Good afternoon,
My name is Richard Davenport and I am a 22-year old guy originally from the small town of Rome, Georgia. Currently, I am in the U.S. Navy and am a Dental Technician, living in Kansas City, Missouri. I've been writing as long as I could spell and generally lean towards Fantasy Fiction styled writings. I also write video game reviews as well as music reviews. I've written for several text-base MMORPGs (Massively-Multiplayer Online Roleplaying Games,) most of which were members of the Iron Realms Entertainment family. I've also written for a graphical MMORPG found at www.adellion.com . I am about to get out of the military and would reallly like to break into a job as a writer. I have no professional experience and am very open to any advice. If you are interested in reading some of the work that I have done, please feel free to e-mail me. Below is a sample of some writing that I have done on the Adellion message boards. Thank you.
"Clink! Clink! Clink!" The sound was maddening. That sound that embodied all that Lothar had come to hate. The sound that placed the rich on a pedestal where they could stick their feet in the face of the poor. The sound that had driven many men to evil and many more still to poverty. The sound of the coin, the sound of the piece of metal that placed so many in power while casting many others into the gutter.
With a piercing stare that could have burned a hole into the back of bordag hog (the tough race of feral pig that often stood six feet at their hump, they were interbred with wolves through some bizarre coincidence giving them an odd appearance indeed.) The very life essence that kept him going was slipping away from him like the sun at dusk and there was nothing he could do. Luck was no longer his friend and he had fallen into debt in more than one risky gamble.
With the toothy grin that showed he had just gotten one over on someone, Dartherius rattled the coins happily and said, "Any time yer ready t' gamble, y' let me know. I got plen'y o' curs where that one came from an' they always ready fer fightin'. Well, bes' o' luck to ye, which ain't much as it seems."
With that the large and burly man spun on his heel and left the room, leaving Lothar to wonder exactly what he would do now. His wife had already thrown him from his home because of his gambling habits and now he had just given away the last of the money he had managed to salvage before being shoved out the door. He couldn't find work, everyone knew he wasn't above stealing and he couldn't leave town because the guards at the gate had orders to arrest him on sight.
Suddenly an idea entered his mind and he began to turn it over and over in his mind as he strode from the dusty hovel where he had been holding his conversation with Dartherius. It was a good idea indeed...at least that was what his mind was telling him, but then, he'd had these 'good' ideas before and they never really got him anywhere. But some part of his intuition told him that this time was something different, perhaps luck was back with him.
The cacophony of every day life on the streets of Caeril stirred him from his thoughts. Being out on the open streets was always a dangerous affair for Lothar, there were always a group of guards or debtors to watch out for and usually run away from. That's what was going to make his task so difficult to carry out but then, he could do it, he knew he could.
With a quick glance around, the wiry young man darted into a small hut that he had made his home near an unpatrolled area of the city and began to plot out his scheme. A method of hiding or disguising his identity was certainly in order so that he could get past the guards at the gate, then there was the matter of a group to travel and work with although he figured he knew well enough that finding compatriots in the Bloodlands, the land of opportunity wouldn't be very difficult. Then there is the matter of payment to be dealt with and that was something he certainly couldn't furnish up front.
"Well, won't we be a rag-tag bunch," he thought to himself.
"Well, first order of business is my disguise because, if I am to be hustling up travelling companions, I'll not want to be seen for who I am," his thoughts were racing with anticipation as he fumbled through his plot's design.
"And what better way to look like I mean business than with goods acquired from the people who actually DO mean business," an evil grin spread across his face as the last thought rang across his mind. He was already running out of the hut, cloak thrown hastily across one shoulder.
"Look, I could care less what their history is or what they did in another town or who they did it to, all that I know is that they got gold in their hand and I want to take it out and put it in to mine."
Standing there scratching his head, the scruffy haired young man stared ponderously at his father.
"Father, I understand that we are an inn and as such we want to make a profit but these are criminals and the last thing we want is to get on the wrong side of justice."
"Ah! Just shush your mouth Craile, I been runnin' this inn for longer than you've been alive and I've done worse than this in my time. It's just a night and they'll pass on and they are offering double our normal price, there will be no more discussion, pour up their baths and tell Marcelle to fix up their dinner and that's all you are to do."
With that, Calum slammed the door to his office and took a seat. He knew in his mind that his son was right, after all these were wanted criminals. The Bloodlands were known to be a place of refuge for fugitives and rarely was anything done about it but for these four to be so heavily pursued they had to have done some serious stuff.
"Ah! What do I care," the burly old man told himself.
"They can't do anything to me anyway unless they get me for harboring criminals." He sat, heads in his hands as he struggled with his mind for what seemed like ages before a solid rap on the door caused him to start and offer a gruff response.
"Who is it and what do you want? I don't got time for foolishness."
"Calum, if you do not open this door, I will take it down myself and make you pay for forcing me to work." The response was gruff and cold, the weathered voice of someone who had little patience and who had seen enough of what others called nightmares to be driven to numbness, feeling no emotion at all.
"I am offering you one more chance to tell me the truth before I remove your tongue for the lies you have told me. I know better than to believe the rubbish that you speak and I have little time for dogs like you who hinder the jusutice that is due to the filth that you are holding in this inn."
"Listen," the portly man hopped from foot to foor anxiously, scratching the sweating bald spot that covered his head. "I have a right to offer my services to anyone who comes to my doorstep. I don't pry into their business, if they want a room I give it to them. So, if there are any criminals here, I don't know it."
"Very well, you are correct that you are allowed to offer your services. But as an enforcer of the peace, I hold the right to search out and deal with criminals in whatever manner their crimes allow. This means that I have the right to search every room in this inn until I find them. Now, unless you want to lose guests, I advise you to very quickly show me where they are hiding or I am going to make this day a very sour one to remember."
Calum studied the tall man, the glint of his mail catching even the smallest motes of light. The crimson cape flowing at his back bearing the black and golden mark of the perregrine falcon, the mark of justice. His longsword hang at his side, the button atop his scabbard lying open should the blade find need of use. A long goatee hanging to the man's chest and a single, chestnut-brown braid hanging to the middle of his back. This was no man that the innkeeper wanted to cross if at all avoidable.
With a sigh, the innkeeper took a polished brass key from a board among a mass of others. "I'll show you the room but I don't like it. The faster you get out of my inn, the better I'll feel. I never did like you enforcers." At that, the chubby man hobbled slowly off, continuing to wipe his bald scalp.
If some of the editing is messed up, I apologize.
My name is Richard Davenport and I am a 22-year old guy originally from the small town of Rome, Georgia. Currently, I am in the U.S. Navy and am a Dental Technician, living in Kansas City, Missouri. I've been writing as long as I could spell and generally lean towards Fantasy Fiction styled writings. I also write video game reviews as well as music reviews. I've written for several text-base MMORPGs (Massively-Multiplayer Online Roleplaying Games,) most of which were members of the Iron Realms Entertainment family. I've also written for a graphical MMORPG found at www.adellion.com . I am about to get out of the military and would reallly like to break into a job as a writer. I have no professional experience and am very open to any advice. If you are interested in reading some of the work that I have done, please feel free to e-mail me. Below is a sample of some writing that I have done on the Adellion message boards. Thank you.
"Clink! Clink! Clink!" The sound was maddening. That sound that embodied all that Lothar had come to hate. The sound that placed the rich on a pedestal where they could stick their feet in the face of the poor. The sound that had driven many men to evil and many more still to poverty. The sound of the coin, the sound of the piece of metal that placed so many in power while casting many others into the gutter.
With a piercing stare that could have burned a hole into the back of bordag hog (the tough race of feral pig that often stood six feet at their hump, they were interbred with wolves through some bizarre coincidence giving them an odd appearance indeed.) The very life essence that kept him going was slipping away from him like the sun at dusk and there was nothing he could do. Luck was no longer his friend and he had fallen into debt in more than one risky gamble.
With the toothy grin that showed he had just gotten one over on someone, Dartherius rattled the coins happily and said, "Any time yer ready t' gamble, y' let me know. I got plen'y o' curs where that one came from an' they always ready fer fightin'. Well, bes' o' luck to ye, which ain't much as it seems."
With that the large and burly man spun on his heel and left the room, leaving Lothar to wonder exactly what he would do now. His wife had already thrown him from his home because of his gambling habits and now he had just given away the last of the money he had managed to salvage before being shoved out the door. He couldn't find work, everyone knew he wasn't above stealing and he couldn't leave town because the guards at the gate had orders to arrest him on sight.
Suddenly an idea entered his mind and he began to turn it over and over in his mind as he strode from the dusty hovel where he had been holding his conversation with Dartherius. It was a good idea indeed...at least that was what his mind was telling him, but then, he'd had these 'good' ideas before and they never really got him anywhere. But some part of his intuition told him that this time was something different, perhaps luck was back with him.
The cacophony of every day life on the streets of Caeril stirred him from his thoughts. Being out on the open streets was always a dangerous affair for Lothar, there were always a group of guards or debtors to watch out for and usually run away from. That's what was going to make his task so difficult to carry out but then, he could do it, he knew he could.
With a quick glance around, the wiry young man darted into a small hut that he had made his home near an unpatrolled area of the city and began to plot out his scheme. A method of hiding or disguising his identity was certainly in order so that he could get past the guards at the gate, then there was the matter of a group to travel and work with although he figured he knew well enough that finding compatriots in the Bloodlands, the land of opportunity wouldn't be very difficult. Then there is the matter of payment to be dealt with and that was something he certainly couldn't furnish up front.
"Well, won't we be a rag-tag bunch," he thought to himself.
"Well, first order of business is my disguise because, if I am to be hustling up travelling companions, I'll not want to be seen for who I am," his thoughts were racing with anticipation as he fumbled through his plot's design.
"And what better way to look like I mean business than with goods acquired from the people who actually DO mean business," an evil grin spread across his face as the last thought rang across his mind. He was already running out of the hut, cloak thrown hastily across one shoulder.
"Look, I could care less what their history is or what they did in another town or who they did it to, all that I know is that they got gold in their hand and I want to take it out and put it in to mine."
Standing there scratching his head, the scruffy haired young man stared ponderously at his father.
"Father, I understand that we are an inn and as such we want to make a profit but these are criminals and the last thing we want is to get on the wrong side of justice."
"Ah! Just shush your mouth Craile, I been runnin' this inn for longer than you've been alive and I've done worse than this in my time. It's just a night and they'll pass on and they are offering double our normal price, there will be no more discussion, pour up their baths and tell Marcelle to fix up their dinner and that's all you are to do."
With that, Calum slammed the door to his office and took a seat. He knew in his mind that his son was right, after all these were wanted criminals. The Bloodlands were known to be a place of refuge for fugitives and rarely was anything done about it but for these four to be so heavily pursued they had to have done some serious stuff.
"Ah! What do I care," the burly old man told himself.
"They can't do anything to me anyway unless they get me for harboring criminals." He sat, heads in his hands as he struggled with his mind for what seemed like ages before a solid rap on the door caused him to start and offer a gruff response.
"Who is it and what do you want? I don't got time for foolishness."
"Calum, if you do not open this door, I will take it down myself and make you pay for forcing me to work." The response was gruff and cold, the weathered voice of someone who had little patience and who had seen enough of what others called nightmares to be driven to numbness, feeling no emotion at all.
"I am offering you one more chance to tell me the truth before I remove your tongue for the lies you have told me. I know better than to believe the rubbish that you speak and I have little time for dogs like you who hinder the jusutice that is due to the filth that you are holding in this inn."
"Listen," the portly man hopped from foot to foor anxiously, scratching the sweating bald spot that covered his head. "I have a right to offer my services to anyone who comes to my doorstep. I don't pry into their business, if they want a room I give it to them. So, if there are any criminals here, I don't know it."
"Very well, you are correct that you are allowed to offer your services. But as an enforcer of the peace, I hold the right to search out and deal with criminals in whatever manner their crimes allow. This means that I have the right to search every room in this inn until I find them. Now, unless you want to lose guests, I advise you to very quickly show me where they are hiding or I am going to make this day a very sour one to remember."
Calum studied the tall man, the glint of his mail catching even the smallest motes of light. The crimson cape flowing at his back bearing the black and golden mark of the perregrine falcon, the mark of justice. His longsword hang at his side, the button atop his scabbard lying open should the blade find need of use. A long goatee hanging to the man's chest and a single, chestnut-brown braid hanging to the middle of his back. This was no man that the innkeeper wanted to cross if at all avoidable.
With a sigh, the innkeeper took a polished brass key from a board among a mass of others. "I'll show you the room but I don't like it. The faster you get out of my inn, the better I'll feel. I never did like you enforcers." At that, the chubby man hobbled slowly off, continuing to wipe his bald scalp.
If some of the editing is messed up, I apologize.