Difference between revisions of "Talk:Detroit Musings"
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''As another, more famous doctor has explained, the undead are not like the honey bee, who dies after the first sting, rather they grow stronger as time goes by. Indeed, if they aren't destroyed by natural calamity or the violent depredations of their fellows, they can essentially live forever. Forever, that has quite a ring to it. Imagine what you could accomplish with an unlimited life span. Of course, Tremen is only 18 years undead, a child in the world of the Kindred. Rushing around trying to put strait all the wrongs of his mortal life, and balance the scales with vampiric disciplines and a little old fashioned hard work.'' | ''As another, more famous doctor has explained, the undead are not like the honey bee, who dies after the first sting, rather they grow stronger as time goes by. Indeed, if they aren't destroyed by natural calamity or the violent depredations of their fellows, they can essentially live forever. Forever, that has quite a ring to it. Imagine what you could accomplish with an unlimited life span. Of course, Tremen is only 18 years undead, a child in the world of the Kindred. Rushing around trying to put strait all the wrongs of his mortal life, and balance the scales with vampiric disciplines and a little old fashioned hard work.'' | ||
| − | ''The smell of the pine-resin is aromatic, like incense as I pour you another Scotch, the taste is smoky and harsh with numerous hints of peat. Lively strains of Strauss, pour through the darkened house as the antique phonograph spins its way through the Tales of the Vienna Woods. As we talk in hushed tones, it wouldn't do for other people hear us talk of these dark matters, the cold autumn wind vibrates the glass panes in their Victorian wood frames. I point out that Tremen is far stronger than most Kindred his age, he has grown strong on stolen vitae and the memories of those he diablerized. His is an enthralling tale, born in part | + | ''The smell of the pine-resin is aromatic, like incense as I pour you another Scotch, the taste is smoky and harsh with numerous hints of peat. Lively strains of Strauss, pour through the darkened house as the antique phonograph spins its way through the Tales of the Vienna Woods. As we talk in hushed tones, it wouldn't do for other people hear us talk of these dark matters, the cold autumn wind vibrates the glass panes in their Victorian wood frames. I point out that Tremen is far stronger than most Kindred his age, he has grown strong on stolen vitae and the memories of those he has diablerized. His is an enthralling tale, born in part due to the excesses of modern warfare and partly in the arcane black blood that runs through his veins.'' |
| − | ''So you ask, why did I write this? You are a good writer and have a love of the craft, but you must put yourself in your character's shoes, you need to be him. Remember that his senses are as sharp as great cat and he is faster, stronger and more resilient than any human. The night holds constant promise of new and terrible things and fear is a fast dying emotion in | + | ''So you ask, why did I write this? You are a good writer and have a love of the craft, but you must put yourself in your character's shoes, you need to be him. Remember that his senses are as sharp as a great cat and he is faster, stronger and more resilient than any human. The night holds constant promise of new and terrible things and fear is a fast dying emotion in a new undead with such promise and rage.'' |
''Description, description, description.'' -- "The Magister 18:48, 27 March 2018 (MDT)" | ''Description, description, description.'' -- "The Magister 18:48, 27 March 2018 (MDT)" | ||
Revision as of 17:52, 27 March 2018
Freaking Awesome blog! I laughed my ass off the entire way. And the best part, is its all true. -- "The Magister 23:34, 19 October 2017 (MDT)"
Let us talk you and I by firelight, about the dear doctor Tremen Hall. We sit in the antique front room, by the hearth, in over-stuffed leather bound wingback chairs. You sit directly across from me, I can see the contours of your face in the flickering orange fire-light. As we talk about what it would be like to be undead, I see the firelight flickering in your eyes as well. Lets be honest shall we? We must lay down all the pretenses and admit for one moment that we envy them. As damaged a piece of goods as the doctor is, you know in your heart you would like for a single night to live in his skin. And why not? While you and I grow a little older, each and every day, time has stopped for him. He has no fear of growing frail or losing his dignity to the illnesses of old age.
As another, more famous doctor has explained, the undead are not like the honey bee, who dies after the first sting, rather they grow stronger as time goes by. Indeed, if they aren't destroyed by natural calamity or the violent depredations of their fellows, they can essentially live forever. Forever, that has quite a ring to it. Imagine what you could accomplish with an unlimited life span. Of course, Tremen is only 18 years undead, a child in the world of the Kindred. Rushing around trying to put strait all the wrongs of his mortal life, and balance the scales with vampiric disciplines and a little old fashioned hard work.
The smell of the pine-resin is aromatic, like incense as I pour you another Scotch, the taste is smoky and harsh with numerous hints of peat. Lively strains of Strauss, pour through the darkened house as the antique phonograph spins its way through the Tales of the Vienna Woods. As we talk in hushed tones, it wouldn't do for other people hear us talk of these dark matters, the cold autumn wind vibrates the glass panes in their Victorian wood frames. I point out that Tremen is far stronger than most Kindred his age, he has grown strong on stolen vitae and the memories of those he has diablerized. His is an enthralling tale, born in part due to the excesses of modern warfare and partly in the arcane black blood that runs through his veins.
So you ask, why did I write this? You are a good writer and have a love of the craft, but you must put yourself in your character's shoes, you need to be him. Remember that his senses are as sharp as a great cat and he is faster, stronger and more resilient than any human. The night holds constant promise of new and terrible things and fear is a fast dying emotion in a new undead with such promise and rage.
Description, description, description. -- "The Magister 18:48, 27 March 2018 (MDT)"
