The Grey Dust

Microfiction&Poetry contest #2 - voting and feedback

Some terrible reviews.
Best taken with a grain of salt.
I will abstain from voting at this time.

Stars ––

Short and sweet, succinct but substantive.

The one qualm I would have is the use of the ellipsis to break the tempo after the line break.
On one hand it is effective to demonstrate the length of pause, but it is jarring to have the break so early in the new line.
The previous line has an aside which already offers a choppiness to the poem, as such in six lines there are 4 incidental pause which disrupt the flow. If this was intentional, then well done, however I wonder if this could have been formatted or written without the pauses. Or if it was done as such to create visual art in the poem as well similar to the other first entry of the first poetry contest.

Hood of Shadow ––

This is almost a word salad with threads of barest comprehension.

As I cannot begin to comprehend who would comprehend this submission, this critique cannot be so fairly justified. However, because this is the case, I would have to question the writer's objective in submitting this. Specifically speaking, what is the intent behind the writing? Is it to be pointedly so esoteric there is no general understanding to this stream-of-consciousness style of random thoughts? That is to say, the writer is writing not for an audience but for themselves as a therapeutic rambling? Wherein we as readers are given insights into the madness of the mind at work in some sort of cosmic horror sort of way? Or is there some concept the writer failed to capture thus will fail to elicit from reader? If the former, then there are ways to do so coherently and introduce such objective such that we can understand the point of the writing. If the latter, then perhaps the writer has failed and needs to either improve or to choose a different approach.

Interstellar ––

Some good points, some flaws, feels like a poem which is attempting many different styles.

ABAB CDCD rhymescheme, no strict meter. Some Slant rhyme in there, possible the one most shoehorned is Repertoire. Although it works in the alliterative sense, the syllable count may be too much to afford such a word choice. Grammatically there is some clumsiness, such as "trust in them who are gone" in lieu of "They who are gone" although in poetic sense using them implicitly breaks the line into two phrases without punctuation so it may work. Interesting wordplay with Sentries and Centuries, They and Day. The last line of the third stanza is reminiscent of the villanelle from the last poetry contest. The vaulta does leave one wishing for one more as it leave the ending feel completed but also incomplete as it suggests a new beginning rather than a complete end.

The Stars ––

Reflective passive thoughts, good insight and commentary on various things, seems caught between prose and poetry.

The passiveness of the piece detracts a bit from wanting more. While there is good discussion on humans, understanding, and knowledge. Yet it is a piece in pure rumination, there is nothing actively engaging the reader in a sense. It offers only the thoughts of the narrator as they look upon something, which is great in some aspects, but can be droll as a short story. Furthermore, the line: "But what are they, those tiny dots of light that I swear are looking down on me as I return an expression of awe." appears to be missing something, either as a question posed or as an observation as the link between the two thoughts needs reconciliation. Similarly the timeline in the story needs to be addressed as past and present seem to merge in tense. There is also some clarification required in the penultimate paragraph. It is unclear what point of reference is being used as the word "They" is juxtaposed in the paragraph with "us", "textbooks and media", and "Stars" wherein are the stars worried about dying? Is science and the media now suddenly worried about stars dying? Are we (and thus the narrator) worried about stars dying? It would appear to be the stars which are worried taking the whole piece into consideration, as the narrator has earlier personified the stars. But I must ask if there is any satisfaction at the end as it gives me no sense of closure, no ending and we are left with the narrator still on the same place at the same time without having progressed any thoughts beyond what has already been suggested by the first few lines.

Written in the Stars ––

Good narrative, seems rather familiar in a mythic sense.

This reminds me of a scene from a movie wherein Achilles tells his men that immortality is waiting for them on the beaches of Troy. Or at least the night before where he would be writing his rousing rallying speech. Now add this to the other suggestion made wherein the story of the great Archimedes telling the solider who killed him to not erase the figures he drew in the sand, and both scenes play out. However while the conqueror was introduced and we as the reader are brought up long his life story, by glimpses into his past, the mathematician is almost an afterthought as a foil to the conqueror. True the piece states no account of his life was remembered, but it also did not state the importance of the figure's figures and numbers. What would have been interesting was to scaffold the mathematician's formulae and teachings, equations perhaps useful for war and battle, or even inventions using mathematic principles within the conqueror's story wherein introduces the mathematician character earlier such that the contrasting ideologies are given equal spotlight such that the message of 'legacy' arrives with a more resounding impact.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Floor)
Skills: N/a
Hit Points: 3
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If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink, your own handwriting would tell you what I think. A comedy of errors indeed, two stories told, opposing in view. Who was the liar here? Who knew. The truth often lay unspeaking in the middle, between the two stories, Jasper had a choice. To believe the lady who, certainly played her part of fainting damsel well by the sounds of it for one so willing to fire a gun, not once but twice. Would Jasper be inclined to come to aid played by her wiles? Or would he listen to the logic and reason of the treacherous doctor? Played not to the emotional cries of a woman but the recounting accounting of a professional opinion? In truth Plum would have backed Walnut's claim, given that the doctor assaulted him outright, but her story gave no hint at how. Thus one had to put it all alone all together.

Yet time keeps on slipping into the future, and the matters of fuckery here was beyond Jasper's reach, the lord of the manor still sat as judge and jury. Would it be best to leave under the purvey of such a man? Or slip away now in the dark. So far the only one left armed in the room was Swamp and perhaps Jasper, lest the lady brought herself a second pistol. But here in the actor still acted, still played his part, waiting and biding his time to strike. Walnut would not yet earn the ire of his rage, but for the villainous doctor he'll set the stage. And where was that blasted bird who flew off without its master? Letting such malpractice come to harm? No cry nor crow of warning did ever it alarm. It had not yet come back, neither beak, nor claw, nor feather.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Floor)
Skills: N/a
Hit Points: 3
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Old age and treachery. Wickness armed with cunning, surely under seven veils she danced, that Matilda of a woman intent on giving the doctor quite the haircut. But perhaps in a twisted sense, she did do her part as a nurse assistant, as to give the doctor his shots. All the more reason for people to fear them in these debauched times, administered through the barrel of a pistol perhaps, what rightful parent would care to subject their child to such dangerous metals? And it would seem, that the device held by the devilish assailant was aimed at Swamp rather than Plum. What good fortune for the downed bird that he stared not at the invisible barrel aimmed to shoot, and even better fortune for him as the gunslinger became his vengeance for now. And what divine fortune that in the loud bang: the hammer dropped.

A flash in the pan. That was all it ever was, perhaps the gun jammed, perhaps the ghost of the last charge cursed its successors, or it could very well be an invisible man's finger plugging up the barrel. Either way the discharge became a searing blast, splintering shrapnel near the cracked Walnut. Whether or not twas the shot or not this attracted the attention of the doorman from earlier, Jasper was it? The majordomo voice came in clearly demanding to know the situation, and it was Swamp's voice that cut in first. Spinning his yarn and side of the story, to which surely Walnut would tell her tale, which left Plum without a story to tell. Perhaps further away from this place, from these two mad and murderous lot, the hands of the Lord's men fared no better, but maybe the gambit would pay off just as well. Or be it that, turn into merely misfortunes swapped?

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Couch Left -> Floor)
Skills: Constitution
Hit Points: 5 -> 3
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A tapping at his noggin, pecks sharp and rapt. Upon his forehead another wound, picked at by the flock, black feathers that surrounded his slumped over form. Passed out upon the floor, in quite the nasty heap, the visions of the murder fluttered in his daze. Black beaks, beady eyes, cawing and crowing, feasting upon his flesh as they tore skin from bone. There they stripped him of his hair, as his hands lay in Promethean chains helpless to watch them devour him alive. His silent screams, his unmoving struggle, betrayed by the company he kept. They peeled his scalp back, their scratching claws digging into his brow, revealing the porcelain calvaria. A fortress of intellect and seat of wisdom, encased in the ivory dome, bashed in by the birds trying to crack a precious egg. Over and over, they assaulted, pounding over his brow with every pulse of his telltale heart. His eye rolled back in horror to see the dark demons arm themselves with stones to strike. And there one turned and screamed: Wake Up, Wake Up!

Wake up. Wake up. A splitting headache as if someone had been tap dancing on Plum's brow. Throbbing at the temples, still lying on the floor undignified. Who had smote him so? With such impunity? Stabbed and beaten, this night was quite a night. But before his death he'd take his vengeance, a curse upon this lot and house. A taint upon these damned perverse, and may his ill spirit usher the fall. For now his wrath would wait, as his list grew longer and longer. Hatred wore itself a mask, as the pretender played, biding his time to strike. But though the front of his mind bore the thoughts of sweet reciprocity, twas the back which wondered how much bile and poison could fill this cup?

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Couch Left)
Skills: N/A
Hit Points: 5
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"Yes, yes, of course doctor, of course..."

What a strange examination, now that everyone was out save for the three who just came in, it seemed the good doctor was able to proceed. Ocular response? Was it not his foot that was injured and not his eyes? A strange way about it indeed. Detrimental agents? It was his own knife that stabbed him! And apparently this doctor skipped the lesson of doctoring, that is to obtain a good history before the physical. A diagnosis was difficult at times, yet a physical exam without an ample history would yield a misguided search. But Plum knew no better, twas not his profession after all. And thus he complied with the oculomotor exam, his eyes darting from the knob to the brooch, and back to the cane. Like a tennis ball being hit between cane and flower. A strange exercise inde-

What was he doing again? The metronome of his pupils jostled with every treble counted, shifting from cane to flower and back and back. In a daze Plum found himself mesmerized, head bobbing along as his eyes commanded the horizontal. A mental easing, like acid melting the cautious mind. He probably should not have trusted Swamp, but then again he was a doctor. Of what however, well, that'll be something to find out.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Couch Left)
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 5
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Clear out, clear out you louts. The general tone of the time, the doctor needed a clearing, and there hence appearing, a titan of a man ready oust them all. The gathered crowd was to disperse, as the crowds thinned, away they went First Rave, then Moss. The other woman, Penance was it that she stated, remained in the room thus far. Yet there came in attendance another begoggled and blue dressed, in her theater blues for the doctor's scrub nurse? Dealing with the doctor however came to an impasse, Plum did not trust his bird to be too far from his sight in this manor. Not while they were uninvited guests, and not while Mauve still roamed the halls. And certainly not while the meatheaded man jokingly made a reference to making a humble pie out of his friend. No, certainly not the bird would stay, infection or otherwise be damned.

And though a whistle rang through unrhyming lips, trying to get his bird's attention, it seemed Bram took its own fate into its own talons. Flying over to the Joyous Corridor adjourning through the open door on the far side of the room, the raven left Plum to the mercy of a mad doctor and his nurse. Either out of a twisted sense of loyalty to its master to leave, or more than likely since it could not understand Swamp: something else distracting it. Either way it seemed as fate would have it, the good doctor got his wish and now his operating theatre was clear, save for Penance wasn't it?


"There, it is done. I shall have to discipline it later, I see..."

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Couch Left)
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 5
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Ah here to see the show? Plum took a liking to Moss helpful as he was directing yet another to help Plum. Rave Returned with napkins abound, indeed a gathered crowd of of kindly folk. Another name worn upon a mask, to mask what was already masked by mask. An identity not their own, as a mirror was sure to reflect, all here were not true guests, and thus were all suspect. To Rave's question Plum shook his head and as he was about to open his mouth to reply, another bird appeared. Twas the presumed doctor sent for and fetched, and now to answer the man demand's. A flutter of fingers sent the raven to fly to the other side of the room, pointed with a finger the spot it should perch.

"Oh thank god, it's a doctor. Can you fix me?"

And that which was very strange. No hint of rhyme or peppering of poetry from the raven's lips. A straightforward answer, to the doctor it seemed who thought the stanzas were some sort of problem. Or did it mean the lack of it now suggests a greater disease? Never was there an established baseline for this patient, and such an impromptu examination without a full history would muddled the accuracy of the assessment. Although of course this was a masqueraded ball. So perhaps the good doctor knew his patients well by their feet, as Plum stuck it out almost daintly at the other bird-faced man as if waiting for a glass slipper.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Couch Left)
Skills: N/a
Hit Points: 5
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An audience he held, a star attraction, the greatest showman here. For around him they danced, they went from room to room encircling and entreating, with his life and death the center of it all. Upon the great wheel they turned, Rave flitted forward fetching, and two more came in their place. One had the fashion of an assassin, white hooded and black masked, while the other was the absinthe queen, gowned green and glittered gold. Twas the story the one in white demanded, as the one in green withdrew to afford the other a better view. Then come for an encounter with the raven and raconteur.


"Oh where to begin but the end,
I am wounded between the toes,
Make yourself at ease friend,
And listen to a tale of woes.
Twas Madam Mauve who betrayed,
Sat with me exchanging words,
And so I mingled and she played,
With hands outreached for my bird.
She broke into unprovoked attack,
And I grasped my dagger to warn,
But before I could repel her back,
Twas my blade which went airborne.
Missed its mark as fortunes turned,
And from its fall my wound was earned."

His story laid in fourteen lines, the longest retelling yet. Quickly said upon hurried lips, with a single hand gesturing the dramatic flair to the hastened rhythm of his singsong voice. There was a villain in the piece, the malicious Madam Mauve, armed with a dagger that he excluded to tell in his recounting of events. But now the stage was set. And now all Plum needed was a savoir.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Couch Left)
Skills: Dexterity
Hit Points: 5
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Hold a little while longer? Not as if he had any choice but to hold. Indeed his hands held on, a slow seepage of blood. Had Mauve not added injury to insult up on injury, perhaps by now the clotting factors would have stopped the blood in the frantic seconds ticking each round. It was as if time slowed for Plum, and for the rest of the guests the essence accelerated. Rave's return was greeted with a half smile, expectant in aid only to be dashed away as they too dashed away. Where were the other with that doctor? Where has he gone off to now? Is there not a Doctor in the House? Aghast Plum's mind distracted itself with such musings in the precious seconds passing. To which the nearly missed podophilic request was met with a quizzical raise of a brow. Take off his shoe? How quaint of you, Sir or Madam, suggesting for someone to undress.


"Of course do bring such linens and things,
And I shall see about removing my shoe,
Return with your findings for foot bindings,
And I suppose they should suffice to make do!"

Not bad for a man bleeding, on the spot his tongue still twisted and turned his sing-song joviality. Perhaps his tone was mismatched for the situation he was in, but then again a jester laughed all the way to the grave. Now to remove his shoe to see the ugly truth of how deep the wound truly was. With a wince and grunt, the shone undone, the long fingers shrewdly pulling and pushing the damned thing off. Plum's efforts managed to remove the footwear without causing further injury, though the trickiness of keeping the pressure immediately on his foot there. Now a larger foot revealed, untrimmed and bare, sporting a bit of dorsal hairs. Not quite so hobbit feet, a goblin foot perhaps, yet in times like these who had the keep insight to maintain one's toenails pedicured? Surely anyone could pardon such a mess.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Couch Left)
Skills: N/A
Hit Points: 5
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A tolling of the bell. Surely not the somber ringing urge of an iron bell singing dirge, of tidings grim and dire as they prepare your graven pyre. Once more the bell of yore rang its knell to summon forth these visitors from and into hell, for as far as they can tell, twas neither home or home known well. What mysteries lurk in shadows deep, and by the tolling of the bell invites you to the keep? More visitors, More strangers, more inquisitors and danger. More pieces to be added to the board, here comes the gathering horde, of which the games grow greater and grander there. To keep tabs on who is who, and who is where, of secrets revealed to hide and share.

But for Plum had other urgent matters to attend. His foot still kept in the unbound pressure at his distress, his hands getting quite the ruby crusting of dried blood, by now perhaps a pint has been spilled? No estimate had Plum to his mind, too much was all he knew at the time. This evening had so far been a sham, yet with Mauve's treachery lurking the corners, and the Lord's Men to shoot if he should try to flee. Then alas more blood would be lost, and the chances of Plum flee on foot in the cold dead of winter? He had no choice but to endure and weather this night. Perhaps if Mauve were to be eliminated from the equation, then there would be some relief to spare.

Still bleeding from the gushing veins, all efforts so far lost in vain. And should this potent injury remain, perhaps Plum ought to borrow that doctor's cane? Walking tonight would be a pain, though his strength he should feign to cover the weakness to be gained. Or should he, mused and deigned, play the crippled lame? Shallow his pride and show off his shame? Yes, another act for those who came, all a part of this wildcard's game. Catching fools for unawares.