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Kings & Queens: (A Community Driven Story)

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#1 Greed-Sama

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Posted 16 November 2014 - 02:03 AM

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~ A Community-Driven Project

 

The best part about any story is the community - the fandom that is born from it. 

 

Without that sense of community, reading becomes a passive experience. Kings & Queens hopes to rectify that. I've spent the past year designing a system that will be a part of this story for the foreseeable future. A part that was inspired by the love of stories and worlds so grand that even after the original author is done with them, they continue to evolve and grow. That's what I want. Which is why, I've decided to start the search here. A community that I've known for a long time. 

 

So here's the plan: A main story. And in the process of this story's progress, I will bring on guest writers, dedicated writers who will create characters. These characters will be a plethora of varieties. Some will interact with the main plot. Some will not. All of them will help build the world that I've started. 

 

Right now, I have one confirmed writer: 

 

Heartsbattle

 

I hope that my tenure here will draw even more. If you're interested send me a PM. 

 

 

~ The Story

 

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(music for your listening pleasure)

 

 

 

 

Solis - a nation of great military and economic prowess. Those who live here are luckier than anyone else in the world. And even then, some are luckier than others. Underneath the Capital lies the Orb, an artifact as old as the nation itself. Those who are born near it are often granted abilities of supernatural origin. And those who are born with supernatural abilities use those gifts in service to the Sinclair Dynasty, a royal family stretching back several centuries always led by a powerful queen. It is through devotion from her loyal subjects that have allowed the nation to become the juggernaut that it is. 

 

The year is 252 ATP. 

 


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#2 Heartsbattle

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Posted 19 November 2014 - 01:37 AM

Hello All! It's so great to meet you and have you stop by to check out what this project is all about. And I really hope it intrigues you as much as it did me.

 

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At the Beginning: Like any beginning writer I took to the internet to keep my fingers busy. At first I tried my hand at things like fanfiction or short stories, but writer's block and OOC characters plagued me. I roleplayed, on sites like Gaia, for years, and unfortunately things always seemed to sizzle out. People just didn't seem to be invested in the story they were telling (especially if they weren't the star, but I digress). But even then I was still interested in the concept of community writing, of getting a group of people together to create something out of nothing.

 

And then I met Greed. After we talked more and more, Greed and I learned that we both enjoyed writing and that it was something we truly had stock in. I was a captive audience as he described a writing experience that I had been looking for for a long time.

 

And if the fundamental idea of writing a story together wasn't enough, his story and characters were enough to seal the deal. I had already fallen in love with the story when he invited me to critique and write for the world he had created, and I felt honored and an intricate part of the process.

 

My Baby: From that moment, Zachariah Cole was born. I knew from the beginning, much to Greed's surprise, that I wanted to play an interesting male character that would help the audience see Greed's world the way I did, something mystical, dangerous and exciting. Zachariah, or Zeek, is a character that I am excited to share with everyone and to write about. You can expect mischief, crass, a hint of reluctance, and a strange sense of morality. I can only hope that I achieve my goal of using him to provide information to the reader that will enrich their experience.

 

The Invite: Please join us. As a reader, a writer, a critic, a cheerleader. There really are a million ways to be involved in this project.

 

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Talk to you all real soon! :grouphug:

 

         -Heratsbattle



#3 Bryon_Konoha_Ninja

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Posted 19 November 2014 - 01:45 AM

I'd like to partake in this :) Maybe I can add some ideas or even be a beta reader or whatever. :D



#4 Greed-Sama

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Posted 19 November 2014 - 01:50 AM

I'd like to partake in this :) Maybe I can add some ideas or even be a beta reader or whatever. :D

 

Do you like to write any? 


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#5 Bryon_Konoha_Ninja

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Posted 19 November 2014 - 01:59 AM

 

Do you like to write any? 

 

Yeah, I'm pretty good at writing. I haven't written something BIG in years, but I have done stuff to keep my skills sharp.



#6 Greed-Sama

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Posted 19 November 2014 - 02:03 AM

 

Yeah, I'm pretty good at writing. I haven't written something BIG in years, but I have done stuff to keep my skills sharp.

 

Fantastic! Well, if you get a moment drop by either 

 

xat.com/heavenandearth 

 

or 

 

xat.com/projectsolis

 

so we can talk further about this. 

 

I'll be introducing a second writer sometime later on this week. Possibly tonight if he's able to get to it. 


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#7 Greed-Sama

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Posted 21 November 2014 - 06:27 PM

And we're live! You can visit the main hub here at Kings & Queens

 

Chapter 1: Rebirthing 

 

- Day 6 of The Wildfire; Year 252 ATP

 

Even for someone as accustomed to early mornings as Barrett Spence, the sky was too dark. Something had disturbed his sleep. The grogginess would be short-lived, but so too would the memory of the identity of that something. It seemed so tangible in his dream, a sight or a smell or a sound that did not belong. Something that threatened his sanctuary. 

 

Shrugging off the sheets, Barrett moved to the edge of his bed. A quick glance at the clock echoed his first thought. Sunrise wasn’t for another couple of phases. With that confirmed, he pressed forward with the assumption that something had caused him to wake up beyond natural causes. That there was indeed something out of place. Inside. Outside. Barrett would find the cause before returning.

 

First, he surveyed the bedroom – the nightstand, the dresser, the laundry basket, the barely-functioning lamp. Still just as empty as the day he had moved in, meaning that nothing lurked anywhere because there was nowhere to lurk.

 

Content with the assessment, Barrett stood up and walked to the window. He parted the curtains with a slight brush from his hand and peered out into the pitch black. The moons were gone, and while the stars usually offered something at that moment they offered nothing. If anything preyed on him, the night hid it without effort. 

 

Then a stream of thumps consumed the surface of his window, eliciting an immediate sigh from Barrett. The sound that had woken him had been thunder. The rain was just beginning; a storm was carving a path across Lake Sanord and northward. It made him laugh. To think that he had been spooked by the weather. If only they could see him now. The mighty Barrett Spence reduced to nothing more than a skittish recluse.

 

Placing his hand against the window pane, he watched the droplets trickle down the glass, disappearing behind his hand and reappearing once more as they rolled to collect along the frame. The cool sensation eased all of his lingering tension. The reprieve wouldn’t last forever, though. A temporary solution to a minor annoyance. 

 

Maybe he needed a move, a change in scenery. Maybe this whole ordeal was a reminder that his body didn’t quite belong to the idyllic lifestyle. But he already knew that. 

 

So why tonight? 

 

Retreating from the window, Barrett wandered out of his bedroom and to the stairwell. He descended the wooden steps before making his way through the hallway and into the kitchen. A cup of warm tea sounded nice. Something soothing to coax him back to sleep. Flipping on the light, he opened his cabinet and eyed the couple dozen boxes. He had a flavor for every occasion. Right now, Gilip tea would do. Harvested from an exotic shrub beyond the shores of Celes, it took considerable effort to get it brought out his way. And he was reminded of that every time Nicole came to visit.

 

Barrett grabbed the kettle, filling it with water. Then came – 

 

He stopped, jerking his head towards the origin of the loud crash. That wasn’t thunder. That was the sound that had woken him. And it sounded like it came from outside in the condominium courtyard. Turning off the stove burner, Barrett did the same to the kitchen light. His body tensed once more, adrenaline shooting through his body. 

 

Another crash resonated throughout his home. 

 

There was no sense in hiding, so Barrett approached his front door. He picked up the handgun on the end table and peeked through the peephole. Registered that the offender was not wild in origin. No stray animal rummaging around the remains of the condominium complex looking for scraps of food or to appease its innocent curiosity. This was human. This was hostile. Looters that bludgeoned in the front door of the condo across the walkway. 

 

With deliberation, Barrett unlocked the deadbolt. His fingers curling around the knob, he twisted and cracked the door open. Sounds of metal rattling and wood snapping were given supplemental life, accompanying the current downpour. 

 

Swinging the door wide open, Barrett called out, “Who’s there?” 

 

As he expected, no response came. Or at least there was no verbal response. The silence and stillness was a response all its own. Someone had heard him. Someone had realized that the condominiums weren’t as abandoned as they had originally thought. Fine by him. He wasn’t looking for a fight, but he’d take one if needed. So Barrett waited, kept his eyes focused, body poised to react at the slightest irregularity. 

 

Would the intruder decide to run, to leave behind what little they had found? Or would they assume that someone this far from the Capital was defenseless and opt an attempt at overpowering him?  

 

“This place was ransacked years ago,” Barrett said. “You won’t find anything.” 

 

The condominiums had been in various states of shambles when he first arrived. Took him the better part of a year to morph the place back into the prime real estate it used to be. Though, the reconstruction had been a product of relieving his boredom, not the pursuit of luxurious living. 

 

“If you need food or shelter, I can-

 

He heard the ring of the first gunshot, barely having time to take cover before the ring of the second. This idiot wanted a showdown. Barrett wanted to oblige, but it’d be on his terms. From his crouched position, he reached out with his leg, hooking his foot around the door and pulling back to slam it shut. 

 

The next step was to get as far away from the wall and door as possible. He jumped up and moved further into the living room, taking cover behind his couch before more gunshots blew more holes into his home. But seconds later the gunfire came to a momentary stop. The assailant needed to reload. Good. It gave Barrett a moment to analyze.

 

If this individual were smart, they’d use that suppressing fire to flee into the night. If they weren’t, they’d try to cover their tracks by disposing of any potential witnesses. That meant venturing into an unknown structure where the defender had the advantage. It’d be a gamble at best, a death sentence at worst. 

 

And Barrett knew that it would be at worst. 

 

Footsteps approached. Not one set like he had assumed. There were two. Still, it changed nothing. After a quick glance around, he devised a plan. Moving to the hallway, he placed his back against the wall and waited. 

 

It took the attackers one kick to cave in the remains of his front door. 

 

“Come on,” a male voice said. “We’re not murderers. We don’t need to do this.”

 

“No, we do. If we get caught they’ll ship us back across the lake. I’m not going, Clyde.” 

 

The second voice was female. And she sounded desperate. That’s all this was, misguided desperation. Barrett furrowed his brow. These two were in the wrong place, and they were bucking up against the wrong person. If it had been any of the other abandoned estates along Lake Sanord’s northern coast, nothing like this would have happened. They would have found what they needed and been on their way. But now, they would regret this decision. 

 

Mattered little that he didn’t have eyes on the two, or that the darkness swallowed everything. Their inexperience in pillaging other people’s homes allowed Barrett to discern exactly where they were. They were being cautious, checking corners as they proceeded further. But both of them forgot about the nature of their own breath. That even with the rain pelting down on every surface outside, he could still hear the raggedness. 

 

Barrett readied himself to strike as the woman drew near. Just another moment before - lunging, he seized her wrist and wrenched it downward. The bone snapped, and she screamed, gun falling to the ground. Then with a quick placement of his leg behind hers, he unbalanced her. She toppled. Her male counterpart threw himself at Barrett with a wide, telegraphed punch. A parry and a punch to the gut ended any kind of fight before it could begin.  

 

He stood above them as they clung to their injuries, the woman wailing incoherently while Clyde attempted to catch his breath. 

 

“I could have done worse, you know,” Barrett said.

 

“kitten you.”

 

“kitten me? Did you just expect me to roll over and die?” 

 

Crouching, Barrett picked up the gun. He emptied the chamber and ejected the magazine before standing back up to place the weapon on the kitchen counter. The man was still struggling to crawl his way over to his companion. Barrett respected the loyalty at the very least. Still, he had no intention of letting them leave without a good understanding about what would happen if they decided to try a repeat performance. 

 

He held out his right hand, palm facing the celling. Fire ignited. It danced and glowed but remained under his control. He watched the reflected light in their eyes. They were still. They were afraid. 

 

 “Now,” he said, “Who are you?” 


Edited by Greed-Sama, 05 December 2014 - 06:13 PM.

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#8 Greed-Sama

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Posted 05 December 2014 - 06:14 PM

Chapter 2: Inside The Fire 

 

- Day 6 of The Wildfire; Year 252 ATP

 

As Barrett surveyed his front door’s obliteration, a part of him wondered if repairing the damn thing was even worth it. There were four condominiums in the complex. Surely it would be less work and even less of a pain in the ass to pick up what little he had and plop it somewhere else. Still, at least he could be grateful that the damage somehow missed both of the front windows. 

 

He sighed and shook his head. The effort didn’t bother him, the opposite in actuality. It kept his mind occupied. Prevented it from replaying the events, the horrified faces of the - 

 

No, he had to stop. Before it got worse or before he couldn’t. 

 

Tools. That’s what he needed. Tools from the shed to fix this disaster.

 

Clenching his fist, Barrett stepped over the debris and trekked through the condominium. He traversed the entryway, the living room, the dining room, then opened the sliding glass door to the backyard that greeted him in the same manner that it always had. 

 

Lake Sanord had such captivating power. Even though Barrett had secluded himself from civilization, the waters never let him feel alone. They were always there whenever he closed his eyes, bringing sadness and anger and despair as if they were compelled to remember the final thoughts of those lives lost upon its surface. 

 

The experts in the Capital stated that it was impossible for geographical features to support Scars. That their physical essence wasn’t defined like other objects. So maybe his own mental deterioration fueled the sensation. After all, the nightmares had only gotten worse in the recent months.

 

But Barrett wasn’t one for worrying about things that he couldn’t change or things he couldn’t prove. He had a front door to repair and bullet holes to fill up. Construction and gardening were his hobbies here on the lake’s shore, so he had plenty of resources for both. He safely kept them in the unpainted, aluminum shed in the back corner of the yard. Unlocking its metal door, he gathered the necessary supplies - hammer, nails, drill, putty, wood, saw. 

 

Once everything was out front, he went to work. The beating sun felt comforting against his back. It gave him life. It gave him energy. It gave him a much needed sweat. And it seemed that it wouldn’t stop until well into the night. 

 

Yet, two or three phases into his reconstruction effort, Barrett heard a mechanical roar. He stood up, brushing off his hands against the rough fabric of his cargo pants. From what little he could see through the ornate iron fence that surrounded the complex, Barrett spotted the distinct features of the Feronix approaching. Top-of-the-line military vehicle that heralded the arrival of an Archangel if the procession behind it wasn’t a clear enough indicator. 

 

“Great,” he muttered. 

 

Setting the hammer in his possession down, Barrett resigned that he was no longer going to get anything productive done. Not with all of the commotion that this brought. Oh well. Like he could do anything about it. 

 

Archangels went where they pleased. Did what they pleased. 

 

The Feronix slowed to a halt between the lot’s private garages. A door opened and a woman appeared. Adorned in black naik leather that covered almost every inch of her body, she slammed the door shut. Pulling her auburn hair into a ponytail, she set out on foot for the massive archway with an entire squad of armed soldiers.

 

Upon nearing, her guard split down their center-line and aligned themselves against the perimeter. They stood motionless, except for the two responsible for opening the iron gate for their superior. But then they too became stone. 

 

She crossed the threshold and smiled. “Bare.” 

 

“Nicole.”  

 

“You seemed surprised to see me.” 

 

“Something like that,” he said. 

 

At first her expression contorted into annoyance. This caused him to tense. It wasn’t as if he purposefully forgot that she was coming. He was just preoccupied last night with defending his homestead. And now his peace would be short-lived because it slipped his mind that today was the day that Nicole came to visit. 

 

Then as soon as the expression had formed, it vanished. She giggled before moving forward and wrapping her arms around his torso. Nestling her cheek against his chest, she hummed. Barrett could feel the vibrations through his black under-armor. 

 

“Your heart’s beating fast,” she said. “I wonder why.”  

 

With another giggle she released him. She moved forward, forcing Barrett to step aside, and stopped for a brief moment at the destruction before her feet. Again, she giggled. Outstretching her left hand, a bright energy enveloped the skin. The door that he had slaved all day to repair ignored said effort. Splinters and cracks and all other imperfections formed back into the whole - the same puke-green door that came with the condominium package. She smiled and slipped inside. Judging from what Barrett caught of her expression, Nicole was very pleased with her performance. 

 

Barrett pinched the bridge of his nose while in pursuit. The woman had already begun discarding her clothes. Her overcoat. Her bracers. Her boots. Her pants. Strewn across his entryway floor. She left only her t-shirt and her boxer-shorts on. After a final stretch she sunk onto the couch. 

 

“You know that leather goes on the kitchen floor, right?,” he said. 

 

“Shut up and get over here,” she said, sprawling out. “It’s been a long week.” 

 

His living room could be considered a cozy enough sanctuary from the harsh world. While the bedroom followed a more austere approach to interior decorating, Nicole refused to let that apply to this particular space. To complement the cream brick fireplace, she had shipped to the estate a brown leather chair, a beige suede couch that apparently never left her possession, an end table made from white Warrenise lumber, a hand-knotted area rug from the artisans of Discipline, and a lamp with a base of obsidian that didn’t work.

 

Nicole claimed that the merchant who sold her the damn thing said that it was supposed to illuminate things forgotten, whatever the hell that meant. Barrett had tried anything he could think of to fulfill the prerequisites. Nothing. Nil. A small issue in the grand scheme of things, he guessed. He didn’t use the living room that often anyway.

 

He took a seat at one end of the couch. It wasn’t long before Nicole found her head in the confines of his lap. She clutched onto his left arm, raking her fingernails across his skin. A soothing sensations that seduced Barrett into leaning his head back and closing his eyes. 

 

“So what happened to the door? Did you lock yourself out?” 

 

“No,” 

 

“Did it look at you the wrong way?” 

 

“Nicole…”

 

“Did you scare it?” 

 

“Would you stop?” 

 

“Oh, I know. The other doors were jealous so they hired an assassin.” 

 

Barrett chose to remain silent. But it seemed she found her amusement elsewhere. Her hands moved to his. A fascination with his appendage as she touched every inch of it, his fingers being especially interesting to her for some, undefined reason. 

 

“So, I have a thought,” she said. 

 

“Does that mean-”

 

“Maybe it didn’t want to be a door any longer. Maybe it wanted to be free.” 

 

He should have known better. “I’ll leave.”

 

“No,” she said. Her grip on his arm tightened. “I’m done, I promise.” 

 

The next few moments were spent poking the same spot on his arm multiple times. Once she was bored, Nicole sat up and ran her hand along his cheek against the stubble. She frowned for a brief moment. 

 

“I have something for you,” she said, smile returning. “A present.”

 

“Oh?” 

 

“It’s outside with my guard. I’ll have them bring it in before I leave tomorrow.” 

 

“What is it?” 

 

“What do you think?” she asked. Her hand settled on his leg right above the kneecap. “It’s tea. They call it Oyra across the Manifest. They say that nobles value the taste very highly. I thought you might like it.” 

 

“I’ve never heard of it,” he said. 

 

“I know.” 

 

“Well aren’t you special?” 

 

“Very.” 

 

Neither of them diverted their gaze. On edge they sat, waiting for the other to make their mistake. A game of concentration and stubbornness where the stakes were high and the consequences were real.

 

There came a knock at the open door. “Excuse me?” 

 

Barrett turned his head and a caught a flick to the ear in response. “Damn it, woman. That’s foul play and you know it.” 

 

“No such thing, scoundrel.” 

 

The person at his doorstep was Clyde, the poor lad from last night. He had shaggy, chestnut hair and tattered clothes. Three masked soldiers stood behind him, their automatic weapons pointed at his gut. 

 

“Could you please?” Clyde asked. “I was coming to apologize for all the trouble and to thank you for your compassion and then -“

 

“I understand. Nicole, call your men off.” 

 

She motioned for them to do as Barrett said. But the grin she wore. Oh, no.

 

“So,” she said, “you’re the door assassin, I presume?” 

 

Barrett sighed. 

 

 


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