Payne doesn't really have a story behind him yet. Right now he's just a very caustic kid who you just can't help but love.

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<center>“Envy consists in seeing things never in themselves, but only in their relations. If you desire glory, you may envy Napoleon, but Napoleon envied Caesar, Caesar envied Alexander, and Alexander, I daresay, envied Hercules, who never existed.”
at one point, I was alejandrah.

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^Sig set made by me. PM for requests.

"I am he [she =P] that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death."

Vengeance is an excellent obsessive trait at that. It inevitably leads to anger/hatred/depression, which are traits in a character I work well with

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This is part of a new story... but I don't know why Chris should be there.. any ideas? Oh, and someone who knows something about guns, I need to know what kind of gun the guard should have.

He was running for his life. The enemy was fast upon his heels, and he knew if he stopped it would probably be the end of him. A tree branch caught the edge of his shorts, snagging them. Twisting around to free himself, he tripped and fell to the ground. Angry voices were the last thing he heard before he blacked out.
When he woke up, he was lying on a hard, thin bed. He opened his eyes. The room around him was pure white. A door – most likely padlocked on the other side – was on one wall, and next to the bed was a barred window. He rolled out of the bed and staggered to his feet. A sharp pain shot through his spine, and he steadied himself on the bed, struggling to get back to his feet. Using the wall to keep himself from falling, he made his way over to the door. It was, as the had thought, securely locked outside. Sighing, he made his way over to the window. Outside he could only see miles and miles of white snow, dotted with trees here and there – snow covered fir trees, that is. From the other side of the door, he heard someone punching buttons outside the room. The door opened. Inside, he stood still, hands clasped behind his back, feet spread apart, staring obliviously out the window.
“Hey you!” A guard said, spitting out the order. Over in the corner, the prisoner didn’t reply, focusing his attention on a bird flitting from tree to tree. There was silence in the room for a moment, and then he spoke up, not moving anything other than his mouth.
“I don’t reply to ‘you.’ My name is Chris.”
“Alright then, Chris,” sneered the guard, “you’re to come with us.”
A second guard entered the room, and both advanced towards Chris. He whirled on them, lashing out with sharp kicks to both of them, then, with one last glance towards them, he dashed out of the room, only to find a third guard, this one armed with a _________ (type of gun… some sort of deadly hand gun type thing). Chris knew there wasn’t time to knock this one out, so he ran. The guard shouted an alarm and dashed after Chris. Down the hall. Left. Right. Straight. Chris jogged onward, once more the enemy fast upon him. Then he ran into a wall. He turned to go the other way, but found himself surrounded. Muttering under his breath, he stuck his hands into the air as twenty armed men made a circle around him.
Two men moved forward and grabbed Chris on each side. A third walked behind him with a gun, every now and then prodding Chris with the barrel. Chris kept his teeth clenched together, his face showing no emotion. He was taken through a maze of corridors, through doors, up stairs, until they finally stopped in front of a set of steel doors, with a punch-pad lock mounted to the left of the doors. The man with the gun walked over to it and punched in a number. Chris strained to see what the numbers were, but all he managed to remember were the first four: 3952. The doors slid open, and Chris was roughly pulled inside. The doors slammed shut and he jumped, turning his head to glance behind him. Swinging his head back around, he saw, up ahead, a man. The man was standing at the top of a small set of stairs. He was young, 30 or so, Chris guessed. His hair was neatly cut, and he wore a leather jacket and jeans. As they neared the man, the men holding Chris released him and Chris stopped, looking the man in the eye with a defiant gaze.
“Who are you?” The man asked.
“I was wondering the same about you.”
The armed guard turned the safety off of his gun. The man held up his hand.
“I asked first.”
“Chris. Your turn.”
“Raymond. Now, Chris, be honest with me. Do you know why you’re here?”
“To be frank, no. I have a feeling you think me a threat, however. Though how, I do not see.”

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Receiving So Much More.

PM me with prayer requests
www.therebelution.com
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Cool! Maybe the guards could have M16 machine guns., idk.

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<center> .nph ftw.
[!~^$=+?]</center>

Could you please space between your paragraphs, it makes it much easier to read.

M16 seems to be a bit exagerated for prison guards, and also they're trademark USMC. *shrug* I was thinking a Beretta pistol?

I like how you jumped right into the action, leaves the reader curious and wanting more. Perhaps he was falsely accused of murder, ends up having to spend the rest of his life in hiding, and has to join some illegal organization simply to survive? (just a spontaneous thought thrown out there). It'd be interesting if he was actually one of the witnesses of the murder, and you add bits of flashbacks here and there to inform the reader the events leading up to his false conviction.

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^Sig set made by me. PM for requests.

"I am he [she =P] that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death."

The thing is that he's supposed to be the good guy... and he's young, about 17. Being accused of murder just doesn't appeal to Chris. (maybe also cuz Chris is based off of a real person, but...)

My little brother suggested M16, and I was like "that's a gun? It's the spy thing that Alex Rider works for!"



Sorry. there were spaces before I pasted it here and then it got all messed up.

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<center>
Receiving So Much More.

PM me with prayer requests
www.therebelution.com
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I started turning Eragon into a poem (don't ask) Here is a part of it, when Eragon is fighting Druza, What do you think?:

'So, Rider, we meet again,
now you shall meet your bitter end'
but Zar'roc gleamed her hateful red,
as if to say "It is you who shall be dead.'

Sword clashed Sword
and Steel clashed Steel
a duel to the death,
but of whose, no one guessed.

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I was Nymphadora Tonks

That my friend, is awesome! I wanna read more of that bookie poem thing!

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<center>“Envy consists in seeing things never in themselves, but only in their relations. If you desire glory, you may envy Napoleon, but Napoleon envied Caesar, Caesar envied Alexander, and Alexander, I daresay, envied Hercules, who never existed.”
at one point, I was alejandrah.

I for the last part do you like the origanal better or this one:

Sword clashed Sword
and Steel clashed Steel
step by step, one closer to death,
but of whose, no one could guess.

Here is the part of the 1st part:

A boy was hunting in the spine
from Cavalhall he came
And on this fatefull winter night
his life would surly change.

Somewere in a distant woods
three elfs were riding fast
Utill they were stopped by Durza
Who made sure 2 of them didn't last

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I was Nymphadora Tonks

I like them both.

I LOVE IT! The only thing I see is that should "surly" be "surely"?



I wrote a little something today, and I was wondering if someone could help me give it a quick name. I was thinking something like The Fall of Euria. here it is:

It was yet another boring day for Prince Maxmillion at Bluecoast Academy, where the young prince was receiving his secondary education. On this particular day a multitude of things unrelated to his lessons were on his mind. As he sat in his dull, dreary classroom, barely hearing Professor Kieran drone on about The War of Isabella’s Diamonds, Maxmillion let his gaze wander towards the window. From his seat, Maxmillion could clearly see a vast expanse of the city.

The city of Bluecoast itself was a preposterously huge city built predominately out of marble and granite. The defenses of the city were composed of highly trained Royal Guard, but not so much as to protect the city as to protect King Leopold, his wives, sons, and daughters. Bluecoast was just a jeweled bead on the necklace that made the beautiful lands of Euria.

With a mighty sigh, Maxmillion returned his attention to Professor Kieran and Isabella’s Diamonds. The Prince tried to refocus on his history lesson, but his mind was still boggled from the events of the night before.

Prince Maxmillion was returning home from the day’s ride, his horse’s hooves clattering on the wide cobbled road-like walkway that lead into Ciwyn Court. As he passed through the gate, Maxmillion craned his neck back as to better take in the grand architecture of the beautifully crafted ivory marble castle. Ciwyn Court was set on the crest of a large hill that was locally known as The King’s Mountain.

As soon as Maxmillion was inside of the castle walls, more toward one of the twelve courtyards, he dismounted and a small flurry of stable hands came running to put his steed away in the Prince’s personal stables. With a characteristic floppy grin on his tanned face, Maxmillion turned on his heel away from the stable hands and sauntered into the castle. Maxmillion needed to speak with his father.

Continuing with his slow strut, Maxmillion started to throw open the door of his father’s throne room, but stopped in mid-motion when he heard raised voices.

“Father, you can’t allow him to continue with this! It will destroy the whole purpose of the crusades!” Maxmillion recognized the voice as his older brother’s voice; as Prince Morgan’s voice.

“Now, now, Morgan,” said an aged voice, “calm down. You should really learn some manors, dear boy; you are talking to the Kings of this land.”

The aged voice had to belong to Maxmillion and Morgan’s grandfather, Dominic. Maxmillion’s crystal blue eyes narrowed as he flicked his head to the side to get his longish dark brown hair out of his face.

King Leopold held his tongue for the moment, unwilling to side with his son or father for the moment.
“Perhaps we could,” Leopold began slowly, stressing every syllable, “…We could come to a compromise.”

“And what sort of compromise do you propose, father?” asked Morgan rather hotly.

Maxmillion shifted for a better view, leaning slightly to his left so that his father came into his focus. Leopold was sitting on his throne, breathing heavily with the sheer pressure of the situation. Old King Dominic was standing off to the side whilst Morgan stood directly in Leopold’s line of vision, as to dare the King to look into his eyes. For a moment, Maxmillion’s very breath caught in his throat with the pure powerfulness of the situation.

“My son,” said Leopold with venom, “you will show the proper respect to your King, even if I am your father. And your grandfather may have a point; perhaps the Eurian people are too liberated.”

Maxmillion shifted again, this time closer to the door. His brother’s words were spoken softly, but Morgan never had needed to shout to make a statement.

“My father,” murmured Morgan, “if you side with Grandfather Dominic on this issue, I believe I am showing you all the respect you deserve.”

Moving like a bolt of lightning, Maxmillion darted away from the door just as his brother threw it open, a very angry Morgan storming out. As the huge oak door slammed back shut, Morgan stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly, Morgan turned to make eye contact with his much younger brother; Morgan’s hazel orbs met their destination.

“Max,” said Morgan, raising his hand to beckon Maxmillion closer. Obediently, Maxmillion stepped nearer.

“Listen to me Max,” said Morgan gravely, placing a hand on Maxmillion’s shoulder, “Something is coming, little brother. I know you were listening in, and I’m sure you’re smart enough to tell Euria is about to crumble from the inside out.”

Maxmillion’s eyes widened a bit; he had inferred as much, but hearing it was even worse. Morgan tightened his grip on Maxmillion’s shoulder, comforting him.

“Why are you telling me, Morgan?” Maxmillion inquired somewhat shakily.

“Why? Why, Max?” Morgan said fatally, “Because the time is coming when you, Prince Maxmillion, will have to choose sides for yourself.”

Maxmillion gulped almost noiselessly, but quite visibly. “If I have to choose sides, I’ll side with you, Morgan.”

Morgan’s grip tightened again, “That’s good to hear, brother, very good to hear.”

With that, Morgan released Maxmillion’s shoulder and turned away, leaving Maxmillion alone. With a budding head ache, Maxmillion forgot the discussion he had meant to have with his father and retired for the evening. It was just to much for one day.

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<center>“Envy consists in seeing things never in themselves, but only in their relations. If you desire glory, you may envy Napoleon, but Napoleon envied Caesar, Caesar envied Alexander, and Alexander, I daresay, envied Hercules, who never existed.”
at one point, I was alejandrah.

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^Sig set made by me. PM for requests.

"I am he [she =P] that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death."

Well, what kind of story do you want to write?

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I was Nymphadora Tonks

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^Sig set made by me. PM for requests.

"I am he [she =P] that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death."