Ficsean_Chef, The Reader
I am Ficsean_Chef, currently studying culinary arts, linguistics, and creative writing. Prior to creating this account, I have been a lurker since 2014.
Challenger of Noobs, Oath Breaker, Servant of Digit
You would think that somebody like me would be mildly successful, but my chronic laziness and rotten luck - not to mention my competitive attitude - tends to get me into some rather unfortunate events, including:
> Joining a storygame contest 3 days before the deadline, inevitably failing and getting SHAMED not even half a week after my account's creation
> Nearly tagging EndMaster 3 times on my own will just to see what would happen (I ended up realizing that nobody except for maybe Cricket could survive doing that)
> Joining an unofficial writing contest and failing to make a submission. Alas, EndMaster was waiting to SHAME everyone despite the promise of no SHAMING. I got shamed twice.
> Challenging a self-proclaimed great poet to a poetry duel, realizing that I have never touched poetry since kindergarten. I managed to win, but my poetry made everyone realize that I should probably never write poetry again. I ended up getting the other dude banned.
> Challenging a new zombie story fan to a zombie story duel. My story not only failed to contain a single mention of zombies, but I didn't turn it into the person overseeing the duel, causing me to lose on the spot. The other guy, however, didn't even begin the story - he was promptly banned and I was docked of all my points and branded a failure.
> I ended up becoming Digits' unpaid servant. In exchange for forgiveness for my sins, I agreed to do whatever ridiculous commands he said, without fail, for 25 days.
Deep in the Northern Forests stands a community of creatures similar to man. Very similar - discernable only by their grayed skin and horns on their head. They are the Ficseans and are feared as monsters of legend, tales of their hunger and bloodlust spreading all over.
Of course, those tales aren't wrong. The Ficseans do indeed fight like that of a tribe of savages, and their love for food is just as potent. That is where you come in - you are a chef, your job is to keep the soldiers fed. In exchange, you take shelter while they fight. Or, at least that was how it was meant to be.
Humans, ever so calculating, aimed for the Ficseans' weaknesses. They seized access to food, then they seized access to arms. And at that, they blocked any form of escape - and begun their assault.
Not used to combat, you are forced to fight, for none are safe from this battle. With your strategies of brute strength failing, the only option is to match wits with your enemies, for if you fail - not only will you fall in battle, but so will your community.
Recent PostsFicsean's Evil Plot Exposed! on 5/22/2019 10:52:14 AM
Hey, why'd ya had to call me out by name? I am quietly serving my sentence, counting down the days before I, too, can enslave the helled.
Mizal's Dystopia Story on 5/21/2019 9:48:52 PM
You really went and did it. I am actually surprised.
Need help with story on 5/21/2019 2:41:15 PM
The inhabitants of Earth, they have always been a stubborn bunch - violent, too. Unfortunately, the race you were tasked with defending is none other than the worst, the most xenophobic of them; the human race.
Perhaps something like that?
What kind of god would you be? on 5/21/2019 1:31:16 PM
So you're a human fact checker.
What kind of god would you be? on 5/21/2019 1:30:25 PM
Couldn't you simply just make it a fact that everybody worships you? You can make it a fact that you are as vital to them as their heart or lungs.
How to create a new game? on 5/21/2019 1:28:06 PM
Tried making some visual aid, but the resolution was too refined for the site. Anyway, make sure you have a chapter for the pages as well. At the bottom of the screen under the pages tab, you can create new ones.
In addition, you can link preexisting pages to brand new ones while still in the editor.
Really though, we need more information than that to be of any real help.
Need help with writing a Zombie apocalypse story on 5/21/2019 12:26:45 PM
Usually, people forget about such things after eighteen days. Was necroing this thread neccesary?
Dystopia on 5/21/2019 8:50:56 AM
Whine, whine. Make your own 500 word dystopian, then you can complain.
Dystopia on 5/21/2019 8:04:16 AM
This is Serpent's dystopian story, pasted here for ease of access.
As the warlord looked out his window he could not help but smile. His creation, his perfect picture of the world, had been fulfilled. Whole societies run by A.I overseers, the branded working in the mines, oh what a beautiful site. Ever since the Great War everything thing has been perfect. The dirt where they should be, serving the rightful good. The nobles where they should be, crushing the branded under their boot. He is not sure if he is good, nor does he care. For there is no such thing as true justice, justice is decided by the victor.
1000 years ago
The war was just beginning. The Fellers, as they were known, against the Ascended. The Fellers were the common folk, they were everywhere. The Ascended, however, were what everyone called the elfs. While the Fellers greatly outnumbered them, the Ascended were much more powerful.
So when the Fellers called war on them, they sort of surged it off. Though they were wrong to be so arrogant, for it would not be that easy.
After war was declared the Ascended stayed in their woods, not caring at all about the challenge. This turned out to be a grave mistake, for while they had enchanted the forest to be fireproof, even enchantments fail when faced with an army of flamethrowers. As such what would later be called the battle of enswazya was one by the Fellers
Though this would not be unnoticed by the Ascended. They were pissed after an estimate 20000 of their kind were killed of the estimated 50000 that were alive at the time. They retaliated with the battle of sywazendale
At this battle the elfs launched a large scale fire attack on the southern part of Feller territory, burning millions in the process. This however took a lot of energy leaving a lot of them defenseless.a good amount were killed in that battle from both sides. As the Ascended were growing desperate they sent a young one, named Gavin Nightblossom, to the place of the gods to seek help.
Gavin had a hard journey to the land of the gods. It took him nearly a years to make his pilgrimage, on account of the bears and bandits. Their were so many he could not even remember the amount of times he was attacked. Anyway by the time he got there he was ragged and beat up, and that was a problem considering he had to prove himself worthy.
It was a hard battle but he had one. His task was to retrieve a orb from a skeletal graveyard. No matter how many times he killed them they just came back. Once he returned he was on the brink of death. The gods took him in and healed him. Then they started his training.
His training was long and hard. They had him strained almost all the time with rarely any time to relax. Anytime he collapsed they revived him and put him back to work. By the time his body got into enough shape to handle the training he thought he was done. Except he wasn’t. It was time for stage two.
There were very few Ascended left in the final battle only a few thousand. It seemed like the Fellers were going to win, until a shadow loomed over the field. It was a dragon. Though not just a dragon, but a dragon with a Ascended on its back.
The dragon went and killed every last feller on the battlefield. The ones remaining who were not fighting surrendered, and as such the Fellers fell and the Ascended ascended.
It had been 1000 years since the warlord Gavin had seen even the slightest hint of a rebellion, yet here it was. His systems offline, a army at his door. He did not even have the strength to summon a dragon try as he might. He pondered his life choices, if he was right. As he did this they kept killing more and more of the guards, coming near his room. As they burst it open his head was cut clean off, and with that clean blow the Fellers ascended and the Ascended fell.
Dystopia on 5/20/2019 10:35:56 PM
Got one of my own!
“Jonathan, are you ready?” A soft voice asks me, and I turn to see the my mother standing before me. I look around, taking in the view of the neighborhood I grew up in for the last time. All around me, the neighbors I have known since I could remember wave me goodbye, the adults looking almost sad - almost regretful. Confident, I nod my head.
“Yes, I am ready,” I declare, and I am instantly lead by the hand inside a building on the neighborhood’s edge. Excitement courses through me - after all, this is the only building in the neighborhood that I have never entered, and after a decade I am walking in full stride. The interior of the building, however, is almost underwhelming. In the center of the large room sits a school desk, a clipboard holding some paperwork on top.
“Fill these out, Jonathan,” My mother says, handing me a pen. With that, she turns around and leaves the building - and the door vanishes the moment she leaves, being replaced by solid wall. The windows too also vanish, featureless wall taking their places. A choking darkness consumes the room, but moments later a lone light turns on, shining on the desk. Taking that as a cue to go to the desk, I head there.
The paperwork, upon inspection, looks strange. It asks me questions about things such as, “Exploration,” or “Virtual Reality.” I fill in many of the answers to the best of my ability, but these questions catch me off guard, especially when it comes to asking me what I want to be as an adult - I have never truly thought of it! After what feels like hours, I finally finish off the stack of paperwork.
“Good Jonathan, now place the work inside the desk,” My mother voice projects through the room. I quickly look around, but I do not see her. Doing as she said like I always do, I pop open the top of the desk, placing the clipboard inside. The instant I close the desk back up, however, the light cuts off again.
I have never been a fan of the darkness, and now it is so thick that I couldn’t see my hands right in front of my face. The darkness remains for around a minute - although it feels like an eternity - when the light cuts back on. The first thing I notice is the absence of the desk, which must of been removed in the confusion. In it’s place, however, is a wall of text, spelling out a strange message.
“You have completed the Virtual Assimilation Tracking System. Please remove your headset at this time,” I read to myself, confused at the words. I look around - and see my mother approaching me.
“Happy Tenth Birthday, Jonathan,” my mother says - and to my utmost shock, a single tear falls out of her eye. My mother, who was always so emotionless, is crying. I was so confused as to why, until I removed the headset, and looked at the real world for what it was.