Gallade's Story Archive

              “They’re totally real!” The Mothman insisted.             “Oh please,” Werewolf declared, sitting across the table, “That’s hardly the scientific approach to these things. I t’s just a terrible story. It’s like mythologizing a car without gas. Yes, it runs, but what’s the point? It’s not interesting, just a lump of metal.”             “And that’s why it’s all the more real,” he hissed, “The world isn’t always spectacular. I’m sure you’ve seen animals who’s entire purpose is wasted on them. Hell, you know there was a species of deer that went extinct because their antlers grew too big with each generation? Or that Koala’s are basically addicted to poison, and spend all of their energy eating digesting such leaves?”             “That doesn’t prove ...

  (Made with the guide of  Light Years In An Instant , by Beth And Angel Make Games. Do check it out on itch.io, found by the link! ) (Cards pulled were, in the order written in parenthesis.) Through the Event Horizon, we fell, Our crew spun between mortified and wonderful, As the stars streaked past our hell, We entered a new sector, “That planet’s habitable!”   ( 8 Of Spades ) Our engineer reported so clear, “Our thrusters survived, we’re good to land!” It’d take an hour, but we fear, That if dangerous, we will be caught unplanned.   ( 6 Of Hearts ) Do we stay aboard our ship? Longing for shelter, our crew felt divide. For some of us, we’d leave: A trip! But some of the crew saw that as suicide.   ( 7 Of Diamonds ) A crew of few, wanting teams, Upon a landing, the planet we scout. Is everything what it seems? There’s seems to be life and flora about!   ( 7 Of Hearts ) Wishing for food, a positive flavor, A...

                  It has always been forbidden in circles of Wizards and Sorcerers to tell another person the date of their death.           It is discouraged, but not forbidden, to seek the answer yourself, by calling a meeting with the being substantial.           Death rose from the pile of crumpled bones that had been assembled, standing quite tall over the Wizard, having to bow his head to not knock against the low ceiling, keeping his scythe by his side.           Raising one boney hand, Death pointed to the young robed spellcaster and spoke in a voice that tore between starlight and muted the crackles of flames.           “Teregrin Oakshire, for WHAT reason have you summoned me here?”     ...

     Writing is a bizarre and unexpectedly complicated phenomenon. It is easy to begin, only slightly more elaborate than drawing a square. But writing something good is a process of such difficulty that those known to write well consistently are revered, such as Sage Cotugno, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, George R.R. Martin, and many many more. And yet again, it is just putting words on paper. So, in both camps, visualizing what writing actually is, is complicated. Similarly, but paradoxically, a book is often able to be seen as a work of art, but a writer is much harder to see as an artist. The connotations of the words feel distinct, and the act of writing, at least to me, does not seem complicated when you aren’t sitting down to do it. “Ah, I could certainly write six pages a day, just like Stephen King!” Until you sit down to do so, you write a sentence, you hate the sentence, and you wonder if you had any talent at all, like George R.R. Martin once said. I co...

          It was the furthest north they had ever been. The waters lapped against the vessel as the crew fought the rigging in the dense and powerful storm, as rain pelted their coats and soaked their shoes. Captain Peterson stood upon the deck shouting orders which could scarcely be heard over the powerful howling of the wind. Soon, larger and larger waves came and smashed into the side of the ship, sending it spinning more and more upon the waters. The compasses could only just keep up with the vicious speed at which their holders were tossed about the deck. The light from the sun was entirely blotted out by the immense and imposing storm clouds above the heads of the crew.           “Land ho!” Came from the crows nest, and there they saw the vague pale silhouette of something which was certainly not more ocean.      “Heave to it, men! We’ll see our way out of this storm!” The hoarse voice...