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About Literature / Hobbyist Samilton Kelvin BattmannFemale/United Kingdom Recent Activity
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Literature
Clandestine - Infinity Blade
He sees memories that are not his. He knows what everything is – ground, water, sky – but he does not understand. He knows but has no experience. It would be unsettling, he assumes, if he could clarify the position he is in. But he cannot.
Jerking his head left and right, he feels the energy within his core, pulsating to sustain his sleek metal body, and a stream of flexing electricity churns from the glowing filaments connected from the deadminds to his nape. He is alive. Of course, technically speaking, he has no life, but if the cardio-electromagnet were a heart, he is certain he could be classified as alive.
The darkness of the chamber is brightened only by the white mirrors that flash strings of numbers and occasionally display images of his internal components. He watches as suddenly hands appear to hold his head, tilting it towards a lamp that used to be situated behind him. The light causes his synthetic retinas to shrink, and his sight adjusts to the intensity. Oth
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Literature
Execution
The cell was largely agreeable, the solidity of the stone walls lessened by the expensive wood furniture and plush curtains. It was nothing like the cells in the dungeon: freezing and damp, rot festering in the doorways and metal bars bleeding rust. On the table in front of him was a roll of parchment, on which he had written, and now his hands were clasped in his lap. With a sigh, he opened his eyes, and his gaze was drawn to the window. Out there, they were waiting for him - he was sure of it. But his apprehension had faded, and now he was at peace. Everything had its end. He would accept his fate.
He breathed in sharply as someone rapped on the door. But it was an empty gesture; the guards came in regardless, sombre and respectful. They announced that it was time, and he knew what they referred to. Getting to his feet, he glanced at the parchment, and wondered whether his words would be burnt or left to decay within a chest or vault. Whatever the case, he could not help it; the guar
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Literature
Greg
His name was Randolph McMillian, but he became Greg.
    He was an ordinary guy, just like you and I, working as a valet on a boat. His job was to cater for the guests while they cruised around the western coast. He could hold fifteen flutes of champagne on a plate with his non-dominant hand. He didn’t get paid that much for it, and it was a pretty hard job, especially when the guests were noisy or nosy or just plain difficult, like jabbing their finger at the horizon and squealing at a whale or something (there weren’t even whales in this sea, so he didn’t know what they were going on about). But he had mediocre grades, and he wasn’t very forward when looking for jobs. He was scared of interviews. They made him feel sick, and his throat would close up, and his heart would flutter – and oh, it was so embarrassing! The captain of the boat hadn’t bothered with an interview; he’d been recruited and that was that.
    Randolph
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Literature
Skyrim II - Sequel of Murder (13)
The Arch Mage of Winterhold knew the way to Lord Harkon’s castle – naturally. Our rendezvous point with the Companions and Dawnguard was Dragon Bridge; thankfully, we took our time buying supplies and resting for our great confrontation against the vampires. Naomi had fashioned a strange collar and lead for the baby dragon, coaxing it along as it whined for fresh meat. Lorelei was its unexpected feeder, shooting elk in the prairies and having fun teasing the scaled beast with bloody strips of hide. More than once, Louisa and Heather had expressed their disgust, but I had seen Zayanah looking at it intently, watching it grow every night with the help of Naomi’s potions.
     The sisters kept to themselves, but it was clear that they were unhappy with their lycanthrope. They could transform at will, but when they did so, they brutally fought each other, rending clumps of fur and wrecking their muzzles with their claws. I tried to intervene, but the Compan
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Literature
Return - Infinity Blade III
Far away from the citadel, away from the daerils that lazed in the burning sun and ran sweaty hands over their weapons, through the perilous pass through the mountains, were several fields: verdurous grass and tawny crops that rippled and shimmered in the cool wind. A river from the mountains sloshed past the fields, descending into the valley and sprinkling the nearby vegetation with white specks. There was a waterfall, and beyond it a secluded cave, of which housed the skeleton of a giant monstrosity.
The sound of the river was accompanied by the chirping of crickets and soft whoosh of the crops being cut and falling into piles. The strands were gathered together and bundled tightly by rope, and then stacked onto a cart. They would be divided back at the citadel; half would go towards the daerils to be ground into flour and made into food, and the other half would be shipped to the east to feed the hungry people of Lantimor. This nifty source of income had no expense on t
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Literature
Scions
She stopped calling just as she walked into a room of men. Big men. Men who didn't care that her throat was raw from shouting. Men who had probably heard her from the start and waited for her to come along. Some leant against the walls, others sat at tables. They were all relaxed. Her hand froze on the doorframe.
    "Oh," was the first thing she said.
    They laughed as one, loud and mocking, making her flinch. She steadied her nerves and tried again.
    "What have you done with my sister?"
    A woman emerged from a group of men: large, muscular, and sneering. Her hair sprouted in dirty blonde clumps upon her half-burnt scalp, like weeds manifesting on fleshy soil. Her clothes were too small and ripped, clinging to her body and darkened with sweat near her armpits and collarbone. She smiled: her teeth were chipped and crooked.
    "And who would you be?" she jeered.
    Jean glared at her. "Someone you don't want to mess w
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Literature
The Next Generation - Kinetic
In the same way farmers did not understand politics, children did not understand kineses. They were innocent, endearingly so, but they were the greatest threat of all - a trait shared with farmers as well.  The children were the future, and the farmers fed the land. Where would Temporia be without them?
Yet constraint had to be issued, and quotas had to be met. If both were fulfilled, then the land prospered, and there was no reason to worry. Yet society fell back on the government when it came to the Kinetics, relying on their leaders to solve the complexity of kineses and allay their fears. These children would be the next generation of Kinetics; they would have to mature from their innocence, to discard their infantile dream of freedom and stay in confinement. It was never an easy task, but it was a necessity.
The Lord understood that. Her predecessor had lacked the empathy she had, and so here she was, ruling her kingdom almost as a sovereign. Almost. The final rung of the ladder o
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Literature
Skyrim II - Sequel of Murder (12)
We stared in disbelief. Rebecca looked pensive, scrutinising the object like it was a scientific specimen. Everyone else seemed just as dubious. Finally, Lorelei said, "That's impossible."
     Naomi rounded on her. "Why?" she demanded.
     "Because all the dragons we've seen haven't hatched from eggs. They appear straight from the ground, because they're being resurrected. Unless the dragons have started mating, which is highly improbable, then-"
     She was interrupted by the strange crack of the object splitting. It definitely seemed like an eggshell to me. From the crevices, hidden away in the darkness of the interior, I could just about see something writhing. A dragon? If so, schitt. What the hell were we supposed to do with a baby dragon?!
     "Look," said Emma, "it's hatching."
     I stepped back, swallowing nervously. "We should get away."
 
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Literature
Hero
She was the knight in shining armour, flaming sword in hand, preaching honour and valour. She smiled at the innocents and scowled at the criminals. Her word was final, the law of the glorious city. She spoke of peace to all, for all, eternal and celebrated. There was no fear.
   But who would fear a hero?
   In the impenetrable darkness, skulking in the shadows, the thieves stole glances at her, cursing their failing luck. Bandits and brigands, outcast by the guards, coalesced to shame her once at for all. Yet despite their attempts, she had no weakness: no lover, no family, no followers. She was a lone wolf, able to hunt down their packs by herself.
   They observed her for years, silently impressed by her power, infuriated by her success. The more they acquainted themselves with her habits, the more they realised how futile it was to face her.
   Until the guild master arose from the umbra.
   The champion of their criminal crafts, th
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Literature
Mangled
When the government quarantined the city, she didn't imagine the hundreds of soldiers to be waiting for her. If anything, it was flattering. She was that much of a threat, was she? A bullet hit her shoulder, narrowly missing the still bleeding knife wound, but she ignored them both. There was a hole in her stomach to boot. A few bullets weren't going to do much in stopping her.
Unfortunately, the soldiers only understood her intentions once the fire in her eyes had awakened and the ground rippled towards them. They fell like pins. She leapt over the jagged spines of concrete and their snapped bodies. The sound of gunfire. The burn of the metal. She persevered.
Tanks? Really? For a fleeting moment, her pace slowed, and she gazed in horror. Those things could blow her apart. Hell no. That was not going to happen. Gritting her teeth, she exerted all the force she could muster, reaching deep inside to drain her reserves, howling as the energy raged like a fiery tempest in her chest.
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Literature
As Bad As
What does she hide behind that countenance?
What does a god think?
What is her mentality like
As it flails on the brink?
When does the liar admit fault?
How can we ever tell?
When do we know
That there aren't more deceptions to sell?
Why does the light purge violently?
Why does it seek perfection?
How come our inner sins
Evade our detection?
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Literature
The God Among Us
When a man ordered a drink
Content to his own thoughts
The barmaid tilted her head
And arose rumours of sorts
“I hear there’s a god among us”
She said with a smile
The man raised his eyebrows
Tapping fingers all the while
“I heard the same,” he agreed
Impatient in his words
“But nothing such exists
Except the dragons and the birds”
She shook her head in protest
And leaned as she dared
“Oh I disagree, sir
As this tale must be shared”
He listened with polite courtesy
But fogged his thoughts with drink
And when the tale was over
He’d retched into the sink
The mess was cleared quickly
For the bar had its standard
The barmaid fussed over her skirts
And frowned as the man slurred
“Yes, a god, a god for all!”
He crowed with some fervour
“The god of change, the god of strife
The guardian and observer!”
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Literature
Superiority - 'Kinetic'
Betrayal was the problem. She believed in trust; she believed in sincerity and devotion. She believed that some form of friendship – no matter how deeply suppressed or smothered – still existed. She knew it was there, because it had to be. No one was that cruel as to use her for a decade. That sort of cruelty did not exist.
       “We will not pressure you,” her friend reminded, “but this cannot continue. She must die.”
       It certainly felt as though she was being pressured. The Emissary bit her lip, horrified by the thought.
       Her friend offered a sympathetic smile. “We all felt the same way once. Once.”
       Yes, of course. Once, friendship had not been a thing to doubt. She had been secure, laughing at her jokes, finding comfort in her presence. They had been companions. But now…
       “I cannot,” she blurted. “I cannot kill her.”
       “We have the methanol spirits; just hand her the b
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vigilance intensifies... or something like that by nebezial vigilance intensifies... or something like that :iconnebezial:nebezial 1,315 249 it always starts like this by nebezial it always starts like this :iconnebezial:nebezial 1,889 237 Draw this Again - Again by LhuneArt
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Draw this Again - Again :iconlhuneart:LhuneArt 805 41
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Shurely
Samilton Kelvin Battmann
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
Writing is cool.

PM me if you would like any writing edited/beta-ed/commissioned. Check out my tumblr for a look into my antics.
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:iconnorse19:
norse19 Featured By Owner Nov 18, 2013  Hobbyist Artist
thanks for the fav! 
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:iconsapphire-nightingale:
Sapphire-Nightingale Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
I don't think I really feel the need to do this as I can thank you in person, because unlike other Deviantart people I actually see you person :) Hahaha but I'm not going to see you until September probably so thanks for the favourite :)
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:iconekknight:
EKKnight Featured By Owner Jul 31, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
How've you been doing Shurley? I haven't seen you on here for a while.
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:iconshurely:
Shurely Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Oh hey, I've been doing great. Just got back from a holiday, which should explain my inactivity. What about you? How's the book and publishing coming along?
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:iconekknight:
EKKnight Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Ive been fine. My book is in the revision/ editing stage. What holiday just past? I'm curious. 
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:iconshurely:
Shurely Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Went to Spain for a couple of weeks. Nice and hot - unlike England. Have you gone anywhere this summer?
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(1 Reply)
:iconekknight:
EKKnight Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the fav Shurely.
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:icontapity-feet:
tapity-feet Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
hey, you have 6 days of free time! have you been working on your writing?
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:iconshurely:
Shurely Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
...Do I have to answer that?
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