It's a good start as well!
BYC Writer thread
- Thread starter clucky3255
- Start date
Cool!
The Narnia series was good. Your story sounds great! Can't wait for you to post some more. Although.. I do hope you're not like C. S. Lewis.. lol It's too late in the night/morning I need to go to bed...
Thanks! That's probably the nicest compliment you could have given my story. I love the Chronicles of Narnia, so yeah... I've got a little more written, so leaving where I left off....
With the passing of time, Renalten died, leaving the throne to others. Good kings and bad ascended the throne over time, but always more bad than good. A good king would come that would repair the country and build it up, leaving it greater and happier than when he received the kingship, but then several evil kings would come, destroying the land with their greed and selfishness, laying waste to countless lives of the innocent citizens. Very few kings, if any, did neither bad nor good, for one’s life must either be full of righteousness, or it quickly fills with evil. With great power comes great responsibility, but so many kings of Narunin misused that power so that when my story truly begins, a selfish young king with perverse advisers was, little by little, draining the very life from Narunin. But far away from the king’s palace and the troubles of state, in the peaceful countryside, a peaceful family was about to encounter an adventure that could change everything.
In the loft of a large cottage sat a lad of twenty or so, called Iliren, who was intently studying an old manuscript he had recently found. Below him, in the main room of the cottage, his mother, Juliana, and fifteen-year-old sister, Eliana, were preparing the evening meal. His ten-year-old brother, Rory, was outside attempting to assist his father, Eliezer in feeding the livestock. Iliren smiled as he looked through the small window in his room down on the two. Turning from the window, he looked back at the ancient book. Scattered around his desk were more papers and a book or two, along with a candle stub and a well-used quill and ink set. However, these interested Iliren very little at this time, for he had just come across an interesting poem in the book. It was written in ancient Naru’el, the language of Narunin, which, fortunately, he knew and could translate. The poem looked something like this-
Hehe, now I have to write a poem....
Why do I do this to myself? Why do I make stories for which I must write poems! Oh well...
I love the Chronicles of Narnia, so yeah... I've got a little more written, so leaving where I left off.... With the passing of time, Renalten died, leaving the throne to others. Good kings and bad ascended the throne over time, but always more bad than good. A good king would come that would repair the country and build it up, leaving it greater and happier than when he received the kingship, but then several evil kings would come, destroying the land with their greed and selfishness, laying waste to countless lives of the innocent citizens. Very few kings, if any, did neither bad nor good, for one’s life must either be full of righteousness, or it quickly fills with evil. With great power comes great responsibility, but so many kings of Narunin misused that power so that when my story truly begins, a selfish young king with perverse advisers was, little by little, draining the very life from Narunin. But far away from the king’s palace and the troubles of state, in the peaceful countryside, a peaceful family was about to encounter an adventure that could change everything.
Chapter 2, The Discovery
In the loft of a large cottage sat a lad of twenty or so, called Iliren, who was intently studying an old manuscript he had recently found. Below him, in the main room of the cottage, his mother, Juliana, and fifteen-year-old sister, Eliana, were preparing the evening meal. His ten-year-old brother, Rory, was outside attempting to assist his father, Eliezer in feeding the livestock. Iliren smiled as he looked through the small window in his room down on the two. Turning from the window, he looked back at the ancient book. Scattered around his desk were more papers and a book or two, along with a candle stub and a well-used quill and ink set. However, these interested Iliren very little at this time, for he had just come across an interesting poem in the book. It was written in ancient Naru’el, the language of Narunin, which, fortunately, he knew and could translate. The poem looked something like this-
Hehe, now I have to write a poem....
It's getting even better! I'm enthralled now. 
Poems are indeed tricky things..
Poems are indeed tricky things..
Time Passes
I find that the days are blending together. I remember something said, a word spoken.. but was it yesterday? The day before? Or only this morning? Maybe last week or last month or last year.. or perhaps only a few short hours ago. What was it exactly, and who? Where are the days.. where are the memories.. where has all the time gone? I'm trapped in this abyss of days and time passing me by, while all I can do is stand and watch it all slip away from me. All the important things I will never see and their memories wear on my soul like sandpaper. All the beautiful moments I am doomed to forget with the passing of time haunt my very being. The existence of myself depends on memories of love and happiness.. of you; what will happen to me if they leave? Surely I will wither away until there is nothing left. But what is there to do? There is nothing.. for the passing of time must surely claim us all.
I find that the days are blending together. I remember something said, a word spoken.. but was it yesterday? The day before? Or only this morning? Maybe last week or last month or last year.. or perhaps only a few short hours ago. What was it exactly, and who? Where are the days.. where are the memories.. where has all the time gone? I'm trapped in this abyss of days and time passing me by, while all I can do is stand and watch it all slip away from me. All the important things I will never see and their memories wear on my soul like sandpaper. All the beautiful moments I am doomed to forget with the passing of time haunt my very being. The existence of myself depends on memories of love and happiness.. of you; what will happen to me if they leave? Surely I will wither away until there is nothing left. But what is there to do? There is nothing.. for the passing of time must surely claim us all.
Whoa! I wrote that?! LOL
LOL
This thread has been dead for over a year D:
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