/wfg/ Writefag General- Elysian Fields Edition

There is a call for Don. Don, please pick up the white courtesy phone! You have an urgent message.

>all done
That was a ride, man. Very nice

review time: (IF YOU HAVEN'T READ FLETCH THERE ARE SPOILERS)
I loved the story! It was one of the few reason that I kept coming back to this site in general and I was sad but satisfied when I read the last chapter. I particularly enjoyed the fact that you didn't suddenly make Bethany super powerful and OP "because magic" (I do have a criticism on this to some degree but I'll get to that later). Another aspect that I applaud you upon was the fact that you stuck to the setting, in that you used period appropriate language and even measurements. The beginning of the story drew me in and you managed to keep a good pace throughout the story, alternating action and plot so the reader did not feel swamped or that the story was dragging on. I do have some criticism in that I felt that the way you ended the story was too much of a Deus Ex Machina. I feel that the ending would have been much more believable if Bethany had used her magic to keep Fletch and the Bexarian airship mostly together and had basically crash landed on the sea. I also think this would look much more badass. I want to see the heroine struggle more. Aside from this and some spelling/ grammatical mistakes, I felt the story was well written. I think you inspired me the most to begin work on my own stories (just some of the usual waffengeist stuff that you see here but it's something) Thanks for the inspiration

>I do have some criticism in that I felt that the way you ended the story was too much of a Deus Ex Machina.

This is a valid criticism and my only counterpoint would be that the last magical deed in the story was supposed to be extremely powerful, bordering on miraculous, not merely healing the ship as Bethany did when the airship first attacked, etc. Throughout the story we hear references to the old wizards doing things like moving mountains and controlling armies of thralls with their minds. I wanted Bethany to do something that approaches that power level rather than something she had already done.

I figured that was your reason. it makes sense. I forgot to ask in my last post, do you have any other work in bookstores or online? I would gladly read it.

Attached: 1484964569155.png (944x609, 110K)

Here is the update

the end is coming soon

I wonder if you guys will like it

pastebin.com/jWRNniy5

Sounds like the premise of the next Bolo novel. Super cute though, kinda sad too.

I'm back and I'm outlining the pharmaceutical company's goals and intentions.

Intrigue plots are something else.

You still looking for comments about part 1?

Yes, please.

I really would appreciate it.

pastebin.com/QVQfMKLR

my comments are in CAPS.

Huh.

I was expecting something along the lines of, "GG retard, stop writing stick to washing cars."

Thanks, I'll handle that.

Nah. You're a pretty good writer IMO. Needs some work and polish, but not bad at all.

Oh right, as for that, I will explain James's sidestory of exposing cat girls as a real life phenomenon in this universe. He's absolutely unhinged as his obsession makes things more difficult for Parks.

...
Seriously? is he nuts or just obsessed?

Both.

so...catgirls ARE real in that universe, just a closely guarded secret?

This is where I say nothing. :)

DAMMIT! NEXT EPISODE PLEASE!

Some of this is gonna be posted again because I put it at the tail of the thread before last and Don't actually know if anyone saw, so bare with me on that, please.

>Those seconds passed, and soon the passenger restraints released, Finding Jack waving his men after him while he charged onto the battlefield out from the ramp at the back of the VTOL that was dropping him.
>Jack looked around and he noted that he'd found himself among thousands of men at the rally point just a cunthair behind the frontlines of the battle.
>Short range artillery items, particularly energy mortars, jolted down as the shells, designed to disperse plasma, began to glow as pieces fell off and allowed the shell integrity to fail on impact.
>Men huddled, Listening to their leaders explaining not what it should be, but what it WILL be that they do.
>Active defense systems zapped away at incoming artillery shells.
"Lovely things, If something MUST go through, it'll be a smaller mortar rather than a larger artillery shell." Jack thought to himself as he watched shells explode several hundred feet in the air.
>"LT! What are your orders?" A young sergeant asked
"I just got here, let's get up to speed." Jack answered, his face animated only barely by a focus that shaped his face just short of a scowl, the lacking feature being the eyes, opened no more than a groggy man might hold them throughout the day.
>"Okay!-" The sergeant began to reply before Jack's head whipped around, a millisecond later, a large blue plume appearing, and a quarter second later, the sound reached the two men.
>The sergeant had been struck by the simple details of the thing, which had been right in front of him, and only partly apparent to him as they happened.
>Looking first, at the scene that had began unfolding before him, what he'd only recognized about two seconds afterward, was that the active defense on the fennec tanks, which had shielded the men, had to have momentarily faltered in targeting munitions and frying them.

>The second thing that struck him was that Jack's face hadn't changed. In a second, the sergeant had jumped, looked to the source and prepared to react, while Lieutenant Herman had in the third second afterward, turned his attention back to the sergeant.
"SERGEANT! I reckon we better get up to speed fast." Herman said, turning himself away and advancing toward the wreckage that had occured.
>The sergeant locked for five seconds, but ultimately decided he'd like to have information as current as possible, and willed himself to run after Herman toward the wreckage and the dozens of dead, mangled and burned bodies of soldiers.
>The sergeant paused as he reached the bodies, strongly desiring to render aid to the wounded, but then looked up after two seconds when he noted that the Lieutenant was still moving.
>Jack stuck his head over the ridge that saw him about three hundred yards beyond the front, with rounds that both were and weren't tracers, some energy weapons, some artillery... things were looking bloody as hell.
>Jack brought up his binocular system, and powered it on, bringing light to the screen inside and powering up the networking systems inside.
>He looked around the edges of the valley where the fighting had taken place. Among vines, trees and vegitation he began optically measuring the distances to points at which he saw flashes, disurbances in trees, and began painting those positions where the trees seemed worn and tattered by bullets. He began scanning on thermal and soon after, designation of thermal signatures for energy mortars began.
>Jack began advancing to the front lines after calling his men to follow him, cresting the ridge and advancing down the face of it.
>"John, I want to sit down and have a chat with you when this is over... if that's okay." a female voice in his head asked timmidly.
"That's fine, Jenny, but we'll talk later." He stated under his breath.

>Jack reached the rear of the line, winded and huffing air. He paused for a minute to catch his breath.
>The time had come for Jack to enter the fray.
>Jack began a sprint toward the lower front line approaching the center of the valley.
>He jumped the depot trench filled with ammo and munitions that ranged from energy, plasma and even traditional munitions, which hadn't changed all that much in about two hundred and fifty years.
>He ended his sprint with a drop into a trench, the blank expression of a lone nanosuit staring at him, to which he could FEEL the facial expression under the mask.
>A voice filtered through a speaker met him from the suit.
>"It's been a long time since I've seen an LT with balls THAT big. You DO realize you can't take a hit, right?"
"Yeah, that's why I did it quick!" Jack shot back, his face turning to a grin of malice. "So, here's the thing. I've marked a bunch of targets before I came down here."
>"Oh, that was YOU! Thanks for the spot!"
"So, anyway, there's some priority orders for support that MIGHT break their fucking lines ahead of us, I'm sending out the order to go over and start the charge in my visor. I want you to go over as the blast wave passes!" Jack yelled over the sounds of gunfire and bombardments.
>Jack joined the line, his standard issue M-20 coming over the trench to bare on the enemy positions as he looked down his optic and surveyed for targets.
>However they were firing on this trench, they were doing it very well, seeing as positions that had been obvious from the ridge, were heavily obscured if not invisible from the trench.
>Four minutes passed and he decided it was time to step down and wait.
>Forty-five more seconds would bring a slight hiss among the winds of the the planet.
>in another twenty it would grow from an almost imperceptible hiss, like that of a leaky hose filled with pressurized air, to one not all that dissimilar to tearing paper.

>In another five it'd become a thunderous roar.
>Several small objects could be seen falling in clusters that gave the illusion of a small horde of locusts making for the ground.
>An imperceptible time after that, he could see the explosions, a couple seconds later, all in the trench felt the shockwave as the nanosuit patched himself into the broader network and screamed into everyone's comms.
>"CHAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGE!"
"ADVANCE! ADVANCE! ADVANCE!" Lieutenant Herman shouted as he, probably due to the filling of his blood with adrenaline and the yearning to attack the situation that endangered his life and conquer it while he still could, bounded out of the trench, even jumping higher than he anticipated for the amount of force he'd thought he'd put into the jump.
>He'd effortlessly conquered the jump, and like all the other men, he began the advance, though somewhat forward of the other men, and firing his M-20 in automatic, blindly into the positions and general direction of what may be left of the enemy.
>Hundreds of men just like him, though ranked lower, were doing the same with their M-20s and expected to send three magazines down range by the time they got to the target, most likely shocking into combat ineffectiveness or killing the possible few remaining "pachka" militants who'd been holding their advance.
>As Jack reloaded, and fired half his fresh magazine, something happened, though he couldn't identify it.
>He only knew he'd experienced something unknown.
>Unknown to him, and impossible to articulate in the instant, was the feeling that his forward foot hadn't made contact with the ground and propelled him, as though he'd stepped into a hole. Also impossible to articulate or comprehend was why he seemed to be tilting, the ground before him disappearing in a blur and shifting JUST in front of him.
>Jack experienced a split instant flash.

>Confused, he fell forward disoriented from his position, and tumbled down into a bowl feature in the surface, which he could've sworn was not there prior.
"auuuugh." Jack moaned in disorientation, recovering his mere senses.
>Jack used his right forearm to try to force himself upright, failing as his muscles gave out.
>A huge foot clad in a titanium cobalt matrix stopped near him.
>"Lieutenant! Are you- Ohfuck." the suit said as it picked up the man and assessed him.
>Herman looked down at his hands, finding that his fingers didn't exist beyond the closest knuckle to the hand on the right, and that his whole left hand up past the wrist did not any longer exist.
>Jenny, his issued M-20, would never have that conversation, as she'd been cleanly vivisected, or, maybe if he met her in the afterlife, they would be having that conversation REAL soon, as his chest plate was absent, so too was his nose, his abs, his whole belly and chest a few inches deep, and as he was just beginning to feel, the end of his chin.
>Lietenant Herman could only thing to do one thing.
"Soldier! What day is it?" He rasped, feeling himself become heavier, harder to move, and less energetic.
>"It's October twelfth Twenty-one sixty-nine, LT."
"Finish them." Jack stated before things first went black, then he relaxed his neck, and the remainder of his body followed.

NOW
>"Lord! My lord! Are you well?"
>Jack found himself staring at the wall of the palace where he'd found the note, or rather wall carving, scribed in acra.
>For a moment, Jack struggled to comprehend what he'd just seen, the same BIT information detailing suit failures, degradations and passing BIT perameters passing before his eyes.

COMMENCING BIT
RCDR: DEGD
MEM: DEGD
RD SNSR: DEGD
NEUR: DEGD
MS NV: DEGD
DNA E: GO
ENR CON: NO GO
OPT ILLUM: NO GO
RCS: NOGO
VIS OPT: GO
NMS ENDO: GO
NMS EXO: NO GO/NON RSP
BIT COMPLETE.
LOADING /CIRICE.AI/
>"My lord, are you ill?" A small woman asked.
>Jack turned to her, looking her demure persona over, and deciding she was friendly.
"I'm... I'm well, what is it you desire, young one?"
>"Only your well being, my lord. I saw you walk here and then simply stop and stare at the wall... I feared you might be ill."
"How long have I been here?"
>"Five days, lord."
"Does anyone know what this writing means?" Jack asked, pointing to the wall.
>"It is a matter of debate, but the consensus among the oracles is that it was a message left you by queen Pitra when she left for a purpose unknown."
"When did she leave?"
>"It has been a matter of centuries my lord."
"Young one, I thank you."
>"May I ask something?"
"Ask."
>"What is it that so transfixed you?" the young woman asked.
"I saw something... something that didn't happen, but might have. It was like I... never..." Jack trailed off.
>"Is something the matter?"
"Pit... Pitra... PITRA! WHAT YEAR IS IT?" Jack screamed.
>"I-it's Thirty-eight Fifty-six!" The young one answered.
"Leave me. I need to read this. Alone."

>The note scrawled on the wall had a signature on the bottom. PIT--
>Slowly, the incomprehensible scripture on the wall, starting from the signature, finally after some time he'd not perceived yielded its secrets.
>To Jacks mind, symbols he'd not seen in a millennium or more, not that he'd remembered more than five or so of the centuries between then and now.
>The light waxed and waned three times while he stared at the wall of the palace, feeling a great realization that must've carried the weight of a building hanging over him, knowing that the moment he finally caught it, that weight would come falling over him like an anvil.
"Huh. Kilundi... LK-439."

"Dear, Jack.
After eighty years of what could only be described as near full absence, I just can't hold onto you anymore. All those years ago, five centuries or more, when we invaded the KZ system, when that... presence came over us... and when we first squared off against your... well, I'm not sure that qualification applies anymore. I KNOW that somewhere in there you must feel it. Maybe that's the reason for your absence. Nonetheless, you never had trouble running the planet, but with nothing of you seemingly left, I can only seek satisfactions elsewhere. Maybe when I was fifty years old on the Acra calendar I could have sought some physical satisfaction that would mean nothing in a week. But That presence... In your absence, the presence has given me naught but endless vexation for centuries, and so, I embark with my personal fleet, manned only by nanosoldiers, and seek to search out whatever it is that makes point in space toward which I can only scowl, and snuff it from the universe. I pray that one day whatever makes you wander so distantly from me as to be further from my grasp than even our home worlds. If you one day come to the front again, please search me out, and if somehow I'm destroyed in the attempt to snuff that burning presence in the sky, please carry my undertaking forward and finish my final labor. Pitra."
>Jack suddenly realized that he'd made not of very little. As though his life had been empty and devoid of light for... How many?
>Jack looked to the sky and he saw a single spot, seemingly a little more dim than most.

>Kilundi... an ice planet, lay in the center of the zone. Jack's mind, for seemingly if not truthfully, went back for the first time in centuries to massacres. Heavy artillery, impacts in the snow, suit's lost and trapped under hidden crevasses, caves, energy weapons, cruise missiles and many further heavy weapons, some of whose presence had been outlawed on Earth. He saw scenes of missiles landing feet in front of him, being blown around by tactical nukes and conventional missiles. Beams hitting suits, friends dying, whose faces he'd never seen. Some of them becoming condemned to eternity or death in the suit.
"There's something out there."

June 16, 3856.
>Jack sat at the yoke of his personal cruiser, Beginning a start up procedure while the computer calculated rough warp factors and speeds.
>Soon enough, he found himself plowing through the atmosphere into an orbit, lining up to the computed orbital trajectory, minimizing eccentricity, waiting for a jump profile to build... All would come in time.
>Soon enough that last factor was calculated, the engines fired, space in front of Jack got smaller and space behind him grew larger. An undisclosed time spent in warp later, he'd come out of the jump in a deteriorating orbit that he'd turn to a ballistic trajectory.
>In dozens of minutes, he'd be upon the surface, investigating one of only two functioning nav beacons on the planet, whose signal was weak and seemed to flutter in and out.
MST-27
Nothing
MST-27
Nothing
MST-27
Nothing
MST-27
>Soon Jack slowed the cruiser to a hover. Touching down near the platform. Adjusting the hybrid fuel mix to be lean, and burning over the snow and ice that'd buried much of the station to free it up for exploration.

>While he waited for the ice to melt, he noted that something must've rendered the planet void of humanity, as the intensive effort which need be done to keep the roads of Kilundi from the rapid freezing over that would occur in a month's time with neglect, had not been done. Only, in fact, did the top third of MST-27's spire itself tower over the triumphant ice sheet.
>This particular ice sheet has become dozens of meters tall. A cave seemed to have developed in it, but... Across the universe and away from his imperium, with not a single trooper accompanying him, he couldn't be bothered to send someone down the cave. Maybe it'd lead to the platform, maybe not.

Attached: Revolt against the FAA.jpg (950x534, 301K)

So as for looking for an artist, I feel like I might be slightly FUBAR.

>Local college

Here's the problem I'm facing with this. I work 8-6. By the time I'm off work, everyone will most likely be gone. I feel like it's my best bet too. I can actually get the first couple pages rolling.

>Facebook

Just struggling to find a comic book artist group here.

>Reddit

HAHAHAHAHAHA, oh no, no, no. Nope.

As for another problem I'm facing, it's hosting. I've never taken on a project like this. It's completely new to me and I'm now in uncharted waters when it comes to webhosting. Hopefully, I can see what I can do. Otherwise, I'm going to need a few suggestions. Will I need a coder to make this website? Do I now need to start factoring in more things into my work?

I'm scared of it being a repeat of the webseries project I took on in 2016 with three friends and burning myself out working on side things related to the project, and forgetting the most important aspect of it.

The project.

missed your stuff

>Here's the problem I'm facing with this.
Make some flyers, put the flyers up on the announcement boards in the arts building. Let them find time to meet you.

>Facebook
I can dig it.

>Reddit
>HAHAHAHAHAHA, oh no, no, no. Nope.
Fair enough.

>As for another problem I'm facing, it's hosting.
That's what places like KeenSpot is for. They handle your hosting, manage advertising, pretty much everything except your content. OTOTH they also take a cut of your revenue, but you were already gonna have to lay out for all the shit they're doing for you either in cash or labor.

>I'm scared of it being a repeat of the webseries project I took on in 2016...
I can dig that. Concentrate on writing and re-writing. Find someone to be your editor/proofreader (this is where those pretentious pedants in /lit/ might come in handy) whose willing to work for free, or a credit or at least cheap. Get a year's worth of scripts written and polished as shiny as you can manage and THEN find your artist. That way while he's playing catch-up with you and posting to the website, you can be writing and looking for some way to better monetize your work.

Have you ever read "Making Comics" by Scott McCloud or T. Campbell's "History of Webcomics"? Important stuff for aspiring webcomics writers. Also highly recommend "Hero with a Thousand Faces" by Joseph Campbell (no relation to T. Campbell). VERY important for writers of any sort.

The Drop

>We have reached drop altitude, standby for green light...

Your eyes slink up from your self-imposed slumber as you feel the sudden movement of legs, arms, bodies pressing against you and the others in front gently. As you regain consciousness, your ears pick up the muffled shouting from the jump master.

>STAND! UP!

You force yourself to stand, amidst the heavy weight of your rucksack between your legs as you double-check your gear. As the replacement of this Tier-1 group, you realize the brevity of the situation before you. They're sending you with sanitized gear, weapon and equipment serial numbers buffed or stripped away. This was heavy. You remember from your briefing that you're being sent in as a preemptive strike force to destroy Surface to air missile sites bordering Europe. This was it, wasn't it? The sum of every western army's fear.

>CHECK! EQUIPMENT!

The jump master said, clearer than the first order. The jumper to your front stood a good head below you, but it didn't prove too much of a problem as you bent down slightly to double check the parachute's rigging and made sure her reserve was in easy access. The only difficult part was double checking her ruck was attached to the hips, and not the chute- Too much tension on the legs this high up could be death of her. You leaned down low to inspect, and you caught a glimpse of her bright blue eyes, the only discernible thing from the jump mask and helmet. Her eyes glanced down, and she gave a nod to you.

>"We good?"

Her voice rang as clear as a bell. Before you could answer, she answered her question with another question.

>"Are you ready, new guy?"

Were you? You didn't get into this outfit for a cushy job- you were here to make a difference, at least that's what you told yourself. You give her a thumbs up, before the Jump Master gave the next order.

>COUNT! OFF!

>One ,Ok!

The last man in the tube shouted, as he smacked your shoulder.

>Two, Ok!

You shout as you hit your new friend in the shoulder.

>Three, Ok!

She shouted, as she hit the last man in the chalk.

>Four, Ok! All Ok!

The last man shouted. The red light came on.

>THIRTY SECONDS!

Your palms started to sweat a bit, and a chill ran down your spine, landing in the pit of your stomach. You thought furiously about what the mission was.

but the only thing you could remember was that damned poem:

[...Now light your pipe; look, what a steady hand.]

>LOAD DROP!

You didn't realize the ramp had opened, exposing you to the warm summer evening as the Growler IFV departed without a goodbye, tumbling at first, but righting itself as its chute opened into the misty air.

>Green Light! GO! GO! GO!

Your legs shuffle on auto pilot, following the head of the woman to your front, as each man disappears below the plane and into the sunset, you feel yourself floating away.

[Draw a deep breath; stop thinking; count fifteen,]

One-One-thousand, Two-One-thousand...

Something's wrong. You could feel it.

The chute opens instaneously, marvelously contracting the blues, purples, oranges and reds with its flat green color, rippling against the waves of the air as you cut through it.

>But you're not slowing down.

You're speeding up. The cords wrap around your legs as you find yourself upside down and your back to the earth.

[stop thinking; count fifteen...And you’re as right as rain...]

You fumble with the emergency reserve lanyard and pull, but you can't seem to muster the strength as you find yourself wrapped up in the chute, the cord slowly inching its way up to your throat like a lioness ready for the kill.

>Your worst nightmare, in stereo and 3D.

[Why won’t it rain?...]

You feel hands on you, the snapping of rigging, and suddenly, the flat green disappears over your face, and you can see the sun slinking below the tree line as your right hand is taken suddenly by...

>Those eyes.

Her gaze is understanding, giving a reassuring nod as the two of you stare for a good moment. You can hear her saying something, but the wind is rushing so hard past your face, you cannot make it out. All you can do is hope that your reserve opens, and that she's there when you hit the ground.

[You sit and gnaw your nails, and let your pipe out,
And listen to the silence: on the ceiling
There’s one big, dizzy moth that bumps and flutters;
And in the breathless air outside the house
The garden waits for something that delays.
There must be crowds of ghosts among the trees,—
Not people killed in battle,—they’re in France,—
But horrible shapes in shrouds—old men who died
Slow, natural deaths,—old men with ugly souls,
Who wore their bodies out with nasty sins.]

[END]

Attached: airdrop1.jpg (2876x1906, 1.59M)

>write a short Strike Witches -fanfic where Neuroi don't exist
>been thinking about writing something based on that scenario for well over a year
>original idea was quite different from what I actually wrote, consider the written short setting the scene for the original idea
>post the short in the last thread almost a full day before its' death
>only response seems to be from a troll

>You writers and your stories keep me going
Consider us your own personal drug dealers. Are you feeling the itch for comfy healing? How about some suspense and trepidation? Maybe you want that bittersweet release of tears from some deep, dark feels? Or, perhaps your mind is jumbled with disjointed memories and you want the chaos of war?

Tell us what you want, what you need, and let us help you keep going a little longer.

Eh... You're on Jow Forums we're all autistic here.

Before you go to the publishers, I recommend getting an editor. I don't mean to say your shit sucks; far from it. You write in a style that is not often seen, it is refreshing and expressive, and you allow the reader to fully appreciate the character development of Beth.
The reason I say to get an editor is because what you posted and wrote doesn't always come across as clear as I believe you would like, there are a few typos, and having it professionally edited will streamline the publishing process. I wish I could help you further, but unfortunately I know no professional editors, just some writefags that are grammar Nazis. Duke is around somewhere, I know he did some of that, as well as FAL and some of the guys over in the /tg/ storythread (kinda like what we have here, but more oriented to that board).

I wish you the best.

MOAR

I saw an old report of an attack an Iraq that the Taliban took credit for. I'll not well versed in military things, actually trying to move away from that on my story later on for awhile. What would be more correct for the setting? I'll go back through the chapters and remove/edit it.

>Featured
Well I definitely need to finish chapter 8 now. Sorry it takes me so long guys.

It has been an amazing read Fletch! I can't wait for you to get it published, I will definitely buy a copy or two. Maybe get you to autograph one should you be willing.

Feels and heals, comfy, suspense, I'll take whatever you give me.

Or I could just come up with a random name, might be better

>What would be more correct for the setting?
Al-Qaeda was active in Sandbox until late 2006, then there was Islamic State in Iraq which in 2013 became ISIS

I'd read it. Just missed the snipit on the last thread.

>"would have read it"
what's stopping you now?

Alright, I will change it when I get home from work to smooth it out. Thank you.

I'm driving to work right now so safety is a bit of a concern.

Interesting concept but the sentences need to be spaced better with a larger indication that a different person is speaking. Also i don't feel the explanation if who the person is or what they're doing needs to be in greentext.

>the sentences need to be spaced better with a larger indication that a different person is speaking
I debated spacing and/or giving each character a different starting symbol for their lines (like JT does), but empty rows between lines of dialogue looked stupid & I figured it would be enough to simply tell the reader who's talking.
>Also i don't feel the explanation if who the person is or what they're doing needs to be in greentext.
not sure what you mean by this, if you are referring to lines like

>"Illu, wait up! Don't fly off on your own again!" A busty girl with sergeant's stripes shouts after Chief Warrant Officer Juutilainen.

it's simple: forcing line changes just so only dialogue would be in greentext is, IMO, stupid.

Fair. It's just a method that I've seen so much that I've become accustomed to it.

now that I think about it, the single biggest reason I write the way I do is simply because that's how a lot of books I have read write dialogue: the line starts with a guillemet ("angle quote", symbol ») which looks a lot like >>, seeing how many people have chimped in the past upon seeing a >> I have simplified it to a single >, the fact that typing it as the first character of a line makes the line green here on Jow Forums is just an unintended but handy side effect, since it is perfectly normal (at least in my native language-) to write dialogue, then write whose dialogue it is possibly followed by their thoughts or a description of something relevant to the dialogue that's how I tend to write as well.

(repost with edits)

(June 19 1944, Karelian isthmus)

Orussia's attack against Suomus forces on the Isthmus a week ago had caught everyone by surprise, Suomus' Army was in chaos & Ilmavoimat had been given the desperate order to attack with no regard for losses and the Number 24 (Aerial witch-) Squadron had been in the thick of it ever since. Some of the girls were showing signs of combat fatigue, but one could not be grounded by mere human beings.
>"Illu, wait up! Don't fly off on your own again!" A busty girl with sergeant's stripes shouts after Chief Warrant Officer Juutilainen.
>"Let me be Nipa, you know no-one can ever hit me! Worry about the others!" Illu replies, she has had to watch the Orussian flag being raised in Viipuri castle once, it can not happen again, not while she's alive.
The other girls shake their heads as they try to catch up with these two, one of them takes pride in never using a shield while the other one keeps crashing her units & walking away from the wreck without a scratch.
>"I'm so glad Hanna is back, I don't want to even imagine what might happen if she wasn't here" one of the girls comments, referring to captain Hanna Wind, the second-highest scoring ace of Ilmavoimat. She had been transferred to Luonetjärvi to be an instructor for trainee witches, but had been transferred back in the spring.
>"Silence! I am trying to listen to this report from the radar station!" captain Wind's voice cuts the chatter short.
>"...What seems to be a large number of witches is taking off from airfields around Petersburg, this day might turn out to be the longest yet!"
>"Even if it rains, I don't care, even if the wind is blowing, I don't care, even if it's raining spears I don't care~!" Illu starts singing, but deep down she is anything but without care. The front line has almost reached Viipuri, her home town. If ruskis want to go any further they'll have to bring ladders to climb over the piles of their dead.

(Meanwhile in Petersburg)

1st Lieutenant Sanya Litvyak of the 73rd Guard's Fighter Regiment is still half-asleep as she takes off, her regiment had just arrived from Southern front & they had been sent into battle with little rest.
>"Look lively now, girls, the people of Petersburg are watching us! That means you lieutenant Litvyak!" Colonel Alexandra Pokryshkin barks over the radio as the witches rounded up from various units for this operation take their places in the formation.
Sanya doesn't respond, she has never been very talkative & now colonel Pokryshkin's strict leadership has made her clam up completely.
Stavka had ordered the Petersburg military district to drive the accursed Tšuhnas out of the Isthmus, preferably all the way to Tornio river if the Suomus government doesn't capitulate before then.
Ilmavoimat had become unexpectedly fierce, taking insane risks to inflict casualties on Orussian forces tasked with taking Vyborg back, this war had proven that Tšuhnas could not be trusted & that Orussia's claim to the Isthmus as a buffer was justified, as such Stavka had ordered all of the witches that could get to Petersburg by 18th to gather there for an operation aiming to wipe out the Suomus' aerial witches once and for all.
>"...Contact! two dozen witches approaching from the sea, I believe it's the Number 24!" Sanya reports as she detects the Suomus' witches with her powers.
>"Pokryshkin to all witches, attack! зa Poдинy!"
Sanya grips her modified ShVAK -cannon as she climbs higher, her job on this mission is to warn the others of any other enemy formations within her ability's operational range.
>"I hope this war ends soon, I want to get back home to papa and my piano" she thinks to herself.

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lel

that was a real article from SOF mag. I'll publish the clipping when I get home.

bümp!

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Bymp?

nö, bümp!

I'll have a bote update soon, promise

BVMP!

as promised.

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I've had some things on my mind related to my depression tonight. It's a vent post. Things I live with.

Got into a debate with a friend who helped edit, what do you think of the commas? I'll probably continue this as this was sort of a prelude to a bigger piece I want to write but we'll see.

Most SF and SOF guys spend plenty of time in the field, not us. We have exactly one operation ever, if we’re unlucky. None of us are the best at operating or any of that shit, we’ve got a lifetime to do one job anyways. We’re not just expendable, we’re single use. Once we get stopped we live the rest of our lives in a moment. The whole of out time we have left is spent accomplishing a single mission in a single instant. Some guys sit around till they age to death, some shoot themselves, and some don’t leave notes for us when they go. Once you find out you’re gonna be stopped there are a few things you do. You eat the best meal you can, take the best shit you can, and pay back all the debts you can. Once those are done you’ll be given your mission, find some documents, sabotage a terrorist cell that’s gotten a bit too big and fancy, kill someone the US government really doesn’t like. They don’t use us lightly, they claim it’s because they don’t want to so callously throw away lives, but most of us stopwatches (stupid name, it stuck anyways) just assume it’s too damn expensive to drop someone out of time.
Now I knew a few guys who got stopped, one decided to die on my bed, he was a dick. Nothing like waking up in the morning with a shriveled, old, dead friend on top of you. Cunt. Another left me some cash he stole from the dude who’d been banging my girlfriend back home with a note explaining where he got it. The last one who left me anything scratched some shit in the wall about the shadows moving, probably just trying to fuck with me, but I passed it up the chain anyways, never heard anymore about it.

Fuck my life.
>whole of our time not out

bump

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I know that particular feel my friend.

this makes me want to write or read about rhodesian giantesses.

samar bump

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IsekaiSS part 9, only a short one, but i'm about 90% done with the next part so it should be up within the week
>pastebin.com/RkYYs9QL
have a nice day

Good grief, my sides.

>Rhodesian giantesses
You've got my attention, when can we expect a draft O-O

Very nice friend! Always look forward to your updates!

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I's read it.

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We need more of this

Interesting thought, if you could have one and only one of your guns turned into a waffegiest which one would it be?

>waffegiest
war-spirit?
WTF?

Man I'm sad nobody writes waffegiest stories here anymore. I guess the meme died out but I really liked them.

Basically its the concept of some guns having spirits contained in them that nearly every time show themselves in the form of a cute girl.

Just giving other writefags room to grow and develop, no need to flood the thread with raifu fics again.

So..gun-kami? Or gun-wights if you're not a weaboo?

I've read a couple, mostly bad. I think I might take a wag at it.

P1 Sorta like that. Started out back in around WW1 (can’t remember exactly) when some crazy, likely Amphetamine high Germans tried imbuing firearms with elemental effects. What happened when they preformed the ritual was that a woman appeared instead, in the place of the rifle. Basically how it works according to her and some sources is that the bolt contains the spirit, the other parts are the body/clothes.

This was the thing I was talking about
pastebin.com/7jK5avES

Awesome! Love your work, please keep it up.

Russians did similar things to the Ppsh mags

>their rifles that could change forms, either being their rifle during use or as a crisply uniformed female otherwise.
Does this mean the M3 and late-model STENs and bare-bones survival weapons would appear nude/scantily clad?

I believe that's up for interpretation. Maybe? Maybe she would just be skinny? Or be really basic as a person?

>Or be really basic as a person
I'd imagine that would be reliant on the action.
Full-auto/burst fire weapons would be kinda hyper, or complex intellectually.
Autoloaders would be a little hyper but fairly normal/slightly intellectual,
Bolt action, revolvers and pump guns would be normal, levers and breech loaders would be simple people, often spiritually or intellectually deep, but not given to things like high-order math or theoretical shit. Philosophers.

Lever-actions would be kinda wild and a little hyper

And then they get...less responsive. All the way down to arquebus' and handcannone which are positively dullards.

G11s are so alien and complex that they cannot relate to any but the most autistic of humans. That's what you get when you imbue Kraut space magic with nordic spirit magic.

Target pistols and the high-end target rifles would also be incredibly autistic; idiot savants really. Super good at this ONE thing, but unable to tie their own shoes or eat anything but even numbers of french fries with mayo and celery salt or some shit.

The higher the caliber, the larger the human-form of the geist, yeah? So a Kalibri would be a midget, while a Lahti would be like a female Andre the Giant.

Kolibri, not kalibri