[CW/ Compilation/ Discussion]Old works from the past...

[Sutoratosu]

So yeah, like the title suggests, I was cleaning out my school maintained google drive for the new academic year and I came across an old folder filled with past projects and assignments for various classes. One of them being a journal that I wrote up for AP World History in Sophmore year as part of a partner project and ended up getting us an A for. It's been a long while, and was interested to go back through it again to see just how big a difference has appeared in my writing now compared to then... and I figured, why the hell not let others have a sight of it too?

This was finished back on November 22, 2013. Nearly a full two years ago, a full month before I ever found this community and several more months before I started getting involved in the Roleplaying forum here and got interested in considering trying my hand at writing stories again. The class was given a project based on aspects of life in the middle ages, with each set of partners being assigned an occupation. We had to produce some type of peice of evidence of whatever job we were given, be it a journal maintained by someone in the field, a tool they would've used, etc. Me and my partner, a then Senior and a pretty cool guy, decided that I would write up a journal and he would make a plague doctor mask to go along with the general concept of the narrative.

The following is that journal. It is told from the perspective of an alchemist and herbologist living in england during the time of the black plague. The thing basically details his travels throughout the isle as a plague doctor of sorts who actually does try to make an effort towards legitimately helping his patients using what knowledge of herbs and medicine he had, rather than conning them and exploiting false hope and desperation for his own gain.

The 10th day of November, 1348 Anno Domini:
Tis been near three months since the Black death fell upon the village. in that time, nearly some thirty in a half people hath fallen prey to the illness. including my mentor, an alchemist named Richard Smith, the lone man with any knowledge of herbs and medicine within the entire town. in the wake of his death, I have become the only one treating those who fall ill, but yet, as I had only been in apprenticeship for some four years. I doubt i will be able to do anything to stem the tide of Infection and Death, the Vicious cycle that has so firmly established its grip on the village. Each day more and more die, their bodies have begun to chake the streets; they die faster than we can burn the bedding and the corpses.
All those who assisted me have either retreated in horror or died, some of them both. now only I and five others remain. and as I feared, we are but powerless to help those suffering. it seems that no mixture of herbs, ancient remedies, or medicine can stop the Black death. The best that we’ve managed thus far is to make a concoction to induce a coma.Mayhaps it is as the roaming clergymen say. mayhaps this tis truly the punishment sent by God for mans sins. but yet, if this is indeed so, then why would I, one who would be attempting to meddle with Gods plan. still be standing here? would I not have been struck down already if this was true?

The 4th day of January, 1349 Anno Domini:
The last of those infected hath died some days ago. some fifty and seven men, women, and children hath passed since the plague's arrival. some one and forty hundred hath remained on this plain.but even with most of my neighbors alive and well, twas fifty and seven people too many who died. I failed to save them. the most I could ever do was put them into a slumber from which they could never wake. yet for all my failure, I still retain my life, why? No, no, it matters not. If I did not fall prey to the Black Death, it is because God did not wish for me to.
I met a man formerly of the Cloth at noon. He wandered into town on nothing more than a mule, which he admitted to me had been lifted from the possession of a dead farmer.he also confessed to me of how he took flight from his responsibilities as a man of the cloth when his congregation needed him most. how he lived as a heathen and a savage, doing whatever it took to survive, without shame.he told me of his wish for death, but his inability to attain death. such is what the “Death has wrought in this world. Needless suffering and the reversal of order. it has created a world where a common man such as myself gives moral consolidation to a man of God. nay, this can not be the work of God, for what reason doth he to destroy the order which he himself set forth? for such would only be attempted by a fiend delusional enough to challenge God. it is only attemptable by Lucifer, the lowest of the Fell Angels.
but, whether the “Death be wrought by the hand of God or Satan, it matters not. be it as Evil and Unnatural as it was, the confessions of former father Mason hath shown me one thing, and one thing only.
I can not wallow in the successes and failures of the past, for such is a luxury only men of age advanced can afford. but I will repent for my shortcomings. with each and every person who passed, I wrought a list and scribed their name upon it. I shall do all I can to ensure That list shall not grow any longer than it already has. Father Mason hath told me of the many towns and hobbles he pass’d through on his departure from the church, and of the amount of the sick and dieing in those areas, many times more than that which we endured here. I’ve decided, I shall pack my tools and leave the village at first light. to find a cure. And to redeem myself...
With God as my witness, I shall not fail

The 14th day of August, 1349 Anno Domini:
It hath been seven months since I embarked ‘pon my journey, and in those seven months, i hath passed through some 30 towns… and I hath seen o’er a thousand corpses. during my travels, i’ve managed to concoct a tonic of wild garlic and the root of the Solomon’s seal plant it seems to be effective, as some patients hath managed to recover when given the tonic thrice times each day. but yet, my failures continue to loom larger than my successes. the list has grown in length. some ninety and eight names tis upon it now. near twice what it originally was. even with the Tonic, more aught than Naught I must Still resort to using the serum to silence the Ill. I fear that I fight a losing battle.
a few hours ago, I arrived upon a manor. one which belonged to Lord Longshire, who fled the manor for safer grounds when word of the plague first spread, and hath not been seen nor heard from since. when I first arrived, an entourage of six knights, led by Sir Brighton, the former right-hand man of Lord Longshire. they searched myself and my saddle bags, when I askd them why they need search men who approached, Sir Brighton answered
“we are searching for would-be Jewish anarchist, who we have suspicion hath poisoned the waters and caused this Plague. why just yesterday, we captured a man riding into the manor just as you are now, carrying various sacks of herbs and instruments, who claimed to be a doctor. upon searching his person, we found several herbal poisons; leaves of a yew tree, bracken root,water hemlock, water dropwort,and deadly nightshade, just to name the few that we can identify.” at last, his men finished their search, and satisfied that I was neither of Jewish ancestry, nor an Anarchist, they let me through, but not before demanding my assistance to identify the number of herbs and plants that the doctor was carrying. they took to the dungeon beneath the manor where they held him. seventeen. carrying was he, some seventeen poisons. There were two knights standing at the end of the corridor. I stood to go tell my Findings to Sir Brighton, but the Anarchist reached out and grabbed me at the wrist. he begged me to stay and listen to his story. so I did. his name, he told me, was Gregory. I inquired why he had so many poisons on his person. he told me that he was a fellow alchemist, and that he had been gathering the herbs to study them, and to develop a possible antidote, if, in fact,the waters were being poisoned. I inquired why own his chest he bore the star of David, and told me that “Merely being a jew was no crime, for they are God’s chosen people, are they not?” in which he had a point. but yet still, I left him and reported to Sir Brighton. while I hath no Personal vice against the Jews,and I believed him to be an alchemist like myself, as he did hath sufficient knowledge in the subject, trying to prove his innocence would likely to still have led to him hanging from a tree, only with Me hanging beside him. however, I did slip him an instrument of mine, which, if he has the knowledge and dexterity, he can pick the lock. at least now, ere he dies, some of the fault shalt be on his own head, hot just my own. and still tis no skin off my back, for if he is caught after or in the act of escaping, they shalt not adversely associate me with it, they shall just assume their search was not… thorough...enough, or that he stole it when I wasn’t looking.
Ironically, despite the searches of Brighton and his men would suggest, not a single person living anywhere on the manor grounds hath fallen ill with the plague, at least, none that I could see toiling in the fields showed symptoms common to those who had. and I saw no massive makeshift graveyard or burning pit, nor, and thank God almighty for this, any corpse choking the pathway, one more such sight unholy, and I would’ve been mad enough to go back and actually try to prove Gregory’s innocence.

The 12th day of September, 1353 Anno Domini:

It hath been three, nay four... five mayhaps? nay, has indeed been some four years since Last I wrote in this age’d book of mem’ries now far-gone. in those four years, I hath done aught and all I can manage to fight the ‘death. some charged into my care were able to recover, many died. some simply had already lost the will to live. some gave up when the Remedies failed to work for them. either way, I stopped caring some time ago. I hath stared death in the eye more times than any knight wrought by the kingdom of England yet and tempered by the bloody fires of the crusades can ere say he has. I hath seen bodies of souls d’parted desecrated and pillaged, piled into the streets like that of swine fresh from the slaughter.and I hath seen many a child try to rouse their mothers from the eternal slumber brought by my serum and even more so by the Plague, only to pull them away from the body, before realizing that they were already doomed. the list I wrought near six years ago hath grown longer in length than I am in height. I now sometimes of getting rid of the damned reminder of past failure and just burn it. but alas, it seems happenchance hath beat me to the mark, as today I arose and the list twas missing. perhaps gone with the night wind. perhaps lifted by a burglar who hath sympathy upon a man who was forever changed by horror, and tortured by the reminder of shortcomings of his past. I’d like to think to latter tis true. for truly, a man forever changed am I. I still awake sometimes from terrors and old memories. my eldest son, Edgar who is now some fours years old, fears me. for when he tries to find solace in me to sooth his fear of things that all children fear, I snap at him, without meaning to, without even knowing what I am doing. I recall to him those horrors that i saw, recall things to him that no child should ever hear. cruel secrets and truths of life that if he learns so young, will surely lead to his undoing later.For these things, i hath shame, and pray that these words do not stick within his mind. but this all not loom and gloom with me these days. for, upon returning to the village of my origin, the son of my mentor, Samuel, a pale man bolder than he looks, as he was among the few who assisted me up until I left town; gave to me, three journals authored by my mentor. within those journals was contained,years of research, and, what my mentor believed to be at least, the secret to creating the fabled philosopher’s stone. that which can give eternal life and turn even a near worthless metal like lead, into the highest of metals, Gold and silver. I hath been experimenting with his notes and theories as my guide for the past four years. I hath made some progress. but, it may be decades more before my labor comes to fruition. and if not I can do it, then mayhaps my son, if his reasonable fear of me fails to turn into hatred, can finish my work.

The 7th day of march,the season of spring, in the year 1369:

My name tis Edgar J. Smith, eldest son of Richard Smith. a great, yet traumatized man, who managed to surpass all other in the field of his profession. neither England nor any other kingdoms of Europe,hath ever produced a better alchemist since before the time of kings, lordships, and knighthoods, which the church claims indeed began long ago, though, as I learned some hours ago, the church tis evil, and can’t be trusted. during the Age of The Plague, my father even embarked on a crusade if his own right, travelling from town to town, city to city, trying to stop the Black Death, and it was during this time that he became damaged in the mind. as a boy, he’d often rage at for no reason then i’d come to him to confess my fears. I hated for years because of this. till, one day, i found his journal, the very one that I write in now. after that day,I came to understand his reasons, and my hate gave way to Respect and admiration. but alas, for my father hath been murdered by the church, or, will be within a few days. twas only half past noon when they came, the inquisition. they falsely accused my father of heresy and witchcraft, and led him away in chains. several of them remained behind for an hours time. they searched the home top to bottom, but my father was wise and had foresight of such an occurrence, as he had hidden well each and every page that he’d ever authored, along with all his research on the philosophers stone, and his instruments of alchemy, and entrusted them to me, and me alone. some years ago, he began involving me in his work, and I and he both believed that we were nearing success. when they led him away, he did not say anything in his defense, he merely looked at me, and stared at me with a stare that meant nothing to anyone who knew not him. and in that stare was clear what he wished for me to do. he wanted me to finish the work, to complete his legacy that adopted from his mentor so long ago. he had made sure to ensure i hath all the necessary knowledge in such a case. and I can say that I hath not failed him. I hath done it, the creation of the Philosopher’s stone, or rather the philosopher’s powder in this case. even as I write in a room where no sunlight enters, I can see with ease, as the shine given off by the powder in the box before me is as good as any candle, if not better. but yet still, some honorless swine who had been entrusted with knowledge and true nature of my father and his work hath betrayed him. for if it was not so, he would not be dead, or awaiting trial by the office of the inquisition. make no mistake, father had no love for the church. many alchemist and men with medical knowledge before him have been murdered by the Catholic church, many of them were friends or collaborators of his. all of them accused of similar crimes. he hated the institution with his entire being, but yet he never showed it. even during service, he appeared to be a pious man. and he was, his loyalty just didn’t lie within the institution, but with God. and now, now, his loyalty, or perhaps, his discovery and knowledge, shall make him a martyr, one that few shall ever remember.
I can not hunt down and kill his traitor, nor try to oppose the church outright, for both are suicide missions in their own right. the latter of which is much more surer than the former.
all I can do now is continue his legacy by devising how to make gold out of lesser metals using the philosopher powder. and to ensure that the knowledge of how to make it will live on.
With God as my witness, I shall not Fail

Again, this was 2 years ago. Feel free to talk about it or whatever if you want. You could even constructive criticism, I guess... though just be warned, you'd be pretty late.. though there is a bit of inconsistency towards the end of the account that I missed back then.

Anyways, yeah, just thought I would share this.

[Sutoratosu]

So, originally intended this thread to just be a one shot, but I recently found something that changed my mind and made me decide to delve back into it again... so I've changed the title as needed. In the future, if I find anything else from my past I think is worth sharing as well, I'll put it here too

My first short story... written in the seventh grade. My god, how bad it was... and how far I've come in 5 years. I recently found this old thing on the hard drive of the family laptop

If you want context, go check out my profile in the Author Index thread. I've already given the details on this, and I'm not going to repeat myself regardless of how many times I'm asked to.

Now, it's been many years... so I don't have the complete file for it, but I did have a hard copy. So, what I have done is scanned the pages that were missing from the hard copy, and then fill in the rest with a copy and paste from the actual file itself... this is the completely unedited version of my first story... unedited to show the full horror of my early writing.

The missing first page:

http://oi67.tinypic.com/vpj1ar.jpg

The second half of the story:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1uogX0DswGZhrHahK-So4cY9rPh3IiC88xhf-46h5iMw/edit?usp=sharing

And there's actually another story... I wrote it in the eighth grade for a very similar assignment... infact, it was identical project- a four page entry to a county wide writing competition...

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HW2wn67UxLpEeNiHfwBNfvQbpJcK1SlI15OSmjSVkFA/edit?usp=sharing

For the record though, in no way am I proud of either of these stories... they were amateurish, rushed, poorly written, and poorly thought out... but at the time, I needed a grade... and I didn't care so long as I got it. But eh, we all start from somewhere, right? So I guess it's time for me to stop hiding from my past, regardless how embarrassing my origins might be... hence, here I lay bear to you my darkest secrets... my first works.

[nugget_22]

cool stratos