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About Deviant Stanley DoddMale/United Kingdom Recent Activity
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Literature
Species Native to Kardia
An understanding of Kardia's natives
To any human entering Kardia, you may wonder why Kardia has a population of humans already, spanning far around the Major Tria and beyond. The idea that Kardia has native humans however is misfound; all humans are either native to or descend from a human originally from Earth. In the same manner, the animal societies are not native either, but their origins lie hazy and undefined. What is for definite is that Kardia has only four native intelligent species to its land:
Dragons
Common in any fairytale, the dragons have long existed in Kardia. Very antisocial creatures, they dislike all other species and favour themselves. Dragons often come in many shapes and sizes, lacking and obtaining many features. All dragons do not age, and are mortal in combat but rarely fall to other beasts due to their calibre.
Dragons come into being by being hatched from eggs, laid by the Dragonmother. The dragonmother will lay eggs and raise children u
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Literature
Sickness
You reach for the light.
It’s everywhere; it’s white.
You’re winning some fight you weren’t even fighting,
And then a tremor deep within your chest
Wrenches a darkness into you
And suddenly it’s black.
Some force beyond, some reckoning
Had made you the miracle that wasn’t a miracle.
Torn from the black hands.
Gasping so hard for air,
Clinging to the atoms you have – the ATOMS.
After such a feat, you expect to be free,
And light fills your head,
Lifts you from dread and fear,
For what isn’t here.
No
It seeps inside once more,
And darkness explodes
To take what was once its
And invade not one, but many lives.
To finally topple the teetering tower.
To finally end that pathetic excuse.
But you’re torn out again.
You fought a battle you weren’t aware of,
Couldn’t know and couldn’t fear,
Could scream but not know.
Would not even remember how fearful that darkness was,
When you sat on its edge and saw it!
Innocent and na&
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Literature
The Man with the Glazed Eye
Sand is his home, snow is his guise
With a will filled heart that never dies
He places himself on pillars high
Coated in black, he wanders free
But hounds his friends with company
His roots are hard-knotted and tied
The Man with the Glazed Eye
He straightens his back with a wooden staff
That threatens always to snap in half
A raven whispers in his ear so sly
His pet observes and watches the land
And returns to his master's hand
To act as his loyal informant spy
For the Man with the Glazed Eye
His fear is flawed and never calm
When gold and trust sits in his palm
Afraid of when it all leaves to fly
He works for naught and limbs are lame
I have no respect to call him by name
But how is this man better than I...
This Man with the Glazed Eye
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Literature
Five Princesses
Princess of Steel, as hard and cold,
With head of matter and pockets of gold,
Who’s voice unheard but words are bold,
Yet can’t be trusted, or so I’m told.
Whose home is copper, sparks and light.
Who stalks her prey, like owls in night.
Her soul we call her very plight…
She is no queen for me
Princess of Whispers, without a sound,
Undetected; always around,
A rabbit at first, that I would hound,
But more a hare now I have found.
Subtle beauty, but not incurred.
She may just speak, or never heard.
Can you understand from just a word?
She is no queen for me
Princess of Spring, full of bloom,
The light of youth from all the gloom,
Forward and soft; love fills the room,
Unrequited unto that whom.
So many secrets left unsaid.
Over an ocean she lays in bed.
Patience won’t solve four years ahead.
She is no queen for me
Princess of Fire, without the hair,
Voluptuous and yet so fair,
Her realm next door, to compare.
Her past and self, she’s still to share.
A
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Literature
The Hornton House
     There was a feeling of despair around that house. It wouldn’t go away. It stayed there like a bad smell that had soaked into my clothes and would take some time to leave. The creaking stairs and broken floor kept my senses open to any and all disturbances to my normal welfare. A similar sounding footstep behind me kept me on my toes, causing me to turn around nearly every ten seconds. I wasn’t in my place, and I knew it. But I had my torch at hand, shining it at everything to make sure nothing was hiding.
     I had heard many a rumour about the people who went missing; the murders that went on within these walls. Bodies bricked up. However, all cleared away by the police. And now I was there to check out the mystery. If I’d had the choice, I wouldn’t have gone near that place. But I was stuck there, in the house drowned in shadows; alone.
     I checked every room, slowly turning each handle to let whatever was
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Literature
A Brook of Tears
At twilight morn, I bathed in sun,
And looked to the dull abyss in the sky.
I felt a nothing, from years gone by.
No words would leave me, but a sigh.
And here I awaited coming rain,
Of poisonous darts brimming with pain.
A pain I thought I’d never feel again.
I never wished this onslaught.
I thought it was done…
Why on a bench, in a park,
Surrounded in dark, the light
Brought the tree to my eyes.
And a lone bird perched in the tree
Watched me listlessly.
I didn’t want her there.
I didn’t mind her company,
Sure enough I called her to me,
To spend a night or three
In song and more, till dawn.
Dawn was cold…
Nights sleepless rolled by,
In summers hot as desert,
Sandy as such and much more barren.
And a daffodil of mine would bore itself.
A rose before.
Heartless May.
When snow enveloped the land outside,
The world of text I used to hide.
The daffodil of mine had itself tied
To the bird that darted scared.
Its beak was scarred and bared.
Wings a flutter of
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Mature content
Twenty-Six is Forever and a Day :iconnturtanyr:nturtanyr 0 0
Mature content
David and Elizabeth :iconnturtanyr:nturtanyr 0 0
Mature content
Twenty-Five is Breaking Away :iconnturtanyr:nturtanyr 0 0
Literature
Twenty-Four is Rebirth
'Now, although you are my prisoners, understand we can still talk and chatter.'
The carriage was brown, old and archaic. It was very Victorian; made of dark wood with a lamp that hung from the back and lit the area behind it and it was drawn by four very black and shadowy unicorns, driven by yet another bear at the front seat. Beezle sat in the middle of Graison and Eloise inside, opposite Dean, Sammy and Bo. The forest slipped past the windows as the carriage made a streamlined attempt at moving. It was a relaxing atmosphere; not what they had expected when they were made prisoners.
'Come, why are you so quiet?'
'I don't usually talk to people who've stuck a gun to my head,' admitted Dean finally.
'I placed it NEXT to you head. That's hardly aggressive.'
'You've taken us prisoner.'
'True, but if I hadn't you wouldn't be alive. It's taken some work to get here, would be a shame if you threw it all away now. It's a lucky thing you have her with you!' said Beezle.
'Why do you need her an
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Mature content
Twenty-Three is Failure :iconnturtanyr:nturtanyr 0 1
Literature
Twenty-Two is Online
Sammy hopped and jerked the bag on her back higher. She was the last of them carrying her bag. Atlas was looking after their camping equipment, but Sammy carried the things she thought they needed; a map of the forest they were once in, a compass that no longer worked, a watch that had stopped, some books on flora and fauna, the jar of locusts, the Rulebook, some matches, their wallets, the last of their food and some other light objects. It sounded like it was full, but it barely was half filled, and she could jump with it. No one agreed with the choices she made, but they all thought they didn't need a single item.
But then Mr Spanners found that he needed a few things that weren't commonly available.
Eloise returned with Graison and Bo, after Dean and Sammy claimed they were going to check with Atlas about something. Before they split paths, Eloise muttered for them to:
'Meet at the airstrip.'
After that, they trekked back to the Marble City, as if it was a normal journey to
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Literature
Twenty-One is Never Again
Eloise was in the graveyard, hugging the Rulebook tightly as if it was a charm protecting her from harm. She was staring into the distance, facing the landscape around her; rotten dirt and a mud wall, with rusty fencing running around the graveyard's perimeter. The graveyard wasn't a homely place. Never was. Simply a place for her to stand and think
Everyone else had begun the search for a way to get to the Barbaric Jungle, but they had no clues. Not even the Rulebook with its pretty pictures and snippits of information. A large red cross had appeared next to Raymond's name now as a constant reminder, and his name had disappeared from the wish-list. The Rulebook was a scary object now, but she gripped it tight against her chest.
She wasn't much for philosophy, but she was starting to think about death and what happens with it. If this world wasn't so weird and surreal, she might think it was real, but if it wasn't so realistic she might think it was a dream. It didn't seem to be either
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Literature
Twenty is My Inspiration
His lower lip quivered a little. The librarian folded his arms towards Sammy and leant forward so that his eyes were level with hers. His pupils were narrow and small as he considered her for a moment. Everyone was silent, unmoving, until Dean's arm twitched. Then the librarian spoke.
'Such a frivolous imitation of much different events. It is more an inconvenience than a coincidence,' he said.
'Just sounds – the hatter,' Sammy said, 'I'm sorry I didn't mean to-'
'That is a story, much larger than I think you're willing to hear,' said the librarian, making a sharp twist and sitting back at his desk.
It left the group in an awkward position. However, Dean pricked up;
'Hey, what about this "Lord of Pride",' he called, 'are we meant to go find his armies or what?'
The librarian didn't answer and instead scribbled in his book.
'Hey, don't ignore me!' shouted Dean, frustrated, 'how do we get there?'
The librarian still didn't answer. Dean marched towards him, a passion building inside
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Literature
Nineteen is Tears
A tremor rumbled from the volcano, down the street and shook the ground they stood on. Cobwebs were strung across lampposts. The brick road was worn and broken. The houses trembled and wobbled from side to side. They were boarded up messily and crooked; abandoned and left to rot. The roofs were littered with fallen slate and water that dripped down into the street. Where the water came from, they couldn't tell. It ran down gutters, along the drain pipes and led down the street. The road sunk as it approached the Town Hall, and at its feet was a great pool of murky and constantly disturbed water. It wasn't too deep, but it lapped at the doors to the place.
The Town Hall was a large stone building with an intricate design carved into it and scribbled over with mosaic tiles. It seemed to resemble a biblical image of some kind, with clouds above, sea below, and a cross that hovered over the doorway. The windows were stained glass, but the building seemed to be folding inward and dropping o
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Mature content
Eighteen is Love :iconnturtanyr:nturtanyr 0 0

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Literature
...Well who knows what the future holds..
And so the tides of darkness recede back into a boundless expanse of wonder, and reveal a beach of beauty of understanding, and possibly regret...
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Activity


Honestly

I just want something else to be on the front of my journal.

...

Oh hey look! New stuff! Go check it out. Let me get to Top Hats later...

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nturtanyr's Profile Picture
nturtanyr
Stanley Dodd
United Kingdom
Alright, what can I put as a Bio?

I first joined to see some cool pictures, got bored, forgot about here then realised that people write on here too.

And I was thinking, 'what!?'

So I guess that's my new plan. I used to put up my Saga of the Man in the Top Hat, but that's on hiatus as I get through some tough writer's block. In the meantime you get some poetry and short stories. Enjoy at your own risk.

In my eyes, when I write, I write art. When I write, I write what I see. When I write, I'm not telling a story, I'm painting the picture of the world, the people, the events all inside your mind! I don't always choose words for meaning, I choose for their sound. How they feel. Literature is art in many ways, and poetry isn't the only one for this.

Perhaps my Saga will help those who don't understand.

When I write, I write by the motion of my hand and heart and not by my mind and mood.

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:iconandysnow1996:
AndySnow1996 Featured By Owner Oct 13, 2014
Hey, do you remember a guy named vorsoc (that's me) on the IGN message boards? We used to write fanfics about pikmin!
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:iconnturtanyr:
nturtanyr Featured By Owner May 9, 2015
...Why did I not reply to this? Yes, yes I certainly do :P I say, the Pikmin Board was a lifetime ago
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:iconrekolas:
Rekolas Featured By Owner Sep 9, 2013
Realized you putt "Stanley Dodd" in your journal. Just wanted to thank you Informally now. 

Thanks for the favorite Stan. :]

:D
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:iconrekolas:
Rekolas Featured By Owner Sep 9, 2013
Thanks for the favorite Ntur. :]
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:iconbriant1996:
Briant1996 Featured By Owner Jul 11, 2013  Hobbyist Artist
Added you to my watch list ;)
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:iconrollingtomorrow:
RollingTomorrow Featured By Owner Apr 30, 2012   General Artist
Welcome to :iconlive-love-write:! :happybounce:

We’re glad to have you as a member and look forward to seeing your contributions! :heart:

We have a lot of ways for our members to get involved! We host a prompt on a weekly basis and comment on and feature each of the submissions. :nod:

We also hold contests with great prizes! :la:

If you have any questions, feel free to ask. :D
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:iconhaircoom:
haircoom Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2012  Hobbyist Photographer
HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII GURLLLLLLLLLLL
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:iconnturtanyr:
nturtanyr Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2012
HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY CINK
WAZZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!?
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:iconhaircoom:
haircoom Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2012  Hobbyist Photographer
wtf o.o
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:iconnturtanyr:
nturtanyr Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2012
Don't ever go skiing! Please! If you ever are planning to go skiing...just don't! End of it! No skiing, please!
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