The Campaign Builder's Guild

Well. I've been a lazy bastard recently, and have not written much. So in order to give myself a little push, I've found  This link , which has many random generators, but the one concerned here is the writing prompt. The point is to take the prompt, write it here, (as it comes to me,without re-writing) and KEEP doing it. Everyday. The only rules are that I will generate '2' prompts and pick one. Here goes.

9/19
Prompts:

write for at least 400 words about a discovery, a flower, and a dream. Focus on dialogue.

Write for at least 250 words about a musical instrument, and a deck of cards.

[spoiler] The garden was bathed in cliched moonlight, the spring season infecting every inch of that ancient place. Not a single flower was out of place, all perfectly arranged according to the rites of Etherea, the dream witch. Each and every element in its correct position, aligned with the heavenly bodies so that one could be simaltaneously asleep, and awake. She had built the garden in many places over the ancient stretches of time, each incarnation a new chance for a chosen creature to find it, and to heed her call. This centuries chosen, was Atlan the minstrel.

   She had found him unconscious in a gutter, a broken flask of rum, and his lute, snapped at the neck. His face and neck had been bruised by heavy hands, his pockets turned inside out. He was a man down on his luck, and Etherea had called to him. He was difficult to reach in the haze of alcohol. But he had heard her voice, a milky silken thing in the black abyss of his unconscious.

 For three days Atlan had wandered in the wilderness, a broken man, penniless and disorientated. He steered clear of the roads outside the walled city, and avoided the settlements and farms he passed along the way to his un-known destination. He knew only the signs, markers placed in his mind by the dream witch.

The first was the river Oryx, a stream turned roaring river by the spring thaws, the only crossing a tattered bridge that was neither sturdy or guarded. Atlan crossed with a bit of luck and the watchful eye of Etherea.
The next sign he sought was that of a broken sword. Which he thought might be the rocks of Galdea, a formation found in the north hills of Galdea. He came upon the rocky strewn forest, and sought out the sign with increasing angst. As darkness fell that first night, the moon eclipsed a particularly tall formation, nearly twenty feet high, and brilliant silver in the coming dusk. Atlan fell asleep at the base of the rocky sword and fell into a dreaming sleep.

 The morning brought cold reality, and a parched mouth. Crows cawwed him awake, and he stood with stiff bones and a throbbing head. He cursed the Galdean rum and its two-day hangovers. He continued on into the rising hills and thick vegetation, a lost pilgrim with only a vague idea of his destination, flashes of insight and failing memories.
 
The second day was a tough affair. The sweats had come and his feet were black and bloody. His tunic was tattered and his hair, once long and brilliant blonde was falling out in clumps. He pulled at his hair, and screamed at the wilderness. His stomach was a churning noxious reminder of his lack of food. He found no signs that day, and with great despair fell asleep once more at the foot of the mountain.

The last day was much easier. Atlan had slept peacefully, and calmly awoke to the sound of spring. Soft chirruping birds, and the easy rustling of the pine trees. He waded through the thick vegetation of the mountains base, and soon found a natural stair, gently rising steps of rock, lined with vines of blossoming white-flowers and brilliant red berries.

This led him to the garden. Etherea was their, in flowing white robes, and her had was surrounded by a halo of sunlight. A fox and a crow gathered at her feet, which were barefoot. The fox had a sly grin, and the crow had one eye. Etherea welcomed Atlan to her garden, and he threw himself at her feet.

If one travels north, across the river Oryx and through the forest of rocks, look for the sword-like rock and you will know the way. The trail lingers for a few miles, and eventually disapears. The shadow of the mountain casts darkness on this part of the forest, but with a little luck one can find the stair formation, Ancient steps said to have been carved by ancient Galdeans, to reach a sacred spot in the mountains. It is not an easy trek, for the snow is thick and heavy here, even in the heat of the summer, the elevation brings the chill of winter still. At the top of the mountain, in a small clearing you can find the remains of Atlan, the body preserved by the arctic winds, still on his knees in prostration to some un-seen diety. The look on his face is that of horror.
[/spoiler]

Not sure if thats 450 words or not, but I got everything out that I wanted to.

coooooooool :)

9/20


Write for at least 2 minutes about a journey, a risk, and a boat.

Write for at least 5 minutes about a thwarted plan, a horse, and a window.

[spoiler]
The crisp air of the early winter morning woke Paul from a sleepless night. His brow was heavy with sweat, despite the chill, and the poor dressings of his bed chamber. He was a servant, as was his father and his before him to the Lord of Foxglove Manner, a lonely plot of land some thirty miles inland from the coast.The Lord was away in Shaddington on business, and Paul was uncharacteristicly uneasy that morning, his family tendency for cool-headedness and sincerity for duty, suddenly abandoned, to be replaced by shear terror. Paul worried as he set the kettle for tea, and went about the house doing his dailies.He worried about the state his master would find his manor in when he returned in a weeks time.

Paul was a very vigiliant servant, but things did happen that one could never be prepared for, and for this reason he worried all through the afternoon. It was with him when he went out to the stable, to check on Breddimaeus, the Lords second-favorite horse,(his first favorite being the one that carried him away on business.)

   Breddimaeus stood solidly in the dark of the stable, the warmth of his breath greeting Paul before he war even near to the great beast. He proferred a cube of sugar for the beast, and it graciously took it with a soft chortle. The creature was beautiful, a relic from the ages past when great men rode on horses into battle, and officers of the army stood in the front ranks of their men, urging them onward to victory or death or both.

Later...from his window on the second story, Paul could view the stables, and (he thwarts a plan of a thief, introduced earlier, a rival to his masters, that is trying to steal Breddimaeus.) The master returns, hears the story, and Pauls fears are put to rest.

[/spoiler]

[note=Crap] This is crap.[/note]