Chan
Senior Member
Hello to all of my fellow literary freaks out there, and welcome to my newest attempt at a thread to entice some new partners! As it relates to me, I’m an 18 year old college student who decided to forgo my senior year of high school in an effort to become a culinary student; along with my love of the culinary industry, I have a deep and foundational passion for writing.
For now I am especially interested in a Game of Thrones plot! I prefer playing males and am immensely enamored by the world of Westeros, but I am looking for a partner to take the journey with me.
Below is a writing sample, please PM me if you have any interest.
Writing Sample:
Torch light dotted the old man in circular pattern illuminating the impenetrable darkness that engulfed his perimeter; he sat on a wooden stool of sorts that was simple yet readily displayed his importance. Around him, sitting legs crossed, was a group of young men layered from head to toe in glistening silver armor that shined in the warm light of the fire they encircled. All of their eyes locked to the wrinkly face of the man, they were utterly taken by his mere presence as if he had lived 1000 lives: the man though sat humbly waiting for them to position themselves comfortably and as a ominous silence filled the cool night air his old fractured voice broke the serenity.
“I remember vividly the day my father left to go to war... I was a scrawny tan boy who spent almost all of his waking hours nestled in a cozy tree watching the birds or running about the forest exploring the landscape. War was merely a fact of life; all men would wield a sword whether they be proficient or not but my father, despite being forced, was as natural a soldier as you’d ever see.” A smirk came across the mans face as he stared off into the distant black void as if his father were there in the empty fields. “We lived in a small cottage just outside the castle, I don’t recall much about that home but what I do recollect is the way the smoke billowed from our chimney the day I trotted home from the forest. A huge black stallion gave the situation away in an instant, we didn’t have the money to own such a beast for pleasure. Father was going to war.”
The man sighed and the beginnings of tears began forming in his eyes. “I burst through our door to see my mother oozing tears as my father, now in a suit of bronze armor shining like sunlight, tried his very best to comfort her. From that day on I never saw mother smile or indulge in any happiness again her heart was broken and her mind already dead-set on what this all meant. Father, obviously in a rush, hurriedly began packing what little items he had into his sack as he pleaded with mother to calm herself and count on his return. He hadn’t yet caught sight of me but as he took long strides to the door where I stood he stopped locking eyes with me. A pitiful look came across his masculine face him placing a gargantua hand on my narrow shoulders. I will never forget his words, ‘Son, we do not choose what we must do in life, we choose how we live it.... I will come back to you. I will not leave you behind.’”
Warm streaks now dropped down his face the young men around him very evidently touched by his humanity. “My father did come back to me..... in a ceremonial urn. The army captain told us he had been burnt so badly that only his ashes could be recovered from the battlefield. I suppose in a way though it was for the better... I fear if my mother had seen his sea-blue eyes lifeless she would have taken herself even earlier than she did.” The man now cleared his throat. “My mother took herself from this world a few months after my father died leaving me alone and in a world of hopelessness so, like him, I became a soldier but it was not what I was cut out for and ironically it was by choice. That’s why I’m here men... that’s why I’m speaking to you.”
He now sounded clear and rigorous his old age no longer showing in his speech. “You chose this fight, you chose this war, you did not have to go yet you did. I can see in some of your eyes you are like me... you aren’t prepared for what lies out there but you still went. You are brave, you are strong, you are men... but do not think that if on the field you feel as if you aren’t meant to be there that you are weak or cowardly; none of you are meant to be there, you are supposed to be writers, artisans, painters and scholars. Man is not meant to kill man yet he seeks this more than any other thing in existence: do what must be done to come home but know that when you stare into the eyes of the enemy you are staring at a man just like you who isn’t meant to be there... don’t take his life as if he were just a listless leaf in the wind.” He stood from the stump and grabbed his oaken cane and just like he trotted in he trotted out, picking up his fathers ashes he scooted back to the cottage his father left so many years ago watching as young men again marched in their silver suits.
The brick cottage was shabby, much like when his mother and father were alive a modest garden of simple flowers and necessary vegetables lined the back of the structure; the night was blinding and as the man carefully lit the fire-place the entire home was revealed. His eyes adjusted to the abrupt shift in light and as they did, above the mantle where he placed his father’s ashes, a beautiful sword came into focus; the handle was inlaid with semi-precious stones that formed a green lion on the hilt, paws raised the creature seemed to be roaring into the black night with noble majesty.
All seemed calm and just as the oak chair beside the fire squeaked from the weight of the man’s brittle bones a knock came at the door quickly followed by it furiously swinging open. There stood a man no older than 17 smiling gleefully, he bore the same gorgeous blue eyes of the old man and his silken blonde hair shined in the light of the fire, his youthful innocence showing in his very appearance. “Grandfather! I have fantastic news to bring, I have been accepted into army I am leaving tomorrow with Benjamin (his closest friend).” The boy stood proudly evidently unaware of the how the old man felt and the speech he had just given, his grandfather though was never one to show his feelings so his ignorance is somewhat excused. At first the old man did not speak a word or even move to acknowledge the presence of his grandson... he simply sipped from an old ivory cup staring into the flames as they rolled frantically, all that could be heard was the crack of wood and roar of the fire.
Moments passed and finally, as if to rescue the boys hopes, the grandfather slowly moved his frail frame so that his eyes locked with those of the boy; their iris so similar it was almost as if he were looking at his younger-self, his face displayed his dismay for the previous statements. “What on earth do you think you’re doing boy? Do you have the slightest clue as to what the hell you are getting into?” The man’s face showed unparalleled discontent, his head shaking angrily throughout the release of his words. “Listen Grandpa I know how horrible war can be but I won’t be fighting, Benjamin’s father guaranteed us positions as hands to the knights of the royal guard. They are simply ceremonial, they haven’t fought in combat in the last two wars... I’ll be fine... I won’t be swinging any swords.”
The boy now moved beside of his grandfather their shadows cast on the walls from the glowing lava-like fire that still yet roared. He thought that would be enough to reconcile his grandfather. The old man heard the boy’s words and began feeling the blood in his ancient veins come to a rolling boil; after the boy stopped speaking he swung up from the chair with lightning speed throwing his cane in the floor grumbling in disgust. The boys mouth now slightly cracked as the shock of the situation now set in, his grandpa was never like this... hell he barely even spoke to him, his mother simply said to tell any immediate relatives of his new adventure... she must have to forgot to tell him to skip the old cottage.
Now completely ablaze, the elderly man snatched the immaculate sword that protected the fireplace as its gems glistened gorgeously in the light, it looked as if it had been forged just yesterday. Still sheathed, the old man held the sword in his hands the veins popping out of his loose skin, his eyes fiercely glaring at his grandson. “Do you have the slightest clue what this is? Do you think it’s some fancy decoration from the shoppes in town?!” The man paused waiting for a response then screamed, “Answer me boy!” His grandson, now cowering slightly back in fear, gasped for some air trying to calm himself and rebutted in a nervous soft stutter, “I don’t know Grandpa.” The old man now ground his teeth in anger, “That’s exactly right boy, you don’t know and there lies the damn problem.” He sighed sitting back down in the chair the sword draped over his lap glowing like the sun itself. His voice was now much lower and had a feeble calmness, “This sword is my fathers... not only that but he bore it as a royal guard... in the last war royal guards were formally combatants.” The boy shook his head attempting to show his remorse, “Grandpa I had no clue...” He was quickly drowned out by a grumbled voice. “Quiet boy, I know you haven’t any clue of who your great grandfather was and what he did but know that any part of war is still war... you are too intelligent to buy into the glorified version of what people make killing each other out to be.” The two again locked eyes but this time exchanging smiles that lightened the heavy air surrounding them. “Grab a torch young man, I have something you must see...”
His grandson did as he was told and the old man, cane and sword in hand, went around to the back of the house slowly walking towards a narrow path through the long reeds of grass that lead into the thick forest. With a glance of comfort the elderly man looked at his grandson behind him and began walking down the path. What must have been hours passed as the two walked on the dirt trail saying now words... allowing the beautiful sounds of nature to fill their ears. Eventually they reached a circular opening in the trees, a small gravestone sat in the middle the canopy covering it like the hands of a valiant protector.
The grandfather stood at the clearing just staring at the stone before approaching it with caution as if he weren’t careful it could hurt him deeply. Handing his cane to the young man flanking him, he knelt down in front of the stone holding the sword in his hands; with a moderate struggle he came to a sturdy position and bowed his head slightly muttering words under his breath. The forest fell silent, not even the grasshoppers were heard just again the rolling of fire. A tired voice broke the blank noise, “This is your grandmothers grave... she died while I was gone to war... a group of bandits robbed our home and she happened to be there as it occurred. Nobody can ever know for sure but I feel that her feisty spirit might have backfired on her. She was always the type of person to defend what was hers.” An admirable smile came across his face, the wrinkles revealing how long he had lived without such love in his life. He took the sword and raised it in the direction of his grandson speaking only once more, “Just know, my boy, that taking up arms does not mean you are protecting all that you hold dear and love... it simply means you are prepared to deviate from what makes you human. If you truly wish to fight take this sword from me now... I will not take this from you if you so desire it.”
The sword still sits on the mantle today, two urns with swords ornamented on the side flank the majestic piece of metal and between the two sits a plain green urn with the simple words, “Learn from the past.”
For now I am especially interested in a Game of Thrones plot! I prefer playing males and am immensely enamored by the world of Westeros, but I am looking for a partner to take the journey with me.
Below is a writing sample, please PM me if you have any interest.
Writing Sample:
Torch light dotted the old man in circular pattern illuminating the impenetrable darkness that engulfed his perimeter; he sat on a wooden stool of sorts that was simple yet readily displayed his importance. Around him, sitting legs crossed, was a group of young men layered from head to toe in glistening silver armor that shined in the warm light of the fire they encircled. All of their eyes locked to the wrinkly face of the man, they were utterly taken by his mere presence as if he had lived 1000 lives: the man though sat humbly waiting for them to position themselves comfortably and as a ominous silence filled the cool night air his old fractured voice broke the serenity.
“I remember vividly the day my father left to go to war... I was a scrawny tan boy who spent almost all of his waking hours nestled in a cozy tree watching the birds or running about the forest exploring the landscape. War was merely a fact of life; all men would wield a sword whether they be proficient or not but my father, despite being forced, was as natural a soldier as you’d ever see.” A smirk came across the mans face as he stared off into the distant black void as if his father were there in the empty fields. “We lived in a small cottage just outside the castle, I don’t recall much about that home but what I do recollect is the way the smoke billowed from our chimney the day I trotted home from the forest. A huge black stallion gave the situation away in an instant, we didn’t have the money to own such a beast for pleasure. Father was going to war.”
The man sighed and the beginnings of tears began forming in his eyes. “I burst through our door to see my mother oozing tears as my father, now in a suit of bronze armor shining like sunlight, tried his very best to comfort her. From that day on I never saw mother smile or indulge in any happiness again her heart was broken and her mind already dead-set on what this all meant. Father, obviously in a rush, hurriedly began packing what little items he had into his sack as he pleaded with mother to calm herself and count on his return. He hadn’t yet caught sight of me but as he took long strides to the door where I stood he stopped locking eyes with me. A pitiful look came across his masculine face him placing a gargantua hand on my narrow shoulders. I will never forget his words, ‘Son, we do not choose what we must do in life, we choose how we live it.... I will come back to you. I will not leave you behind.’”
Warm streaks now dropped down his face the young men around him very evidently touched by his humanity. “My father did come back to me..... in a ceremonial urn. The army captain told us he had been burnt so badly that only his ashes could be recovered from the battlefield. I suppose in a way though it was for the better... I fear if my mother had seen his sea-blue eyes lifeless she would have taken herself even earlier than she did.” The man now cleared his throat. “My mother took herself from this world a few months after my father died leaving me alone and in a world of hopelessness so, like him, I became a soldier but it was not what I was cut out for and ironically it was by choice. That’s why I’m here men... that’s why I’m speaking to you.”
He now sounded clear and rigorous his old age no longer showing in his speech. “You chose this fight, you chose this war, you did not have to go yet you did. I can see in some of your eyes you are like me... you aren’t prepared for what lies out there but you still went. You are brave, you are strong, you are men... but do not think that if on the field you feel as if you aren’t meant to be there that you are weak or cowardly; none of you are meant to be there, you are supposed to be writers, artisans, painters and scholars. Man is not meant to kill man yet he seeks this more than any other thing in existence: do what must be done to come home but know that when you stare into the eyes of the enemy you are staring at a man just like you who isn’t meant to be there... don’t take his life as if he were just a listless leaf in the wind.” He stood from the stump and grabbed his oaken cane and just like he trotted in he trotted out, picking up his fathers ashes he scooted back to the cottage his father left so many years ago watching as young men again marched in their silver suits.
The brick cottage was shabby, much like when his mother and father were alive a modest garden of simple flowers and necessary vegetables lined the back of the structure; the night was blinding and as the man carefully lit the fire-place the entire home was revealed. His eyes adjusted to the abrupt shift in light and as they did, above the mantle where he placed his father’s ashes, a beautiful sword came into focus; the handle was inlaid with semi-precious stones that formed a green lion on the hilt, paws raised the creature seemed to be roaring into the black night with noble majesty.
All seemed calm and just as the oak chair beside the fire squeaked from the weight of the man’s brittle bones a knock came at the door quickly followed by it furiously swinging open. There stood a man no older than 17 smiling gleefully, he bore the same gorgeous blue eyes of the old man and his silken blonde hair shined in the light of the fire, his youthful innocence showing in his very appearance. “Grandfather! I have fantastic news to bring, I have been accepted into army I am leaving tomorrow with Benjamin (his closest friend).” The boy stood proudly evidently unaware of the how the old man felt and the speech he had just given, his grandfather though was never one to show his feelings so his ignorance is somewhat excused. At first the old man did not speak a word or even move to acknowledge the presence of his grandson... he simply sipped from an old ivory cup staring into the flames as they rolled frantically, all that could be heard was the crack of wood and roar of the fire.
Moments passed and finally, as if to rescue the boys hopes, the grandfather slowly moved his frail frame so that his eyes locked with those of the boy; their iris so similar it was almost as if he were looking at his younger-self, his face displayed his dismay for the previous statements. “What on earth do you think you’re doing boy? Do you have the slightest clue as to what the hell you are getting into?” The man’s face showed unparalleled discontent, his head shaking angrily throughout the release of his words. “Listen Grandpa I know how horrible war can be but I won’t be fighting, Benjamin’s father guaranteed us positions as hands to the knights of the royal guard. They are simply ceremonial, they haven’t fought in combat in the last two wars... I’ll be fine... I won’t be swinging any swords.”
The boy now moved beside of his grandfather their shadows cast on the walls from the glowing lava-like fire that still yet roared. He thought that would be enough to reconcile his grandfather. The old man heard the boy’s words and began feeling the blood in his ancient veins come to a rolling boil; after the boy stopped speaking he swung up from the chair with lightning speed throwing his cane in the floor grumbling in disgust. The boys mouth now slightly cracked as the shock of the situation now set in, his grandpa was never like this... hell he barely even spoke to him, his mother simply said to tell any immediate relatives of his new adventure... she must have to forgot to tell him to skip the old cottage.
Now completely ablaze, the elderly man snatched the immaculate sword that protected the fireplace as its gems glistened gorgeously in the light, it looked as if it had been forged just yesterday. Still sheathed, the old man held the sword in his hands the veins popping out of his loose skin, his eyes fiercely glaring at his grandson. “Do you have the slightest clue what this is? Do you think it’s some fancy decoration from the shoppes in town?!” The man paused waiting for a response then screamed, “Answer me boy!” His grandson, now cowering slightly back in fear, gasped for some air trying to calm himself and rebutted in a nervous soft stutter, “I don’t know Grandpa.” The old man now ground his teeth in anger, “That’s exactly right boy, you don’t know and there lies the damn problem.” He sighed sitting back down in the chair the sword draped over his lap glowing like the sun itself. His voice was now much lower and had a feeble calmness, “This sword is my fathers... not only that but he bore it as a royal guard... in the last war royal guards were formally combatants.” The boy shook his head attempting to show his remorse, “Grandpa I had no clue...” He was quickly drowned out by a grumbled voice. “Quiet boy, I know you haven’t any clue of who your great grandfather was and what he did but know that any part of war is still war... you are too intelligent to buy into the glorified version of what people make killing each other out to be.” The two again locked eyes but this time exchanging smiles that lightened the heavy air surrounding them. “Grab a torch young man, I have something you must see...”
His grandson did as he was told and the old man, cane and sword in hand, went around to the back of the house slowly walking towards a narrow path through the long reeds of grass that lead into the thick forest. With a glance of comfort the elderly man looked at his grandson behind him and began walking down the path. What must have been hours passed as the two walked on the dirt trail saying now words... allowing the beautiful sounds of nature to fill their ears. Eventually they reached a circular opening in the trees, a small gravestone sat in the middle the canopy covering it like the hands of a valiant protector.
The grandfather stood at the clearing just staring at the stone before approaching it with caution as if he weren’t careful it could hurt him deeply. Handing his cane to the young man flanking him, he knelt down in front of the stone holding the sword in his hands; with a moderate struggle he came to a sturdy position and bowed his head slightly muttering words under his breath. The forest fell silent, not even the grasshoppers were heard just again the rolling of fire. A tired voice broke the blank noise, “This is your grandmothers grave... she died while I was gone to war... a group of bandits robbed our home and she happened to be there as it occurred. Nobody can ever know for sure but I feel that her feisty spirit might have backfired on her. She was always the type of person to defend what was hers.” An admirable smile came across his face, the wrinkles revealing how long he had lived without such love in his life. He took the sword and raised it in the direction of his grandson speaking only once more, “Just know, my boy, that taking up arms does not mean you are protecting all that you hold dear and love... it simply means you are prepared to deviate from what makes you human. If you truly wish to fight take this sword from me now... I will not take this from you if you so desire it.”
The sword still sits on the mantle today, two urns with swords ornamented on the side flank the majestic piece of metal and between the two sits a plain green urn with the simple words, “Learn from the past.”
