The 2nd Writing Group Files Storage Thread

[The Stranger]

The 2nd Writing Group Files Storage Thread

In this thread I will store all the assignments you've PM'd to me and here I will also post all the new assignments. Please do not post in this thread, if you have any questions or you want to discuss something, please do so in the Discussion Thread.

Active Members:
Mrdun
Edyzmedieval
Innocentius
Meldarion
Stephen Asen
Motep
Roadkill
The Stranger
Julian the Apostate

Inactive/Semi-Active Members:

Previous Assignments:

Current Assignments:
Letter of your Character

Current Deadline:
-

Helpful Websites:
http://www.fictionfactor.com/characters.html
https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showthread.php?t=35723
http://www.utoronto.ca/writing/wordines.html
http://www.scalzi.com/whatever/004175.html

Related Threads:
https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showthread.php?t=97064
https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showthread.php?t=97727

[The Stranger]

The Files of Mrdun:

Favorite Genre: Fiction, Comedy
Favorite Writer: JK Rowling
Favorite Book: lotR
Writing Experience: minimal
Strengths: Imagination
Weaknesses: Motivation

First Assignment:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Dear Mr Stranger,
It seems odd to me, making idle references to an outsider, one who is not of, shall we say, Noble blood. I have a rather repetitive life, you know, get up, eat, walk the faithful and loyal hound, dine again. Always the best culinary delights for me, nothing that is not fit for a king shall not be placed before a king, as the old saying goes. Well needless to say, Stanger, I am worshipped, a Lord of a never ending realm. That may be propaganda, harmless hyperboles, I am sure you have your own thoughts, as you are entitled to of course. I would like to remind you that open criticism will not be tolerated. The joys of tyranny, my friend. Yes I have spared you. Be thankful that you have not endured my wrath. Some have likened me to Herod, some Beast of the East. I am offended, I see no likeness, there again, I would not. My people have a right to the best, we are ambitious although I am the most ambitious of them all. I have eyes for everything, it is not greed, it is merely optimism. I see good, I want good, I see bad, I see no bad. If you understand me, I would be more than happy to knight you. Able advisors are always welcome. If we meet, it shall be a good day, a very good day.

Yours, Lord of the Realm

[The Stranger]

The Files of Edyzmedieval:

Favorite Genre: Adventure, Historical Novel
Favorite Writer: Clive Cussler
Favorite Book: Atlantis Found, Red Storm, Sahara
Writing Experience: Medium (I started my story about 2 and a half years ago)
Strengths: Fast paced action, imagination, image-creating
Weaknesses: Too much description, action is too short sometimes

First Assignment:

[The Stranger]

The Files of Innocentius:

Favorite Genre: Naturalism, Realism, Historical, Philosophical
Favorite Writer: Dostoyevsky
Favorite Book: Crime and Punishment, Notes from the Underground and Tuntematon Sotilas (The Unknown Soldier)
Writing Experience: Minimal (in English); basically what I've written here in the Mead Hall
Strengths: Characters, good imagination
Weaknesses: Not a native speaker, so everything really

First Assignment:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

All the characters in my story would probably be illiterate, so this is more of an "inner" letter.

Who am I? Not even I know the answer to that question, at least not any more. My name is Peter, that is who I am. Peter. Nothing more, nothing less. Surnames are not much use to keep, all they do is help people get to know you, something men like me avoid at all cost. Is it because we must, or because we want to? Both, of course; for we are always afraid of familiarity, of friends, of bonds and of stabilization.

But who am I? Once I knew perfectly who I was, but things change… to the worse. As I said, I am Peter. That is what I call myself, and that is what others call me. We usually don’t ask for more than a name, and
why would we? I have known men for years without knowing more about them other than their names, and they likewise knew nothing about me other than my name. “A man is what he does”, isn’t that the saying? If that is true, then I am a bad man, and will, if what the priests and friars say is true, end up in the eternal fires of Hell. If it really is true, that I will leave for others to contemplate over.

Yes, I am a bad man. A horrible man. A soulless man. A murderer, rapist and a thief. Some say I will not go to hell, because I fight for God, but I know as well as any other man of my profession that I don’t. Our enemies, don’t they also fight for God? Will they too rise to the heavens once they are lifted from their brief and miserable existence here on Earth? I don’t know what to believe. What I believe in is what I see, hear and do – and nothing that I see, hear and do is pretty.

I guess what it comes down to is: Did I chose to be who I am? and Do I like who I am? The second question is the easiest, for the answer must be No. The first one is more difficult however. Maybe… No, I will not speak of it. What has happened has happened, and my past remains the past. I have the most wonderful, but also the most horrendous of memories, and all of them should remain where they are, locked up behind iron gates. There are times when I would like to erase them all, but I can’t and I won’t. No, they had best remained locked up where they are, where at least they will pain none other than me.

That is who I am. Ask no more, for I have no answers to give.

Second Assignment:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Peter sat down next to a young man, or rather a boy, who was sitting by himself on a log in the outskirts of the camp. The autumn night was clear and the stars shone, but the moon was out. The campfires were lit, but the other man sat in the dark. Peter took a zip from his bottle of wine and offered it to the other man, who declined the offer with a vague gesture.

“Tomorrow is the day” Peter stated and avoided looking at the boy. “Have you seen it before?”

“No” the boy whispered uncertainly.

“Oh, it is beautiful. Should you live to do it, the wine you will drink tomorrow night will be the best you have ever had.” He drank some more of his own wine. He was finally beginning to get drunk. Everything went quiet for some time. “Are you afraid?” he then asked, breaking the silence, now looking at the boy for the first time. The young man did not answer, nor did he look at him.

“Are you afraid?” Peter asked again, this time a little irritated. The boy shook his head. “You are afraid” said Peter maliciously, but then regretted what he had said and added: “There is no shame in that. You would be the first not to be afraid. I was terrified myself…” he paused, turned away and had some more wine and mumbled something to himself. Again he offered the bottle to the young boy, who again declined. “Do you believe in God?” Peter asked in a thick voice, again not looking at the boy.

“Yes…” the boy answered in an uncertain tone. “Of course I believe in God. What else would I do?” For the first time he now looked at Peter, the stars were reflected in his eyes which were filled with tears. Peter turned to him and looked him deep into the eyes. His recent uncertainty and shame was all gone.

“You must not”, he said in a very serious tone. “God is your worst enemy, for he fights both with you and against you, just as he fights both with and against our enemies!”

“But… but how could I not believe in God? How could I resent him at a time like this?”

“You must do more than that, you must kill him!” Peter exclaimed with great indignation and stood up, gesturing with his bottle of wine as he spoke. “God is hope. God is forgiveness! Those things you must kill within you, for otherwise they will kill you. Tomorrow you will kill more than just that, but before you can kill a man, you must kill God! We all must!”

”That is blasphemy!” the boy too stood up and stepped away from Peter. “You will burn in Hell for uttering such things!” His voice was thick with tears. Peter only looked at him and grinned.

“Hell? Yes, perhaps. Or there is no Hell, just as there is no God… I do not know.” He threw his head back and laughed and then more or less collapsed as he again sat down on the log. “Do not listen to me” he said resignedly. “Perhaps you will understand one day… or it is I who am the fool. Do not listen to me.”

The boy again sat down next to Peter. “Can I have some wine, please? I am thirsty” he asked and Peter gladly handed the bottle over to him.

[The Stranger]

The Files of Meldarion:

Favorite Genre ~ Realist Fiction and Fantasy
Favorite Writer ~ Tolstoy
Favorite Book ~ Anna Karenina or Venus in Furs.
Writing Experience ~ Tales of a Wandering Knight and some erotica (thats it).
Strengths ~ Over active imagination.
Weaknesses ~ Perfectionism, Grammar and tending to let previously stated imagination get ahead of itself.

First Assignment:

[The Stranger]

The Files of Stepthen Asen:

Stephen Asen
Favorite Genre: History with a little mystery
Favorite Writer: James Clavell; Umberto Eco
Favorite Book: Shogun; The Name of the Rose
Writing Experience: I'd say beginner, though I started my own story almost two years ago.
Strengths: passion for writing and the ability to develop a story from a single flash of inspiration
Weaknesses: too much thinking ; grammar; and often lack of organisation

First Assignment:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The letter of Manuel Dooukas, only one of the main characters in the story " Byzantine intrigues: The Struggle for Power "


My name is Manuel Doukas. It is hard to say why I started this letter as nobody will read it. For there will be nobody to send it. This is a letter which is doomed to be destroyed just like its writer.

Many things I can not remember since that mysterious accident I have survived, and many things seemed to have been so unreal for a man in my position. Now I feel myself as a wrecthed prisoner in one of the towers of the Palace of Mistra, the main city of the Roman province of Morea. But I am the heir of the old and large Doukas family, which gave to the Empire emperors and generals. Before the rule of the cursed people who were Crusaders only by name my ancestors lived in this province.When Constantinople was brutally pillaged by these barbarians they fled and established in Morea. It was at the time of the first emperor of the Palaelogus dinasty Michael the Eighth who managed to restore the Roman power on these lands. He also returned our old lands to my family.

The story of my family was as glorious as it has always been. The family that gave to the Empire emperors and generals continued to produce capable politicians even now in the fouteenth century after the birth of the Saviour. My father Nicephorus Comnenus Doukas was definately very skilful man or at least many people claimed this. He was one of the most powerful men in the Empire and was married to the niece of the Emperor Andronicus Palaelogus the Second who inherited his father Michael as ruler of the true Roman Empire.

I was born in October in the year of our Lord 6803 or 1295 years after the birth of the Saviour. My childhood was happy feeling I was loved by my mother and her maids. My father was distant and he was always busy with more important things at that time. But my mother managed to compensate his absence. Then the time to prepare for my mission as a heir of the Doukas came. In the age of six I started to attend one of the best teachers in the Empire. I was learned to write in modern Greek and in Ancient Greek, which were the languages of the world culture and then Latin, the language of those who founded the Roman Empire before they saw the Greek was the most civilized language. At the same time I was given to a mysterious man called Constantine Matsakes. I have heard few about him and my mother seemed to avoid pronouncing his name. However, he was an excellent teacher and he learned me not only to fight with sword but also to some Italian language. I have heard he was a bastard of the noble Loukas Matsakes, who had come from Venetian Crete.

At first, everything went well but at the time I was at the age of eleven many things should have happened and my life became very difficult. I could not bear all the hopes of my family and I failed pathetically. Few years after my mother died and then I was left to cope with my father alone. It was true Constantine tried to improve our relations but he was not very successful. In a few years time, my father became ill. Many people said he deserved his leprocy and probably these were right. And he moved in Morea, the land of his ancestors. He became its gopvernor and I suspect he was still very influential man,though he was far from the capital. But I little cared about it. In fact, I hated him and he hated me. But I met my love there. Her name was Helena. She was a hetaira, a member of the elite companion class. She helped me to look at the world in a different way. It was not as black as I thought and my nightmares did not happen as often as they used to. We all felt good and we little cared about the world. But it seemed it cared about us. My father died few days ago but he did not die of natural death as many people expected. He was poisoned. But I was arrested at the same since I was suspected of his assassination. And in order to make the things more complexed, I had that mysterious accident which costed me some of my memory and put me in a physically weak position.

And here I am closed in this solar hoping the only man who is able to help me, Constantine Matsakes, will find a way out. Helena is a weak woman, my brother Alexius is too young... the others are not very interested in my fate... and some even wish my death. I know I may be more than a simple observer since I might have the key in my memory. The physician said it would be a matter of time to regain it. But in this case it is the time that matters. I fear I may regain my memory when it is too late... Or maybe I should fear from what I will remember...