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All righty, thank you.

I don't normally tend to write in first person, I much prefer third, but here's my attempt at improving myself in that particular area. For this short-story-thing, anyway.


The monster walks forward. It walks through what was once grassland towards what is now ice and sleet. It marches onwards, tearing away all in its path.
Shouts and cries are heard as people inside the warehouse toss themselves off to the side; the fire blowing out almost in recognition of the coming of their deaths. They want to escape the monster, for it is a monster, no longer an army, bearing no psychological resemblance to living, breathing humans. They must escape this monster, for there are few things which await them within it, and none of them are pleasant.

I am one of the smart ones. I, Michael, as well as one 'Jimmy' take the state of shock as an advantage. We rush in opposite directions; me toward the skylight, him toward the sewers. I begin climbing.

Everyone else does their own thing; I don't pay any heed.

Outside; some friends of ours. They seemed to have just arrived here, but are caught immediately by the 'monster'. Their bodies drop. Ten meters. Twenty. Thirty. Fifty. The bodies drop, and they hit the glassed earth of the once-grassland, happy to be released of the monster's containment.

The monster has employed reinforcements and summoned allies of its own, 'children'; of its own, to deal with this insurgence.

At first, the reinforcements, which they had acutely been named, waited.

Even still, to say that it wasn't that bad, that because the remaining four of us were able to try and escape was okay, would be to completely understate how dire of a situation this was. For you see, our fates are all in the palms of Lady Luck.

As my arms shake under the tension, the strain, of pulling my body up onto one of the boxes, I take a deep breath. I know I have to hurry, but there are many boxes. They are tedious, and they fatigue me.

Nevertheless, I persevere. I push past my limits, and reach the top. I notice that the skylight is open, allowing for the heavy snow and ice to shoot its way in. The snow is like hail, and it hits my head hard. I climb through the skylight, regardless, and find myself perched atop a building. Below is the 'monster', or the army, being issued orders by a man. He looks familiar, but I just think that I saw his face when running away.

I go prone, and edge my way to the side of the building. It is quiet.

And then a shout. People point in my direction. I push my body back, but it's not enough. Still in the radius of the explosion, I am blinded and my legs are rendered useless by the stun grenade they had thrown at me. My eyes tear, and I make do with what little I can see; which is nothing, really.

I don't know what to do. I am too high to jump off of the building and sneak past them, and I cannot go back in there; they'd see me.

It takes some time, but it hits me. I gather some of the snow and build myself a "snowman". I push him into the building, deliberately in front of my 'enemies'.

Just as I'd thought, the gullible bunch fall for it. They yell commands, and quickly let their boss know of how I 'foolhardily entered the building' again.

Now that they are focusing on that particular area, I go back to the edge of the building. I look down. It looks like it's at least fifteen feet.

Though, my legs are still numb.

Hmm.

I push myself off the building-- on the side that I cannot be seen from. As the wind blasts through my ears, I use my arms to try and bring my legs down so it seems as though I am standing.

CRACK!

I land on my feet. There is no pain; my legs are probably shattered, but the paralysis from the stun grenade leaves me painless.

On my stomach.

I pull myself forward through the snow. Ice enters my nose, but I ignore it.

I keep pulling myself, anyway. It takes forever, but I get around the army. As I get ready to roll myself down the hill, to roll myself to liberty, I am stopped by something interesting. I see Jimmy, but he doesn't seem to have exited where the sewer does.

I turn. 'Psst! Jimmy! Come on, we've made it! Let's go!'

This time, he turns toward me. He has an eerie smile. He snaps his fingers.

The army train themselves on me.

Exactly as the title reads. I will post a bunch of crap of mine up here.
(By crap, I mean stuff I wrote/write.)

Anyway, since I write a lot, I may as well make a TOC for future prose.  

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Untitled, for now

I don't know ya very well, but I personally think that you should delve deep into something. As you said above, something that doesn't really require any thought.

While on the topic of games, why don't you play a game that you beat already? Load that character, and if there's anything left undone...done it.?
It'd be just mindless fun-- you wouldn't need to bother with the 'shallow' storyline, and maybe even killing a few Super Mutants or whatever will 'get back at the world' and cheer you up.

Though you could also, as I said, do something you usually do. If you like writing, then write-- get your thoughts out. If you draw, draw the shit out of a poster or something. Just do something to 'get the emotion out'.

Moping around won't really do crap, as it'll just keep bringing back the thoughts of whatever's making you depressed in the first place. You could even try sleeping, if you think that'd help.

Or do something laboring, something physical. If you exhaust yourself, you won't have the mental/physical capacity to deal with whatever bullshit you're going through, and you may even forget about it entirely.


That's just my two cents, anyway. I'm no psychologist.

Name: Lute Vint
Gender: Male
Age: 20

Appearance: While not exactly the opposite of an impoverished fellow, Lute is fairly clean, his body coated with a pale chunk of flesh that is his skin. He is lean, and his once elegant face has been reduced to that of a mercenary's, though some traces of grace can be seen left over. Standing at 5'7, he has green eyes that are either the color of grass at one time, or the color of wine another. He is dressed in mainly dark colors, tight yet loose enough for mobility. Though handsome, he has multiple scars on his arms, small like a cut from glass, scattered about randomly.

Personality: Genteel. He has good intentions, and follows them through, but the method in which he carries them out...chaotic. Lute has, one could say, very refined tastes, and treats those who he does not know with a certain scorn that those he does know would find completely uncharacteristic. He is suave in both looks and persona, preferring to be more delicate in his bearing when a lady is present. (Ohoho!  )He has a quick, sharp tongue, and could be described as more down-to-earth than some of the other mercenaries about. Being a laid-back individual, he is leaning on the sides of condescending, and just down-right arrogant.

Background: While not an advocate of atheism, Lute oft times tried to convert his parents from their own religion. They would talk about 'God' incessantly, and simply put, would not shut the hell up. They were obsessed-- extremists, of sorts. After your typical 'Get out of my house, you ungrateful piece of crap' anger-induced shout, Lute left, though not the village entirely. He stayed at the nearby church, which he thought was a rather ironic twist.

He hid out for a while, before he decided to steal from the priest late one night, hoping to leave the next day. Once in his room, he stole countless items-- vials of liquids, money, pens, ink, silver, alcohol, etc. Nevertheless, after half-an-hour of getting greedy and looting everything in sight, the priest woke.

Long story short; Lute had to kill him.

It was the first time he had killed a man, and he was guilt-ridden. He fell asleep in the room, full of regret.

The next day, he awoke in a basement with a bowl of water and food and in front of him. He was being held here, against his will. It was not a cell, however, and he was lucky he wasn't reported to the authorities. After a month or so of living this way, he was released on the condition that he travel around, helping as many as lives as they deemed equivalent to their priest's;

'Countless', they said was the number.
Countless?
So nine? Or countless as in infinite? He didn't know.

He just cared that he was free.

Other: Erm, nothing in particular. He's a warrior, and uses an obsidian blade (which is sheathed on his back).

Well, I'm home now.

So, what'd'ya want help with? The concept (assuming you haven't finished it yet), or for me to fix the writing?
I was going to fix it either way. 

Shalaren is known to be the strongest magician in history, due to the fact that he was the only magician capable of utilizing pure life energy in a way that would close the gates of the Underworld. The gate of the Underworld, which had been thrust open without any reason as to why.

In a world where magic is as abundant as air, this same magic is banned. In said world, there is another parallel to ours, which is known as 'the World of the Damned'. It is a vile place, holding cursed souls, or demons, within its confines. This world, an opposite to the one you live in, was believed to be impenetrable. Or at least, there was to be no way in which to cross between the two.
Believed.

The magic, which is learned only be means of blood, was to be sealed from an individual the moment he was conceived. Yet the very ones who set out to ban the magic, used magic themselves-- and not for the most pleasant of reasons. Magic used to be a way of life, a way that had made living easier. Traveling was quicker, and things could get done more efficiently, let alone faster. Of course, some few had decided to use the magic for more 'malignant' intentions. It was then that some of the most powerful of magicians sealed away the magic that we had all come to know and life. They developed a seal so strong that it could be be used on every born child-- a seal that was to exist for many years.

One could only wonder what could go awry with such a spell.

Yet something did.

One day, a strange dimensional gate appeared in the middle of the sky. Figures clad in black began to come out of the gate, pushing their way into the planet's atmosphere. Said figures would soon be given the name of 'demon'.

They would slowly destroy the earth, killing millions in the process.

More and more demons began to appear. All the while seven civilians from underground were hiding away, nestled away deep in the earth. The aforementioned spell was to be all-powerful, and to effect everyone and everyone to be. Yet, as one of the civilians casted a spell that rendered them invisible from the demons, they were awe-stricken.

They should have been scared of him, filled with a biting sensation of trepidation toward his newly found powers-- but they were not, and instead looked to him as their savior. This 'savior' seemed to know the cause of the opening of the gate, and told the others of a simple spell that would force the gate closed. They all believed him, but wondered as to why this spell had not been attempted before.

It was due to the 'requirements', of course.

Six civilians civilians stood in a circle, the seventh casting a peculiar spell that seemed to tax him more than it did help.
"To stop the murdering knife, I agree to give away my entire being. As I turn into energy of nothing but purity, I will fight to heal and cure this infection."

The spell turns the user's body into energy that will force the gates to close. If it fails, the caster will fade away, the the gates forever staying open. The seventh civilian was almost overtaken by the spell. Just as he was about to faint and fall to the cold ground, the six others held him, trying to help support the spell. At last, the civilian spoke, before disappearing, 

"My name is Shalaren."

As Shalaren turned into raw energy, he messed with the earth's physics-- its gravity. With the immense pressure, the gate was closed, and forced every demon back inside. It took three days for Shalaren's energy to finally close the gate, leaving a mix of it and the underworld's stagnant in the air.The six civilians yet live.

They were gifted with extraordinary powers, in which they used to recreate society, searching for the few survivors. This was in order to to build a new metropolis. One that was named after the magician that had given his life to protect them; Shalaren.

The six civilians called themselves 'The Six Saints'.

A strange mark was left in the sky after the closing of the gate, and Shalaren's energy began to fade away. The six saints, knowing they had to do something in order to prevent the gate from ever opening again, performed a spell that would seal it and Shalaren's energy inside a tree. The tree was located in the center of the metropolis, as a way to keep an eye on its condition.

Lastly, the Six Saints sealed their powers away, as well, preventing anything unexpected from happening. The only way of reaching the inside is by naming all of the Six Saints. The names were all unknown, however.

Yet one of them had decided, in the case of magic ever being needed again, that the enchantment should be recorded.

And so, being a close friend of the king, he inscribed it on the crown, which he knew was passed down through successive kings.

I know it sucks, but it's pretty late for me. (EST, so it's 11:34)
If you want, I can fix it up tomorrow.

All I really did was rewrite it so that it made more sense. One or two parts gave me a bit of trouble understanding, so...
yeah.

If not for WhiteRose's post, I wouldn't have known this area of the forum existed.

Anyway, I'd be up for it-- I can make a character tomorrow.

I like to think myself versatile, so whether or not you want me to make a 'Warrior' or 'Mage' is entirely up to you.