Writing Samples
Writing Sample 1 (Pokemon)
Mood-Setting Music: "Mezase Pokemon Master (Jazz Arrangement)"
The pleasantly full cafe was full of trainers and Pokemon alike, so there was little notice of a chubby-cheeked, cream-furred squirrel gracefully alighting on one of the fences. He lightly sniffed the air in anticipation; after having missed breakfast and facing a pink-haired fighter named Maylene in an impromptu sparring battle--he could blame that battle-crazed Zwilt for challenging her Lucario--he was starving. Something--well, some things--smelled exquisite, but it was a sweet flaky aroma that drew his attention. He was going to get a sample before his master and the others showed up.
The squirrel took to the skies, lazily floating on the cool wind towards the aroma's source. A few moments of looking around, and his eyes locked onto a small pastry, oozing with vanilla frosting and what appeared to be a red--strawberry--filling. Fresh from the oven, he could tell from the still light trail of steam. And the redhead at the table was too busy eating and daydreaming to even notice.
A sly smile on his innocent face, he landed on a polished street lamp and steeled himself. It had been so long, and he couldn't help a momentary walk down the path of nostalgia. A smooth downward descent from the lamp to the table, and a quicker Aerial Ace-powered escape would do the trick; he'd be in and out in a flash if timed right. It had been a while since he engaged in his first great love, but the Emolga knew he could shake off the dust. And besides, surely she wouldn't mind contributing to a Pokemon's health by offering one of those desserts...
"Emolga?" From his perch, he quizzically watched as the woman offered him a nice-sized chunk of pasty. He had been looking forward to snatching the whole thing, but the flying squirrel wasn't stupid. Wordlessly he fluttered down onto the table, peering at the still steaming dessert, then at the smiling redhead. She didn't seem like someone who'd try anything, especially not with so many people and Pokemon around. Not to mention, two tables to their level, one of those weird identical female humans in blue outfits he'd seen...well, everywhere. The creature's rumbling stomach made the decision as, plopping down in front of the plate, the Electric-type bit down onto the dessert.
"Emolllga..." It was just as good as he imagined. Would she give him some more if he turned on the charm? Only one way to find out. Giving an adorable pout, eyes shiny and bright and chin quivering, he stared up at the young woman with a tearful plea in its eyes, glancing at the vivisected dessert before laying in so thick he'd be chewing the scenery as well.
Writing Sample 2
Mood-Setting Music: "The Unheard Voice"
So, this is the Crystal Palace.
His feet crunching on the fresh snow, the sorcerer and self-professed "Master of Secrets" Noah ever-falling powder concealed his footprints just as swiftly. Not that he had to worry about others following him; no one from Arenvelle would dare make the dizzying trek up this path. Even dressed in fur and sheathed in a heating spell, he could feel the chill mercilessly bite at his skin. Had it not been for that charm, no doubt his his fingers--or other body parts--would had long withered in the ruthless chill. How could people live like this? In this realm of constant winter, the massive castle of ice before him was truly amazing to withhold. Though the sun rose directly above it, highlighting the crystalline material and giving it a truly radiant sheen, not a single droplet fell from the castle. Yet, for all of its delicate beauty, it was said to have been there for centuries, and no army had ever broken through its walls. Noah could believe it; it was indeed a beautiful edifice befitting royalty and its silent guardian. All the more appropriate given the tales he heard since stepping foot in Arenvelle.
"The Snow Queen," he murmured, closing dark brown eyes after a particularly strong wind gust. It seemed too unbelievable. Granted, there was often a seed of truth in old legends; as one who reveled in uncovering secrets, he knew that far better than most. The historians he conversed with spoke of an incalculable bounty of diamonds and gems hidden away within that castle, enough so a mere handful would ensure a family's fortune for generations to come. But, they also warned of its guardian. A swiftly muttered spell had much needed warmth race through his blood, his mind went back to the discussion in the libraries. For within that palace, keeping a lonely vigil within its frigid halls, was said to be some sort of winter spirit. A creature as beautiful as a snowflake, yet as merciless as a blizzard, able to freeze a man's very soul with a look and shatter them with a mere touch. The greedy and desperate tried to lay hands on the treasure, while the bold and ambitious sought the glory slaying the Snow Queen would bring. All had fail. The most fortunate returned merely chilled but chastened. The less fortunate, it was whispered, were turned into frozen statues with the souls trapped within, their faces contorted in eternal horror and added to her "collection" of sculptures.
Only the foolish and suicidal would travel that way, young mage, the loremaster had cautioned. Turn back; the secrets you seek aren't worth your life.
That gruesome reveal almost put Noah off of this journey.
Almost.
Surely, he theorized while struggling against the howling winds, this "Snow Queen" was more myth than reality. Frozen statues and winter spirits? More than likely a bunch of winter wolves and wild animals took the place as their own. Maybe this Queen was more no divine--or demonic--than he, just some middling witch using the legend to lay claim to the palace and casting a cold-based spell on occasion to keep people away. Or perhaps the treasure itself was the myth, and the castle was merely an immaculately-kept ruin. But if that was the case, why spend such effort on what was effectively nothing? So many possibilities and theories. There was only one way to learn the truth and the palace's secret.
Eyes closed, at one with the perfect stillness around him, he carefully approached the overwhelming castle. The earlier cold was almost balmy compared to the arctic stillness radiating from the walls, an intensity that completely encased boulders in foot-thick ice. This wasn't some natural cold; he knew magic well enough to know that. And this definitely wasn't some low-level mage's work. This was a supernatural chill formed by someone--or something--who had the cold as a lover and mastered it in a way archmages would drool over. And if that was the case, then what other secrets--and delights--awaited him within?
Writing Sample 3 (Mario)
Mood-Setting Music: "Sand In My Shoes"
While Dry Dry Desert was aptly named--the desert wind doing its best to absorb even the sweat off a wanderer's brow in its unquenchable thirst--it wasn't short of more physical threats for the unwary and ill-prepared. From bad-tempered Pokeys skulking about loving to stick travelers, deceptively-cute Buzzy Beetles that packed a mean bite and the spiky Cleffas whose rocky hides were just as insensitive as their personalities, even seasoned adventurers could find themselves having a bad time. To thrive in the desert, one had to be tougher than week-old Mushroom Steak. It almost made the roving Bandits a relief.
Such as the one currently watching the group atop a large boulder, trusting in the midafternoon shadow and overhead sun to shield his physical presence. There weren't too many large groups that came this way. His porcelain-white face noted how slowly the group moved, how the blazing desert sun was doing more damage than a dozen Pokeys. And with the outpost so tantalizing close, like the oasis, they'd let their guard down.
And a slow body meant light pockets.
"They're comin'!" Skillfully shimmying down the crag, the young Bandit reunited with his identically-dressed gang, squealing in excitement. "Group o' ten down the path!"
A great deal of elbow-nudging, gleeful handrubbing and snickering filled the air, their almost-plastered smiles twisting as he padded down, lest their marks hear them on the way.
"So whadda think?" another Bandit questioned. "They look like toughies?"
"Nah, they're dummies," the scout snorted. "Ten Toads, but they're about to peg out. Serves 'em right for walking through the desert at noon, idiots."
"Dey look heavy?" Heavy being the Bandit parlance for rich, that was the most important question. Taking on ten just for a handful of coins wouldn't even be worth the trouble.
"They're all dressed in fancy white n' gold duds." The first Bandit shrugged. "And boyos lookin' like that ain't guardin' nothin'! They've gotta have plenty of coins!"
"You mean they ain't guarding anythin'!"
"That's what I said, in'nit?!" the younger crook snapped, that constant smirk twisting in anger. "They ain't guardin' nothin!"
"It's nothin', like the point'a dis argument." Despairing at his cohort's ignorance, the elder Bandit jumped up, peering ahead to where the unsuspecting targets were approaching. Sure enough, the pristine white of their clothing stood out like light in a dark cave. The scout had it right; idiots, the pack of 'em.
"Get yer tackle together. We'll be rich men this day!"
****************
Five minutes later, the trap had been set-up and everyone in position. Half of their gang had already gone off to circle behind the approaching group. As one Bandit jumped in an abandoned Monty Mole tunnel, two more painted themselves in multiple hues of beige to blend in with the surroundings, while yet another—clearly an artist—scuttled on all fours underneath an oversized Buzzy Beetle shell despite the overwhelming heat. All in all, the scene seemed all the norm in the scorching Dry Dry Desert.
"Somethin' off," the scout whispered, fiddling with his pair of Sticky Gloves.
"Don't worry," his partner snickered, standing nearby on the well-worn path to Dry Dry Outpost. They had chosen the ambush location well: Close enough so that the protective stone walls were in sight, allowing their marks to let down their guard, but not so close that some of the locals could see what they were up to or get involved. The locals were as tough as the wildlife (even the Toad in the Item Shop had sent them running off with a Lightning Bolt), and they had been warned by Sheek about plying their trade in the outpost. Even their leader wasn't brassy enough to piss off the mysterious Moustafa. "They'll be off soon enough, and we'll be swimmin' in loot!"
The first Bandit still felt pensive, his gut twisting in the same familiar way when they tried ganging up on that Nomadmouse a month ago. All that had earned them was several powerful headaches, which could have happened to anyone; how were they to know the rat had a 3rd-degree Black Belt from the Toad Town Dojo? "I'm serious, mate. My tum's flippin'. Supposen' they are toughies?"
"Your tum's flippin' cause you are all that Star Crunch candy yesterday before goin' to sleep." Grinning at his nervousness, the elder Bandit laughed. "You don't think we can rob a buncha Toads? They'd be frightened of their own shadows without Mario around. Stop gettin' all scarrrred and bite into your inner Chomp."
"...My inner wha?"
"Yer inner Chomp." The speaker shrugged casually, ignoring his partner’s confused look. "What? I been readin' this book by Frogfucius about how the greatest enemy is ourselves and that fear comes from obsessin' over what-ifs, and they turn inta Metal Blocks that keep us from 'appiness. We bite through 'em and...eh, I'll show you later. Now straighten up! They're comin' this way!"
Sure enough, one could see the ivory polish of the Toad's Mushroom helms. The older thief felt that chilly surge of excitement despite the harsh desert wind; they may be dressed in nice duds, but a Toad was still a Toad. Hoping to bolster his crony's confidence, he waited until the full crew--both the newcomers and the other Bandits--were in place before hailing them with a swaggering pose.
"There's a toll here now. You wanna get to Dry Dry Outpost, make with the coins. A 150 coins each seems right fair ta me."
