his sixth, a gauss round lurched into the tail canopy. As Duaden felt the craft shutter he yelled to Icru, “Keep ‘em off our ‘six!” After several tense minutes with no response, or gunfire from the tail, Duaden changed his radar to visual for the rear gun position, and what he saw nearly made him sick. The inside of the canopy was splattered with blood and gore, as he looked at Icru’s body the head and neck were completely blown-off, all that remained was a stump of spewing gore with his spine sickly protruding from the shoulders. He quickly switched it back to radar and attempted concentrated on the mission at hand.
The Neo-Cymek Nerevar was pleased, he had crippled the enemy gunship and now he was moving in for the coup de grâce. The killing blow, but he wanted to savor his victory; he wanted to toy with his hapless prey.
The Segundo used almost every trick in flight school that he ever learned. Since he had no covering fire he had only his wits for defense. The Machine city grid loomed in front of him, the glittering towers, the vast area of urbanization; the sheer size of such an accomplishment of it was enough to make you gaze in wonder. But, the Segundo had no time to survey his target. He primed the atomics, but set the delay for one minute. He didn’t think he’d live through this, he wasn’t expected to. As he came closer and closer to the city his mind started to chant as the masses did at his dispatch, Jihad! Jihad! Jihad! …
At the ceremony on Salusa Secundus, he was one of the hand-picked pilots to be sent on a suicide atomic attack on main Synchronized world. He and the others stood before the Priestess of the Jihad, Serena Butler herself! He stood, shoulders squared and his chest thrust forward, as he accept one of the highest medals a soldier of the Army of the Jihad could receive, Serena’s Star, a symbol of great sacrifice, so by giving his life to the Jihad he had all three ribbons bestowed on the medal. The third ribbon, no living man or woman wore. It was for truly giving your life. The ultimate sacrifice a soldier could make. After she had pinned the medal on the last pilot, Duad, the Priestess then broke into tears, , threw her arms around each pilot with vigor. “My brave fighting Jihadiis!” she called them. And when she came to him, he remained stoic, steely faced and devoted to the cause. She stared into his eyes. It brought a tear to his own. He was going to be sent to an un-strategic, frozen ball of ice on the edge of the galaxy. He would die on a barely know planet, with a barely known name.
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Post by Xavier Harkonnen on Jan 12, 2008 15:02:34 GMT -5
Well, sorry about the triple post, but I've started a new DUNE story, one which I hope will be the best of all my works so far. I do think I require a beta reader, somthing about this second chapter is bugging me. You can find the Introduction and Chapter 1 on ff.net. ____________________________________________________________________ Humans are different in private than in the presence of others. While the private persona merges into the social persona in varying degrees, the union is never complete. Something is always held back. - Bene Gesserit Teaching The planet Caladan, though a fairly peaceful world, it could endure extreme hurricanes. And it was such in Cala City, and in castle Caladan a pensive lady Jessica was brooding. In the great hall she sat upon the Ducal throne, carved of dark Elaaca wood, with green and black lining, where the Duke was supposed to reign, and ponder on how to manage his domain, but she was Regent, at least until she found Andrea. She sighed, Andrea, her lovely daughter, she had her mother’s features, but with Leto’s hair, Paul’s twin, she had kept her a secret from the sisterhood, telling them she had only her son, Paul, thankfully they had no Truthsayer present, and the secret stayed just that, a secret. She sent Andrea into hiding, with the Sisters in Isolation on the far Eastern Continent. Jessica worried day and night, What if she doesn’t believe me? Or if she doesn’t want the title? She must convince her daughter that this was the only way. The storm raged outside, and she longed for her Duke, but alas, he was dead. And she had inherited the throne, since Paul disappeared. She felt like breaking something, but instead tried to calm herself into a Para-Bindu meditation state. In the state she could consider nearly all matters of state and personal ones as well. Where are you Paul? Where did he go? It was the question of the decade, why did he leave? He had the Golden Lion throne, the emperor’s daughter, all the spice on Arrakis! And he left. Just left. That is unless he was kidnapped. Jessica then, upon her revalation, fell out of her meditative state like an anvil out of the sky. By the hells! My son has to have been kidnapped! “Kolinar!” she snapped, “Kolinar Koltrass! Where the hell are you?” She stood up with a start and marched over towards the Mentat, “Kolinar? Could Paul have been kidnapped by a political or personal enemy?”
“Of course he could. I do hope you saw that early on my lady.” They pudgy Mentat answered, with a bow.
Jessica steamed, this man just insulted her. But she needed to control her emotions, though ever since Duke Leto’s death, she never tried to. Now with Paul missing, she could care less. She chastised the man profusely afterword, using many profanities even he did not know of. Wide eyed in awe, the mentat asked to be dismissed, which of course, he was granted immediate permission. Now my last hope is you, Andrea. Jessica then sauntered to the courtyard, where a ground-car waited for her. ______________________________________ As the ‘thopter landed in the Cala Municipal Spaceport, Gurney Halleck was sent to greet the Duchess to be. The Weapons Master stood at rigid attention with his ceremonial regiment. All clad in crisp olive darb Atreides uniforms, with the Red Hawk crest on their shoulders and chests. The Green and Black Atreides banners flapped in the artificial wind. The Green and Red craft was the Duke’s private transport, but ever since he died, it was used to carry guests of the Lady Jessica. But in the gray hanger, cargo crates and Plasteel cylinders decorated the vast space, but the ornate ‘thopter just sat there. Gurney then bent over to look down the ranks to get a glimpse of the ‘thopter. His brow ruffled as he saw that nothing had changed. This was taking so long, he might as well tell the Lady Jessica to come to the arrival herself.
Then, if it would take her so long, Gurney should at least greet the Duchess-to-be formally. With a military stride he marched to the Ornithopter and lowered the ramp to the ‘thopter. What he saw filled him with awe. A near perfect replica of Jessica, in a much younger form, but with glossy black hair. He hesitated for an instant and the saluted. “My lady.”
“My lady?” the Woman seemed flattered, “that’s a term for nobles.”
Gurney allowed himself a chuckle, “That’s the point. Are you the lady Andrea? Why did you delay in exiting?”
The woman strode down the short ramp and stood beside him, staring at the scar on his cheek. “Yes but I wouldn’t consider myself a lady, as for exiting, I couldn’t find the switch,” she said with a coy smile, “the pilot was automated.”
Gurney sighed as he led her down the ranks of soldiers and through the stark hanger. Many of the soldiers were stunned by her beauty; others however, remained at attention, almost as if not even noticing her. As Gurney went ahead outside, she decided to speak with the Captain of the regiment. “Excuse me, sir, but why is it that everyone addresses me as, my lady?”
“Because you are our lady, milady.” The captain answered stoically, without moving from attention.
Andrea became more and more frustrated every time someone addressed her as “Milady,” or, “My Lady.” It confused her, how was she, a poor girl from the Eastern Continent. It infuriated her, but even more, it confounded her. As she brooded Gurney came through the door announcing that transportation, a modest ground-car, had arrived. Andrea thanked Gurney for both procuring the vehicle and being so complimentary, then made her way inside the vehicle and settled down for rest. Just then she noticed someone sitting beside her, as she looked over to her left, for she was sitting in the right side, to notice a very striking woman in black Aba robes. Then as the woman lifted off her hood and faced her. The woman’s emerald green eyes were just as her own; her oval face was almost as if it was her own, in a much older body. “Child, you are of very much importance.”
Andrea gave a slight, reluctant nod. “Might I ask who you are, ma’am?”
The woman smiled, and looked out the window, then gazed up at castle Caladan, “I am the lady Jessica Atreides, but I am not noble born,” She then glanced at Andrea, “you and I have much in common girl.”
Andrea was astonished that, one, The Duchess of House Atreides would ride in such an unremarkable vehicle, and two, that she would speak to her. “Milady, what is it that I can do for you?” _____________________________________________________________________ Opinions? Reviews? Suggestions? All are welcome! ;D
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