quote:

Hole in the wall
By SurreptitiousMuffin

Samantha danced the foxtrot with Death. I'd combine the two sentences with either a colon or an em dash His chipped enamel mask had broad tombstone teeth, and each eye was covered with dark mesh that echoed empty sockets. He wore a black cloak, perhaps a tad too billowy for dancing. Strands of curly black hair stuck out over the top, slick with sweat. He kept getting tangled in the cloak, unnecessary comma and other dancers kept stomping on the hem. His name was Morris. He apologised typo too much. It wasn't his fault. They had all been very lucky; the Lucky Hundred.

Each dancer wore a mask: devils, angels, pigs, rats. The band played rusted instruments in the corner, each man wearing as much of a shabby dark suit as could be salvaged. Their volume walked a razor-edged line: loud enough to drown out those outside the mansion, but not so loud as to alert them. Good description, really helps to set the scene of a weird dance party

Nothing could drown them out fully. The sickly, retching tones that shook the world, and shook Samantha down to her bones. They made her feel naked and watched; the low horns, the maddening bells, the pipes of bone that shrieked through every blighted hour of the night. You must have a real appreciation for music, because I can actually feel and hear the tones while reading them, good job Every morning she would awake with the pillow drenched in blood that had flowed openly from her ears and nose. Christ, that's good She didn't doubt the others were in the same state, though none would admit it. Dreadfully impolite. Such things make devils of men.

Her hair was falling out. Her skin was getting tight, pulling back around her perfect cheeks until her bones sawed against her skin when she tried to smile. Not around her belly though - That stayed plump and round. It ached every day, and the ache ate at her. They had begun the masquerades to keep their spirits up, but then the Lucky Hundred realised they liked life better with the masks on. They had survived The End, and it was only right that they celebrate.

No food for two months. Lord Benning, the fattest of them, was gone now. Hunger will do strange things to a man, or a group of them. The maid had refused to clean up the blood: she said what water remained was too precious. Morris had drawn a gun and forced her to clean. It wouldn't be proper to leave such a mess. Such impropriety makes devils of men. They had been very generous to let a serving girl in, and moreso to let her last this long. Little scrap of a thing. She'd vanished one night, and Morris had come to the next dance with his dark robe a little tighter around the belly.

Slow-and-slow-and-fast Why the italics? It seems a bit superfluous they danced together, his heels clicking on the ballroom floor. A pain flared in her shin. She stumbled, swore in a most unladylike fashion. Morris glared at her. He had kicked her. “You are in the wrong time,” he said, “it's 7/4, dearie. Try to keep up.”

It wasn't. It was 4/4. Anything different wouldn't be a foxtrot. The dancers came to a halt around them. The band stopped playing, and Samantha heard the unmistakable 7/4 played on low horns, maddening bells, and pipes of bone. The floor shook and danced without them. Morris put a hand to his mouth, then looked down at his feet, then gave a little shriek and ran from the room with his silly little cloak swirling behind him. The band resumed playing, louder now. A titanic groan filled the room. The movement of the floor was no illusion: it was warping, taking on new shapes beneath their feet. Samantha screamed as a mouth opened beside her foot, complete with wooden teeth and a wooden tongue. A nose followed, then eyes, then two fat cheeks. Lord Benning.

“SAVAGES,” it bawled, “BEASTS.”

Glass smashed. The grand mirror broke open, and on the wall behind it was the face of the serving girl. A million emotions ran across her face: little twitching ants beneath the skin. “PLEASE,” she said, “PLEASE GOD NO.” This is terrifically scary stuff

The ballroom was in uproar. The women screaming, the men screaming, the horrible faces screaming their last words over and over: scratched record souls locked in their final seconds.

More faces now: dozens, hundreds. In the floor, in the walls, leering down from the roof. Their features did the same rolling-eye twitching maniac dance. “WE DEMAND THE MOTHER,” they shrieked in unison, “WE DEMAND THE SON.”

Samantha ran. It was animal in its simplicity. Her mind fled, and her legs took over, steering her through the mansion’s twisting halls. The faces followed her, breaching alongside her, peppering her with little daggers of polished wood, mirror-glass, brass and gilt. “THE MOTHER,” said the faces, “WE DEMAND THE MOTHER MOTHER MOTHER.”

She came to a grand window, boarded up and covered with a lace curtain. Beside it was a box of tradesman’s tools. She pulled aside the curtain to see more faces. She snatched for a hammer, then smashed at the nearest face, tearing its nose away with a crrrrrack. Frenzied, screaming, she tore at the boards until each face was destroyed, and wan sunlight poured in.

Down on the mansion’s grounds stood a congregation. Some had been human, once. Twisted, skeletal forms with desperate eyes staring up at her. In amongst them were the angels. The real ones, as terrible as the Good Book promised. The things that traversed the earth long before the dominion of man. No beautiful men with golden hair. Those who sit in judgement another typo, with long slender limbs and gaping mouths. With the heads of beasts and the genitals of men. Seraphim, perhaps?

MOTHER.

The word shook her, less heard than felt. Something else shook her from the inside. She put a hand on her swollen stomach. Not a swollen belly like a poor boy in the street, but that of a mother-in-waiting. Impossible: there was no father she knew of. Not even Morris, with his groping hands and greedy eyes. She stood bloodied, hammer in hand, standing above the terrible throng of heaven. She wept at their beauty. A single tiny kick rocked her body. She sobbed, for an instant, she saw the world her son would usher in. The place that made painters awake screaming in the dead of night. The chosen kingdom, millions of years in the making.

She raised the hammer, then brought the iron claw down on her gut.

The Grand Host of Heaven howled from their many mouths. Their bodies twisted and jackknived. A crack of thunder came, and each creature covered its ears. Another crack and they were gone, leaving only the ragged skin-and-bone army of men in their wake. Samantha fell to her knees, and the final sleep took her.

I'm shocked, shocked and ashamed. Shocked in the thought of to what extent you as a person had to draw upon to evoke such horrific images and ashamed that I as a writer am unable to do so much as half of the same in mine. This was a dark, twisted story about birth and the end of the world--two themes I have attempted to address and failed to do so. Muffin, you are a talented writer. My only criticisms are your quirks, such as the typos I've observed and the curious choice of italicizing the first part of a sentence in the middle of the story which made it look out of place. Work on those and your writing will appear that much more cohesive and add to the overall immersion for the reader.

Nubile Hillock posted:

I'm in, with a I guess...

My God shall be the blind God of Winter and failed harvests.

newtestleper posted:

Does a god need a name?

Fumblemouse posted:

Absolutely no muggle-loving or your final grade will be adversely affected.

Benny Profane posted:

You got it. One more left if anybody wants it.

contagonist posted:

Rip me a new one Benny.

Maugrim posted:

Linecrit for Black Metal Week - Benny the Snake

quote:

The Order in Silver

Coletta Myravi got the cold fever. When her husband, Vido, came up to her workshop to replace the alchem-candles, he dropped the vials and rushed to her side – her head slumped over sweat-stained schematics, and her hair cast over brass cogs gleaming in moons' light. This is a good way of showing how Coletta is an alchemist without telling by describing her tools-good intro

He wrapped his robe-sleeved arm around her shoulders and sat her back in her chair, asking with a small fear shaking his voice, “Coletta, dearest Coletta, what is the matter with you?”

Her breath was heavy and hot, her skin shining and damp. Coletta opened her eyes and asked, whilst her pupils were as wide and as dark as a starless sky, “None wind the moons, yet they still move without end. The tides are bound to them, what else can be?” Exhaustion touched her, so Vido took her up in his arms to carry her to their bed, wherein neither slept for the whole night.

In the next morning, before the sunlight crept over the Towers Of The Lawgiver, Vido left to find their physician. Coletta tossed and shivered in the sheets, finding neither rest or I’d put “nor” here, if only to fit with the narrator’s antiquated voice respite. In one toss, she struck down a pitcher of water sitting aside the bed, sending it crashing to pieces on the floor.

She looked to see what she had done, and instead found a One Eye Mask staring at her from within the water. The woman wearing it climbed out of the puddle, shards of glass raining off her mirror dress. Her arms were unsleeved, and where there would be skin there was only black.

Coletta asked, so wearily, “Who are you who visits me, whilst I am tormented by this affliction?” You got the structure of the sentence wrong--it should be speech first, description asked--”Who are you who visits me whilst I am tormented by this affliction?” Coletta so wearily asked”

Whom was only a stranger who briefly knelt at Coletta's bedside, and tilted her head.

“Ioc. I am the questions that are your true curse, and the answers that are your cure.”

The above sentence reads clunky. I don’t know, but I don’t think a higher power would state their name first then describe their influence afterwards. I’d rewrite it by cutting out the God’s name, it just sounds a lot more profound and impressive if the supreme being in question were to leave their identity obscured and keep it that way for the time being. Gods workingin mysterious ways and all that.

So Ioc stood, and took off her One Eye Mask I don’t see why the mask would be capitalized unless it’s an established artifact, otherwise it looks out of place. Behind it turned and clicked the Verified Labyrinth Again with the random title-izations. I know you’re trying to make it sound more profound and grand on a mythological scale, but it just comes off as video-gamey, itself so many cubes with grooves cut into them, constantly sliding and twisting about each other. Ioc held out the hand with no mask, and Coletta took it. She stood up from the bed, and walked inside Ioc's face.

Vido returned with their physician and went to Coletta's bedside and found her resting still. After examination, and much to Vido's comfort, the doctor said that her cold fever was abating, and left suggesting that she have their warmest foods and best teas.

On the afternoon of the next day, Coletta still slumbered and Vido entertained a Pontifficial of The Lawgiver.

The paragraphs above and below should be combined

Vido met the man downstairs, in a drawing room furnished neatly but without extravagance. They sat in high-backed chairs, Vido dressed in modest finery, contrasted with the gilt opulence of the Pontifficial's uniform. It was over steaming Holtenheim tea that they spoke.

“In continued obeisance of The Lawgiver, we are constructing a new Judicial Temple in the Greenstone quarter,” the Pontifficial spoke, stirring his tea with a metal spoon. “The profligate lawlessness of the district shall be crushed under the temple's stones, and we require a clock by which to conduct our days.”

Vido said, nodding, “I am sure that if you provide specifications, we can estimate the cost accurately.” New paragraph here
The Pontifficial waved away the notion, and corrected “from all citizens we are tithing to fund the temple. Build us the clock on your own, and it will count as your tithe.”

As they argued, Coletta walked aside Ioc through her Verified Labyrinth. Coletta knew that without Ioc's hand to guide her, she would be lost hopelessly – paths folded into themselves and new routes through the maze would open above and below them. Through halls of impossible angles they glimpsed through the walls at true orders and fundamental laws lurking under the skin of the real. Ioc cast her hand towards one warped wall.
Combine these two paragraphs
Coletta saw the revolving spheres of Terra around Sol, and of the three moons Istar, Luna, and Orvus around Terra. Over the surface of each body was cut symbols in series, unique to each body.
Second verse, same as the first
“One day, Sol will eat them. Until then, Orvus, Luna, and Istar shall ever circle Terra,” Ioc said.

Coletta reached through the wall, and at the far moon Orvus. When her finger touched the cratered image, it – and every other sphere – fragmented and collapsed, until only the symbols remained in the void, cast in the moons' stones – still revolving around Terra.
Seriously dude, you have a bad habit of fragmenting your paragraphs. Small paragraphs work best when each of them feel like they're independent of eachother, but yours feel like they should be condensed. Like how below your paragraph starts with how Coletta looks at Ioc--that really ought to immediately follow the previous sentence.
She looked to Ioc, in whom gears filled the standing shadow. Brass, skeletal fingers grasped the mirror dress, and ripped in it jagged halves. Within Ioc's breast lie the prime moving gears – three, of different sizes and different speeds.

“What have you become?” Coletta asks, stepping back from Ioc.

“What you have already built.”

Coletta woke, every limb filled with urgency, her thoughts cutting schematics into itself as she tore the sheets from her body. She rushed downstairs to find her husband escorting the Pontificial out.

“I have seen a wonder that must be, and I must build it!” she cried out, to the bewilderment of both Vido and the Pontifficial.

For a month Coletta labored. The image of the machine was burned into her mind, and every time she closed her eyes she saw the gears and pistons and their alloys and measures. She committed to document only those components she could not fashion herself, to be constructed by smith and metalworker. Sleep came rarely, her every thought and motion devoted to the arcane work.

Above all components, three were of highest importance.
One-sentence paragraphs should be like bullets--small, yet pack a hell of a punch. This doesn't, it's just exposition that would, again, be better served if it were condensed with the above paragraph
Coletta needed three gears, of different size and different speed. One would be carved from the stone of luna, another cast from the glass of Istar, and the last wrought from the metals of Orvus.

She sought an art collector for the Lunar stone, trading a clockwork key that could master any lock for one such stone in his collection. For the Orvic metal, she fashioned a hidden gun for a trader who had recovered one from a crater on his route. And for the Istarian glass, she traded with a mystic a clock attuned to that moon's motions.

By the twenty eighth day of Coletta's endeavor, after she had assembled the machine in her workshop and fashioned the gears, she carved into each the symbols she witnessed within the Verified Labyrinth. Onto an iron axel [b[axle[/b] she fitted them, one carved with the symbols for Terra. But before she could complete the machine, she heard breaking wood and Vido crying out from downstairs. She left the gears on the desk and dashed to descend.

Their door was smashed open, and gold-armored Dictists bearing the triangle, circle, and square devices of The Lawgiver stood in the doorway – one with an arm locked around Vido's neck.

“Coletta Myravi,” one said from behind a golden mask. “You will be taken in custody, for not relinquishing your tithe and conspiring with a thief, a spy, and a sorcerer.”

Coletta knew nothing of his latter claims, but knew that her work was of greater importance than them all. Every corner of her soul knew that she must complete her machine. She turned and ran back up the stairs, the speaking Dictist charging after her whilst drawing his sword.

She reached the workshop and tossed behind her a brass mirror to block the Dictists' path. Just behind her, he smashed it away, leaving a dent in the metal. Coletta took the prime gears from the table and pushed them into the chest of her machine, but before she could set them into motion, the Dictist struck her down by the pommel of his sword.

The One Eye Mask watched out from the warped brass, as the Dictist stood over her.

“With the blessing of The Lawgiver, I incarcerate you justly,” said the Dictist, as he took her arm.

“You do not,” said The Lawgiver, standing behind him with his back to the Dictist, garbed in an iron suit. The Dictist turned, dread slowing him. In front of The Lawgiver, from the dented mirror Ioc stepped free. She walked towards Coletta's machine as The Lawgiver spoke.

“She has neither stolen, nor spied, nor consorted with dead nightmares.”

The Dictist drops Coletta, putting his hand on his chest sudden tense change. “She has refused her tithe to the new temple! She built this mad device! She is derelict in her obligation!”

“An obligation I never issued,” The Lawgiver said, as Coletta crawled up to her machine. “The only guilty parties here are you Dictists and Pontifficials, who fleece this city under my name. For this, I retract my blessing. My Law protects you no more.”

Ioc helped her to her feet, and with a weary smile, Coletta set the gears in motion. “It is finished,” she said, as the gears of Orvus, Luna, ans and Istar ground on their axel, setting ten thousand gears in motion.

Contagonist, this is a decent tale of a person building an infernal machine. It would've worked better if you were more mindful of your structure. You have a very bad habit of fragmenting your paragraphs which makes the story feel flimsy and lacking. Ioc probably shouldn't of revealed her name and instead remained ambiguous which would of benefited her status as the Goddess of insanity and madness. Be mindful of your structure and story direction for next time and you should be fine.

CancerCakes posted:

Open invitation - crit me or brawl me

Anyone want to throw down?

Maugrim posted:

Benny the Snake's boring newspaper article wins by a hair thanks to his opponent trying to be too clever by half in ignoring/subverting the prompt.

crabrock posted:

*music starts to play*

Tyrannosaurus posted:

Hey Benny the Snake. Remember this lovely story? I do. I also remember your little bitchfit over the judgment. Brawl me.

Ironic Twist posted:

Let's do this.

Bennosaurus Brawl

1000 words, write me a funny story where all the characters are either under 10 years old or over 80 years old.

Ironic Twist posted:

Deadline is midnight EST next Sunday.

Grizzled Patriarch posted:

Entries are closed.

Ironic Twist posted:

Victory to the T-Rex.

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

Biographies were becum by your mum

crabrock posted:

ATTN new people: cache cab is crazy, and is best ignored. same goes for benny the snake and sitting here.

Sitting Here posted:

Your wizard has the power to calm people, animals, and crowds of people and animals with his voice, and heal contaminated or blighted earth with his hands. It is virtually impossible for violence to happen around him.

Killfast37 posted:

Entenzahn posted:

Attn wizard week toxxers: I promised you wizard week crits but since there's been a fuckton of them flying around already I'll instead give you the pick of any of your TD entries. Just let me know what you want critted. I'll probably start going through the list by Sunday so if I haven't heard from you till then you get your regular old wizard crit.

The list again: Broenheim, Wangless Wonder, ravenkult, newtestleper, Dr. Kloctopussy, Benny the Snake, skwidmonster, kurona_bright, curlingiron, Auraboks, Doctor Idle, Maugrim

Also thanks for the crits sh, crabman, beefman, hammerman, maugriman and tonicboy aka the half-a-dirty-dozen

Mercedes posted:

Sweet, thanks li- FAST JUDGING GOOD JUDGING

quote:

Valley of Death

by Mercedes

Just so you know, Mercedes, I had to go through this whole document and fix the spacing between paragraphs.  You oughta take this kinda stuff into consideration.

The doors to the abandoned research facility protested with metallic screeching as Janice and her team of armed mercenaries pried them open with crow bars. A mangled body with deep gashes all over its exposed skin tumbled out through the opening.

Merge the above and below into a single paragraph

One of the soldiers broke the silence with an involuntary dry heave.
Merge
“Where’s his face, man?” asked one of the grunts.

“We didn’t pay you so you can ask questions,” Janice flicked on her flashlight and cut into the darkness, "after you.”

The mercenaries hesitated, like a skydiver pausing to gather the courage to jump.  Try "The mercenaries hesitated like virgin skydivers", it works better. Everyone took their turn to step over the body without disturbing it. Janice averted her eyes. Guess that explains why this facility went silent.  Sudden and inexplicable shift into 2nd person.

Light beams swept through dark halls. Every few paces glistened with splashes of viscera against the walls and floors. Janice watched the inquisitive grunt from earlier turn his head to look at her, the question plain on his face--what the hell did you get us into? Janice wished she knew.

It felt like it took days to finally reach their destination. The metal-fortified windows to the containment chamber have been blown completely out of its fixtures and are embedded into the opposite wall with a red, pulpy stain in the middle that reminds Janice of a bug splattering against a windshield. Tense shift
Merge
She strides over to the console and presses a few buttons to no effect.Tense shift

“I’ve seen way too many horror movies that start this way, Doc. I’m not too keen on ‘splitting up’,"Yeah, I just saw "Avengers 2" so I've had it up to here with any kind of twee "I'm so meta!" dialogue, so this had better be good. said the same soldier from before. He can’t keep his fear from making his voice quiver.

“It’s a good thing I won’t ask you to. You’d probably be the first to die, I’m afraid,” Janice said with the practiced coolness of someone who’s waited their entire life to say that line. Bad Mercedes.She reached into her backpack and pulled out a large battery with a USB cable coming out from it. “We’re professionals and this isn’t a horror movie. And you just had to double-down.   Stop trying to be too clever for your own good, dude After I finish recording all the logs from this fiasco, we can leave and you can go change your tampon.”  Now that's just petulant.  
Merge
A few of the other mercenaries snickered under their breath.

Janice opened a compartment full of wires and ports, then plugged the battery cable right in. A voice immediately spoke and startled the soldiers into pointing their weapons at the console.
Merge
“This is Dr. Tass, overseer of project Psionic Senses-”

“Come on, Doc,” said a mercenary.

Janice paused the recording at the interruption and turned to the soldier with irritation plain on her face.

“What if whatever killed all these scientists is still in the building? We’d be broadcasting our location to it.”

“Well,” Janice said, turning back to the console. “That’s why you have guns.” She started the recorder again.

“-our volunteer is Dr. Marshall. I will allow her to provide consent and explanation as to what we are doing.”

“I am Dr. Antoinette Marshall, volunteer to this project. Recently, a new element was discovered and through animal testing, we noted physiological mutations in laboratory mice that resulted in highly intelligent creatures able to manipulate their environment through a force of will.

“We will attempt to replicate the results in the mice by administering the element in an aerosol to a human subject and documenting the results.”

“Starting procedures,” said Dr Tass, ”In three… two… one…” There’s an extended silence with a faint hiss in the audio background. Antoinette screamed as if she were tortured then a resounding boom distorted the audio with its volume.

”Antoinette!” Dr. Tass was panicked and pounding on the glass. He stuttered and paused, as if to compose himself, then rapid fires his description of the events. ”Subject is unresponsive. Levitating. Hair swimming around her head. Strange force crashed into the windows and-”

“Like, do you have any gum?”

Dr. Tass stuttered, “I-I’m sorry? Antoinette?”

“Gag me with a spoon!” Another boom crackled through the speaker along with a human scream that was quickly silenced.

“Holy poo poo,” one of the soldiers said.

Janice nodded. “Yea, tell me about-”
The sound of machine gun fire got everyone’s head to snap in the same direction. Levitating with bullets suspended in the air inches from her face was Antoinette. She made no movement, but the soldier with the firing rifle exploded in a shower of viscera.

“Like, oh em gee, that was so loud, right?” Antoinette snapped her gum, blew out a bubble and released the bullets to clatter to the ground.  And that's our monster.  Not some kind of unintelligible horror, or at least not a serious one.  You know, if your attempts at being "meta" didn't fail so hard, this attempt at being ironic wouldn't suck so hard.

Oh, while I'm here, merge!  

Everyone opened fire.

In a blind panic, Janice yanked her recording device out from the console and ran as fast as she could in the direction away from the dying soldiers.
merge
It didn’t take long for the gunfire to stop. It took even less time for Antoinette to fly past him, her visage a long smear of color coming to stop in her way. There’s not a drop of blood on her.Sudden tense shift
Merge
He Who's he?halted, out of breath, tears in her eyes and looked at Antoinette expected a sudden pain burst through her chest.  That last part was unintelligible.  So did you make a mistake and is "he" supposed to be Janice and is "he" expecting a chestburster to explode from Antoinette's chest?  I really don't know what the gently caress is going on at this point

“Let’s go shopping. Can we, like, get some Starbucks? I haven’t had a decaf soy latte with an extra shot and cream in, like, forever, ya know?”  

Janice blinked. She wet her lips and blinked again. “Uh… yes?”

Antoinette clasped her hands together like an excited little girl getting a pony for a birthday present. “This is gonna be super! We can paint our nails, go shopping forever, talk about boys, try on soooooo many clothes and brush each other’s hair! Oh my God, there’s this mall that has, like, everything a girl could ever want, ya know? Oh, and my daddy has, like, so much money so we can do this all day every day! We can color coordinate our clothes and our nails. Like, oh em gee, there's this cool nail salon I once drove by and they do the awesomest designs I have ever seen, they are like to die for. Where was I? Oh, I knew a hair girl who did the most amazing job layering my hair, it was totes mcgotes unbelievable!”

Janice pulled a pistol from its holster, pressed it to her temple and pulled the trigger. Now I've seen everything!

This was rather unpleasant to read.  Let's start with the content.  There's a reason why I brought up "Avengers 2"--the content reads like you're emulating Joss Whedon's style of meta-fiction by trying to be clever and point out the absurdity inherent within the premise, especially through the dialogue and the twist.  The whole thing begins as a wrote send-up to "Alien" in how we have a hardened team of mercenaries crawling down claustrophobic hallways filled with gore and spouting bullshit lines like "go change your tampon".  But the twist is that the monster is essentially a teenage girl.  That's not a twist, that's a cliche right there because all that lead-up was just one big cliche.  In fact, your characters point out how they're following from the big book of horror film cliches while they're going through with them!  Don't call out your mistakes and then repeat them, that just makes you look look like a giant hypocrite and it completely destroys my suspension of disbelief.  Simply put, you're not fooling anybody by pointing out how bad of an idea this is if you're going to follow through with it anyway.  

As for the grammar, your paragraphs are severely fragmented.  You jump between tenses, you even jump between third and second person point of view.  The schizophrenic grammar made the unpleasant story that much more unpleasant for me to read.  You're better than this, Mercedes, much better than this.

skwidmonster posted:

Also sweet baby james I can't wait to watch this motherfucking brawl.

dmboogie posted:

Rogue's Eyes
(1243 words)

The earliest thing Vi could remember was from when she was still a child, when the thick red cloth tied around her eyes was still strange and uncomfortable Oh hi there, not-Daredevil! . She sat on the cold, stone benches of the church with the other initiates, and even though there were nearly fifty in the chamber, not a whisper could be heard as they listened.

"You will become tools to keep our holy city from harm." Their teacher said, his voice deep and commanding. I'm only gonna say this once--dialogue is not an independent clause, therefore it cannot be its own sentence. I"m gonna instead put up an asterisk every time I see it from here on out."But know this: being a tool will not absolve you of your sins. You will be robbed of your sight not only as a means to strengthen you, but as a means to atone, as well. You will remove your blindfold only when you kill. You will commit every single detail of their face to memory, so you may never forget your crime." "You will be robbed of your sight to atone, you will atone by killing, you will kil by removing your bilindfold to commit every single detail of the heretic to memory."

-

Now, Vi uncomfortably shifted in her seat, the obscenely soft cushioning in the head priestess's chamber preventing her from comfortably sitting up at attention. "I'm sorry to say that one of your fine people has gone rogue, my dear." * The priestess said, not sounding the least bit sorry. "Just up and left, taking a fair amount of guardsmen with him. I guess he finally got tired of the job." She paused, and even without sight, Vi could imagine the grin of one who believed themselves to be clever. Vi could imagine a too-clever grin on her face.

"You'll go along and send him a nice little retirement package, won't you, dear?" * The priestess chucked throatily, and it was all Vi could do to stop herself from gagging at the stench of her sickly sweet perfume. Do what?

-

Vi had been lost in the maze for over a day now, with neither food nor water to sustain her starved and thirsty. No matter how many hours she spent wandering the endless stone halls, she had come no closer to finding the exit. Preoccupied as she was with her own misfortune, Vi walked straight into another dead end, and fell to the floor with a curse. as she fell down to the floor, cursing.

Starving, dehydrated, and miserable, Vi remained on the ground, lacking the will and the strength to get back up. The words of her teacher came back to her. "You must learn this city's streets down to the smallest detail, every alleyway, every rooftop. Feeling the stone beneath your feet will guide you as surely as any map."

Remembering this, she slowly got back to her feet, returning to the junction from which she came. Though she had not noticed it before, the stone under her bare feet was different in one direction. The difference was subtle, but it was there. With new vigor, Vi pressed on.

-

She had been across this route hundreds, if not thousands of times. After slipping into an alley, Vi climbed up the side of the butcher's shop, her hands instinctively finding each familiar crack and protrusion as she made her way to the roof. Taking off at a run, she leapt to the next building, perfectly gauging the gap in-between. It was a thrill like no other to soar through the cool night's air, traveling on a road of her own. , thrilled to soar through the cool night air, traveling her own secret path.

-

The wooden staff slammed into Vi's stomach, and with a grunt of pain she fell to the ground, winded. . Grunting in pain, Vi fell winded to the ground. "You must hone your hearing until you can hear my weapon as it swings through the air. In time, you will be able to gracefully dodge any blow." * Her teacher said, his unseen presence looming above her. He offered Vi a hand, and she took it, pulling herself to her feet. "Again." Vi readied herself. Oh hi there, not-Stick!
Merge these two paragraphs together
The bruises wouldn't even begin to fade for a week.

-

Metal ground on metal, and Vi stopped dead as she heard the sword being drawn out of its sheath. This sounds really awkward. Try "Vi stopped dead at the distinct sound of metal grinding on metal--someone had drawn a sword. Her target had anticipated her route, and posted men along the rooftops. Clever. Vi easily sidestepped the blade as it swung down towards her. Her assailant's grunt of exertion was all she needed to aim a Hearing him grunt, Vi aimed a heavy kick at his stomach. He wheezed and his sword clattered on the ground.
Merge these into a single paragraph
Vi pressed her advantage, and with a swift chop to the neck the man collapsed on the roof with a heavy thud. Unconscious or not, he was down for the moment, and it was improper to kill one you weren't hunting. Sudden shift into second person Vi continued across the rooftops.

-

In her later years of training, Vi took to sneaking out of her quarters at night. One night, out in the church's yard, Vi just happened to overhear a conversation between her teacher and the head priestess while she was crouching hidden in a nearby bush. She couldn't miss an opportunity to perhaps learn more about her enigmatic teacher. Even after all those years, Vi knew very little about the man who had so guided her development as an assassin.

"I do not understand, Sister. What threat does this man pose to our city?" * Her teacher said, the first time Vi had ever heard him with even a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"Why, you're asking the wrong question, my dear man!" * The priestess laughed throatily. You had an opportunity here to add characterization. "You should be asking what our beloved city can gain from his death! Oh, he's harmless, but think of the profits! That's just as good as protecting the city, isn't it?"

"As you say, Sister." * Her teacher replied, but his voice was cold. his voice cold.

-

Vi reached her destination with no further incident, apart from a few more guards that now littered the rooftops, unconscious aside from the unconscious guards littering the rooftops.. She dropped down from the roof to a windowsill, which she found unlocked an unlocked windowsill. Vi slipped inside the building, one hand on her dagger, but before she could proceed further the room she was stopped mid-step by a familiar voice. "Halt." Vi froze, unconsciously standing up straighter.

Her former teacher sighed. "I had hoped for more time, but- no, she would have spared no expense in tracking me down." Vi tensed as she heard a dagger being drawn, but he simply said. "Do not worry. I will not fight you," he said and tossed it aside. "I used to believe, you know. I mourned each I killed, but it was for a purpose. Not to line the church's pockets." He spat.

Vi couldn't move or speak, torn between her duty and her loyalty to the man in front of her. He broke the silence for her. "Do what you came here to do, Vi." He said. "There is no longer any escape for me, and I would rather my death be at your hands than one of her honorless dogs."

For the first time in years, Vi removed her blindfold. In front of her stood a tall, stern man, gray-bearded and clad in a red cloak. He untied his own blindfold, and Vi gazed straight into his gray eyes. In them she saw anger, defiance, and perhaps a tinge of pride for what his training had wrought. "I'm sorry." Vi said. He remained silent, and after ensuring that she had memorized every feature, every emotion on his face, Vi plunged her dagger into his heart.

Vi remained until he was still. After one final look at her teacher's cold face, she re-tied the cloth around her eyes. She had much to contemplate. Now that just sucked out all the emotion.

-

"Do sit down, girl. You make me nervous, just standing there." The head priestess's laughter abruptly stopped when Vi threw her blindfold to the floor.

The Daredevil compassion was there for a reason. Blind ninja, mentor issues, deep-seated issues with religious institution. You had your own spin, but you're way, way too verbose and all those needless words suck all the sense of drama out of the story. Your over-use of words also robs the sense of conflict of a young Templar assassin who's coming to terms with how the institution she's been sworn to serve is now corrupt after drawing first blood by killing her own mentor. Just remember to be brief and you'll be fine next prompt, one Horn-Head fan to another.

dmboogie posted:

I.. have never watched nor read anything Daredevil related.

Still, thank you ever-so-much for the linecrit!