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| User | Post |
| Elara Posts: 5791/9736 |
Not bad. But yeah, a bit more detail could definitely be worked into this. The scene, where it is, when it is, but subtly. |
| Phoenixocracy Posts: 896/2746 |
Fair enough. A jar is fine by me.
I'm probably going to rewrite this. I can always describe things better the second time around, once the idea is stuck in my head nice and tight. This was written at nine in the morning at Saturday school, so I was a bit tired. Hahaha |
| Elara Posts: 5787/9736 |
The traditional myth calls it a jar, so that might work. The box apparently was a later mistranslation... however among modern times it is most accepted. In that light, I would say either jar or box, but jar would be truer. |
| Phoenixocracy Posts: 894/2746 |
Hm. I did not know that. I simply thought they were called urns. I knew it was not literally a box, but I did not know the proper name for it.
However, I was not going for Harry Potter. I had more of a European city in mind while writing this, apartment buildings and the sort. I know what you mean, though, in retrospect. I can see it looking like that. I just read it again, and I can edit a lot. But it is suffice for now. Lol. |
| Elara Posts: 5786/9736 |
Interesting choice of setting. The beginning echos Harry Potter when Dumbledore delivers Harry to the Dursleys... but is more like a giant Snape doing it.
Love the shadow descriptions, good imagery there. Might I suggest using the term amphora instead of urn? Of course, I always thought that it was a box in the myth. But, generally speaking, Greek urns or jugs were known as amphorae. |
| Phoenixocracy Posts: 892/2746 |
Meh. I wrote this for school a while ago. I have an obsession with Greek mythology. Anyway, its not great, but I like it. It has potential, but that is literally where the story ends. I never planned on taking it further. I jsut thought I should start posting in here. I'll post more stuff when I decide its better and tolerable to look at. Pandora The streets were dark. It was the hour of night where time seemed to stand still in the city. Lights were turned off inside of the warm apartment buildings, and even the lamp posts seemed to bow down to the vast serenity. A lone man was the only sign of life in the sleeping city. He was a peculiar figure, striding down the center of the street in a royal manner, although he looked far from it. The man stood nearly as high as the lamp posts, with greasy black hair hanging in his ivory face to his shoulders. The oddest sight of this figure was a full sized cloak clinging to his gaunt features. The cloak swirled ominously in a way that suggested it wasn’t completely solid. Finally, the man came to a stop. Shadows seemed to dance around his feet as he reached into his sleeve. From it, he drew a large urn adorned in odd paintings that almost looked to be swirling in constant movement. The air grew tense as the man turned his pale features towards the sky. A smile stretched across his face like a fresh wound festering with disease. “For what you could not do, Pandora.” His voice seemed to bleed darkness itself. “I release the goddess of Hope.” With that, the man wrenched off the lid of the urn and held it up towards the sky. Immediately, a resilient light poured from the urn and shot into the heavens. Everything, including the dark cloak, turned a bright white and lost all texture. Suddenly, the light stopped. The urn turned to dust in the man’s hands and was swept away by an unseen wind. The air was still, and everything silent. And then the heavens opened up. A cold downpour began, the wind whipping in every direction. Thunder cracked throughout the night as though the world was being ripped in two. A flash of light raced from the sky towards the cloaked figure, but at last second he pulled a shield from the shadows themselves and deflected the lightning bolt with ease. The man cackled, the sound echoing with a cold chill over the wind and thunder as though they didn’t exist. He raised his hands as his greasy hair whipped around his head. The ground beneath him began to crack as a pillar emerged from below his feet and rose him into the air. “Fight me, Brother!” he screamed in rage to the storming heavens. The streets below began to chip away as skeletal hands clawed their way to the surface. Undead bodies pulled themselves upwards. Some were clad in bronze armor and held ancient swords, while others were dressed in various military uniforms wielding guns. “Fight me!” he screamed again, this time pulling a black spear from the shadows, its shaft crafted from bones. “The war for Olympus has begun!” |
