To expand on the Story Game as such I thought it would benefit XoO to have an actual story game, and by that I mean something worthy of being in this section of the forums instead of the LTS version. Method Create a post generally stating that you reserve a slot, like just posting "Reserved", and then in the next 24 hours edit your thread to put the story in, and put "Completed" in your editing message to let other people know the next slot is up for grabs. Requirements 1+ Paragraph of writing, maximum 1 chapter at a time Coherent and professional (worth preservation) Not bias to other writers, if outside of this thread you have issues with people then keep your issues with them outside of this thread Additional Rules Only non-spam non-plot destroying material will be preserved, feel free to write for the fun of it but it won't necessarily be preserved in the final product. The plot may have separations in them, as you can start new characters, new settings and new a new general feel to the story by making it a separate plot line which should later intersect the other plot lines and tie the story together. This means that the story can start off as one thing and include totally different aspects and possibly might end as something completely different. Before ending the plotline of a character that holds significant focus in the thread please consult the original maker of that character, I'll be moderating the finished product and I'll make sure to keep it all fair and high quality, PM me if you have any questions, concerns of grievances. Enjoy!
I NOTICE TO ALL TRAVELERS Those wishing to cross the Dunudu Desert are asked to heed caution. The next outpost is not for 27 miles and it takes little effort to find yourself lost! Also, beware of bandits! There are no patrols in the desert! Make sure you have all necessary supplies before attempting the journey! Khril stared at the notice that had been to crudely carved into the plank of wood. As was his nature, he began to politely reply to the board as if it was a person who had passed on this information, “Fuck you.” He didn't need any god damned warnings from a fucking sign. He had come prepared... for the most part. Resting in the pack that hung over his shoulder was 10 flasks (12oz, 9 of which were filled with water the other of cheap whiskey), 13 packets of jerky (it never goes bad, even in the heat), a map of the country (though in the desert it would be useless), 2 loaves of bread (disgustingly stale, but still edible) and in his left pocket (it must always be the left) was a double bladed knife. One edge was serrated while the other was smooth, makes for a nasty weapon but also versatile in its uses. Thinking back on it, though, he probably should have packed a tent of some sort. Khril didn’t want to go into the desert, though necessity called for it. Because as it turns out, Bandits (the very ones the sign has warned him about) have taken something from it. Something of the utmost value, something precious, priceless even. He wanted it back. Despite his predicament, he couldn’t help but be a little amused at the terrain. He stood on the edge of a dirt road and just a few feet in front of him sand stretched out for, if this states the obvious sign was to be trusted, 27 miles. It was very odd looking, really, because the forest literally cut off. It was like looking at a literal representation of heaven and hell, one side was vibrant and full of life and the other was dead and scorching. He glanced back at the sign one more time, which at this point seemed to be yelling at him for being such an idiot for even thinking of stepping foot in this god damned wasteland, and repeated, “Fuck you.” Growling in his irritation, he finally began to put one foot in front of the other, even after his boots started sinking into the sand. It seemed a lifetime ago Khril was last here. He was younger then, his shoulder didn't hurt, his eyes were clearer, and general outlook on life was better. He looked up at the double suns that cursed this desert and again scowled at them with the same "Fuck You" he gave the sign post so many days ago. The information he had paid dearly for said the bandit camp was just beyond the one aspect of the dessert that was forever unchanged, the great Oasis of Tylih. Getting to the Oasis was half the problem having the life giving water all life needs, it drew dangers both animal, man, and even things beyond. He gaze over the dune at he catches the first glimpse of the Oasis, and sighs part contentment and part anger knowing he was, if he was lucky, only half way done with his journey. The winding drifts kept the oasis out of sight as he worked his way around them only to have it staring back at him, which gave him a reassurance in his own sanity despite the maddening heat; although it were the times where he could not focus on the oasis which let his mind wander and land of the tales told of the desert, from the eons old tales of the now extinct massive azu'drac lizards in the sand to the chilling tales of the shockstorm and the glass shards supposedly born from it residing in the Buddhist temples at home and the hymns he would hear as the monks walked through the markets. Again, the green fleck far away appeared over the hill surrounded by twisting pools of mirror-like shimmering that danced upon the distance as he walked. He wiped his forehead off with his sleeve and reached for his water and feeling around his pack... ... "WHAT?!" he thought. Khril spun around and emptied all his flaks onto the ground... 1, 2, 3, 4 water flasks! ...I must have dropped them? Staring at the deep brown green laced leather bound flask to his left he felt relieved that he still had the whiskey. He took a decent gulp from one of the canisters and inspected the pack, no seams were loose so he put everything back and tied the pack as tight as he could, the first sun was already setting, it wouldn't be long until it was night and Khril prayed that the desert would be kind enough to spare him of frostbite once the wretched suns had gone to rest. II The suns had reached their height over the citadel of Langgar, and now continued on their course to the other horizon. The town below, nestled amongst the crags upon which the citadel was built, was the first to benefit from the resulting shade. Dotar didn't mind at all, yet. The skies being what they were this season, the suns burned down unhindered through the morning until the peak of the day, and made the market almost unbearably hot, even in the quite spacious tent he had set up his shop. A little bit of cool air was welcome. As all the townsfolk knew, though, the set of the suns was soon followed by some quite chilly winds, and within a couple hours the cold would be as unbearable as the heat was a few hours earlier. It would be then that the market would close and the people would retreat indoors. The tent was beginning to flap already, it seemed. It was at this point that a familiar face showed itself. More familiar than he would like. "Dotar, long time no see, old friend." Dotar stifled a smirk. "Welcome to my humble store, Nataq," he said almost cheerfully, gesturing with his arm. "How do you do?" Nataq stepped in from the entrance to the tent. He was much the same as last time they had talked; tall, a shaven head, trimmed moustache and beard. The only difference was what looked like a scar on his left temple. "Well, very well. Business is good. I trust it is for you, too, what with the festival tomorrow," he said. "...Yes," Dotar hesitated. "Not so much today, people are more making ready, less buying, you know." His trinket shop hadn't been too busy at all, in fact. But it gave him a break from all the excitement at home, so he wasn't complaining. "Ah, I see. Excited?" Dotar shrugged, smiled stiffly. "Maybe," he said. His expression changed, becoming more serious. "Let's not beat around the bush, Nataq. What are you here for?" Nataq almost looked taken aback, but Dotar knew him well enough to know otherwise. "Just making conversation, Dotar." He gestured towards the door leading to the back room of the tent. "Please." Dotar nodded, rolled away the door and ducked through. Nataq followed. "Mmmm, you have quite the selection here," Nataq remarked. Dotar shrugged, again. "Lots of customers these days. Word gets around. Hopefully not too much more too fast, would hate to have to move again any time soon." His real money-spinner - black market arms dealing - was not the safest of jobs. Officials, powers-that-be, they took a very dim view of this sort of thing; once they got onto his tail, he had to hit the road fast or wind up rotting in a dungeon hell-knows-where. The trade also put him in touch with all sorts of shady characters, this man including. But not many other things paid the bills quite so well. "My real collection's off site, these are just showpieces. Not enough room in here." Nataq nodded. "Good. We're mostly after ammunition this time. Five thousand bolts, as many arrows, some oil in the mix, and a few other odds and ends." He handed a scroll to Dotar, who promptly scanned it. It was anyone's guess what they were up to this time. He probably didn't want to know even if the man would tell him. "I can do it," Dotar said flatly, rolling up the scroll. "Five hundred gold." "Done," the man said, handing over a small pouch. He seemed to have it worked out pretty well ahead of time. Dotar opened the pouch enough for a cursory look inside; he'd handled money enough in his time to know it was about right by weight. "I'll have my men drop by in a couple days to pick it up. They'll say I sent them. I'll leave you to take care of the rest." Dotar nodded. It might seem the man was placing a lot of trust in him, but he wasn't. He didn't need to; these people were some of the few that could keep Dotar awake at night more often than the spectre of the authorities closing the net. "And I probably don't need to remind you," Nataq added just before he bent under the door to leave the room, "but keep this very quiet. This and the events of the last few weeks. Much is at stake. Nice dealing with you, Dotar." With that he left. "You too, Nataq," Dotar called after him. Lucky he'd had so long to work on his poker face. He doubted the man he'd talked to a couple weeks ago would get anywhere - even if he did it probably wouldn't be suspicious - but he still hadn't been able to come up with a good alibi, some way to put himself out of the picture, something like that. He needed to work on that, that or some way to disappear - because that possibility was worrying him more than anything else. He sighed. At least it was worth his while. --------------- Sometime in the future of chapter one's plotline.... The suns had reached their height over the citadel of Langgar, and now continued on their course to the other horizon. The town below, nestled amongst the crags upon which the citadel was built, was the first to benefit from the resulting shade. Dotar didn't mind at all, yet. The skies being what they were this season, the suns burned down unhindered through the morning until the peak of the day, and made the market almost unbearably hot, even in the quite spacious tent he had set up his shop. A little bit of cool air was welcome. As all the townsfolk knew, though, the set of the suns was soon followed by some quite chilly winds, and within a couple hours the cold would be as unbearable as the heat was a few hours earlier. It would be then that the market would close and the people would retreat indoors. The tent was beginning to flap already, it seemed. It was at this point that a familiar face showed itself. More familiar than he would like. "Dotar, long time no see, old friend." Dotar stifled a smirk. "Welcome to my humble store, Nataq," he said almost cheerfully, gesturing with his arm. "How do you do?" Nataq stepped in from the entrance to the tent. He was much the same as last time they had talked; tall, a shaven head, trimmed moustache and beard. The only difference was what looked like a scar on his left temple. "Well, very well. Business is good. I trust it is for you, too, what with the festival tomorrow," he said. "...Yes," Dotar hesitated. "Not so much today, people are more making ready, less buying, you know." His trinket shop hadn't been too busy at all, in fact. But it gave him a break from all the excitement at home, so he wasn't complaining. "Ah, I see. Excited?" Dotar shrugged, smiled stiffly. "Maybe," he said. His expression changed, becoming more serious. "Let's not beat around the bush, Nataq. What are you here for?" Nataq almost looked taken aback, but Dotar knew him well enough to know otherwise. "Just making conversation, Dotar." He gestured towards the door leading to the back room of the tent. "Please." Dotar nodded, rolled away the door and ducked through. Nataq followed. "Mmmm, you have quite the selection here," Nataq remarked. Dotar shrugged, again. "Lots of customers these days. Word gets around. Hopefully not too much more too fast, would hate to have to move again any time soon." His real money-spinner - black market arms dealing - was not the safest of jobs. Officials, powers-that-be, they took a very dim view of this sort of thing; once they got onto his tail, he had to hit the road fast or wind up rotting in a dungeon hell-knows-where. The trade also put him in touch with all sorts of shady characters, this man including. But not many other things paid the bills quite so well. "My real collection's off site, these are just showpieces. Not enough room in here." Nataq nodded. "Good. We're mostly after ammunition this time. Five thousand bolts, as many arrows, some oil in the mix, and a few other odds and ends." He handed a scroll to Dotar, who promptly scanned it. It was anyone's guess what they were up to this time. He probably didn't want to know even if the man would tell him. "I can do it," Dotar said flatly, rolling up the scroll. "Five hundred gold." "Done," the man said, handing over a small pouch. He seemed to have it worked out pretty well ahead of time. Dotar opened the pouch enough for a cursory look inside; he'd handled money enough in his time to know it was about right by weight. "I'll have my men drop by in a couple days to pick it up. They'll say I sent them. I'll leave you to take care of the rest." Dotar nodded. It might seem the man was placing a lot of trust in him, but he wasn't. He didn't need to; these people were some of the few that could keep Dotar awake at night more often than the spectre of the authorities closing the net. "And I probably don't need to remind you," Nataq added just before he bent under the door to leave the room, "but keep this very quiet. This and the events of the last few weeks. Much is at stake. Nice dealing with you, Dotar." With that he left. "You too, Nataq," Dotar called after him. Lucky he'd had so long to work on his poker face. He doubted the man he'd talked to a couple weeks ago would get anywhere - even if he did it probably wouldn't be suspicious - but he still hadn't been able to come up with a good alibi, some way to put himself out of the picture, something like that. He needed to work on that, that or some way to disappear - because that possibility was worrying him more than anything else. He sighed. At least it was worth his while. ---------------
COMPLETED NOTICE TO ALL TRAVLERS Those wishing to cross the Dunudu Desert are asked to heed caution. The next outpost is not for 27 miles and it takes little effort to find yourself lost! Also, beware of bandits! There are no patrols in the desert! Make sure you have all necessary supplies before attempting the journey! --- Khril stared at the notice that had been to crudely carved into the plank of wood. As was his nature, he began to politely reply to the board as if it was a person who had passed on this information, “Fuck you.” He didn't need any god damned warnings from a fucking sign. He had come prepared... for the most part. Resting in the pack that hung over his shoulder was 10 flasks (12oz, 9 of which were filled with water the other of cheap whisky), 13 packets of jerky (it never goes bad, even in the heat), a map of the country (though in the desert it would be useless), 2 loaves of bread (disgustingly stale, but still edible) and in his left pocket (it must always be the left) was a double bladed knife. One edge was serrated while the other was smooth, makes for a nasty weapon but also versatile in its uses. Thinking back on it, though, he probably should have packed a tent of some sort. Khril didn’t want to go into the desert, though necessity called for it. Because as it turns out, Bandits (the very ones the sign has warned him about) have taken something from it. Something of the utmost value, something precious, priceless even. He wanted it back. Despite his predicament, he couldn’t help but be a little amused at the terrain. He stood on the edge of a dirt road and just a few feet in front of him sand stretched out for, if this states the obvious sign was to be trusted, 27 miles. It was very odd looking, really, because the forest literally cut off. It was like looking at a literal representation of heaven and hell, one side was vibrant and full of life and the other was dead and scorching. He glanced back at the sign one more time, which at this point seemed to be yelling at him for being such an idiot for even thinking of stepping foot in this god damned wasteland, and repeated, “Fuck you.” Growling in his irritation, he finally began to put one foot in front of the other, even after his boots started sinking into the sand. ------ Not a bad kick off, if I do say so myself.
Great start, secksy. I liked how you left so many pieces undeveloped, leaves a lot of room for character definition, ect. =] Chapter 1 has been added and cleaned up for syntax and stylizing. I look forward to seeing the next piece added ^__^
( i am not the greatest write feel free to edit for format) It seemed a lifetime ago Khril was last here. He was younger then, his shoulder didn't hurt, his eyes were clearer, and general outlook on life was better. He looked up at the double suns that cursed this desert and again scowled at them with the same "Fuck You" he gave the sign post so many days ago. The information he had paid dearly for said the bandit camp was just beyond the one aspect of the dessert that was forever unchanged, the great Oasis of Tylih. Getting to the Oasis aws half the problem having the life giving water all life needs, it drew danges both animal, man, and even things beyond. He gaze over the dune at he catches the first glimpse of the Oasis, and sighs part contentment and part anger knowing he was, if he was lucky, only half way done with his journey.
The winding drifts kept the oasis out of sight as he worked his way around them only to have it staring back at him, which gave him a reassurance in his own sanity despite the maddening heat; although it were the times where he could not focus on the oasis which let his mind wander amn land of the tales told of the desert, from the eons old tales of the now extinct massive azu'drac lizards in the sand to the chilling tales of the shockstorm and the glass shards supposedly born from it residing in the Buddhist temples at home and the hymns he would hear as the monks walked through the markets. Again, the green fleck far away appeared over the hill surrounded by twisting pools of mirror-like shimmering that danced upon the distance as he walked. He wiped his forehead off with his sleeve and reached for his water and feeling around his pack... ... "WHAT?!" he thought. Khril spun around and emptied all his flaks onto the ground... 1, 2, 3, 4 water flasks! ...I must have dropped them? Staring at the deep brown green laced leather bound flask to his left he felt relieved that he still had the whiskey. He took a decent gulp from one of the canisters and inspected the pack, no seams were loose so he put everything back and tied the pack as tight as he could, the first sun was already setting, it wouldn't be long until it was night and Khril prayed that the desert would be kind enough to spare him of frostbite once the wretched suns had gone to rest.
Thanks for posting, Hype. Though you posted it after I had already reserved the next slot, I'm it'll work out. Thanks swifty for your post =] Don't worry, this work is just a draft for now, when we hit an arbitrary point like 10 chapters we can get the English major of XoO to splinter barrage it's grammar rape.
SS_Hype, since Lev had reserved his post first I'm going to follow him for now but I intend to set a foundation to work your post in. As such, (not reserved anymore) I'll be done with it later tonight. <3 EDIT: Nevermind, don't have the time to write tonight so I hereby unreserve this post.
Well, the finished product should have the same general feel and concepts as those collectively added. If the whole thing needs to be butchered and re-hashed like pretty much all professional novelists do then that's what needs to be done. Don't worry about it hype, everyone has equal artistic rights to this project, it'll all work out in the end once we know what the feel of the book is and can fiddle around with the pacing later, right now we need loads of creativity and ideas flying around, and the best way to do that is write segments and frankenstein them together for now.
sorry for being sensative, i just really want to be good at writing but i do suck, hard to translate my thoughts. So i am overly critical to any kind of feedback.
Because I clearly don't write novels. If you don't understand what I meant by "frankestein" I'd go read it, if you have read it then what I meant is we are just cobbling this together archaically for now and giving it a spark of life. If we nazi'd the entire process I doubt people with good writing potential but poor tolerance for criticism would be discouraged and would not contribute in the first place. I don't see any problems that should be happening right now, and I can't foresee any until the stress of squeezing the sketchy skitzo bloated body (that I see this story eventually turning into as soon as we have enough contributors to make the feeling blur enough to be noticeable) into a sexy and sleek format that can fit into some tight pants and posted on the front page. (Maybe secksy will understand this metaphor? =P) Don't sweat it =]
The suns had reached their height over the citadel of Langgar, and now continued on their course to the other horizon. The town below, nestled amongst the crags upon which the citadel was built, was the first to benefit from the resulting shade. Dotar didn't mind at all, yet. The skies being what they were this season, the suns burned down unhindered through the morning until the peak of the day, and made the market almost unbearably hot, even in the quite spacious tent he had set up his shop. A little bit of cool air was welcome. As all the townsfolk knew, though, the set of the suns was soon followed by some quite chilly winds, and within a couple hours the cold would be as unbearable as the heat was a few hours earlier. It would be then that the market would close and the people would retreat indoors. The tent was beginning to flap already, it seemed. It was at this point that a familiar face showed itself. More familiar than he would like. "Dotar, long time no see, old friend." Dotar stifled a smirk. "Welcome to my humble store, Nataq," he said almost cheerfully, gesturing with his arm. "How do you do?" Nataq stepped in from the entrance to the tent. He was much the same as last time they had talked; tall, a shaven head, trimmed moustache and beard. The only difference was what looked like a scar on his left temple. "Well, very well. Business is good. I trust it is for you, too, what with the festival tomorrow," he said. "...Yes," Dotar hesitated. "Not so much today, people are more making ready, less buying, you know." His trinket shop hadn't been too busy at all, in fact. But it gave him a break from all the excitement at home, so he wasn't complaining. "Ah, I see. Excited?" Dotar shrugged, smiled stiffly. "Maybe," he said. His expression changed, becoming more serious. "Let's not beat around the bush, Nataq. What are you here for?" Nataq almost looked taken aback, but Dotar knew him well enough to know otherwise. "Just making conversation, Dotar." He gestured towards the door leading to the back room of the tent. "Please." Dotar nodded, rolled away the door and ducked through. Nataq followed. "Mmmm, you have quite the selection here," Nataq remarked. Dotar shrugged, again. "Lots of customers these days. Word gets around. Hopefully not too much more too fast, would hate to have to move again any time soon." His real money-spinner - black market arms dealing - was not the safest of jobs. Officials, powers-that-be, they took a very dim view of this sort of thing; once they got onto his tail, he had to hit the road fast or wind up rotting in a dungeon hell-knows-where. The trade also put him in touch with all sorts of shady characters, this man including. But not many other things paid the bills quite so well. "My real collection's off site, these are just showpieces. Not enough room in here." Nataq nodded. "Good. We're mostly after ammunition this time. Five thousand bolts, as many arrows, some oil in the mix, and a few other odds and ends." He handed a scroll to Dotar, who promptly scanned it. It was anyone's guess what they were up to this time. He probably didn't want to know even if the man would tell him. "I can do it," Dotar said flatly, rolling up the scroll. "Five hundred gold." "Done," the man said, handing over a small pouch. He seemed to have it worked out pretty well ahead of time. Dotar opened the pouch enough for a cursory look inside; he'd handled money enough in his time to know it was about right by weight. "I'll have my men drop by in a couple days to pick it up. They'll say I sent them. I'll leave you to take care of the rest." Dotar nodded. It might seem the man was placing a lot of trust in him, but he wasn't. He didn't need to; these people were some of the few that could keep Dotar awake at night more often than the spectre of the authorities closing the net. "And I probably don't need to remind you," Nataq added just before he bent under the door to leave the room, "but keep this very quiet. This and the events of the last few weeks. Much is at stake. Nice dealing with you, Dotar." With that he left. "You too, Nataq," Dotar called after him. Lucky he'd had so long to work on his poker face. He doubted the man he'd talked to a couple weeks ago would get anywhere - even if he did it probably wouldn't be suspicious - but he still hadn't been able to come up with a good alibi, some way to put himself out of the picture, something like that. He needed to work on that, that or some way to disappear - because that possibility was worrying him more than anything else. He sighed. At least it was worth his while.
For anyone wondering how to go on from here, we need a piece to tie together the future and past of the Khril oasis plotline, or you can keep working on the Dotar-Nataq plotline, or make a new one, or start thinking of a way to connect them. Remember that you can also provide tips and support for ideas informally just in posts in this thread.
I'd just like to note in case the implication was a little too subtle - the "man he'd talked to a couple weeks ago" at the end of my post refers to Khril. I think it should be easy enough to work out though. Feel free to do as you'd like with those characters; my main aim was to provide some background to a line from a previous post ("the information he'd paid dearly for") and possibly open up a new plot-line along the way.
- Ill contribute a bit, im a bit out of practice though lol - Completed -ish The wind rushing past Khril's face and the darkness that surrounded him was nearly enough to null his senses, all he knew for certain was that he was falling. There was no emotion of fear, no desire to save himself. He didnt even feel the need to Insult the ground as it came into view. For the first time in a long, long time, he felt at peace. Though not completely. There was still something wrong, and it wasnt the fact he was about to crash into the floor, it was a strange feeling, as though he was being watched. Spreading out his arms he tried to position himself in mid air to look back up from where he had fell. Looking up the stone chasm, its giant wall carved with thousnads of sculptures and writings , he noticed all the way at the top was a bright red glow, and the silhouette of a person looking down at him. Khril stared unsure of what to make of this, he knew he had only a few seconds left and would rather that his mind be filled with much more serene thoughts, instead of questions. He tried to focus, tried to make out this image better. All he could see for certain was this person holding something out in their hands, an object. Holding it across the chasm as if preparing to drop it upon him. Khril immediatly recognized it and went wide eyed. He felt as though someone had just grasped his heart and had tried to pull it from his chest. All he could think of, all he wanted was to hold it one more time. The hand released it and it began to fall, then Khril hit the ground. He awoke to find himself still next to the Oasis and the cool air still softly stroking his sun burns. Rising up he made his way to the water and kneeling next to it he washed his face and shook off the dream. The same dream every night. "Fuck" He whispered to himself. As he finished he saw his reflection. The man that looked back at him felt like a stranger and all that he could feel rushing through him was anger. An anger that should never have been his. He hit the water with his hand distorting the image and got up to his feet. The sky was getting lighter, it would be daybrak soon and this was as good a time as any to begin the next part of his journey. Grabbing his gear, he made sure that everything he needed was there and that no more bottles had 'dissapeared'. When he saw his bottle of whisky he gently stroke it, and a small smile emerged on his face, but he left it where it was. The journey proved a little easier this time, part of it probably because he knew that he had gone through the first half which was always the worst part, but he still grumbled to himself at how much longer he had to go, and of course the bandits that he still had to find. It was at this time on the top of a sand dune as he was complaing that he saw the smoke. Immediatly he rushed towards it making sure that each dune he crawled up he would check at the other side to make sure of no unpleasnt surprises. Eventually he made it to the last dune that lay against the source of the smoke. Rising to his feet he looked at the carnage below him. A caravan of traders passing through the desert, had been destroyed. The severed heads of some were impaled on the top of pikes, the rest were just simply shoved onto a pile. The caravans themselves had been stripped of anything of value and were left to the tourch. Khril walked through the middle of the site and stared at everything around him. He didnt feel sad or ill though when he saw the dismembered bodies, he didnt feel pity for those that has been tortured and slain. 'Good' he thought to himself ' Im getting closer ' . And it was with that thought that he carried on. - Rushed a bit at the end i think, if you wanna change/add/remove something to make it suit the story better then go ahead by all means. I also hope Im on the right track with the kind of person Khril is, I see him more of a Dark Hero ( if he is indeed out 'hero' )with regards to his style of life.