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Everyone is welcome to join in, doing as many or as few of the exercises as they'd like -- however, I will be keeping score and declaring a winner for each month, for those who are feeling competitive! ;)

This thread will include exercises for Monday 8/25 to Friday 8/29.

 

Rules:

Don't reply to people's exercise posts, because they may want to edit. If you have feedback, post it in the latest feedback thread.

Scoring is NOT based on any kind of judgment on my part. If you do an exercise, you get ten points. If you do the bonus, you get another five points. I'll award partial credit where it makes sense -- i.e., one sentence instead of five gets you two points. Scores reset at the end of every month. Hopefully that all makes sense, but you can direct any questions to this thread.

Scoring:

@betaband - 120
@ISentinelPenguinI - 120
@TaraGil - 105
@31TeV - 90
@Briar_Rose - 90
@Danaos - 75
@NightBirdBlue - 75
@Swiftstryker - 70
@Kiel_Farren - 70
@the_quiller - 60
@LostConnection - 60
@jamescoker1226 - 55
@ItAintPretty - 45
@Romulus - 55
@Cynical - 35
@Malkalack - 30
@TacocaT - 30
@Morgan_R - 30
@coins - 15
@Virtualide - 15
@Fireplay - 15
@nmelssx - 15

If you would like to be removed from this list, please PM me. If you want to be added, just do an exercise!

DO NOT REPLY TO THIS POST, PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

Monday, August 25, 2014:

Write five first sentences. Use at least one of each of the following: first person (I do something), second person (you do something), third person (she does something). 

Bonus: Expand one of your sentences into a scene.

The greatest wizard of all time, I never expected to meet him, let alone fight against him.

The seven foot talk man stood in front of you, skulls decorating his neck, it's times like these when you debate whether you made the right class choice.

The entire human race was dead, and George was at peace.

This is by far the weirdest thing I've had to deal with as a surgeon.

Dear who ever is reading this, look behind you.

 

Bonus:

The seven foot talk man stood in front of you, skulls decorating his neck, it's times like these when you debate whether you made the right class choice. Yeah, you just had to be a Rouge didn't you? You liked their high damage stats and frankly you just thought that you'd be a badass. And girls like badasses. But girls don't really play games like this. Oh well, not like you can stop, you're a flat out addict. But back to your regret. Barbarians do high damage too, so do all classes really except for Cleric and Druid, not like anyone chooses those classes anyway. Ugh, you're monologing again. Time to use /backstab to get behind him. Surprisingly enough, this actually worked and he swings his ax into empty space. Hah, suck it. Your victory is short lived as an arrow lands in your chest. Your chest guarded by weak ass leather armor because that's all that your class could wear.

You wait a minute to respawn, calming down using breathing exercises.  When you do respawn you see the same tank fighting a mage. He kills the mage, dressed in black robes with his +3 ax of slaying. You throw 4 daggers into his face, but somehow he survives. This is why tanks are the bane of your existence. Another 28 thrown daggers and you get a critical. He finally dies when he trips on a small rock. You should've put more points in dexterity if you were him. Before you can celebrate however, a small elf punches you in the balls. And gets a critical. You die. Again.  It's times like these when you debate whether you made the right class choice.

1. He was the chosen one, the only man with the power to unite the warring kingdoms and bring peace and prosperity back to the land, but this story is not about him, this story is about the boy who killed him.

2. You should stop reading this right now.

3. If only I'd killed that bastard when I had the chance.

4. You are number 48274 and it's your turn to die.

5. "Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a beautiful princess who lived in a... Tyler, Angel, put down the BB guns, I'm reading a fucking story!"

Bonus:

You should stop reading this right now... Yes, YOU! No, I'm not being funny, I am actually talking to you. Stop reading. Trust me, you'll regret it if you don't... Still reading? Okay fine, but don't say I didn't warn you.

Let me guess, you want proof that I'm actually talking to you, specifically. Okay, well first of all I can tell that you're reading this on a website called Chooseyourstory.com... Yes I know, that was an easy one. I'm not done yet, just pay attention. On this website you have a user name that you're known by. If you scroll down to the bottom of the page, you'll see it in blue letters along with the names of everybody else who's logged in right now. Look at your user name. Read it out loud... Okay fine, read it in your head. Either way, I can tell you that your user name has at least one N and two vowels in it. "Well that doesn't work," you're probably thinking to yourself. "Sure, you made a lucky guess with my user name, but what if it wasn't me reading this? What if it was Fireplay or Romulus or one of the other users that doesn't have at least one N and two vowels in their name?" ... But then, I'm not talking to Fireplay or Romulus, am I? I'm talking to you.

What else can I tell you about yourself? I can tell that you're only reading these writing exercises because you yourself are taking part in them. I can tell you that, even though you know this isn't a competition, you're still treating it like one. I can tell that for you, this isn't about getting the most points for most exercises completed. For you, this is about proving how well you can write. You strive every day to think of new, interesting, original ideas to impress everybody with. You don't just want to get the exercises done, you want to write the best writing exercises that you possibly can. I can tell you that you're constantly checking the feedback threads, looking up and down them to see if anybody has said anything else about you're work. You crave approval and you need to know that your work stands out among everybody else's. I can also tell that you were just the teensiest bit frustrated that the writing exercise for today was the same as the first exercise you did, because you already used up all your best sentences last Monday.

I can tell that you're trying to deny to yourself that you're freaked out right now. I'm just fucking with you, right? And besides, it's not like there's anything I can do. After all they're just words. Words can't hurt you, can they? ... You and me both know that's utter bollocks. Words are the most powerful creations that man has ever created. They are what separate us from animals and shape us into who we are. Words can encourage people to follow their dreams or drive them into the darkest depths of depression. Think back to something cruel and hurtful that somebody said to you as a child. Those words still effect you now, don't they? For better or worse, every time somebody ever told you they loved you or hated you, praised you or scolded you, everything that anybody has ever said to you has shaped you into the person you are today. Even though you may not realize it, these words you're reading right now will have an effect on you too... An effect that will define the person you will become for the rest of your life.

Perhaps a demonstration will be helpful. Think of a lemon. Just picture it in your head. A bright yellow lemon against a white background... Make it brighter than that, I want the lemon to stand out. See the little bumps all over it. Feel the soft, waxy texture... Now, with your mind, I want you to take a sharp silver knife and slowly slice the lemon in half. Concentrate. Close your eyes for a moment if it helps. I want you to see this all in your head, as clearly as you can see the screen infront of you... Now, take one half of the lemon. Look at it for awhile. Look at the inside of the lemon. See the bright, yellow, ever so slightly orangey color. See the little white circle in the middle, with the lines reaching out to the sides. Shiny, isn't it? In the middle where all the juice is? Now, imagine you're slowly sticking out your tongue. Concentrate... Now, take that half of the lemon and hold it over your tongue for just a moment. Keep concentrating, I want you to see this really clearly.... Now squeeze the lemon and feel as the juices drip out, landing just on the tip of your tongue.

... You winced didn't you? Ha! I saw that! See what I did just there? I didn't touch you, I'm not even anywhere near you! I just used a few little words, but I made you feel something physical. Funny how words can do that isn't it? ...So, maybe you're starting to admit to yourself that you're just ever so slightly freaked out. I should probably go now, give those thoughts a few moments to sink in... Oh wait, you want to know what the point of all of that was? Nothing really. I just wanted to let you know that I am here, and I'm watching you. I did warn you not to read this, but you just couldn't help yourself, could you? Don't worry, curiosity is a natural human vice and it always gets the better of us. I'll explain everything later. Who I am, what I want, and why I've chosen you. Until then, just try not to let any of this freak you out too much. They're only words after all. What damage can a few paragraphs full of words do? ... I'll be in touch.

1. Have you ever had the feeling that you are being watched?

2. With a sigh I drop the letter in the box, no going back now.

3. Sarah's heart starts pounding in her chest as she sees the plane touch down on the tarmac.

4. The thick rain clouds above the cemetery finally crack open as the casket is lowered into the dark pit.

5. "No, this can't be the end, not here, not now", William pants as he hears the footsteps closing in on him.

Bonus:

Have you ever had the feeling that you are being watched? Those little chills creeping up on your spine, crawling towards your neck? Even in an abandoned room? Ah yes, I can see it in your eyes that you have. Excellent. Our story begins in quite the same way:

It was a cold, dark night near the end of August. Though Steven would usually go out to play and forget about the fact that school would almost begin, the steady rains and hard winds persuaded him to stay inside. As the headlights of his parent's car disappeared from the driveway, Steven fell down on the couch. Flipping through the channels on the television, he had a hard time suppressing a yawn. "How can we have three hundred channels with only rubbish on?" Then, gently but swiftly, even before the clock struck eleven, Steven drifted off to sleep.

"NEW, NEW, NEW, order our amazing, fantastic, multi-functional toilet brush now and receive a free coupon for a steak dinner!" Steven woke up with a jolt. As he turned the tv off he wondered how long he had been asleep. It couldn't have been long, his parents weren't even home yet. With a sore back he stood up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen for a late-night snack. However, before he even got to the door, he heard something behind him. It was barely audible, maybe even imaginary, but Steven heard soft pattering behind the couch, like the small feet of a mice or a large insect.

Steven, of course, wasn't prone to cowardice and with an inquisitive joy he ran towards the couch and pulled it away from the wall. When he looked at the space he created, however, nothing was there apart from the ordinary dust and his father's slippers. Feeling almost disappointed he pushed the couch back against the wall and continued his way towards the kitchen.

Then, a little shiver ran up his spine and Steven let out a little involuntary shudder. He somehow had the feeling that someone, or something stood behind him. With his hand still on the doorknob of the kitchen door, he turned his head slowly, as to not scare whatever stood behind him. Yet when he looked across the empty room no person nor monster could be seen.

Shrugging of his fear and laughing at himself for being scared, Steven went into the kitchen. He then realized that he must have been asleep longer than he thought, as the kitchen, which was when he last saw it, illuminated by the last of the sun's rays to survive in the insetting dusk, was now pitch black. Only a light dripping could be heard piercing the darkness. Steven instinctively went towards the light switch with his hand. As he brushed against the familiar object with his hand he felt a weird, warm, sticky goo upon it. Even though his heart was beating yet again and his instincts sent alarm bells ringing in his head, Steven didn't take his hand of the switch, and pushed it...

In the dark of a moonless night, the silence was pierced by the cry of a infant, swaddled in a blood-soaked cloth.

When I first met him, I thought I was still trapped in my dream, but I soon realized I'd awoken to a true nightmare.  

You struggle to your feet amidst the ashes of what was once your home--how you survived the raging inferno, you do not know.

His cry of anguish echoed throughout his village, for he was no longer a man, but a monster.

He collapsed to his knees, all eight of them, in agony as every inch of his body still burned with the hellish power of the curse.

Bonus: Coming soon.

1. I always expected to die a violent, terrible death, but SOMEONE UP ABOVE DOESN'T FEEL LIKE IT.

2. When a Chinese man asks you six questions concerning your country's agriculture and China's top business owners in manufacturing, do you ever get the feeling you wanna gut him on live tape?

3. Adeline was no fan of latex, and yet, after 5 years, she was somehow back in a rubbery suit.

4. [Rabbit Simulator engaged.  Will you begin?]

5. I was thought it was "perfect practice makes perfect,", but in the world I live in now...I guess any practice goes just as well.

1. I couldn't help but be relieved as I watched the body sink into the deepest part of the river.

2. It was the favourite time of your day.

3. Serrene looked out over the vast expanse of marshland from atop the tower, dread filling her heart more and more with every passing second.

4. Why is rain considered such a bad thing?

5. It wasn't often that Tev received letters.

Bonus

It wasn't often that Tev received letters. He was almost tempted to throw it away, thinking it was probably junk mail, when he flipped it over and saw something unexpected. A lone black mustache stood boldly against the white of the envelope. It was hard to believe, but the emblem was unmistakeable.

It was a message from Aman.

Upon this realisation, Tev immediately ripped open the envelope, hurriedly unfolding the letter. The contents were brief and urgent.

Dear Commander Tev,

Our enemies are preparing for war. We, the Legion of Mustaches, must once again fight together under one banner. Come immediately to the meeting at Wejnomed. Madbrad and Killa will be there as well.

Grand Commander Aman

If the Great Mustachioed Leader himself was gathering together the most prominent commanders from across the Aman Alliance, the situation must be serious. It was likely to be a conflict as large as, if not bigger than the last Great War.

"We need all of our forces to be kitted out with mustaches by the time I come back from the meeting," Tev told Naruyashan as he burst into his workshop, glad that he had a reliable tash-smith amongst his army. Morgan was no doubt creating mustaches for Madbrad's army as well.

Within fifteen minutes of reading the letter, Tev rode out of the fortress. He racked his brains for strategies to use against the potential enemies, knowing that the battles to come would be against some of the best commanders out there.

1. A lot of people complain these days about Justin Bieber, Nickleback, and how much they hate all the other shitty musicians, but there's only one artist I really hate, and his name is Phil Collins... Fucking annoying as shit!

2. "What was the opera Don Juan about?" Micheal asked you on the ride home, "I watched Phantom of the Opera's ending 5 times and I still can't figure it out!"

3. Your name is Gregory, and you're about to die.

4. Normally, the visage of a shining white, grinning creature with three snakes crowning its head would be quite terrifying, in a sense it still was; but after years in this hellacious realm, Oni were almost a normal, albeit life-threatening, occurrence to him.

5. Switching my clothes out of the laundromat for yours, hm? You really shouldn't have done that.

Bonus:

Normally, the visage of a shining white, grinning creature with three snakes crowning its head would be quite terrifying, in a sense it still was; But after years in this hellacious realm, Oni were almost a normal, albeit life-threatening, occurrence to him. And so Howard, only initially frightened by the fact that it jumped around a corner, shot and killed the creature with his Winchester, where it began burning and turning to dust.

"That was a good shot," Said Cragg, "but what ar you going to do when you run out of ammo?"

Howard paused...

"I've actually never run out of ammo... Every time I've really needed it, I've found it right around the corner of whatever corridor Im in, or under one of the beds, even in my own back pocket, usually when I'm extremely worried..."

"Then you know what you're doing to some degree, do you not?"

"No... Other than the fact that this place is a damned anomally!"

"Have you ever felt paranoid in a corner, and kept looking over your shoulder over and over again only to find that somehow, on the fifth or sixth glance, one of these," Cragg gestured to the scorched and bloody carcass of the Oni, "Will inexplicably appear behind you?"

"Too many times..."

"Did you know that these things can't teleport?"

"What do you mean?"

"The only reason that it appeared up behind you is because you believed something was behind you, the only reason you've found boxes of bullets around every nook and cranny when you've needed them is because you believed you might find some there. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"I hope not..."

"Insanity will make you a God here, Howard. More than just my god, you can be a god to everyone else if you go far enough."

"I'd never do that! When the brain's ability to think properly leaves, other functions follow right behind it!"

"Which is why I made this..." Cragg said, handing Howard a bottle of clear liquid, "It's a magical drug that'll restore your brain right back where it's supposed to be. Drink it when you're not feeling proper."

"What?... You honestly expect me to believe this!? It looks just like water!" He poured a drop of it on his tongue, "And it tastes just like water too!"

"But it isn't!" Cragg barked quickly, then repeated himself with a sense of insistence, "It's a magical drug that'll restore your brain right back where it's supposed to be."

"I see what you're doing, Cragg, and it's stupid. If you're going to treat my impending insanity with a placebo drug, don't be so obvious about it!"

Cragg was silent for a whole minute.

"You know what? You're right, you passed the test. That potion was fake. It would have killed you. You see, it's not water, it's pure alcohol, and it's flammabl- LOOK OUT!" said Cragg, pointing at another Oni, which had just recently jumped out from behind a corner.

This one was bigger, and angrier than the one prior, and it hissed as its snakes spat plumes of fire at Howard. Howard jumped backward and hurled the bottle at the demon, it shattered and soaked the creature's face in a now remarkably smelly potion, which a single stray spark from the snake's mouth lit. The creature screamed and writhed as the fire burned into its flesh and began spreading, and in minutes, it was dead.

"Thank you for cooking dinner." said Cragg, grinning "Mind you, that potion actually was water until I broke the news to you."

Howard stared at the giant skeptically for a moment, then took his knife and began cutting out the lungs and hearts of the dead beasts for eating. Normally, time didn't allow for much more than a quick hacking off of any flesh avaliable and then eating it, but the Oni weren't hunting him very diligently tonight, and he did have a guest. Nonetheless, special occassions call for special meals, even if every option is a disgusting one.

1. You are not what you once were.
2. He was an oddly childish man, for a king.
3. I didn't want to die -- but then, who does?
4. She traded in souls, and that is a dangerous business.
5. It might have looked like a leap of faith, but I knew better.

Bonus:

It might have looked like a leap of faith, but I knew better.

I knew, better than anyone, how badly she had suffered. And so I knew, in that heart-stopping moment, exactly what it was: A leap of desperation.

Most suicides are, I imagine.

And then he screamed her name, and that was the moment that everything changed.

Her wings unfurled in radiant impossibility, and she flew.

Everyone thinks, now, that she had merely kept her wings a secret. That she knew she could fly, when she jumped. But I know better. She wanted to die... and then, with equal desperation, she wanted not to.

I would hate him, if it wasn't for that.

Love makes fools of us all.

1. Never before have I seen such beauty, and now it is gone.
2. Eyes bulging, she mouthed the words that would change everything.
3. Every eye is on you, staggered breaths anticipating the worst, what will you do?
4. Camera, phone, keys--I know he had it with him, where is it?
5. After all you've been through, you still want--no, you need to end this.

 

Every eye is on you, staggered breaths anticipating the worst, what will you do?  You can feel the tension like a thick soup.

Thinking fast, you reach down and pick up your half-empty soda bottle and throw it at him.  You missed by a mile, but the spray covers your escape.

You dart behind the bar, and dive into the back room.  Crates and cartons make a natural ramp up to the tiny window to the alley.

You claw your way to freedom, into the musty dank air of the night.  (Pure exhilaration.)  And those beefy hands close around your ankle and pull you back in...

When will you ever catch a break!?

1. I kicked a teddy bear out of my way.

2. You smacked me when I tried to tell you the truth.

3. He took away my cell phone when I tried to call my friend.

4. I don't like it when you try to tell me what to do. 

5. She swore profusely at him before slamming her knee into his groin.

I kicked a stupid, dirty looking teddy bear out of my way, as I trudged through the muddy play ground. It seemed to frown at me as its head bounce against the cold hard pavement, splashing dirty rain water onto its body. I sneered at it before bringing my left foot down hard on its dirty face, smashing its limp body against the dirty wet ground again and again. I swore every time my foot came down on it. I imagined the face of Danny grimacing and screaming in pain as I did so. Two weeks later, I finally managed to satisfy myself and with that, I slowly walked away without another word. Soon the dirty playground faded into the distance.  

1 - Last night, like the past few nights, I sat down to fix my once-soft hair, brushing it gently so fewer strands would fall out this time.

2 - After school ended, when the last bell had long since passed, Dana trudged up stairs to her bedroom door, threw her backpack across the room, and collapsed face-first into her bed, because today was officially the worst day of school ever.

3 - On this particular morning, you awaken to a soft breeze across your cheek, the scent of a home-cooked breakfast, and the loud sound of a large, metal object clattering on the floor.

4 - During the times when all types of magical beasts still lived alongside men, there lived a group of people who never grew bigger than a thumb.

5 - If you were to strap me to a polygraph machine and asked me about myself, I suppose I'd have to admit out loud that I don't think I'm the prettiest of women, not the smartest, nor the funniest, not the kindest, but there always was something about me, some type of natural charm, that managed to get people to like me.

-----

On this particular morning, you awaken to a soft breeze across your cheek, the scent of a home-cooked breakfast, and the loud sound of a large, metal object clattering on the floor. Still in a sleepy stupor, you idly wonder who is the cause of the noise, when you hear your sister swearing up a storm, confirming some of your suspicions. You know full well that you would not be able to sleep anymore after that, so you trudge down the stairs to see the damage

To put it bluntly, the kitchen is a mess. Now, to be fair, the kitchen was always a mess, no thanks to you, but this time it's the dropped pan of scrambled eggs to blame. You would've lamented the loss of the eggs, truly, if you were craving eggs this particular morning. Alas, you were not. Still the scent of the wasted breakfast food still lingered in the air, even after your clumsy sister cleaned it up amidst apologies and explanations. Apparently, there's something big happening in her school today. She needed to be they're early, and now she's late.

Fortunately, for you, she wasn't so late that she didn't set up a clean bowl, a spoon, some milk, and cereal. Checking the mild carton carefully, even giving it the smell test, you decide the milk is safe to drink. You could never be too careful about milk ever since the Birthday Cake Incident of 2010. So you mix the cereal and milk together and take a bite. You frowned. The cereal was stale.

"Just shoot the fuck already," Robert said, "Or I will," 

You try to touch your face, but it's not there. 

The man ran down the street, screaming something about his art attacking him. 

Matthew leered at the faceless man in front him, "Move it, ya fuck-face," 

Bursting through the flames of the explosion that destroyed his home fleet, Roger pushed his craft to the limits, bent on bringing down some Rovers with him to hell. 

 Bonus: 

 "Just shoot the fuck already," Robert said, "Or I will," 

 Lance shoulders slumped. "Just gimme a sec, will ya?" 

"The more you think about shoot'm, the harder it's gonna get, boy," 

 "Look at me," Lance said to the man before him. He lifted the man's head up by the hair. "Now, look me dead in the eyes, and tell me why you did it?" He shoved the revolver in the man's face. "Tell me, you sick fuck," Lance whipped the man across the face with the gun. "Tell me!!" The man fell over; Lance pulled him back up to his knees. He smacked him again with the gun. The man fell over again, and Lance pulled him up again. "Tell me!!" 

 The man, his face bruised and bloody, grinned. "I did it cause there wasn't nothin' better to do," 

 Lance squeezed the trigger; the man dropped, headless. 

 "That .44 Magnum sure does get'r done right," Robert said, leaning on his worn out pick-up truck. The sun was setting down; the forest was becoming darker every minute. "Alright, time ta hit ghost," Robert said, climbing in the driver seat of his pick-up. Lance stood still, staring at the man he had just killed, hands shaking. Robert leered at him. "C'mon, kid, he ain't comin' after ya, he's dead as dead can be," 

 "Wha-" Lance muttered. He turned to glance at Robert. "We're not gonna bury him?" 

 "Bury him? What for? This man raped your daughter, Lance, he beat her, and fucked her," Robert spat. He turned the truck on. "Man like that don't deserve no fucking buryin'," 

 "But the cops," Lance said. 

 "Cops ain't gonna look for'm, he was a dirtbag, nobody wanted him, and no one sure as hell ain't gonna give a fuck if he's laying there with his head blown off," Robert slammed his door shut. "Now, get the fuck in the goddamn truck!" 

 Lance trudged over to the passenger side, opened the door, sat down inside, and closed the door. He stared at his black steel-toe boots. Robert drove out of the forest they had picked to kill Mark Samuels, the man responsible for beating and raping Lance's seven year-old daughter.  

 Robert glanced at Lance. "I'm glad you took care of business back there, Lance," Robert ran his fingers through his beard. "You did the right thing, that fucker needed a bullet in the fuckin' head," Robert said. They were driving down a county farm road, which was two lanes, one for going and one for coming. The brownish-green grass swayed as they drove past. 

 "Emily still hurtin'," Lance muttered. 

 Robert glanced at him, then back at the road. "We tell'r we killed the sonofabitch," 

 Lance lifted up his head, and glared at Robert. "You think she would be happy her daddy's a fuckin' killer?!?" 

 "Whoa, easy there, cowboy," Robert said, reaching for beer in the glove compartment. He sorted out all the empty cans, and finally found a full one. Lance continued to glare at him. "Sure, maybe she ain't gonna be as happy as a tick on a fat dog, but hey, can't please them all the fuckin' time," 

 "Can't please them all the time?" Lance repeated. "Emily got raped!! She didn't get her play dolls taken away from her, she got raped by some fuckin' sicko!! And me killin' the fuck ain't gonna bring back my daughter's happiness!!" 

 Robert slammed on the breaks. The tires screeched, and the pick-up skidded off the road and into a deep ditch. The impact caused the airbags to pop out. Robert's body rested on the airbag deployed from the steering wheel. Lance grimaced as he pushed himself away from the dash board. "What the fuck happened?" Lance whispered. There was a crushing pain in his chest. He swung his door open, and scooted out, landing the ground.

 Bright head lights from a truck came from the road. A shotguns was pumped. Blood ran down from Lance's forehead. Heavy boots walked closer. Lance, grabbing the edge of the passenger seat, pulled himself up to his knees. There was a loud bang. Lance reached for his magnum, which was on the floor of the truck. A shotgun shell clinked on the ground. Lance grabbed the revolver and sat down, holding the gun near his chest. Another round was fired. 

 "Shouldn't have gone off and done wha'cha did back there, fellas," a voice said. A glass bottle broke inside the truck's cab body. The smell of flesh burning arose. Lance slowly crawled away, watching the truck burn. 

 

Sorry these took so long. Football (American) has been eating my schedule.

1. Back in the old west was a man by the name of Red Eagle, he was the roughest, toughest, pistol whippin', gun flippin', son of a bitch that ever walked the open roads.
2. I knew that from the day that I signed on...the ending to my story would not be a happy one.
3. "I...I didn't mean to do it!"
4. It is never an easy thing, watching legends fall from their grace.
5. You think my job is easy?!

Bonus

I knew that from the day that I signed on...the ending to my story would not be a happy one. It was almost twelve years ago today, when I signed on with the mob. In truth, it was never really a choice for me, I was forced into it. Why would anyone actually choose a jon like this? What is my job? Simple, I kill people. I make sure the people the higher-ups want gone are gone. I have some sort of talent for it, so much so that it seems that I can't do anything else but kill. No matter how much I want to leave this life, I know that I can't. Everyday I take another life, it's as though the weight of burdens I carry on my soul gets heavier and heavier.

No matter how much I ask for forgiveness, I know that I deserve none of it. You know, when you take the life of another person, your perspective of life automatically changes. When I would always go around killing, I felt as though this was my only purpose in life. My purpose in life, was to take lives. I hated myself for that. I looked in the mirror everyday, and I saw a monster. My soul felt...empty. That was when I met her, this girl that came into my life. Somehow, it seemed that she filled a hole that had been hurting me for so long.

Her name  is Irene. Out of everyone I ever encountered, she was different. She seemed to actually take more value in life. She would notice things that others would seem to ignore. Something as trivial as the sunset, the ocean, a rainbow, she would admire it as though it were the greatest thing in the world. I encountered her one day when she was being harassed by some thugs, usually I just ignore these scenes, but for some reason I decided to help her. Apparently, she owned this man's boss some money, sounds familiar right? I paid off her debt right then and there, she of course was grateful. It was then that I found out that she had no where to stay, though I told her that I couldn't help her there. Despite this, she managed to follow me home and sneak into my apartment, how she got in, I don't know.

From then on, it would seem that we just blended together. Somehow, through this girl, I felt alive. Just knowing that I can return home to her smile was enough to get me through the day. 'Home', that's a word I never thought I'd ever use again. As time went on, our relationship grew ever stronger. Would I call it love? I don't know. I honestly don't even know what love would feel like.

However, I knew that something like this could never last. Somehow...I let my guard down, and I was going to pay for it.

Are you purposely not tagging me? -.- Even after I specifically asked you to tag everyone in my last post?

Oops! Sorry, I thought you were in the scoring/tagging list already. Added you!

Tuesday, August 26, 2014:

Tropes! Here's five. Using one in a scene gets you the basic score, incorporating three or more gets you the bonus too. ^_^

Mission Briefing -- The briefing before a mission, of whatever form.

Braids of Action -- One of the common way to visually indicate that a female character is an Action Girl

Oracular Urchin -- Usually female, small and fey in a disturbing way, the Oracular Urchin knows more about the future — or the present — than she really should.

Dying Town -- A town that has lost its main reason for existing, or the support systems it needs.

Razor Wind -- Also known as kamaitachi in Japanese, it's an attack commonly used in anime and video games. The user is able to use air itself to slice enemies.

 

@Danaos @NightBirdBlue @betaband @31TeV @Briar_Rose @ISentinelPenguinI @TaraGil @the_quiller @jamescoker1226 @LostConnection @Kiel_Farren @Cynical @ItAintPretty @Swiftstryker @TacocaT @Romulus @coins @Malkalack @Virtualide @Morgan_R @Fireplay @nmelssx

Location: [Redacted] - August 24th, 2014

Mission Briefing, Transcript

*Ms. Grant starts her briefing*

Good morning agents. Four hours ago we received a request for help from our allies in Japan. A top-secret weapons facility on Hashima Island has been breached by an unknown assailant. As you know this facility is used to research, develop and test new weapons. I think I can best show you what we're dealing with.

*Powerpoint presentation appears on the big screen*

This is the Heshima Island, once a major industrial hub but now known as the ghost town of the Japanese Sea since the industries went away. As you can see, the empty shells of buildings still cover most of the island. This building, however, isn't empty. Beneath it lie seven stories of bunkers wherein our Japanese allies store there potentially most dangerous weapons.

The one we're interested in at the moment is this: a sword-like device that uses pressurized air to slice through almost anything, even at a distance. We initially didn't think very highly of this so-called weapon as we found it unpractical in combat situations and we deemed it a typical Japanese folly. Our opinions changed, however, when we saw this footage, taken by a security camera inside the bunker:

*A video starts playing*

As you can see, the 'sword' has a far greater range than we imagined, as those guards were at least fifteen feet away from the intruder. Furthermore, it sliced cleanly through the steel security doors that were dropped down.

We believe that this weapon and its thief are still in the vicinity, or even on, Heshima Island. You will be assigned to one of three strike forces, one will patrol the seas around the island, one will provide air support and one will investigate the Island the remains of the secret bunker. Are there any questions:

*A young agent raises her hand*

"Won't this weapon run out of ammo at some time, I mean, the Japanese wouldn't have produced that much, would they?"

That is an excellent question Ms. Jones, though I would prefer you braided your hair in the restroom and not during my briefing. This weapon is not designed to use any ammunition. I harnesses the air around it, which it then pressurizes and uses as ammunition. The weapon is powered by a new type of fuel cell, but can use solar power as a fast alternative.

I'll now give the floor to Ms. Kamagawa, who worked on the prototype in the past. Though she wasn't present in the bunker, she might give us clues as to the motives of the intruder and his possible whereabouts in the future.

[REDACTED]

 

Cassandra exhaled a breath of relief. The dismembered corpses of her foes clattered onto the roof around her and her claws dripped their blood into the gutters. She smiled faintly, remembering the looks of agony on their faces as the winds around them turned fierce and violent. They might've been stronger than her physically, but her ninja techniques were far superior. To command the elements themselves and turn them into her blades, she was no mere girl.

She spat in the face of the tallest male, then swept one of her elegant braids aside with her hand, the long and luxurious golden locks glistened in the moonlight. "You boys should've known how to treat a lady. Such rudeness can't go unpunished, you know." She smirked.

It wasn't as if their behavior was totally unreasonable, of course. After all, she had been posing as a prostitute. Her bright red kimono, slit up to her hips and with a low, heart shaped collar that showed off a fair amount of cleavage, did not precisely exist to deter perverts--but they should've known better than to cop a feel from the infamous 'Lady Luck.' She had been practicing her skills since she could crawl, and these days she was one of the best ninjas-for-hire there was. A true mercenary that treasured neither man, nor woman, only gold, and--

"Meow?" A moonbeam colored cat strutted up to Cassandra and hopped up into her arms, nuzzling her cheek. "It's done, Luna. We'll need to report back and get our reward, and then it's fancy tuna sushi for all three of us!" Luna purred her approval. She started to walk away, then turned and clawed at the air, sending a wave of wind blades at a hidden enemy. "You're not very subtle, you know."

A male ninja step out of the darkness, dressed fully in black from head to toe. He wore a blindfold over his eyes, yet he had no trouble avoiding her attack. "You're the first person, besides my own master, to see through my stealth. Maybe you are as good as they say... maybe."

Cassie huffed and tossed her hair back, her eyes narrowing. "What's it to you?"

"I have a proposition for you..."

She chuckled. "Sorry, sugar, but you're not quite my type."

Cassandra couldn't see his mouth or eyes, but she could feel his scowl. "A business proposition."

Her eyes lit up and her ears perked up. "Oooh? ... What kind of business proposition?"

"One that's right up your alley." He gestured to the corpses. "My employer doesn't like to get his hands dirty and this is outside of my usual tasks. I think the amount of ryo he's willing to offer you will keep you and your pets well fed for a very long time."

Cassie grinned. "In that case, where do I start?" As she listened to the details of her new mission, she decided the other reward could wait. After all, she was a few days ahead of schedule and if the man in back was right, it would be well worth the detour.

Even at its peak Sunnyhill Springs was a modest town a most with a small, tight-knit community and a thriving logging industry. Nowadays, it was just another slowly dying small town, kept alive only with memories and the stubborn residents who refused to move. The last time I was here, Henry was still my partner, and there were still more than a handful of houses in each neighborhood. This place was his hometown. He gave me a tour, pointing out who lived where and what each empty spot used to be. I parked right next to an empty lot that Henry said used to be a school. Outside of being an unusually large paved lot, there was little else left of it. I wouldn’t have known any better if he didn’t say otherwise.

I didn’t have to walk far to reach my destination. The house was just like any other of the houses not yet abandoned. It was plain, a little old, with few notable characteristics outside of the painted, unused red mailbox and the tire swing on the front yard. As I make my way to its front door, I took the moment to enjoy the clean, fresh air. This place was a far cry from L.A., clean air and few people. It was a quiet, secluded place, the perfect place for one, Katherine Hutt.

After ringing the doorbell and giving a few knocks for good measure, I was not greeted by the woman in question but a little girl, no older than seven with two, long braids that went down her back.

“Oh, um, are your parents home, young lady?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stares at me, as though she could evaluate my worth with a glance. Apparently, I was worth the trust, since she beckoned me to come inside. I feel a chill go down my spine. There was something off about the little girl, but this was the address the agency gave me. If Katherine was really here, there was few reasons to think the little girl was any threat.

“This way,” the child said, leading me to a door directly to my right after I entered the residence. She opened a door that could only lead to the garage and called out to the one person there. I peeked into the doorway and spotted who I was looking for. She was dressed in black and white workout clothes, hair braided into her signature ponytail, and pummeling the hell out of a punching bag that she put up. Old habits die hard.

“Mommy, he’s here.” The little girl said. I should have been unnerved with the way the little girl phrased that, but knowing what I did about Katherine, I already had an idea of what was going on.

“Mr. Wise-” Katherine began to say, walking out of the makeshift gym she made for herself out of her garage.

“Ron,” I corrected. “We’ve known each other long enough, Kate.”

“Ron,” She repeated. She seemed to pause, a little lost in thought before she continued. I know her well enough to know she sometimes needed that little bit of time to collect her thoughts. “Go wait in the kitchen while I clean up. Mary, please show Mr. Wi- I mean, Ron to the kitchen. Be good.”

I watched her disappear into another room while Mary leads me to the kitchen. It’s small and quaint but comfortable. Together, we sat as we waited patiently for her mother.

“I’d offer you a drink, but I know you’re not thirsty.” Mary said. That should unnerve me, but it just confirmed my suspicions.

“I can tell you take after your mother, then.” I said.

“Yeah,” Mary nodded. “We’re not like other people.”
“It’s not easy having precog.”

Mary didn’t respond to that. I forgot how difficult it was to talk to children like her, so I tried to turn her attention to other things. She ignored me in favor of pulling something out of her pocket.

“Here. Take it.” She said hands two small objects over to me. One was a ring, a wedding band to be exact, one sized for a man. The other was a single, silver bullet. “The ring is Daddy’s. Give it to Daddy. I know you’ll be seeing him soon. He’ll want it back. I took it from him before he left. They would have stolen it from him if I didn’t, but it’s okay for him to get it back now.”

“And the bullet-?”

“Trust me, you’ll need it.”

I was at a loss for words. Precognitive abilities or not, even Katherine wasn’t that precise at her age. I wasn’t unnerved before, but now felt otherwise. I was relieved when I saw Katherine coming in, wearing casual clothes this time but still keeping that braid of hers.

“Mary, honey, go upstairs. I need to talk Ron alone.” Katherine told Mary, who left without as much as a glance in my direction.

“Cute kid.” I said. “Creepy and a precog, just like you.”

“And then some.” She replied. I tried not to wonder what she meant by that. “Anyways, let’s cut to the chase. Mary and I both sensed you coming days ago. You and I both know why you’re here. What do you have for me?”

“Typical. No time for small talk.” I said. I pulled out a USB drive from my pocket, and gave it to her. “Official briefing’s in two days, L.A., usual time and place. All the information you need beforehand is right there.”

“I’ll be there.”

“You sure you’ll be ready for the mental feedback you’ll get back in L.A.?”

“For my husband, I’ll be ready for anything.” She replied. “Anything else you need from me?”
“Just one more thing." I said. "Get a phone and a real mailing address.”

Steven plugged the flash drive into his computer. Ordinarily he would have bought a new computer incase there was a virus, but this particular employer had hired Steven enough times for them to form a trust. On the screen that popped up, a small girl with pale skin was fighting a much larger man of about 30. While the girl was young, probably about 18, the man couldn't land a single hit on her, as if she could see the attacks coming. She eventually brought her knee up into his manhood and used the break in combat to pepper spray him. Then, he saw the good parts of the file. The data. Every single fight she was ever in, the number of punches with her right hand, left hand, high kicks, low kicks. He saw everything. The girl wasn't the only one with an exceptional brain, Steven could analyze data faster and better than a computer could. Then he clicked on the mission details. The head shot was of the girl when she was 16. She had dark blue eyes and blond hair, woven into a braid. He would be paid $400,000 to kill her. Steven accepted the mission.

Because I want ur points :

"Easy as it goes..."

Kyra, who was wearing a French braid today, was in a room full of sausages.  Literally.

It was the only place, ironically in the now-empty San Fran, that had reception.

"...your mission, Agent Kyra, is to locate what we identify as an AU - Oracle type.  We desperately need her help to do nondescript things that aren't really important until we're certain you can't do something without us.

Anyways, you might want to be careful in old San Fran.  Ever since this city's been used as a dump, there's been reports of AU users popping all over th-"

BAM

The tile-studded walls from the North crumbled as the intermission was scrambled.  Dust was blown away by a vehement hand as one of the rumored AU's revealed himself.

A wind-cutter.

(I was going to make this really drawn out, but getting grounded has sliced my time to so little >.<)

Bonus: Uses 4 tropes, Action Braids, Dying Town, Razor Wind, Mission Briefing.

Marianne O'Neal  was 8 when the coal Weatherton mine collapsed, and she was 14 when she first realized just how badly the town was suffering. She was 7 when she knew she didn't want to live in Weatherton when she grew up... At 14, having tried numerous "Escape schemes", everything from studying jobs that might lead elsewhere, or be useful once Weatherton's economy was too dry to planning routes to just straight-up drive to New York. None of them worked, obviously, because she was still there, and still dying to get away from the all-too aged coal-mining town...

Today, at 14, she was crying. She had never wanted to leave Weatherton more than now, but for much different reasons. She was bullied by other girls and boys again today. Because her family wasn't well off enough, because her shirt was rumpled a tad too much, because something she said wasn't just right, because the way she walked wasn't proper. Whatever the reason, the other children were at it again, and as it always was, it tore at her young heart like barbed wire, and did it ever bleed.

Yesterday, Hope made a desperate attempt to reach her in the guise of Dr. White. Dr. White was a substitute English teacher with a name like super-villain and a face like a Noir-movie Hitman, but with the heart of a warrior, and with a sense of humor that made him in and of himself a treasured occurrence among the children. Indeed, he worked as a stand-up comedian earning his English Doctorate before he was drafted into World War II 20 years ago, and no matter what people told him about heroes, nothing could convince him what he did was right. No matter how much he tried not to sift, there were always good people among the bad, and no matter how much he hated it, he was forced to shoot at them. Yesterday was the first time in 20 years he saw such an incident. An incident in which he saw morals in black and white.

Yesterday was the first time in their entire lives that the children saw Dr. White being serious. And to think it would happen during recess, normally such a joyful time...

As peer pressure and the need to attract negative attention from other children to someone other than themselves had decreed, the children gathered around poor Marrianne and fired their words, fired them like machine gun bullets.

They shot to maim, not to kill, as most bullies do, but their bullets began to grind every feeling organ in her body. They had no idea what they were doing. Dr. White bit his lip, and then his eyes became angry. He split up the group around the girl, and, seeing her shuddering, crying face, he shooed them away. 

He managed to console her, but Dr. White knew it wouldn't be permanent. So he told her a secret. He told her about a super-power that none of the other kids had...

"Marriane," he said, "With great power comes great responsibility. And you need to use those powers for good. I have a quest for you, Marriane. You need to use this power to aid you. By the next time I come here to teach, I want you to have at least one great adventure for me. Can you do that?."

Marriane sniffled, not quite aware of the change that her life was about to have...

Dr. White was not at school today, they had their normal teacher, Mrs. Greene, but she was a benevolent old lady, so she allowed Marriane to go back inside and read her schoolbooks... But she didn't. She took out her pencil and and a blank journal she saved up for for a week.

And she wrote. That day, she became the girl who could do anything, and her epic was recorded in that little journal. Her braids shone in the sunlight as she wrote, and at the time, as opposed to being a pretty way to keep her hair out of her face and away from her shoulders, became empowering. It was worn the way warrior women of the old days might have worn it. And that's what she became, she slew dragons and saved kingdoms, she went on adventures across her own little universe, and even the wind obeyed her, slicing through vines and traps whenever she was in trouble.

When she was bullied in the days that followed, she was no longer a sad little girl, when she was Marriane the Mighty, a warrior that didn't let the words of others break her golden heart, and when the great hero looked her tormentors in the eyes, she no longer glared or begged for forgiveness. Marriane, with the fortitude of her new-found superpower, no longer felt the need to take their words to heart. Marriane looked at her tormentors, who ceased to become enormous dragons and suddenly became sad little boys and girls just as desperate as she used to be... And Marriane forgave them.

When Dr. White came back, 3 weeks later, and boy was he surprised. Marriane had 3 epic yarns to tell him.  And when he came back the next time, she had 10. Day by day, her repertoire expanded, and one day Dr. White published one of her works to the local newspaper. (With her permission, of course.)  She got a lot of exposure from that, and when she was 18, in spite of all who doubted her, Marriane the warrior became a successful author. And, despite all of her own doubts, she lived a lovely life in New York.

She had tough times still, of course, but her super-power pulled her through everything, from the death of her parents, to one of her bad marriages. But she wouldn't have been able to handle it quite the same way if she didn't have that power. Writing, like all powers, made its wielder all the stronger. And I guess that's the moral of this story. From that day in 7th grade to her final days in hospice care, she blazed a trail through all her problems, and left behind a beautiful, exhilerating legacy of stories behind her. Perhaps Marriane is fictional, but I am not, and I know that it works. Maybe I'm not as strong willed as Marriane was, and maybe I'm not as great as she might have been... But whether I'm successful or not, that's the way I want to go, leaving behind a legacy of stories... And maybe you should too.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014:

Worldbuilding! Invent a religion. As well as the beliefs and practices of the religion, you may want to consider its history, whether it has subsumed older religious beliefs and/or practices into itself, and also whether it's splintered into multiple sub-religions.

Bonus: Write a scene in which a character's religious beliefs (as based on your invented religion) play an important role.

@Danaos @NightBirdBlue @betaband @31TeV @Briar_Rose @ISentinelPenguinI @TaraGil @the_quiller @jamescoker1226 @LostConnection @Kiel_Farren @Cynical @ItAintPretty @Swiftstryker @TacocaT @Romulus @coins @Malkalack @Virtualide @Morgan_R @Fireplay @nmelssx

The practice of Capyism is an old, revered art. First taught by the ancient Capybara Preachers, they quickly seeded the population of the world. Secret Capyism churches sprung up, though the religion was outlawed in many places. 

Dilettante Victorian secret societies worshipped Capy, the Capybara god. 

Recently, Capyism has fallen out of favor, do to the fact that only the blood of virgins can appease Capy's endless rage.  What we know today as "furries", are in fact those blessed by Capy. 


BONUS: 
The young woman screamed, as she was chained to the alter. Four androgynous furry humanoids laughed, as they draw curved scimitars and hacked off each one of her limbs, one Capybaroid* per limb. 

She died quickly after that, but the mutilation was not finished. They each picked up the limb, and slapped her in the head with it, one at a time. 

After this, the biggest of the Capybaroids cut a hole in her, and begin to skip rope with it. The other Capybaroids laughed, and they all jammed there swords into various parts of her. 

Her fluids dribbled down on the grooves in the altar, and pooled up in a cesspool. From there, the congregation that had been standing in the back marched forward, laughing with an infernal glee.

Capy was appeased.

*Capybaroids are the chosen of Capy, and are hybrids of man and capybara. 

Dro'aloth Sect - Xenoism - Belief in Alien life as Gods.

The Dro'aloth are certainly capable of recording memories via text and music, but to them, what does this mean?

A brief look at the glyphs tells the entire story.  Originally, the preceding worldcomers, before we were able to touch down, were seen as superior.  In great detail, thanks to the near-eidetic memory skills of their predecessors, the Dro'aloths describe a school of space-faring crafts visiting a grey-colored representation of their ancestors.  Adjacent to it, systemic branches describe the technology and concepts brought to the Dro'aloths by the worldcomers, such as permaculture, irrigation, advanced hunting, as well as utilizing magic.  These go into great detail about certain basic processes, from which even students and scholars today can study at a glance, and, with enough time and effort, also begin to learn how to use Dro'aloth magic.  Like so many other pre-touched races, the Dro'aloth have developed a keen proficiency to soul-related magics, as well as the manipulation of umbra and photos magics.

This was also the time when the ancestors had split into two races to fulfill two different roles : hunting, and gathering.  Dro'aloths hunted, the other gathered.

However, in a marred section, there are some depictions of anarchy and chaos that followed the absence of the first worldcomers, perhaps by a second group or by the remnants of the first.  Regardless, these worldcomers utilized arbor and faunas magics heavily to enforce their rule.  These worldcomers, obviously lacking any civilized, systemized method of interaction, hunted all overworld Dro'aloths into extinction, and drove the rest underground.  Hence, the poem described earlier was created.

Back to the point, these two waves of worldcomers were seen as gods, for they created life and mastered it so easily.  Of course, any proficient mage can do that, but to the ancestors of the Dro'aloths, this was profound, to say the least.

The Dro'aloth, probably by the inspiration of the second worldcomers, have developed skills in emotional cues and body language, unlike their overworld cousins, who work mostly on logic and reasoning, as well as an extensive communicative system via text.  Despite the Dro'aloth's fearsome appearances and renown for their terrifying, gruesome fighting ways, they are also known to be very passionate.  Archeologists and cultural experts tie this in especially with female Dro'aloths, and claim that this maternal delicacy extends from the parental guidance that is prized among similarly touched races.  Time, it seems, unravels all good things.

Often times, the Dro'aloths incorporate their pathos into self-mutilation (though not to a permanent extent, unless it's repayment for a grave sin), and thus allow natural selection to correspond with the rewards to those who contribute and defend society and the punishment of deviants.  Often though, this practice switches between effective and useless, as many guilty Dro'aloths deny their sins, and many honest Dro'aloths confront their sins.

The Xenoist priests are not limited by gender, though there is a bias for females to head the tribes, as they are less quick to have their judgment clouded than males.

Dro'aloths are almost exclusively Xenoists, though few have considered other religions.  Only orphaned and feral Dro'aloths tried other religions, but as the records show, have little success.

~~~

"No," Thora simply said.

The blind Dro'aloth, a feral miscreant, had for once in her life denied an act of evil.  Her relatively small figure, only 7 feet in height (most Dro'aloth are 20 feet at their prime; the largest recorded was 50 feet tall, but it died from a stroke and several broken bones as a result of gigantism), was still intimidating for the cowering Erul-ki female, who was only 5'5.  To the chagrin of the other delinquents, Thora wasn't inclined to cause permanent bodily damage to another entity for simply being born into fortunate circumstances.

That, and for another reason; Thora was instinctively maternal to many smaller things.  She had protected her little brood of fellow no-good-doers for a running two years now, and now...this?

As much as she resented her exile due to her "imperfect" body (she had no smaller arms, but other Dro'aloths have four or six symmetrical pairs of arms.  They also have four legs, which she thankfully was born with), she was still a worshipper and caretaker at heart; this Erul-ki wasn't prey, despite the little girl's obviously blind ways.  She was a sister, or even a niece or a daughter.

Like all other Erul-ki, she shared an ancestor with Thora.

The other Erul-ki delinquents, with their trimmed ears and mohawks, frowned at the Dro'aloth.

"C'mon, Thora.   Just a stab and that'll be all."

It didn't feel right.

"Thora, what the hells are you waiting for?  Fucking shank her!"

Where had she gone wrong?  Thora taught them to survive, not to...

"I'll fucking kill her if you won't do it!" shouted Tory, the eldest of the group.  He brandished his knife : a flat blade with no tip; mostly to chop away vegetative growths from their home in the forest.

Well, Thora just wouldn't have that.

As Tory tried to close in, Thora merely shoved Tory down, but to the five foot boy, that was more like a punch.  He slammed into the floor, gasping for air.

The others could only stare in shock as Thora gingerly picked up the bruised thing, the little girl, and walk off back towards the Erul-ki settlement.

"Thora!" Tory wheezed.  "We can just leave her here then!  They'll find her...you'll die if they see you!"

But what about the predators at night?  Thora was intimidating on her own, and in groups, Erul-ki weren't approached, but suppose she just left this little girl...

"THORA!"

The Dro'aloth continued to creep along, closer to the trees.  Closer to safety...

...safety for who?

Sunyk: The followers of the god of deserts are typically nomads. They are peaceful and rarely go to war, but when they do, they use the full power of illusion magic. Their enemies drop at the pure pain they create. They are social, and do not judge other religions. Every three days they hold a fire in his honor and light candles around the fire. Then one of the priests, a highly skilled illusionist trained from the age of 8, creates an elaborate illusion to please Sunyk, who they believe is watching. 

Bonus:

Tor's brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to make a game of chess out of magical energy. He'd been in training for almost two years, he should be able to do this. He set up the black tiles, then the white tiles. He made a two giant queens, almost 20 feet tall, wearing elaborate dresses of their own color. Next he created two even larger kings, one young in white, and another old bearded one in black. Then he created the white bishops. Ten feet tall with staffs made of ivory and obsidian. He was just working on one of the white knights, holding a sword and on a ebony horse. Then his concentration wavered and the entire image vanished. 
"Again!" Barked the current priest. He raised a hand and then Tor's body flared up in pain. His eyes watered, but he made no noise.
"You'll never be a priest if you can't make a simple chess board." Tor started over, he wouldn't mess up this time.

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Choose (or create) two characters who have strong and differing opinions on a subject. Then have them argue about it.

Bonus:

Add a third character with a third viewpoint on the subject.

@Danaos @NightBirdBlue @betaband @31TeV @Briar_Rose @ISentinelPenguinI @TaraGil @the_quiller @jamescoker1226 @LostConnection @Kiel_Farren @Cynical @ItAintPretty @Swiftstryker @TacocaT @Romulus @coins @Malkalack @Virtualide @Morgan_R @Fireplay @nmelssx

A tease for an RP I'm still writing, complete with 3 characters to argue with. Not very long, I guess.

Gargan pulled on his chains, hissing.

Gargan was a powerful entity, the Beast of the Mire they called him. He and his brother owned countless souls, and influenced reality in ways others could hardly comprehend... Yet, he seemed to be in a reality much like the inside of the Rift he and his brother had hoped to avoid. He was 40 feet tall when hunched, as he always was, and almost skelatal, The gristles and comparatively small muscles, his exaggerated limbs, and his massive ribs and serpentine neck giving him a slender, yet horrendously bulky frame as it squirmed with strength that would rip down any normal walls. Its eyeless, grinning face and black snake tongue, complete with a pair of venom-primed fangs, both searched the pitch black room for answers.He attempted to tap his second vision to see what was happening, but no information came to his eyes.  It was as if he was in a third reality, where no visuals existed... At least not yet.

Aleister felt the glare of the holy symbol carved into a metal collar that he didn't remember putting on... He heard the tinkling of chains when he stood up.

Aleister was a demon, and a powerful one at that. Not the Aleister Crowley, of course, he was much older, and Aleister was burning among the unholy sorcerors because Belial screwed him over big-time. Faustian Bargains can still sound like a good idea when executed properly, after all. Aleister's real name was Blakognar, but such a name just doesn't do anymore. Aleister hardly gets by in this day and age, now that Mr. Crowley practically ruined the name with his infamy and made the name so uncommon. Maybe he should choose another name... Gordon, perhaps? With emphasis on the second O, of course, it does have to sound slightly demonic, for style's sake.

He was currently in his human form, long hair, a beard, pale, with dichromatically colored eyes, one gray and one purple. He wore, as many demons do, a tuxedo, which was red and black. He also wore several rings, sometimes multiple on one finger. A tuxedo was certainly an enduring article of clothing, ideal for one of old fashion. He had worn a tuxedo, with little variation, for most of the 19th, 20th, and 21st centuries.

As a human, he was tall and powerful, and in all his forms, he had a gravelly, cynical voice. Not that he couldn't change it, but it gave him an identity, and in a world where fear among mortals is power, and fear among demons is even more powerful, his identity was a critical innovation.

He was a Lord of Hell, an Archdemon, part of the management of Hell itself, and he owned 300 legions of demons. He was as close as possible to being Lucifer's right hand man. Or rather, because this was Hell, Lucifer's left hand man.

It was odd that anyone as powerful as Gargan or Aleister were so easily restrained in this dark universe were restrained so easily, but it was so, and it made Aleister angry and resentful towards whatever captor this must be...

Nathaniel's brilliant glow hardly pierced the darkness, and his wings granted him no higher vantage. He was held at the ankle directly to the floor by and unseen force. Nothing seemed to be holding his great white, shining armored boot to the ground, but yet, there he was...

Nathaniel was 10 feet tall, with white wings made from blades, heavy, clawed gauntlets and huge, spiked shoulder plates. His cuirass was also white, and spiked along the middle of the back, and he wore a white kilt of chainmail concealing his platelegs. Armor of that size, weight, and material would crush a man of his proportions, but he wore it as if it were his own skin. Even heavier, it seems, were his massive wings, whose feathers were blades made from that same brilliant white metal. Nathaniel was an Archangel, one of the top men, (and women... God wasn't sexist.) in the heavenly regime.

My goodness, it seems everyone here is in a very high position of authority, doesn't it?

When the lights came on, and it was revealed that everyone was floating around chained or stuck in various ways to invisible walls and floors. Aleister was the first to speak, his devilish spontaneity and charm never failing him.

"Snakeboy and the Human Chandelier strike again! Any of you know why I'm chained up in this realm?"

"Probably because you're such an annoying little..." Nathaniel paused, censoring himself, "Jerk..."

"Still can't get the Big Man to let you swear, huh, pissforbrains?"

"Shut up, both of you..." hissed Gargan's whispering voice,

"Why should we? It looks like we're going to be here for a long time," said Aleister, "I would know."

"You know nothing, hellspawn!" shouted Nathaniel, "NOTHING!"

"Then I guess your IQ must be in the negatives." Aleister said. He loved that the humans finally invented a numerical measure of intelligence, it was the perfect way to insult someone. They didn't have such easy pickings in the 1800s.

Gargan shook his head exasperatedly.

Suddenly, a bright, shining light blared from the center of the white room, which became a rather elegant stage, each one of them was placed, playfully, behind a podium.

"Welcome." said the light, "I am the GM."

"What?" asked Aleister, confused.

"Google the term when you get back to Earth. Of course, I won't let you remember that you're in a Forum Game when you return. I won't let you remember any of this, really. I'm here to watch you argue. You might get something in return... If you win."

"What do you want us to argue about?..." whispered Gargan.

"The subject is simple. Who do you think should control Harremshire?"

"You couldn't have picked a harder question!? The demons of course! What better way to stick it to The Man!" said Aleister

"Aren't you the Demon's equivalent of The Man though?" whispered Gargan.

"You kidding? We just punish souls, and occasionally punish Demons when they break our few rules."

"Boy do you punish them. There've been many occasions when your people have come to ME to assist them in doing so. I hear you have a 'Rape Box' down there, once they return."

"We have only a few rules though, a few!"

"I imagine your rules bore people."

"Do you realize what anarchy that would cause? What destruction!? And all just for us to smite you again!" shouted Nathaniel, "We should end these petty skirmishes and drive EVERY ONE OF YOU COTTON-HEADED NINNY MUGGINZES OUT OF HARREMSHIRE! FOR ETERNITY!"

"Fat chance, you have no conception of the forces we've been building up! And you have no idea the influence we have over humans! They're like fucking toys!"

"Forces? Like those legionaires we've slaughtered like pigs in our swamp? If your forces are that careless as to where they put their portals, and that useless when taken by surprise, I doubt the angels will have any problem with you."

"Ever fought an angel, Snakeboy?"

"No, and I doubt any of the demons you have on earth have either."

"...Good point..."

"And we're not pushovers either! I'll have you know we've been training for the end of days as if it were already upon us! And those humans? Don't think for even a second that we don't have people on our side either, who we can turn into superior warriors just as you can!"

"The end of days? really? don't you think that's a little sudden? Especially since your supposedly "selfless" god hasn't shown himself in a thousand years!"

"He could be preparing too!"

"He could have abandoned us."

"What the heck are you getting at, creature? What's your stance?"

"The humans should control Harremshire, as they always have. They've given me good business, and they've helped you both in many ways. You should fight your own wars, and leave them out of it, no matter how much better either solution would be."

"You seem to be forgetting, that's not how war works. You take every advantage you can!"

"You certainly won't be getting any advantage from Harremshire. The Rift, while your greatest resource, is ours, and ours alone. You can fight for the others, but we will protect it whether you like it or not."

"We'll see how your attitude stands when GOD HIMSELF shines down and asks for your help."

"And until then, you can both fuck off."

"Wow, great debate, guys, but there's another argument I need you to have before I'm done. Pop tarts or Struedels?"

"POP TARTS!"

"STRUEDELS!"

"...Bagels?"

To be continued. Or not.

Friday, August 29, 2014

Write an ending to one of your first sentences from Monday. If you didn't participate on Monday, feel free to invent a new first sentence.

Bonus:

Write a different ending, starting from that same beginning.

@Danaos @NightBirdBlue @betaband @31TeV @Briar_Rose @ISentinelPenguinI @TaraGil @the_quiller @jamescoker1226 @LostConnection @Kiel_Farren @Cynical @ItAintPretty @Swiftstryker @TacocaT @Romulus @coins @Malkalack @Virtualide @Morgan_R @Fireplay @nmelssx

I see you've switched my clothes out of the laundromat for yours. You really shouldn't have done that, and I mean you. REALLY. Should not. Have. Done. That.

I don't know who you are, and I don't know what you want, but I'll have you know I am a consciousless bastard with a very specific skillset. I will hunt you down and ruin your life, you fucking asshole. I swear as surely as I live that you will REGRET the day you stole my quarter for your petty blue-washing needs. I don't care how fucking poor you are, I am a man with a life, with a schedule, a schedule that leaves VERY LITTLE TIME for laundry, and do you know what you did!? YOU FUCKED IT UP! YOU FUCKED UP MY FUCKING SCHEDULE! You messed up my life, badly, and because of that, I will mess up yours.

I've been following you for weeks now, I know where you live, what you do every day, and how you make your living. I've plotted everything very intricately, I've placed every domino, one by one, EVERYTHING YOU CHERISH, EVERYTHING YOU ONCE HELD DEAR WILL BE TORN FROM YOUR FILTHY, UNWORTHY HANDS AND PURGED BEFORE YOU!

I spent the weekend fucking your girlfriend and burning your cat. You should find them both hanged from the rafters in your basement. Consider that a brief demo, shithead, of the sheer WRATH that I am about to bring down upon you. I'm going to break into your house at night and open your refrigerator door, and then I'm going to leave it open. I'm going to turn your gas AND your AC all the way up simultaneously, take a shower under YOUR water bill, and turn on the television and leave it on. Your bills will skyrocket. I see you've spent $80 or so dollars pre-ordering the new Call of Duty, huh? I hate Call of Duty. You'll find your Xbox in the dump, several ice picks have been slammed into it.

Eventually, I'm going to burn down your house, and when you finally beg me to stop, I will. I'll fucking leave you there, I'll leave you in the gutter where I found you, half-dead from all the shit that other Hobos get, like Polio and The Clap.

Haha, just kidding, you are an insufferable prick, though, and I put all your clothes in the freezers in Wal-Mart underneath the pizzas. Be careful, they were still wet, they might break if you yank them too hard.

Ending 2:

So I see you've switched my clothes out of the laundromat for yours. You really shouldn't have done that. We're all gonna die.

You have no IDEA of the horrible events that would have been prevented if the wash cycle had finished, events that now have been started, events that CANNOT BE STOPPED! Eldritch abominations will be unleashed, horrendous forces beyond all concievable control will wreak havoc upon you and the rest of the world! From this day forward every time a butterfly in South America flaps its wings, one MPH will be added to the windspeed of the upcoming hurricane. That's A LOT OF MPH! THE MPH WILL BE UNBEARABLE! EVERYONE WILL BE HURLEDFOR MILLIONS OF MILES, SKYSCRAPERS WILL BE THROWN BY THE POWER OF THE WIND!

Every time a mountain goat in Alaska takes a step, a gallon will be added to the greatest landslide in human history! Entire cities will be flooded, millions of people will die! Hell itself will rise, Humanity will become mere toys in the face of a war between Cthulhu and Satan, every volcano will explode itself at the same time, the earth will shake like an epileptic child and reality will shit itself!

Mountains will CRUMBLE, and then NEW MOUNTAINS will come up due to continental drift, HUMANITY WILL DIE BEFORE ITS TIME! THE OCEANS WILL BE FILLED WITH BLOOD! ASHES AND MOLTEN IRON WILL RAIN FROM THE SKY! FIRE AND LIGHTNING WILL SPRAY OUT OF THE GROUND! DEATH ITSELF WILL DIE!

Haha, just kidding. You are an insufferable prick, though, and demons will torment your household and the household of your children and children's children until the end of their days.

"When a Chinese man asks you six questions concerning your country's agriculture and China's top business owners in manufacturing, do you ever get the feeling you wanna gut him on live tape?"

Ending 1 :

And yet, despite hearing all that shit coming from his mouth, There were the blocks.  The blocks made so that I wouldn't bite his throat out, I wouldn't gouge him on the camera feed.

Those blocks, the ones that had been christened to me by my loving community and family, they all told me no.

And so, before the man could ask any questions, I turned and beckoned my brother and sister to follow.  I'd explain to their...slower minds about this later.  We came here to buy electronics imported from China, not the death of an old man.

Ending 2 :

As I walked out of the prison bars with my head held high, all the juvy kids knew I was set up for life with the gangs.  Every fight, every punch, every breath I made was to make sure no one stepped on my head ever again.  I'd have to thank that old shit, he was that first stepping stone for me to learn how to be proud of a culture my parents had lost when they came to the US.  As much as I respected the Chinese, everything they did was counter-intuitive.

And by one shithead's provocation of another Asian, the Triads would have their asses handed to them soon enough, by none other than "the great-grandson of a rice farmer in the dirty jungles".

Shit, it's not like their parents didn't shit money to come to the US.

The thick rain clouds above the cemetery finally crack open as the casket is lowered into the dark pit.

Ending one:

"It took me a while to understand, but... I think I do now. People like to hide their true feelings, your warm smile, that twinkle in your eye, was nothing more than a mask. It did not show any signs of that pit of darkness you were so desperately trying to hide, at least not when it still mattered. If I had known then, if I could have only seen the signs earlier... Please forgive me, wherever you are now."

Ending two:

"Whoever first said 'until death do us part' was a fool. Death isn't the end of love, it's just the beginning.", Ada thought as the first of the sun's rays appeared on the horizon. Carefully, as not to leave a mark, she once more scooped up the dirt in her bony fingers, and, after blowing a kiss towards Mister Peterson from plot 4A, she once more went to sleep in her casket.