[Information] Literary Devices by Plodi

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Originally presented by PLODI


In the two paragraph post, the reader is given a helpful roadmap of how to craft a post, which is essentially how did you react to what happened and what do you do as a result. This is a great basic outline, and it should form the core basis for most PbP posts. So then, the other aspects of the advice section serve to flesh out the outline. But what if the PbP poster wants to spruce up the outline? This is where I would argue that a section on literary devices would be impactful.

[DISCLAIMER]Here are just a couple of the mechanisms I've had the opportunity to use. I do not think that this is an exhaustive list by any means. I've included examples of my attempts to use these same devices. [/DISCLAIMER]

Literary Device Listing...Go! 1. The Flashback - Clearly we put a lot of stock in our characters' pasts judging by the backstories that get drawn up in the application phase. A flashback provides an excellent opportunity to create a specific incident in the past that connects with the current situation to drive a character to take certain action. I would argue that in many cases, writing a memory that affects the present is easier than responding to the actual situation, because in the writing of the memory, the poster isn't bound by descriptions of items or events that were created by fellow players.   Plodi's Flashback "Patience, young Hammax. No mortal can wield Iomedae's blessed sword after only a day of training. Learn to stand. Learn to breathe. Learn to cloak yourself in Iomedae's warm embrace - for in the Inheritor's grace lies your mortal and everlasting salvation." Max's teeth ground together as Brother Fitnor piled more wood for the temple into the already full basket hitched to Max's back. This was ridiculous. He was Hammax Gosstride! So chosen and named by Iomedae...two years ago when he delivered Iomedae's judgement upon the Rykor for their sins. Perhaps no mortal learned to wield Iomedae's blessed sword after only one day, but certainly after TWO YEARS they could learn to hold some form of edged metal! The only thing these robed taskmasters were willing to teach were worthless breathing techniques! 'I KNOW HOW TO BREATHE.' Max's voice echoed around a mind overflowing with frustration and anger. The priest seemed untouched however, possessed as he was of that innate quality shared by Iomedae's clerical followers to remain pleasantly amused by Max's frustration. In two years, Max thought, the only thing he had learned was to hold his tongue - and this was a lesson gained only recently. His current role as pack animal for the temple's cooking wood was due to a prior outburst - a five minute tirade of rage and angst that only served to increase his frustration upon seeing the patronizing smiles on the pudgy faces of the clergy. Another faggot landed atop the pile on his back straining the braided leather ties of the basket he carried - followed by another and another. But for the first time since joining the temple, Max held his tongue. He focused on the dull, wooden "clack" of added timber, fueling frustration of his impotence. Angry words bubbled up to his lips, but Max clamped down on his jaw, swallowing the thoughts and closing his eyes against tears of rage threatening to spill out. His jaw and eyes squeezed tight, Max began to breathe through his nose - an even, measured inhale and exhale, developed over two years of USELESS breathing training. Max's breath grew louder in his mind as he focused - tuning out all other distractions. In, Out, In, Out. His breath was a swelling roar, a crescendoing wave in his head that consumed him, relaxed his muscles, and calmed his rage. A hand on his shoulder broke his trance - and Max's eyes snapped open to see the broadly smiling face of Brother Fitnor in front of him. "As another who is touched by Iomedae's grace, I greet you, brother. It is time, with Iomedae's blessing, to choose your blades." *** Max watched the spider charge from the net, feeling a familiar rush of frustration at his errant throw. 'Learn to breathe, young Hammax.' The voice of Brother Fitnor remained with him still, years after he left the temple. But the memory brought the faintest flicker of a smile to Max's mouth. Ducking behind the chair, Max reached down to pull his daggers, stilling his mind and breathing. The calm grace of Iomedae descended almost immediately now, and Max felt the twitchy anxiety in his muscles that forced his throws wide replaced with the calm assurity of Iomedae's champion. Before his dagger's cleared their sheath, the spider was above him, perched on the chair and glaring down. Max breathed. When the Spider's fangs buried in the back of the chair, Max surged to his feet, both daggers pulling free of their sheaths. Max reversed his right hand dagger, stabbing down on the beast's head while his left hand thrust up underneath the soft carapace. Max breathed. The spider wrenched it's head violently trying to disentangle itself from the fabric of the chair. The thrashing carapace slapped into the descending blade at an angle, metal screeching off the hard chitinous body and doing no damage. But the spider's upward jerk exposed a fleshy joint, into which Max's offhand dagger plunged deeply into the spider's body. The sucking sound of steel and muscle filled the room, and a smell of blood and viscera erupted from the spider's corpse. Max twisted his left hand dagger, breaking the vacuum between muscle and steel, and wrenched the blade free with a fountain of dark spider blood. Struck by a mortal blow, the spider's front legs spasmed, losing purchase on the cloth chair and pulling the entangled head further down. The vermin's legs tried in vain to support it's hulking form, attempting to climb back up and strike down it's killer, but the lifeblood leaching out of the wound under the abdomen pulsed with a grim, steady finality. Max wiped his dagger on the chair and resheathed his blades. "Learn to breathe, indeed." Max said aloud. "Brother Fitnor, I thank you. But now, let's see about recovering those daggers." 2. The Vision - Different from the flashback in that we're not discussing a memory but rather an epiphany. I would argue this provides an excellent vehicle for character advancement and development - particularly if the character has just learned a lesson that you want to drive home as part of the posting.   Plodi's Vision A small, nameless child, clad only in filthy rags and woolens crouched in the corner of the alley. Silent tears streaked rivulets down cheeks caked with grime. The SMACK of a slap on flesh echoed down the alley, prompting the boy to sink further within himself, as if by willing it, he could draw away from this existence entirely. The boy shuddered in time with the ongoing strikes on his friend and companion; another child who's struggles were even now ceasing under the endless blows of a vicious Rykor alley boss. "I'll teach you to sneak a coin from your betters, you filthy sewer rat!" The alley boss topped out at five and a half feet, but to the children, he was a giant. A fearsome monster that stalked the shadows and haunted their dreams. All infractions, real and imagined, were disciplined with cruel and brutal efficiency - a reality which had ended with more than one child broken, gasping final breaths face down in the muck and mire of the city's forgotten back alleys. Pulling a shiv, the boss held it to the battered boy's throat. "Oi! You! Urchin!" The pockmarked face of the alley boss commanded the nameless child's attention as he continued to huddle in the corner. "Take note and tell the other little Shites. This is what happens when you steal what's mine, eh!" Grinning sadistically, he looked down at the now unconscious boy hanging in his grasp and slowly drew the metal blade across the young throat. The nameless boy couldn't look away as the skin of his companion's throat slowly separated, marking the knife's trail. Bright red blood leaked from the opening - slowly at first and then faster, as if an endless supply of life welled up and spilled forth uselessly on the ground. The boy watched, transfixed, unable to look away. The alley boss laughed, throwing the body down to the alley floor as the boy's essence continued to seep out, staining the ground a dark color as the blood mixed with decades of alley filth. "Mark this well, boy." Warned the alley boss. "Lest next time it be you in the cut." Scowling at the bloody blade, the boss casually tossed it aside before striding away. The nameless boy continued to cower, eyes squeezed tight, as the man walked away, not daring to move lest he join his former companion at the bottom of the alley. When the boy dared to open his eyes, his eyes were drawn to the now glowing discarded shiv, which radiated a warm and calming light. Hammax stood up from the corner, his tall frame unwrapping from the curled up form of the terrified boy. Startled, Max looked down at himself. I...don't understand. Stepping forward, he reached out to the corpse of the boy, turning the body over out of the muck and murmuring a prayer of last rights as his adult sized hands gently traced the bruised and battered features. Resting the boy against the wall, he reached out to the shiv which was, even now, still radiating a warm glow of calming light. As his hands wrapped around the crudely wrapped hilt, a second hand laid across his. Max's eyes traveled up familiar fingers, continuing up a robed arm and resting on the familiar face of Brother Fitnor. "Always so rash, young Hammax?" The priest asked with a smirk. "Are you so quick to believe yourself abandoned?" Max blinked, uncomprehending. "But, Brother Fitnor. What are you doing here?" The portly cleric barked a laugh. "Boy! I was an old man when you first came to the temple. It shouldn't be that much of a shock that she has collected her due!" Max's mind refused to function. Seeing his blank stare, Brother Fitnor gestured down the alley where Max watched a tall, armored figure appear where there had been nothing before. Overlapping plates of gently glowing metal clothed the figure from neck to toes, with only the head visible. The young Paladin's eyes drank in the sight of his Goddess, resting on the hard face of the divine female warrior - softened by a gentle smile that tugged upwards at the corners of her lips. "You were not abandoned my champion. I have known you before you existed, for you are part of me. I was with you in this moment as I have been with you ever since." "You are a fool, Hammax." Brother Fitnor quipped. "You charge where you should walk. You speak where you should be silent. And you act when you should watch. What is it that pushes you so?" Max wanted to blurt out 'Confidence!' But he knew that this was misplaced. Thinking back, he reflected on his adventure - the throwing knives in the spider web, the frustration at the puzzle door, killing the tormented goblin, knocking over the candle of the circle, and so much more. "Foolish Pride," the chastened Paladin muttered. Iomedae beamed at him and Max felt the cool wash of mercy render him weightless and without care for a brief moment in his God's embrace. Brother Fitnor broke his revery with a slap to his back, "Well boy, it seems you can learn something after all. You might just turn into something worthwhile someday...not any time soon mind you...but maybe someday." The alley suddenly splintered and fell away on all sides leaving Max clutching a leather bound volume with a shrieking skull levitating behind him. Smiling, Hammax Gosstride, so named by Iomedae, gently brushed a tear from his cheek and replaced the book on the desk. 3. The (Inner) Dialogue - Instead of explaining through third person what happened, use the character's inner monologue to describe how the external events have impacted him/her. This allows for a more fulsome in-character explanation for why the character is driven to (re)act in a specific way.   Plodi's Inner Dialogue Max blinked, shocked at the turn of events that resulted in him standing before the massive face inscribed in the wall. "Wha.." Max let his question fade away unasked as his mind followed a new, brilliant train of thought. Iomedae be praised! Was I not just about to place foot in folly? Saved by the righteous guidance of the holy warrior! Max collapsed to his knees before the stone face, tears of joy streaming down his travel-worn face. "Holy warrior of valor, you have blessed this unworthy servant beyond measure! You who have named me, you who have claimed me, again you show me favor beyond my worth. If it be your will, Holy light of valor, that I should test mine own wit against this puzzle, then test I shall. Guide me still, if it be your will to do so, for I shall forever remain your most unworthy and humble servant." Max's arms wrapped around his torso hugging himself to control the shivers of pious ecstasy wracking his body. Squeezing his eyes tight, Max focused on his faith, the inner sanctum within his subconscious that he shared with his God. Focusing inward, Max felt himself bathed in a white glow that was at once comforting and terrifying. Max drew strength from the glow, feeling his resolve solidify once more into a focused point of concentration, yearning for release. His eyes snapped open, the puzzle immediately resolving into focus as Max regained his feet. He looked at the writing with the confidence of a God's chosen. No, not any God's chosen. Iomedae's chosen. The chosen of the illuminated sword could not fail before a challenge of wits! Iomedae would guide his hand. Max reached out a hand to the cheek dial, lightly resting his hand on the spinner as he waited for divine inspiration... And waited... And waited... Max frowned. He didn't understand. Why would Iomedae pull him here and leave him without..."I remain faithful, Iomedae. Forsake me not!"