Chapter Six, Into Shadow

 My other title? Twilight. But that evokes vampires, and we have none in the Forest. Though I'm sure plenty of things would be willing to suck you dry.

What follows is a sentence by sentence commentary on the sixth chapter of the Apocalypse. Is it too much to assume that you've opened it in another tab already?

This single sentence creates the setting for the chapter. From this point on, every sound is amplified by nervousness.

Note how words work together here to set the mood. The forest has only (indicating insufficiency) the hellish (evil) half-light (weakened goodness) of dusk (where light goes to die).

He feels helpless out there. Which, y'know, he is.

"Oh, heh, I'm not afraid at all, and in a completely unrelated note, I think I should keep my pokémon close. "

He seemed small when he wasn't the only thing between you and insectoid death. Did you expect him to grow?

Red does not have a particularly large head.

He's really going for the Most Caring Trainer Called award, isn't he?

Somehow I'm sure that the word waddle made Nyoromo all the more adorable in the minds of my readers.

Try inhalation for once, m'boy. It'll do you some good.

Because if it's on your shoulder, you aren't carrying it.

Isn't he so adorable and such? Also? Nyoromo's pronouns don't always work. His ascension, it tipped back.

Putting a tadpole on your head qualifies as hope in this world. They have fallen so far.

Squelch

Which increases electrical conductivity by george you've made a thinking cap!

He already thought this about Nyroromo.

You know you're in trouble when your pokémon's most useful appendage is its membranous tail.

It's all the rage in Celadon.

Any good suspenseful environ assaults you itself.

Panting = noise.

Not disappear. Die.

Yes. He wanted Nyoromo to walk on a bramble-y road.

Now he's truly alone.

This is how exposition should appear. Subtly.

Once a prison for small animals, it- ...No? We aren't doing that bit?

I prefer this to saying hemisphere, as it has those little clasp bits.

High technology necessitates the use of the word matrix.

Not too long ago. Oak remembers, I'm sure.

I JUST BLEW YOUR MINDS IT'S A POKEYMANBALL WHAT.

What happened to the ones in transit? Through the computers?

Cannibalized seemed the proper word for the setting.

Cliffhanger. Like always. Do they get old?

Chapter Five, Expository Lump

Wow. I am unparalleled in my ability to merge exposition seamlessly with action.

What follows is a sentence-by-sentence commentary, in which all is revealed.

What a strong hook that has next to nothing to do with the rest of the chapter. But you never noticed.

Route 1, if you're that thick. The Kanto one, not the Isshu.

Yes. When emergencies occur, everyone hikes to the north to meet in the shadow of a den of horrors and other such nasties. Because that's how Oak rolls.

Remember, in this world pokémon battles are actually battles. This means that the townsfolk enjoy watching small animals tear each other into bleeding lumps.

Not to the south, though. To the south is Pallet. Then the sea. After.

There was some reason the ocean seemed so far in the games. I provided it.

Because one is so inclined to seek out forests.

The first mention of the Upheaval will probably not be the last.

Most biologists also claim that forests live.

That and the sea.

Medicines like Potion (tm), Super Potion (tm), Hyper Potion (tm), and Max Potion (tm).

Think of what an onix egg must look like. Now make an omelet from it. A delicious, massive, gravelly omelet.

Meat and vegetable. What do you think bellsprout are?

The Fallen Viridian makes its first appearance.

Are you ready to become a pokémon master? Okay, go into the woods with one tiny companion and pray that nothing finds you or you'll die. Yay!

Because that's such a danger, what with only Oak and the Seven guarding it. Any new member of the Called could easily wipe out the town if not carefully watched.

Nothing found you and killed you yet? Good! Now go find the things that didn't get you yet and fight them.

Still alive? Go and see how Lavender fares on the other side of the continent. That should get rid of you.

No. You aren't good enough to die in an exotic locale. Die here. Soon.

This sentence seems increasingly suicidal the more I read it.

Compare it to stepping out the door of a plane with only the parachute from a tiny paratrooper toy.

Yes. The difference in light is that severe and is so for many natural reasons and not simply for dramatic effect.

I enjoy killing childhoods.

Jacques

In a move I am sure to regret later, I have just spent the last half-hour organizing all my information about Jacques. The story's thread is complete, so if you ever wonder why the Half-Djinni Spirit King gave his blessing to Jacques, or why the God-Slave of the Wreaked needed to send news to the council of the Unmortals, you have only to wait for that part to be written. I'm worried that I may be crafting a beast of hideousness beyond that which mortal man can bear.

Of God, Cousteau, Signs, and Nunnery

...in reverse order!


Maria (Part II, written for June fourteenth) was only written because I didn't want to write something difficult. She seemed easy.  She was. I wrote a relatively short, transitory tale and called it good. It was. The story was little more than a snapshot, but I don't think that's a problem. There's something powerful about a nun speeding to the Yucatán on a motorcycle, habit flapping in the wind.

Th response I received was mixed. Elphaba gave only encouragement, mirroring my feelings for the nun. I received a different response from an anonymous source I'm sure you all know. The source expressed dislike for our favorite nun (also for our favorite mariner, but that's neither here nor here. It will be there, though). However, I am inclined to completely disregard this response, and instead focus on the most powerful. My mother never, to my knowledge, reads rps. Yet, one day I checked my email, and found a note from her. It explained she liked my story about "The nun". I was shocked and then happy. Then I told her it was a sequel to an earlier part. I sent her a link.


Crow. I almost named her Wren, but I preferred Crow. It's a good name. What happened to her? I'm not sure. Where is she going? I hope we one day find out. But I think she might already be done, and for that I weep.


Jacques Cousteau lives again. His third story takes place before the Necromaster's death, and quite possibly before Jacques descended into the deepening darkness of the dark depths of Darkdeep. The entire story struck me as both less mad, and more. I don't know if I prefer it (do you?), but I have a feeling that further stories will be written more like this.


Ryan was given the last Gift of a dying God. Is it sacrilege to kill off God (I'm looking at you Philip Pullman)? If so, it is sacrilege of a delicious sort. I have vaguely formed plans for Ryan, but he might easily fail to return. I don't know. He is a much a character as Maria was at her conception, but less than jacques may have been. Yet so much more. How do you like him?

Chapter Four, The Lurker in the Shadows

What follows is a sentence-by-sentence commentary for Chapter Four. Open it up in another tab. Now.


Heh. It never fails to start a chapter with a major viewpoint shift. It's somehow easier than to keep writing from one perspective. More importantly, it helped me expand what would otherwise have been a painfully short chapter.

Because pokémon battles are supposed to be fair.

Poor Nyoromo. Cut down so soon after hatching.

See? This sort of thing is the thing that just materializes. Story ideas are not made, they give themselves to authors. It is here where we work, cutting them until they shine. But then? These little touches appear from nowhere. There's an odd beauty to the art.

It tickles.

Boom! Implication that she is one of the Called from the same Calling as Red and Green.

I'm willing to bet Red has a little bit of shock to deal with, eh wot?

This sets up the tradition of having the girl be the only character whose thoughts we actually read. Yet Red is easily the protagonist, and the person the third-person perspective can see through. What an odd way to tell a story. The author should be censured for his crimes.

Green is not the sort of person who ties rattata to the ground and peels back their flesh to watch a still-beating heart pump the blood from his victims body.

Unless he has a reason to.

That would be Green.

Because "Smell you later!" is not at all something someone who enjoys causing pain would say.

Now who in the world does that sound like? And why is my narcissism telling me to stop wondering?

Wow. After seconds, this girl has put together an entire psychological profile. How astute.

Remember kids. Pokémon can bite. Even if they don't know the attack.

Yes, there are bluk berries in Kanto, even if this is based on Generation I. Which it is. Deal with it.

I had to do a fair bit of research to learn the word drupelet. Now that I know it, I will never forget. It's one of those words that somehow just sounds exactly like what it's supposed to be.

Ooh, maybe this is a clue to what her pokémon is. It's... not a magikarp. Right? Probably.

See? I can include hints of humor in a serious scene. Move over Brian Jacques, there's a new author in town.

Aw, poor Red.

Stupid fish.

See? Here I alluded to the attack Splash. I found it funny, at least.

Red seems seriously upset.

I'm writing this on an obscenely warm day. That water sounds good to me.

Now he wants it.

But my readers already did. Didn't you, Elphaba?

Not as easy as you thought it would be, is it, my dear audience?

You never know what you have until a flaming lizard scratches your clumsy little tadpole and sends it to a watery grave.

Because, you know, that's something you can really contribute too. Let's give the Seven a helping hand, shall we?

Right. Nyoromo is going to keep Red alive in the forest.

Did I just cleverly use adjectives to gain Nyoromo even more sympathy from my readers? How sly.

What are those things filled with, anyway? Lighter than air, evidently.

I'm quite fond of the word nor. However, like semicolons, I refuse to abuse it through overuse.

One, two, th-five?

Is this a bit much to expect from a little poliwag? Maybe. But he's in his element. More importantly, I built this world, so I make the rules. Mwahahaha.

Dramatic tension. What will happen next?

What else could have happened. Also, here I use the British leapt. Take that, Americans!

Apparently poliwag are half-dolphin. Who knew?

It's a loyal little thing, isn't it?

What? I just gained even more reader sympathy with that sentence. I'd best be careful not to let anything happen to Nyoromo then. That would just be too dramatic.

Like nor, I am fond of the word bemused.

Remember what? What does she need to remember? That Red has a tendency to get splashed by magikarp? That Nyoromo can't beat a powerful charmander despite its type advantage? Her pokémon is fond of bluk berry drupelets?

Yes, she swung. As will be implied much more later on, she is adept in the art of tree acrobatics. Also? Nest building.

Aw, how cute. They love each other and- what? Did I just hear more reader sympathy?

The First of Fools

This was certainly a deviation from my usual sonnet style.

Aside: The sonnets are accurately numbered. Sonnet I was the first sonnet I ever wrote.

The first four sonnets are all written in senses. That is, they tell what is. Sonnet VI tells what is happening. I've finished Fools, and I warn you there is but one more. I originally thought to write only the first. Then I decided to write another. As I set to the task, I considered composing an epic of sonnets. Then I realized how stupid that would be. Sonnets are hard. I'll stick to writing my epic in ballad meter.

Aside: There is a short epic I'm working on. I say short because Homer defined what an epic can be, and I've nowhere near an Iliad of writing. I'm not sure I- who do I fool? Of course I want it. Sadly, I've only forty-five stanzas of ballad meter. It isn't even in pentameter or something fancy. Meh, I try.

Sonnet VIII will be a pleasant return to the old style, though, and IX should remain so, if it ever decides to allow me to place all eight syllables in every line (Oh, certainly. Why not drop half an iamb? All the poets are doing it!). I confess I am bitter.

Is it clear that the Fools the title refers to are the self-styled Wise and Rich? That's kind of what I was going for, but I got distracted with trying to rhyme form. I changed the word in the end. Obviously.

Was I the only one who noticed the tendrils of Lovecraft's influence creeping into the theme? Yes? Never mind then.

The Ruse is Ended

I'm very disappointed in you both. Yes, you, Elphaba and Qupar. I will yell at you both. Separately. First, though, I must reveal something that should have been obvious.

It was all a prank. April Fool's day was celebrated with a false chapter eighteen of the Apocalypse and a temporary change of background to a revolting black.


Qupar, you managed to maintain a revolting level of disinterest. You commented only to ask what had occured, and never bothered to follow up on it. You only mentioned the template change once, and that was to say to me, in person nonetheless, that you liked it. No. No you didn't. It's ugly. The real template of rps not only screams rps, but is much more friendly. On a disappointment scale of one to Caligula, I give you an eleven.

Elphaba? You're worse. You get a Caligula to the power of Qupar. Not only did you fail to mourn Nyoromo who you claimed to love, but you accepted the deaths of the three main characters (at this moment). Admittedly, you trusted me to write something beautiful afterwords, but Yggdrasil, couldn't you form an opinion other than slavish loyalty to my work? It's not a bad thing to like a character enough to be angry with an author. It's a good thing. It means you form an opinion of your own.

The true chapter eighteen is up, though I warn you I write it only for Met. He didn't fail me.

Chapter Three, Enter the Dragon

Yes, charmander are dragons. Wingless, short dragons, but dragons all the same.

What follows is a sentence-by sentence commentary on the third chapter of the Apocalypse.

The first sentence was carefully calculated to fulfill a number of tasks. It's short, which imitates the simplistic thought of a mind reeling from shock and disappointment. It also-

Do you have the chapter open? It should be. Go to it now. This will make much more sense with context.

It also serves to give me a platform on which to build the rest of the chapter. Without a platform, the story would rest on the ground, and it's very particular about what it will and will not touch. Dirt is of the latter category, platforms of the former. Perhaps the most important function of the sentence is to review the previous chapter. Quickly. Without the reader realizing it.

It does fit, doesn't it? The translators really did a spectacular job. Mostly.

I have one: superfluseless. Or monowag. Or poliwoe.

Adverb placement is entirely up to the author, and I choose, on occasion, to use them after verbs. It sounds better.

Red deserves applause. It's extraordinarily difficult to prod something so small. Squishing is often the result, and if that happened I'd be out of a job.

Yes, massive eyes are cute, but think about it from Red's perspective. Not only is his pokémon small, but what area it does have is wasted by eyes. What good are those?

I refuse to check, but I think the trend of monosyllabic Nyoromo responses starts here has continued without a full "Poliwag" since. Also, ew. The placement of that sentence is ugly. I should have started a new paragraph.

Squirming sounds like it should be onomatopoeia. It isn't.

Again, Red performs an amazing feat. He should get an award for Extraordinary Dexterity of the Foot or perhaps for Extreme Perseverance in the Face of Squishing Temptation.

Poliwag do badly on land, regardless of what the anime may try to make you believe.

This also serves to nearly blind the creature. It's eyes would face mostly downwards.

The flag would, of course, be for an insect nation, or for other creatures equally as small. Not a Bug nation though, as those things grow far too quickly.

Get it? It slithers towards the water, and Nyoromo means "Slither-child" in Japanese! Am I the only one who thinks it's funny?

If the Apocalypse had a soundtrack, this is where the rival music would play. But you heard it in your head anyway, no?

It took me a while to figure out if Green's eyes had a color in the canon.

No, this is not a magical life-saving pendant given to him by his grandfather that will save him from a [spoilers redacted]

Haughtiness adds height. I am twelve feet tall.

Slowpoke tails are not exclusive to Johto. They are found wherever slowpoke roam.

WHOAARETHEYRIVALSWHATISGOINGONTHEYSHOULDBEFRIENDS!

Yes, Green. Not Blue. Green is an accurate translation.

I enjoy distorting handsome features. It robs the world of beauty.

What, no salutation?

An arbok? Don't be silly. Everyone knows arbok can only be found on Route 23 and cerulean cave.

And how does that make you feel?

Oh.

That, dear readers, is how small Nyoromo is. He took twelve sentences to be noticed.

"Um... no." lied Red. "I'm just holding it for a friend."

Diglett is, canonically, the smallest pokémon in the Kanto region.

Neither did Red.

I realize that it goes against convention for a pokémon to be named so long after it has been 'caught,' but I wanted Red to be so self-pitying that it wouldn't occur to him until Green asked him.

Again, I make reference to the Japanese name. Red is, apparently, bilingual.

Stalling looks ugly, but it had to be done.

He'll probably do this a lot.

Hitokage means salamander in Japanese. A literal translation would be fire lizard.

Oh, that's the other person. Pokémon, I mean.

Is there anyone who didn't know what the pokémon was at this point? There's really only one bipedal lizard.

I thought it would be hilarious to call a fire-type burnt orange. I wasn't mistaken.

Charmander start by knowing scratch. Thus they have claws. Thus, my charmander have really sharp claws.

The ground dulls the claws of those that walk upon it. However, feet tend to be larger, so their claws are as well. His claws are red because Green wouldn't bother letting a stray pidgey live if he could kill it instead.

Here is where the unintelligence of pokémon begins to be made known.

Yes, I used multiple references to find how long its tail would be. I'm thorough.

Deep red. Hm. It's been so long, I can't recall if I intentionally made the flame cold.

Interest? More like envy. Which is a deadly sin.

No. No he doesn't. He wants him. Since he can't have him, he begrudges Green for it.

Unless I'm mistaken, he uses this name for Oak in the games.

Oak is allowed to play favorites. No one would dare argue with him. Except for- SPOILER REDACTED.

This overconfidence would be your downfall if it wasn't deserved, Green!

Do attacks have names in the world of the Apocalypse? I don't know. However, scratch could be an order regardless of the answer to that question.

This was included for the extraordinarily dense. The bipedal lizard with vicious claws and a flaming tail is a charmander. How unexpected.

Isn't it convenient how he didn't quite make it to the water?

Poor Nyo. Attacked without warning when helpless.

Oh, Hydrogen Bonds. You've foiled us again!

Stunned? Fainted? Dead? Bleeding.

The narrowing of the universe that accompanies horrible shock. I enjoyed writing this.

Green had to say that sometime.

Apparently insects exist here too. Not just bugs.

Spearow are the closest thing to ravens Kanto has.

This took far longer and was far less entertaining to write than I had hoped. I quite look forward to reading it in a few weeks.

End of the First

So ends the Red/Green arc of The Golden Apocalypse. You might think it abrupt. If you do, you're horrible and irrevocably wrong. It is the perfect time to end it, because now the stage has been set for the Yellow arc. The Yellow arc will begin the Sunday after next, so I can assemble my thoughts. It was a pleasure sharing the Apocalypse with you, and I think you'll agree this was really a flawlessly executed finale.

Have a happy Easter, everyone.

The Day Dawned Golden

After twenty-seven days without a whisper of story, the Apocalypse rises again to ensnare us all in its warm, grasping tentacles. As it draws you once more into its gaping maw, take a moment to reflect on the meaninglessness of your life without my writing. Then rejoice as you are consumed. Rejoice, for never again shall you know a day without the Apocalypse. Until I get writer's block again that is. Which will probably not happen until midsummer. Maybe sooner. Possibly later. Regardless, don't expect updates at the frequency I once attempted. The rush of daily posting did nothing but advance the story. That is to say, things happened, but nothing really was told.

Apparently, a lot of pieces fell into place during my briefish hiatus. Regrettably, more fell out of place than into. My entire ending needs to be reworked, though that won't be a problem for months. I had believed I had the Yellow story arc into place, but when I look back on it, the manga's story seems to have overwritten it. While I liked the manga's version, I doubt anyone would care to read a novelization thereof.

The lack of response by this point is really very discouraging.

A Mathematical Error

Yes, the post on RPS is not a mistake. GLaDOS lives to Lament anew. When Portal 2 was announced, I immediately began to consider the next Lament. I began to build a story, and a glimpse is provided now. I regret to tell you that the next Lament has nearly a year before birth, but when it arrives, all will be as it should be. I see the Lament as the cornerstone of my work on my blog. The Apocalypse is grand, but it isn't the Lament.


Speaking of which, I really should see about forging that Apocalypse. Maybe it's ready to be born.

Missing: Story Shards

Actually, if I pull this off you'll be missing more than that. Due to my actions (which will be explained momentarily), you're going to miss the next five Shards and the next five Tales. You might miss some Thoughts too. I dunno, I think I have someone for that.

ANYWAY... you know about Moképon, right? No? Then you are a horrible, horrible person. Read it. Now. Seriously, I linked it. Just click the title above and read it. All. In fact, I declare it the official Reoganworks comic. Yeah. Read it or you're not part of Reoganworks. You just pretend to be.




Have you read it? Great! Now read the comments and the responses to them.


Yes, I'm serious.



Well, by the time you read this, it's probably days after you started reading the post (Hours if you have nothing better to do than obey me. If that's the case, I really would love to meet you. And then have you bake me cakes and make outdated references to them being lies.). Nonetheless, I will now answer that question you've been wanting to ask.

(don't say forty-two, don't say forty-two, don't say forty-two)

The answer is March Madness. Yes, thanks to H0lyhandgrenade, I learned about the comic-a-day thing. I thought if they could do it, I could too. Except that I can't draw too well (Though not too badly either. Here, have a pokémon thing)


















I realized I can still participate in story form. I intend to post an Apocalypse every day this month. Everything else by me we'll be postponed until April. Though I may need a break afterward. We'll see.

I would apologize, but it seems to me that the Apocalypse is the most beloved of my works, so instead I will let you applaud.

Question! (AUTHOR'S NOTE: THAT IS TO BE PRONOUNCED 'QVESTION.')
How do you like the Shards thus far, and how do you feel about the new Tale, both for its own merit and compared to the first.

I should draw that thing again. I know what not to do now...

Chapter Two, Who's That Pokémon?

I love cheesy titles, don't you? The best part of BNL seems to be the opportunity to create titles for the Apocalypse without fear of diluting the atmosphere (as this title certainly would have).

I mentioned that writing action scares me because I don't want to slow the pace of the story, but on that same token I fear writing waits as I need to make the reader feel the pause. An example of a failure to write a wait well follows:

Red waited for an eternity, then Pikachu came out of the cage and zapped him.

As you should be able to see, the above sentence mentions a wait, but the wait doesn't feel like a wait. A good wait should have sentences detailing it. Possibly parallelism as well, but multiple sentences at the least. I believe I created the proper feel using both. The first action that wasn't an act of waiting occurred in the ninth sentence. I used the phrase nothing happened twice, to give a feel of redundancy and lethargy. Yes, lethargy is communicated. Lethargic people are woefully repetitive.

Here was the first sign of a reign of terror that lasted for nearly a month. Firefox's spellchecker refused to accept the word leapt and it convinced me that proper English speakers would only dare use leaped instead. I prefer leapt in this case as it has a more powerful reactionary feel. If you think leaped works better you are not only wrong, but possibly suffering from a contrecoup. Please see a doctor immediately.

The sentence about a tentacle-beast seems a bit of a run-on. No, it can't be. Commas fix everything, right,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,?

I'm never typing that again. I feel dirty after such punctuation abuse.

I thought the abrupt change from tentacled horror from Rl'yeh to wet sponge created a delightful contrast, forcing the reader to change their newly formed notions completely.

Hopped was the wrong word for the way Nyoromo moved. It should be tumbled. Poliwag don't do well on land.

Note how I said some caterpie. The larvae grow. Quickly. Blood is very nutritious. Whatever it lacks, flesh makes up for. Yay science!

A poliwag's spiral is its intestinal tract. It's official. Nyoromo isn't starving. Much.

I quake at the thought of using hyphens in writing. I always think I'm doing it wrong.

Glorious Guardian is alliterative and thus good writing.

The ending makes me smile. Every time.



Does any of this sound narcissistic? I hope not. I'm only being honest.

Reflections of Recent Writing

I have just finished writing the third chapter of the second Tale. I invite you to see my thought process.

Wait, how do I title these? I should check.

...

Oh, story number comma chapter. Got it.

Can a screen so faint it's all but imperceptible flash? No, wrong implications.

...

Flicker! It implies darkening as opposed to brightening.

...

I hope.

No, idiot, s THEN apostrophe. There are multiple shadows.

Does he type for the screen? No, he can point. I can imply age through finger description. Wait... I can do that? I love writing.

Wait, rather than enlarge the screen, imply advanced technology by having it approach the man. In midair.

Old people in shadows always have hooked noses. It's a fact.

How many words does it display? Three is a good number.

...

What words are they?

...

...

Oh! I'll figure out what it says, then write how many words the screen displays.

...

Well this deals with last chapter, so the Speaker's fondness for regulations carries over.

...

Is Speaker capitalized?

...

I should check.

No? That's stupid. I should've capitalized it.

...

I could fix it without a word. No one needs to kn-

No. I am infallible. Changing the word would admit fallibility. Which I lack.

I like the way I described the smile.

...

Wait... tightening means stress. I need to lift the corners of his lips too.

...

Is that clearly a smile? No, remember that idiots might read this. Cater to all fools.

...

That should be Reoganworks' motto. 'Cater to all Foo-

Stay on track! You're almost done.

Ooh, yes. Mention how he stretches out his fingers. Details make the story.

...

I really wish I capitalized speaker. It would so much better. Oh well.

The Odor of Tuesdays

The second chapter of the first of the Tales followed the same style as the first. This one, however, focused on smell. While the first spoke of buzzing, here I spoke of ozone. Things are no longer in pristine condition. As I progress, I try to communicate that something is horribly wrong with the world. Burning Fields can only be the product of some horrible event, be it polluting wildfire or massive funeral pyre. Then I tried to give the reader a sense of the alien nature of this world by referring to what I now call the Vortex. I make it an ever present spectre. I give death form. I make the world farther from the light in which you live, but I give it dwelling in the dark recesses of your mind.

Did it work?


And, yes. Today was the last day of the first tale. I was delighted with the ending. I hope you liked it.

The Sorrows

The Sevenfold Sorrows of the Lord is not going to be religious, despite the presence of a character named the Lord and the appearance of a Lucifer.

It came to me in the early morning delirium just before bed. When I started, all I had was the first line. As I wrote, I arbitrarily chose seven to be the number of kings. Then I had the Lord ask a question any Lord might.

It took me a long time to write the next part. I needed every king to have something different to say, something different to rule, and to have a name. I chose names I found delightfully archaic, and I chose lands that I could see people of those names ruling. As it stands, we have six domains (plains, trade routes, forests, oceans, caverns, and mountains)and Lucifer's prophethood. Each king was given a clear standing in respect to the others. The story is not yet completely written, but it's planned. I think I know what will happen, and be assured that it will be sorrowful.

For the Lord, at least,

Chapter One, The Lab

I began by describing the Lab. I saw it in a vision, and I made it be. That's what I love about writing. I can build a world with nothing but will. And I did. I spent a large paragraph on it, so that you might see as I do. Here I made sure to introduce the reader to the idea of the pokémon being feral and huge by saying how they were once domesticated and small. I tried to show that this isn't the pokémon everyone grew up with by mentioning that magikarp were food not companions.

Yes. Magikarp are still useless. I just couldn't make them powerful.

I placed the society on the edge of a knife, always close to falling, by limiting their sources of pokémon to eggs found in the wild. This creates a more maintainable universe, because it let's me endanger the society if I need a plot device. The Seven were a spur of the moment addition, but I was easily able to knit them into the universe.

I made a little inside reference to the opening of the pokémon animated series here, waking Red too late to make it to the calling. Unlike Ash, though, Red is sixteen. It would be stupid to send someone of the age of ten into the world. They would die. In many cultures, though, sixteen is old enough to be considered an adult, and I thought most people would be physically and mentally able to survive at that age. I made the hill steeper here than I previously had imagined it, in case I ever had a siege-like battle at it (I had little of the story planned out here). Red was awed to communicate the grandeur of the lab.

The Guardian was on the roof. This was completely for dramatic effect. Luckily, I justified it to myself by deciding they could see better from up there. Here, I also revealed that the Seven are neither all male, nor all female.

Oak scares me. Once a mild-mannered professor, he has become a muscle-bound leader. Here is a man who can fight off a creature made of rock. Yes, he's tall. Yes, he was adrenaline-fueled. But rhyhorn are canonically over one hundred kilograms, and in my universe they probably weigh far more than that. Also, horn drill. 'Nuff said.

After mutilating the man, I had him give Red a pokémon, say something vaguely ritualistic, and get rid of him. Oak does not like people. People listen to Oak. Oak > Chuck Norris > you.

I ended by murdering Red's childhood, just how I murdered yours by writing this piece. Satisfied, I ended the chapter.

Conclusion

The Lament of the Winged ended today. Its story was told, and it somehow was difficult to write. Despite its low popularity, I felt I accomplished something powerful. Nevertheless, I had nothing more to tell. Maybe one day I'll return. Maybe there's a world to be discovered. Maybe the story just needs to sink into the depths to become diamond in the furnaces of the dark. We shall see.


Note the tenses. We were the winged ones. They are the ascended.

I still have yet to divulge the thoughts behind the tale yet. I intend to, though. Soon, as it's ended, and obviously not eternal like the first Lament. Next week, we will fill the slot with The Sevenfold Sorrows of the Lord.

The Beginning of the First

I wanted to create something that could go anywhere, even though I had an outline from Light up Your Room for the first Tale. I wrote about one thing, using only one sense. Sound. The sound of humming wires. I wanted a sound that pervades everything; something that is background yet never fades from one's notice. I wanted to place a hint of madness in them, an eternal despair. I wanted to create an open-ended world, built upon madness, with only the sense of sound. The next few chapters were built by the same formula.

Bozo's Lament

By now you no doubt realize that a new series occupies what was Met's Song of the Week slot. I realized that Wednesday was the only day without a post, and since Elphaba is preoccupied with her precious fanfiction I thought I could use it. Ever since I wrote Octopus, I thought I should do a story to accompany all of Coulton's songs (With a few exceptions. I can't see myself writing anything for a certain song detailing celabratory illicit activity in May). My hopes are that Met will continue his hiatus until the day God stops dreaming. Then I can place these stories on Saturday, where they belong.

Bozo's Lament would be the first song of Coulton's I ever heard, but for Still Alive which led me to the artist. I always thought it was one of his better works, because it shows the side of clowns we never see. I wanted to give Bozo a story, built on JoCo's framework, and inspired by Len's drawing. What I had was a clown, who smokes, and who dreams of a dead human cannonball every night. He gets pie in his face five days a work week, which makes him angry. The most important information - that which I could not forget - was that it sucks to be a clown. I began with his waking. The choice to make it first person seemed obvious, as it is Bozo who is lamenting. I decided he would be hungover because he would try to drink the pie away. It was about at this point I found profanities sneaking into the story. I was shocked at my finger's betrayal. a rather pleasant site is not a place where profanity belongs in the posts (in the comments I couldn't care less (Only idiots say could care less)). I edited all out when I was finished, and the narrative was actually diminished. I now realize that Bozo wrote the tale, through me, the way he speaks, and that is in the manner of a disgruntled circus employee. It's common knowledge that disgruntled circus employees use obscenities with shocking regularity. But I digress.

I realized, as I neared the conclusion of the first or second paragraph, that I wouldn't be able to work in the dream. I needed to add a new starting paragraph. I tried to make it real, until Artur's flight, so that the realization of the dream melded into the waking. My challenge was communicating how Bozo dislikes this repetitive dream, so that I could end the paragraph with the phrase It sucks to be a clown. Every paragraph ends this way. It is key. Regardless, my next task was to explain why he dislikes the pie with such intensity. It seemed obvious. He worked so hard on his appearance only to be ridiculed. The lion tamers were twins because there had to be two to laugh at Bozo, and twins usually come in groups of two. Here, too, I try to show his smoking habits. He smokes an entire cigarette between the trailer and the tamers. He has a gift.

I had to work in the first verse of the song somehow; Bozo needed a past. Thus I made it part of his final look back. The tenses were messy near the end, and they still irk me. Nonetheless, I think Bozo needed to answer Arthur's question, and this was the way he would. I just think I may have gotten the question wrong, and it may have been about Arthur himself. He may have asked "Do I fly or do I fall?"

Every Saturday I take off my nose and say "Nevermore!" Pie in my face. Five days a work week it's in my face. Pie in my face. It sucks to be a clown.