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An untitled Sci-Fi-story

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An untitled Sci-Fi-story

Postby Loxley » Thu Feb 22, 2007 3:12 am

Yo. I've finally written my first science-fiction short story and thought I'd publish it here for feedback. It's sort of a pilot since I figured I'd write more once I've got some feedback on this. Well, maybe... We'll see.

Anyway, some of you might recognize the planet system of Marcus from the great (and hilarious) 1995 Sci-Fi flick Firestorm, with the almighty John Savage in one of the roles (as Brinkmann, if you must know...). Great movie, but I figure I'll change the name of the planets later to avoid getting my backside sued off by some evil Hollywood director.

There's some other minor details that I've stolen as well, but I'll most likely change those too, even though I doubt they're copyrighted. So, I'll post a part of it today, and then I'll post a part every day until there's no more parts. That way I can change it to the better based on the feedback I get. (Man, I'm so smart I even amaze myself some times 8) )
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Postby Loxley » Thu Feb 22, 2007 3:19 am

The space ship approaching the space station was of an older model, a type rarely seen in Terran space. It was a remnant from the Indorian war, a Basilisk battle drone, of the same kind that had rained down from the sky in hundreds over the planet of Eeru, during the initial days of the Indorian attack. The armament, however, had been modified to improve it’s range, and as compared to it’s usually heavy weaponry it now only carried the standard issue laser turrets on the small side wings. As with all Indorian battle drones it was also shaped to provide stealth capabilities, which now allowed the pilot to approach the space station without being spotted by the station’s dimensional radars. The two laser turrets were hidden inside the wings of the drone to provide no rough edges for the radar signals to bounce off.

The pilot looked with his single good eye through the orange-colored glass in front of him, out at the approaching space station. His profile seemed even sharper in the light of the surrounding stars, with beautiful, fine features and lines, though his right eye was covered by a black eye patch, lost in the war. His hair, long and thick, had the color of pure white snow, and the good eye was intense, with a dark-green hue. A small green tattoo was visible on his right cheekbone, beautiful scrollwork though it didn’t depict anything in particular. It was the ritual brand of the Indorian warrior society’s elite, the Tengu warriors. During the war, they had been renown as fearsome and fearless enemies. But they were most known for having carried out the initial aerial attacks upon the city of Eden during the first stages of the long past war of Eeru. After their defeat, all Indorian Tengu had been captured and thrown in Terran prison camps all over the galaxy, where few had managed to escape alive.

Gabriel Hunt was one of them.

His hands were clenched around the control sticks of the drone, and his good eye locked on the open docking bay at one of the least used docking bays of the small space station. With the delicacy of an experienced fighter pilot he moved the drone up to the docking bay, and in through the opening. As the drone passed through the opening, he pulled down the engine throttle lever, and the engines went down to twenty percent of their full capacity, making little sound and yet giving enough energy for the drone to stay in the air as he moved it fully inside the bay. Behind him the doors locked, and Gabriel carefully lowered the Basilisk until he felt the landing gears touch the ground beneath it. When they did, he leaned back with an expression of satisfaction in his face, and pulled down the throttle fully, turning the engines off. Then his hand went out to a side-turned lever on his right, and pulling it, he opened a hatch outwards, allowing him to exit the drone and step out onto the right wing. He quickly looked around when he stepped out to the wing, but seeing nobody else in the docking bay, he closed the hatch and jumped down to the floor without making a sound.

There he looked around once more, and again he was satisfied the docking bay was empty, save from a few steel crates with mechanical spare parts. The feeling of not having been lured into a trap was somewhat unfamiliar to him, and it was with some reluctance that his hand left the Mateba Trigun in the holster on his hip. With careful steps, he approached a closed door in the left wall, that blocked his way further into the station. As an experienced veteran from the Indorian war he knew combat and infiltration, perhaps better than anyone else in his line of work (whichever it was, since he did anything that could turn a profit). Gabriel didn’t barge out through the door with his gun at the ready.

Instead, he placed his ear against the thick steel, closed his eye, stopped breathing, and listened carefully. He didn’t hear anything, but even so, his right hand clenched around a nasty-looking Indorian combat knife as his left hand - as always covered in tightly tied bandages - went out and punched the button on the lock by the door, that moved the door up into the roof with a mechanical humming. He stepped through the opening into a corridor turning right, with the knife at ready, but the short corridor was, as he had been promised by his contact, empty. Hunt moved on towards his goal with a little more ease from there on.
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Postby Bmat » Thu Feb 22, 2007 7:18 am

The space not needed, a repeat of the same word in the next phrase ship approaching the space station was of probably not needed an older model, a type rarely seen in Terran space. It was a remnant from the Indorian war, a Basilisk battle drone, of the same kind that had rained down from the sky in hundreds over the planet of Eeru, during the initial days of the Indorian attack. The armament, however, had been modified to improve it’s its range, and as compared to it’s usually heavy weaponry it now only carried the standard issue laser turrets on the small side wings. maybe "instead of"As with all Indorian battle drones it was also shaped to provide stealth capabilities, which now mabye not needed? allowed the pilot to approach the space station without being spotted by the station’s dimensional radars. The two laser turrets were hidden inside the wings of the drone to provide no rough edges for the radar signals to bounce off.

The pilot looked with his single good eye through the orange-colored glass in front of him, out at the approaching space station. His profile seemed even sharper in the light of the surrounding stars, with beautiful, fine features and lines, though his right eye was covered by a black eye patch, lost in the war this says that the patch was lost in the war. His hair, long and thick, had the color of pure white snow, and the good eye was intense, with a dark-green hue. A small green tattoo was visible on his right cheekbone, beautiful scrollwork though it didn’t depict anything in particular. It was the ritual brand of the Indorian warrior society’s elite, the Tengu warriors. During the war, they had been renown as fearsome and fearless enemies. But they were most known for having carried out the initial aerial attacks upon the city of Eden during the first stages of the long past war of Eeru. After their defeat, all Indorian Tengu had been captured and thrown in Terran prison camps all over the galaxy, where few had managed to escape alive.

Gabriel Hunt was one of them. Possibly it should be where only a few had managed

His hands were clenched around the control sticks of the drone, and his good eye was? locked on the open docking bay at one of the least used docking bays of the small space station. awkward With the delicacy of an experienced fighter pilot he moved the drone up to the docking bay third time for docking bay, maybe leave it out, and in through the opening. As the drone passed through the opening "opening" had just been used, he perhaps use his name pulled down the engine throttle lever, and the engines went down to twenty percent of their full not needed capacity, making little sound and yet giving enough energy for the drone to stay in the air as he moved it fully inside the bay. Behind him the doors locked, and Gabriel carefully lowered the Basilisk until he felt the landing gears touch the ground beneath it. maybe not needed When they did, he leaned back with an expression of satisfaction in his face, and pulled down the throttle fully, turning the engines off. Then his hand went out to a side-turned lever on his right, and pulling it, he opened a hatch outwards, allowing him to exit the drone and step out onto the right wing. He quickly looked around when he stepped out to the wing, but seeing nobody else in the docking bay, he closed the hatch and jumped down to the floor without making a sound.

There he looked around once more, and again he was satisfied the docking bay was empty, save from a few steel crates with mechanical spare parts. The feeling of not having been lured into a trap was somewhat unfamiliar to him, and it was with some reluctance that his hand left the Mateba Trigun in the holster on his hip. With careful steps, he approached a closed door in the left wall, that blocked his way further into the station. As an experienced veteran from the Indorian war he knew combat and infiltration, perhaps better than anyone else in his line of work (whichever it was, since he did anything that could turn a profit). Gabriel didn’t barge out through the door with his gun at the ready.

Instead, he placed his ear against the thick steel, closed his eye, stopped breathing, and listened carefully. He didn’t hear anything, but even so, his right hand clenched around a nasty-looking Indorian combat knife as his left hand - as always covered in tightly tied bandages - went out and punched the button on the lock by the door, that moved the door up into the roof with a mechanical humming. He stepped through the opening into a corridor turning right, with the knife at ready, but the short corridor was, as he had been promised by his contact, empty. Hunt moved on towards his goal with a little more ease from there on. (there are a lot of he's and his's, maybe the wording could be changed to avoid some of them)

You have set the scene well. But the first paragraph is all description. There is no hook to capture the attention of the reader. Perhaps some of the personal description of the pilot could be left out and added in later on. The docking, the checking, these are uninteresting to the reader who has just started looking at the story. I'd suggest opening the story with something that snaps and sparkles, then give what details you like about ships and wars and docking and checking. Perhaps something such as "Hunt's instincts told him that he was walking into a trap. He looked around again, but the docking bay was indeed empty...."

In general you have a good start for your story. I am interested in the character and what he is doing.
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Postby Loxley » Thu Feb 22, 2007 9:02 am

Thanks for helping with the grammar. English grammar is a real pain in the backside. (Why doesn't everyone speak Swedish instead?) :) I'll also try to work out something to hook the reader better. I'll spend the eve changing it, and in the morning I'll post another part, with three new characters to boot.
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Postby Loxley » Fri Feb 23, 2007 3:44 am

Here's a second part of my story. Sort of an introduction for three other characters that are on the space station for the same reason as Gabriel Hunt...

The space station was owned and operated by an intergalactic mining corporation off the Marcus system. It functioned mainly as a relay station for mining transports passing through either to or from the Marcus planets, and as such also some times had the monthly wages of the miners locked safely within it’s vault for later transport to the mining colonies. Private security forces, heavily armed and very motivated by large paychecks, were their biggest obstacles in acquiring that money, which would otherwise go to the miners. But it wouldn’t be the first, nor the last time that “captain” Rico Bateau engaged private security forces, and many times he had done so alone and unarmed, or if he was lucky, in the company of his sister Jan, who was a former star pilot. But that was not the case today. His oldest friend, “Doc” Frank McCann, a wanted gunman, drinker, and gambler, lately of the planet of Mars, sat next to him in the small long-range fighter jet, a ship commandeered by them from the Terran military. Further to the right, Jan sat, her hands clenched around the control sticks, with a pair of pilot’s goggles pushed up in her forehead, and her eyes locked on the space station they were approaching.

“Take her up carefully.”, Rico instructed her. But Jan gave him a cold look that told him she knew what she was doing better than he did. Rico laughed. Jan returned to moving the ship closer to the space station, using a docking bay at the part of the station that had been closed down for reconstructions, a part that hadn’t been used in a very long time. She had studied the blueprints of the space station closely before choosing that docking bay. Being as it was in her blood to fly spaceships - her and Rico’s father had served as a Terran fighter pilot during the war on the Perfect Rim, and later as a smuggler, before he got killed - she easily avoided detection by the station’s docking personnel, much thanks to the ship’s stealth generator that she had installed on the jet before they left Venus.

“Let’s get ready.”, Rico instructed Doc, and both moved to the rear of the fighter, to some black military bags.

Inside they had military-grade explosives, combat vests, pulse rifles and ammunition, and flares, all stolen from the very same military base they commandeered the ship from. But Doc was of a kind of his own and there was a reason he reveled in the title of gunfighter. He didn’t put on the combat vest (that would have given some measure of protection against bullet wounds). Normally he wouldn’t even have gone so far as to carry any weapon heavier than a handgun, but being as they were about to make a two-man assault on a heavily guarded mining station, he could bend his own rules a little, and did. Rico on the other hand did put on one of the vest, which was even carrying ceramic plates to enhance the protection over the chest. He stocked up on explosives, grenades and ammunition before he grabbed the pulse rifle and returned to his seat in the front. Jan was almost by the docking bay now.

With ease, she maneuvered the jet inside on ten percent of the engine capacity, and while she took the jet inside, Rico and Doc moved up to the door, waiting for her to give them green light to exit. After they felt the landing gears touch the floor, she pushed a button, and the door opened, with Rico jumping out first and taking a quick sweep of the docking bay to ensure it really was empty. Doc McCann followed him down, and drew the same conclusion, that except for a repair-droid the bay was empty. The droid, short and humanoid-like, was moving around doing nothing useful, and McCann resisted an urge to put a bullet in it - just to be safe. A gunshot would have warned their enemies far easier than any repair droid could ever hope to do. Rico moved up to the door, and moved the communicator to his mouth:

“Alright, sis, keep her warm. If we’re not back in a couple of hours, you best be getting out of here alone.”

“No way I’m leaving you, Rico. Don’t try to give me orders!”, Jan replied sharply.

Rico laughed and shook his head, garnering a smile from McCann, who had been with him long enough to know Jan was the only person in the galaxy that Rico couldn’t order about. He shrugged, and moved up to the door button. With Rico at the ready with the pulse rifle, McCann punched it, and then quickly recoiled from it, throwing his own rifle to the shoulder and following Rico inside and to the right. There were no security guards, only an empty corridor with sterile walls and ceiling and only one door at the very end of the corridor.
“Captain first.”, Doc stated.
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Postby Loxley » Sat Feb 24, 2007 4:20 am

Weee, the third part of my short story, and the last to introduce yet another crew with sinister purposes. This time it's a madman who also wants his hands on the contents of the space station's vault. Bound for action. Here it goes.

The Leviathan, a large, long-range combative transport/escort ship, Heron class, of the Terran military was a remain from the war on Eeru. She was streamlined, as any such ship would be, though her wings were literally covered with weaponry, not just the laser Gatling cannons that was standard issue armament for escort ships, but also a variety of other missiles and robot weapons. As if that wasn’t enough, the ship was equipped with the latest in military energy shield technology, and as such able to withstand even the barrage of fire that the space station would be able to send their way if they were spotted during the approach. The ship was the pride of Saul, though he was an unworthy owner of her, a low-life scum recently off the Marcus system where he had been sent flying off planet for dealing in military weapons technology without permit. The ship could be operated by a single pilot, though Saul always kept two pilots. Though nobody said it out loud everyone knew the reason - so that Saul could shoot one of them if he wasn’t satisfied with their performance.

Saul was a giant of a man, built like a mountain, and with a mayor part of his face distorted by a large, hideous scar, a memento from an old enemy that had seen it fit to leave him horribly disfigured instead of dead. Allegra couldn’t say she agreed - having a man like Saul hate you for doing that was as good a death sentence as any given by a Terran judge.

She looked over at the space station through the only windows in the ship - that in front of the pilots. The station was coming closer and closer, and she could already hear the docking bay personnel trying to contact their ship - the Leviathan was far too large and heavily armed to be able to avoid detection, and now the bay personnel wanted docking codes for allowing them to dock at the station. Saul exchanged a look with one of the pilots, who began their trained-in routine, yelling they had been attacked by marauders in space and had many wounded onboard that needed medical aid. At first the man in the control room on the space station followed their own routines and advised the pilot to seek aid in the Marcus system instead. But the pilot, having Saul breathing at his neck, didn’t give up at that. Instead, he kept yelling in the comm unit that their wounded needed medical aid now or they would die. In the end, the docking personnel had no choice but to open up a docking bay for them - and dispatch a guard unit as well to meet and greet them. Saul growled a low, throaty sound that Allegra recognized as one of his laughs, and patted his pilot on the shoulder:

“Good work.” The pilot winced at the physical contact - usually when Saul touched somebody it was to harm them. He turned around and looked at Allegra and the rest of the attackers, all armed and ready for combat. “Get your gear in order, we’re most likely going to be met by security forces. I don’t want any survivors - no survivors means no witnesses.” He turned to a small man sitting along the wall trying to connect a couple of cables from a power box, and said: “Wally! Are you done yet?” The mechanic looked up. As usual, one of his two eyes were covered by a blue bandana tied clumsily right over his forehead, and it gave him a silly look, especially since both his eyes were functioning perfectly:

“I’m doing my best, boss. When they try to landlock you they’ll get a power surge the size of Mars up their sleeves, and we’ll be in the clear to take off.” Saul grinned his yellow teeth, and Allegra, upon seeing it, felt a shiver running up her spine. Saul’s smile disappeared and he growled:

“You make sure of that, Wally, or I’ll be using your skull as a beer glass when we get back to Marcus!” Wally nodded, trembling over the threat from the huge madman, and Saul spun around to face Allegra, just as she threw the leather strap to her weapon over her neck. She, as usual, was carrying a Terran light infantry support weapon, sort of like a light-weight machine-gun with six small barrels at the muzzle of the weapon, and she carried two extra ammunition belts for it, one around her leather-dressed hips, the other over her shoulder. The other goons knew well enough to keep away from this dangerous woman, and so did Saul, though he couldn’t help confess she was a beautiful woman. But also a dangerous one, he knew, and he realized if he tried anything she would try to kill him in an instant.

“Something you want?”, she asked when she found him staring at her. Saul laughed at her cold remark.

“I want you to bring up the front when we leave the Leviathan.”, he replied. “They’re sure to have some guards waiting for us in the docking bay, and there’s likely to be some combat. I don’t want to loose too many men…at least not until we’re in the clear of the vault.” Allegra nodded but without saying anything. She made sure that the grenades in her belt was safely attached, so that she didn’t blow herself up along with them. Now she could feel the vibrations of the ship that told her they were moving into the directed docking-bay. Pretty soon they would be asked to leave the ship, and when they did, all Hell would break loose. She looked to the score of heavily armed mercenaries Saul had brought and couldn’t help but wonder if they would be enough to take the space station - or rather, if they would be able to survive long enough to be of any use to her or Saul. And there was another aspect as well - she didn’t trust Saul. (Nobody with half a brain did, of course, but she didn’t trust anyone else either).

She would have to keep her eyes on him to make sure he didn’t try and set her up.

“Alright, folks, come out with your hands above your…”
The rear hatch opened slowly, and when only a small streak of light was visible through the still small opening, Allegra pulled out one of the grenades, pulled the pin and threw it through the opening, effectively cutting the man‘s order short. Behind the opening loading ramp there was a scream, followed by a heavy explosion, and subsequently an alarm. The hatch opened even more, and Allegra opened fire. Two guards flew backwards as the swarm of bullets from her weapon struck them dead, and she didn’t wait for reinforcements, instead running outside while enemies were shooting at her, and took cover by a heavy steel crate. Other mercs followed her out from the belly of the ship, and scattered over the docking bay, to defensible positions, while the guards tried frantically to retreat from this unexpected attack. Wearing no armors at all, they were defenseless against the superior firepower of Saul’s mercenaries.
The firefight didn’t take too long, and after about two minutes, Saul left the Leviathan safely, with a rifle in his hands, the air thick with cordite and gun smoke, and bodies littering the docking bay‘s floor - both allies and foes. It looked like a war-zone - which it was. And yet it was nothing compared to what they all knew would come during the day. Saul smiled at the sight, kicking one of the dead guards in the side before he motioned for two of the mercs to open a door into the corridor that would then take them into the space station. One of them punched the opening button, and four others moved through the door into the corridor, securing it. When the sound of “clear” came, Allegra went through the opening, followed by Saul, and took the lead of the attack force. The sound of the alarm was still ringing loud, and they heard the smattering of footsteps.
There was another group of guards coming their way.
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Postby Loxley » Sun Feb 25, 2007 4:31 am

Part four on the coming. Some people on that station are real sneaksters.

Gabriel crouched low where he sat in the shadows on a beam in the ceiling. The alarm had gone off, which meant somebody was attacking the space station. He had not been discovered yet - he never was until it was too late - so there had to be someone else in there. His hand left the autorevolver, and he leaped down into the corridor beneath him again, though still with his hand clenching the combat knife just in case. His footsteps echoed against the metal floor as he half-ran up towards the door ahead of him. He had a blueprint of the space station in his mind, knowing roughly where to go to get to the vault. First of all he needed to get to the central hangar, from where he could easily get up to the second level of the space station. That was where the mining vault was located. The only problem was that the central hangar would be heavily patrolled by security guards as well as a tank-droid - and as it seemed now, most likely a war zone, if indeed somebody had tried to attack the space station.

He stopped by the door and pressed himself against the wall on the right side. Then he punched the button across the door, and waited as it opened. Quick and nimble as a cat he stepped inside and sunk back into the shadows behind him on the other side, finding himself in a small map room, it seemed, with a long table with several view-screens on it, in the center of the room. There were two other doors, one on the opposite side of the room, and one on the short-side. The entire room looked as if it had been abandoned in a haste. On the short side of the room a dozen computers and instrument boards were placed along the wall as well as a plotting table. He moved for the door right by the plotting table, but a sudden voice caused him to spin around and once more dive into the dark safety of the shadows.

Rico was first to enter the room through the door on the right side of the room, with the pulse rifle pressed against his shoulder and doing a sweep with it’s barrel over the room looking for hostiles. It was empty, which surprised him - he could have sworn his trained ears had picked up what sounded like footsteps. It seemed as whoever sat off the alarm had drawn the attention of all the station’s security personnel, though, and he certainly wasn‘t complaining about a lack of enemies to shoot. Carefully, Rico lowered the rifle just a little, and moved to the side to allow McCann to enter after him. Then Rico pressed a button on the communicator in his headset, and spoke: “Alright, Jan, we’re in the central navigation room, where are we going from here?” Back on the fighter jet, Jan pulled up a three-dimensional blueprint of the ship, and moved it around until she could see the room they were in, and the connected corridors.

“Good, now you’re going for the door in the short end of the room. Be careful, though. You might be getting more than you’ve asked for - there’s a corridor that will take you to the central hangars, but you will be going past the guard captain’s quarters, not to mention one of the guard barracks and what looks like some kind of workshop for mining equipment repairs.” Rico cursed, and Jan added with a confused voice: “It gets better, Rico. It seems there is some kind of tank droid in the hangar - and it’s active - in fact it’s in combat mode. Anything strange going on at your end?” She sounded confused, and Rico grimaced:

“Yeah, somebody tripped the alarm, it’s screaming out his presence all over the damn space station. It‘s to our advantage, though - the guards are all gone, probably on their way to take him out.” Jan grasped for air:

“That’s not good. That means the tank-droid is indeed active, and there might be other security droids all over the station as well. You better keep your eyes open, Rico. And be careful when you get to the hangar. If the tank droid is operational, that means the place will be a war-zone, and it‘ll shoot at anything that moves.” Rico wasn’t frightened by her words, though, and he just shrugged and replied:

“Thanks. Out.”

He turned to McCann, and waved with his hand. The two moved onwards through the door, not seeing the shadow that followed them in the darkness with the grace and stealth of a panther, into a wide corridor with both opened and closed doors on both sides. But everything seemed abandoned, most likely in favor of whoever was fighting their way through the central hangars, and again it made Rico’s and Doc’s jobs easier, if they could only get to the vault before whoever had attacked the station got there.

Or so they thought.
Suddenly, there was a suffocated scream from a room to their right, and both Rico and Doc spun around. Rico positioned himself against the wall, and signaled to Doc to check it out. In the shadows, Gabriel retracted his knife and drew out the Mateba. Doc moved through the door, and then there was a few moments of silence. From his hideout in the shadows, Gabriel watched it with every muscle in his body tensed, ready to attack if he had to. Then Doc’s voice was heard and he said: “Cap, you better come take a look at this.” Rico moved through the door inside, where Doc had just gone, and into a workshop filled with all manner of weird gizmos, mostly modified mining equipment and toxin shields for doing asteroid drilling in outer space. But what had caught Doc’s attention was a young girl, and a black-skinned Martian no less, sitting by the wall, with her hands clenched around a pistol pointed at him. The hands were trembling with fear when she looked at the two men. The fear in her eyes told them she was certain they‘d kill her.

The sight of a Martian girl in a space station off Marcus surprised Rico, and when he stared at her, she suddenly disappeared into the thin air, and as only a hazy, transparent image she ran through the door, and out into the corridor, where when Rico followed her she was gone. He cursed. “If she warns the guards of our presence here we’re done for.”, Doc said. But Rico shook his head.

“I don’t think she’s with the guards. She might be a stowaway.” He looked to the end of the corridor, and added: “A stowaway with a stealth generator.” Doc raised an eyebrow:
“A thief?” Rico shrugged. He wasn’t sure.
“Let’s get going.”, he said.
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Postby Bmat » Wed Feb 28, 2007 4:55 pm

Second part:

A lot of exposition. I felt as if I were reading an outline in the first part.

You are doing well with developing the characters. I wonder if it would be possible to bring more action in and to give the background information in pieces.
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Postby Loxley » Thu Mar 01, 2007 10:38 am

Yeah, I've tried that in the past, but I'm not very good at doing it. But I guess I'll just have to keep practicing :P Been lazy with putting up new parts. I'll see if I get the time to do it in the morning...
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