Character Development - Object

For this Activity we had to link our Character with an object.

The object I chose for Karuk was his armor. It was a deep black and has the Images of his wife and two daughters imprinted in it. Karuk lost his family giving the motive behind his chronicle. He is a man of vengeance but, required a legend to stand both realms. It is said that with the loss of his family he followed a falling light from the sky and from its ore did not rest until the image of his family was crafted into his armor. Believed to give Karuk strength and that it cannot be pierced by mortal blade, Karuk eventually gains fame from his exploits and eventually becomes leader of a powerful horde named the sea of horses. The men who widowed Karuk are not known neither their origin. All is known is that Karuk in his vengeance and blood lust over the loss of his family moves his horde along the silk road and defeats the Persian empire to later engage Rome. There are many other hordes all belonging to a single faction of Karuks countryman all lords and independent parties in their own rights. They must work together to defeat Rome. Karuks motive for Rome is not clear but, is believed to be related to his sense of honor and ideals.

Image

https://www.google.co.za/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.propstore.com%2Fproduct%2Ffarscape%2Fcaptain-jeneks-jason-clarke-production-made-scarran-armour-chest-piece%2F&bvm=bv.105454873,d.d2s&psig=AFQjCNE-jSP4HuEUpQFcKRQAdZkQFLk1bQ&ust=1445249423287634

Interview With Our Character

Another Activity we did with character development was to interview our character to get a better sense of who they were and any mannerisms we would envision them having through visualization.

My hands were bound and face masked. I was pushed to the floor into a pit lower then the ground I felt around desperately to get my bearings the soil felt strange and muddy when at last I was unmasked. The room was dark, it was a tent. I remember seeing day lights glow through the thin hide roof. As my eyes sunk back down  I nearly caught the eye of a devil rider as a I looked away with hast. To look a devil rider in the eye is to challenge him to the death. The laughter at my cowardice was silenced by the sound of ruffling. Someone of importance had entered the tent. Ever in the deep recesses of my mind was I damning this diplomatic mission Rome had assigned me as I sat in the pool of muddy blood. My looking down was ended by a woman's touch. A Sha man versed in a Germanic tongue wished to converse. I realized where I was, this was Karuks tent, the leader of the sea of horses. He sat to the left of me, my peripherals dared communicate this much. The woman asked, who was I and why did I come. I said I am Davus Aqula, I was sent by Rome to broker peace between our great nations. The Sha man translated. Karuk did not speak but, there was conveyance between the two. She said, there will be no peace. I asked if I may take this message back to my people. Karuk spoke with a heavy tongue, They are not your people she translated. Your people are what we call the Undica, brave warriors that stand with us, do not forgot you are a slave, taken from a land far away. I covered my mark Rome had given me. I paused, not to be defiant. I have family now, wife and sons. Please let me go back to them. She looked to Karuk once more. There was a silence in the room. A long silence. Eventually Karuk stood and walked directly up to the left of me as I stared at the sha man. My eyes began to fill with water as he moved for his waist. I looked down from the sha man and straightened my neck, for a quick death. My family was in my mind as I closed my eyes. A thud with a jingle opened them, it was a bag of coins. Karuk said, go home Davus, take your family far from Rome.

Image, It was difficult to get a accurate depiction.

https://www.google.co.za/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CAYQjB1qFQoTCLLTq9vey8gCFUJ-GgodFc0C8w&url=http%3A%2F%2Frojhelat.info%2Fen%2F%3Fp%3D3777&bvm=bv.105454873,d.d2s&psig=AFQjCNEUutGmBB2Cxwx2xu5NMnaFsKzjxw&ust=1445248051027263

Aging A Character

In the previous Activity we had created a character and written a short story about him/her. In this Activity we now had to age them. I aged my character ''Karuk'' by twent years.

His old hands gripped Kee's main and pulled him back up as hell fell on the sea of horses. The Romans in their towers rained fire down upon Karuk's men. The sound of horses screaming wailed through the air with the constant whipping of a near miss by countless arrows. Back on Kee, Karuk saw his men soon to flee, he let out a mighty below and charged Kee at their gates. The men seeing Karuks grey main in the darkness followed as the hysteria turned into fluid movement. His blood was dripping from his arms, collecting on his old hands and dripping down Kees neck, the fall was costly. Karuk rode in-front, beyond any man twice younger, he cut down any in his wake. The Romans foolish enough to give chase had left the battered gate open. Clear from the lines now, quick to the breach before it is plugged with infantry Karuk thought. A arrow pierced him above waist, yet on he road through the hail, then another caught him in the shoulder, and another, and another. Karuks men turned at the slaughter around him as he looked down at the arrow in his side. His fabled armor had been pierced, his strength was gone, Kee soon fell. As, karuk hit the soft ground, he lay staring at his family ingrained in his armor their faces ruined by the arrows soon to take him.

Image I envisioned:

https://www.google.co.za/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CAYQjB1qFQoTCJi5hNnUy8gCFUdpFAod-FwGuQ&url=http%3A%2F%2Fdaxiong.deviantart.com%2Fart%2FThe-Charge-of-the-Samurai-165026625&bvm=bv.105454873,d.d24&psig=AFQjCNHMLNRK578DwuT59o9M27XXom-jUA&ust=1445245352324432

Character - Short Paragraph

In the previous activity we created had created a character and now had to write about him/her in their fictional/non fictional realm.

I saw him stride down form the south, I remember the Autumn leaves greeting him like rose petals cascading down onto a conquering Cesar. Astride a black steed he came to rest upon a hill at the foot of the field, in which we worked. He starred down at us with his black narrow eyes, his cheeks burnt from the snowy Arkem pass a winter back. His Armour  was a deep black, scorched from the Arabian deserts, with the legend behind the man still imprinted in his Armour. His blade was tempered in Saracen blood, un-sheaved and still sticky with the near dry blood padding against his horses hind. Human molars littered his proud black main and a whip made of skin always was at his side. His army filled the tree line like black ants suffocating the land. We stood silent in the field. We knew not to flee. There was no point. They were on horse. Some time passed. Eventually Karuk straightened himself on the his horse and lead the sea of horses onward, Ever onward to Rome.

The Image I had in mind:

https://www.google.co.za/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CAYQjB1qFQoTCKzc7qPOy8gCFcs5FAodYE4NtA&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.flickr.com%2Fphotos%2Fsplashdamage%2F2630382489&bvm=bv.105454873,d.d24&psig=AFQjCNHSIY7Rqv3YwZaxOhwpVgj-w-KtUQ&ust=1445243517902277

Creating a Character

For this Activity we had to create a character background.

Name: Karuk
Age: 35
Education/marital status: Farmer of the Ihilia plains, recently widowed.
Family: A wife and two daughters, all deceased.
Residence: On the road.
Social skills: Limited, is stubborn and blinded with vengeance at times.
Hobbies: None anymore.
Physical characteristics: Strong, long black matted hair, a scar running from eye to neck.
Distinguishing feature: A black steed named Kee and black armor said to be forged from a falling light.
Voice: Normally does not speak, but deep and defined.
Manner of movement: lumbering, efficient.
Personality - Positive, upholds honor, protects the weak, is a man of his word.
                     Negative, Is blinded from vengeance, to the point of self destruction.

The image I used to imagine the character:

  https://www.google.co.za/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CAYQjB1qFQoTCPP8rtjKy8gCFQdvFAodUQUKeg&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.rabblerousetheworld.com%2Fspecial-report-79-of-swedish-males-believe-mongolia-has-worlds-hottest-women%2F&bvm=bv.105454873,d.d24&psig=AFQjCNElqk6f167A3Z7RZDm_g1MuLEh1Rg&ust=1445242682557686

Page 27, Activity 2

For this activity we drew random words from a hat and had to compile a short story from said words. My words were: Cup,Walk,Bottle,Bucket and Milk.

The room was dark with a single light beaming down onto a faceless man. On his blackened table the figures hands were joined and its body motionless. The only discernible sound was the constant dripping from the ceiling and ending in the cup not far from the figures hands on the table. With each drip the room appeared smaller.

Known only as the milk man, famous for the the Mercy Dower killings and arguable the most dangerous man in Bay Side, I needed his help. I walked forward to speak, coming out of the darkness of the narrow hall into the dimly light room but, the figure raised his hand. I froze. As his hand moved back to rejoin his indifferent composure it wavered, pointed to a bucket on the floor I had nearly fallen over. It was placed between him and I. The toll must be paid. I reached into my jacket almost panicking not to find what had slid through the pocket liner. Eventually grasping the near fatal roll of whatever I had left. I dropped it into the bucket with a solemn bang.

The figure moved in rapid response. The sound of his chair grinding back against the floor broke the constant drone of the drip, as the figure stood tall. A milk bottle slid across the table, almost not stopping at its edge. the figure jostled in the darkness until the sharp sound of a match catching ended my terrified curiosity. I could not help notice the man in the dark. A wedding ring here, a scar on his brow there. As he inhaled the ember of his cigarette revealed black, cold eyes and clues pointing toward a generally older man. For how long I thought did the milk man do what he did, for how long did he poison the unsuspecting. He blew the smoke up into the light, the shadows danced across the table as if demons around the bottled death, was I making a deal with the devil?

This is an Image I have found to represent the moment:

https://www.google.co.za/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CAYQjB1qFQoTCOOH6frGy8gCFQPXFAodNZcBeA&url=http%3A%2F%2Flibrary.duke.edu%2Fdigitalcollections%2Fgedney_NY0403%2F&bvm=bv.105454873,d.d24&psig=AFQjCNGjAi8f9vq-pD7DonuujfZGTaqa2w&ust=1445241681164956

Assignment 1 - Poetry

For this assignment we had to create a concrete poem on one of either two themes, I chose ''I am an expert in ... ''. This is what I created.

                I ,

You will try to understand this but, in truth only some will. For everything is not what it seems, your grandeur, your life, your dreams. I am not trying to push you down or drown you at your seams but, make you realize this illusive means.

          am an expert in nothing

and so are you.

Many of you quivering in your seats, you Deny it, abide it, completely chastise it. So let me tell you the view, of a select few. The masses are drugged on sugar and so are you. Parents don’t know what to do. Radiation is in your pocket and its killing you. The truth is paid not to be viewed. Men in power have taken from you.

For what is this illusive means I speak?.

Academia is a hypocrisy mastered by a ever reoccurring new autocracy.  Prices will climb, salary’s will only by a dime. Slave to the coin you will be, to that

            ever illusive currency. Feed on the media to survive, you have

                     to if you want to pretend to thrive. Desperation

                   will be your social castration. We are all

                                hungry to hate and are born with the

                                inability to wait. We are flawed,

mauled by the incessant hardships of our reality. Come to accept it as a formality. The future is bleak, the human race has reached its peak. The planet burns for our earns. The human will is weak.

This information, let it leak. Let it absolve you from this continuous streak. I speak of a broken world where young and old break repeat. Break this streak. I am an expert in nothing, this is true but I have eyes, ears and a mouth too. I am like everyone, am I not you? We are all the same, break not you.

Word Activitiy

For this activity we were given random words to combine and produce a small paragraph of writing. My words were, ''Tooth and Fall''.

Winters Bite

As I lay in a gully exempt from the Ice that plagued the fields above, all was still. The sky was a blue hidden by white and a place without sounds, without pain. My horse below had fallen into a spears hoe grip. As reality bit at my leg, trapped under I was. I made my move to release the stirrup eager to not upset the silence of the gully. When I saw my arm, it was peppered with teeth on the brown burnt leather. It must have been from the charge I remembered. I placed my arms on a near by rock and pulled with all I had not being bale to stop myself from groaning from an unknown wound. My horse was pulled away from, not I it. The volatile motion could only mean we had lost, I turned burying my lance into a rock near me with both hands, facing what had thrown my horse strides away.

I found this Image to be a good representation of the before:

(https://www.google.co.za/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CAYQjB1qFQoTCP2067W8y8gCFcm3FAod1rMJsg&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.ancient-origins.net%2Fnews-history-archaeology%2Fdoes-newly-discovered-tomb-hungary-belong-attila-hun-001488&psig=AFQjCNEL8LIowpUCtCCvUOMfl3B9BG2aNw&ust=1445238849120552)

Page 34, Writting Assignment

For this piece we had to write a story where we had previously considered multiple beginnings, this is what I went with:

Tea For Three.

It was a ghastly Tuesday afternoon. The sky was a deep grey and the wind was beginning to sweep up. I approached Mr. Dillinger’s Chicago apartment at the Marion Le Pip Farie, an establishment of refutable acclaim I was told by Mr. Briggs, my employer at that late time, god rest him. The door man, a stout fellow granted me access into the building’s lobby where the rich alabaster walls and warm light sent my eyes about. So much so that I did not see Misses Richards and bumped the poor girl over, she was never really quick on her feet. The confrontation aside and a warm cheek later, I was at the man’s door. I knocked for a great length of time to no avail, until I jiggled the handle and the door popped free. The door popped free? Just like that? Yes well it is quite an old building the handles date back to 1850. It says on the official report, the door looked as if a train was driven through it. I’m getting to that part Stevens.

 Anyways I entered the room and called out expecting to hear a response to which there was nothing. I saw the file on the table Mr. Briggs had instructed me to retrieve. Dillinger’s coat was off its hanger so he must have been out, I reached to grab the documents just a quick peruse, when I heard a peculiar sound. Dillinger had placed a glass of water I had knocked over onto the carpet, to my horror. I swiftly removed the shoes and went to the bathroom to acquire some soaking aids to fix my mistake that is when I heard the front door open. What happened next I’m not proud of; I assumed the position everyone does when they are in an apartment they’re not supposed to be in. I hopped into the shower tub and closed the curtain. Realizing what a stupid decision this was I peered through the end of the curtain, praying presumably Mr. Dillinger did not have to use the bathroom. No one had told me Mr. Dillinger was blind, he made his way to his bed, I could only partially see him from the curtains but, he removed his sunglasses and put his cane aside the bed. He had a cross and he lay down with it clutching it tightly.

The feeling of stupidity was now met with sorrow and inherent guilt for tricking a man without sight or for evening wagering the idea in my mind. Then I saw him. The man in black? Yes him. Dillinger said, I thought they would send someone better. The man replied with ‘’ The documents are property of Omega ‘’ and shot Dillinger twice. He moved out of sight and I heard the creek of the door and eventually the slam. I looked over Dillinger transfixed when I felt the cold steel of the man’s gun press against my nape…  

I found this image to be a good representation of what I was going for:

The Definition of Dilapidated

In our Creative writing class we were assigned words to find their definition. My word was dilapidated. Definition - (Concerning a building or object) that has been left in a state of disrepair or ruin through neglect or abandonment. Here is a picture example: 

(http://harkinsvocabblog.blogspot.com/2013_02_01_archive.html)