Via Jayme Lynn Blaschke: Writer-types: go to page 7 of your current WIP (work in progress) & post a section, and invite others to play. Also tell us what its from and when it will be available. Heres mine, from The Shattering, Legion III: KINGS OF OBLIVION. Ive only been at it for a week, so itll be a while. (But Legion II: SONS OF TERRA should be out very soon!) Here we go: Siklar nodded. It was over. All of it, over. He could see that clearly now. His people, his civilization, was one of the oldest and greatest in the galaxy; it had endured for millions of years and reached heights of success undreamed of by almost any other race. It traveled across the slowly-spinning swirl of the Milky Way in vast snowflake-like city-ships and observed all there was to see, learned all there was to know. And now, at the hands of a foe from beyond that galaxy, it had reached its end at last. Phaedrons, he repeated, tasting the name, sensing its inherent wrongness, feeling the malice that dwelt within the sound itself. These Skrazzi are but footsoldiers for them, arent they? Yes, the first seer agreed. The Phaedrons are a curse upon the universe. A virus. I fear there can be no stopping them. Ever. They hate our people so? They hate all life. I sense it even now. A new wave of these comets, sweeping all across the galaxy. Our people will scarcely be the only ones to fall in the days to come. Siklar absorbed this with grim resignation. The only ones that matter, he said. Ahead of him, the four Skrazzi insectoids had spread out, pushing forward, slaughtering the insensate Dyonari, most of whom had by now been rendered insane by the raw psychic energy that washed over them. Behind them, having fully emerged from the crack in the ice, shambled two massive figures apparently draped in black. It hurt to look upon them, but Siklar forced himself. Their faces were gleaming silver metal, formed in the shape of alien skulls. Glowing red eyes peered out and surveyed their handiwork. Slender claws twitched from under the black covering, grasping at nothing. Something within Siklars deepest intellect snapped upon gazing at them and he began to lose his nerve at last. He backed away, his sword still raised, fear now overcoming him. Commander! came a shout within his mind. Listen to me! Siklar regained his senses and understood that he had given way to madness for a few seconds. His eyes had grown wild and his intellect had slipped beneath the surface. Only the telepathic cry--he realized immediately that it had been the mental voice of the second seer--had been able to snap him back to reality, if only for the moment. Yes? he responded, in some ways angry at being recalled to rationality. Yes, elder? You have come back to us? I have recovered sufficiently to warn you. You must fall back. You must-- Why? Siklar scowled at the oncoming Skrazzi. Why not go down fighting--with honor? Because there is something you must do, the second seer replied, urgency powerful within his telepathic voice. Something critically important. What? Siklar meant only to humor the old Dyonari; to go along with his mad ravings until the alien attackers reached him and he was given one last opportunity to test his curving blade against their hard black shells. What could possibly be so important now, here at the end of all things? You must help me to save the galaxy. ....... Ill poke Michael A. Baron, Bobby Nash, Sean Taylor, James Palmer, Mark Bousquet, Tommy Hancock, Derrick Ferguson, & Ron Fortier.
Posted on: Tue, 28 Jan 2014 04:40:05 +0000
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