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Week Three! For anyone who doesn't know: this will thread will contain a week's worth of writing exercises to be completed each day. I'll give out 5 points per regular exercise, 10 points per bonus exercise, and 15 per "super bonus" exercises. You may do as few or as many of the exercises as you want. Anyone is allowed to join up at any time, but please let me know in a PM if you want to be added to our tag and scoring list.  

Our goal here: Ultimately, fun, but I very strongly believe that the encouragement of your peers, a little friendly competition, and some light-goal setting combined with consistent practice is an excellent path to becoming a better writer.

ONE IMPORTANT RULE: DO NOT REPLY TO ANY OTHER WRITER'S POST. I will indicate where to reply to post your work and if you want to praise a fellow writer, please do it in the appropriate "feedback thread" that I will be posting later. We don't want writing posts locked here, it isn't fair to people who want to edit later.

Monday! Ready for today's theme? ... :P Well, too bad.

This week's theme, following up the afterlife of the last day, is "Religion"! Let's start with something easy and well-known: The seven deadly sins! If you've never been Catholic, an FMA fan, or just simply aren't that world-wise, they are known as "Lust," "Gluttony," "Greed," "Sloth," "Wrath," "Envy," and "Pride." Choose five sins and write a sentence about / containing / alluding to each. (Pro-tip, wikipedia goes very intensely into the variations of the sins. It's an interesting read.)

Bonus: Now pick five of the seven heavenly virtues ("Chastity," "Temperance," "Liberality," "Diligence," "Patience," "Kindness," and "Humility,") and write a sentence about / containing / alluding to each.

Super bonus! : Select one group of seven, either sins or virtues, and write a single scene containing all seven. 

(REPLY TO THIS POST WHEN YOU DO THIS EXERCISE.)

@31TeV @ecoLyte @TheNewIAP @Ogre11 @SpartacustheGreat @Morgan_R @Swiftstryker @betaband @nmelssx @Sethaniel @Malkalack @Briar_Rose @MatGods @Deathdefender @Wolfmist @bjhovey @LeoScales7 @AWarriorFan @FazzTheMan @Claw2k11 @Romulus @ISentinelPenguinI @GrottyStatute74 @WarriorCatsRPS @Confused @jamescoker1226

1. He watched the dancer move her hips and it was clear what she was imitating -- just what he wanted right now.

2. The brownie was so rich and decadent...but he couldn't resist eating just one more!

3. He knew that profits were up, but since people were spending, raising prices only made sense -- especially if that meant more money in his pocket!

4. The phone rang, but it was WAY over there across the room: no sense in moving all the way over there just to answer the phone.

5. She tore through the room, throwing clothes, lamps, furniture, pictures, and anything else she could get her hands on.

Bonus:

1. She gently pushed his hand away from her leg, but firmly said, "No!"

2. When the server put the next round of drinks on the table, Tom held up his hand and said, "That's all for me, thank you."

3. The king kept throwing piles of copper coins to the crowd, handful after handful.

4. Tim very carefully pulled the block from the stack, trying to be sure not to knock over the entire tower.

5. Jill waited her turn, knowing that when everyone else finished, she would still get waited upon.

Super-Bonus:

Clyde almost drooled as he eyeballed Bonnie. She was showing more than a little flesh, and he wanted to get some of that. He hit his head on the door frame of the car when he was getting out as he watched her move and her dress slid higher until he got a glimpse of something more.

He shook his head to clear those thoughts and called out, "That's it, we need to focus on business. That bank has the money, and we need the money. There's no reason those bankers should have all the money. I want it! It is for ME!"

Bonnie sat down on the ground and said, "Oh, honey, you go get that money. I don't want to have to get up."

"Bonnie, when we get that money, we're going to have so much money, we're going to be able to pay people to do everything for us! Heck, I'm gonna hire someone to wipe my ass so I don't even have to do that."

Clyde went in and cleaned out the bank, like he had done a dozen times before. He collected a pile of cash and quickly escaped with Bonnie once again.

As they were driving, Clyde exclaimed, "Hey, lookie there! It's one of those all-you-can-eat buf-ets. We're so good, they aren't even gonna come after us yet. They know we'll beat 'em every time. We's Bonnie and Clyde, best bank robbers in the west. And I'm hungry, so let's eat."

Clyde stopped the car and headed inside. He grabbed a plate and piled it high with potatoes, meat loaf, and peas. Before he sat down, he grabbed another plate and piled on pizza slices and chicken wings. He took a seat and started shoving food into his mouth as fast as he could.

Bonnie stood there, hands on her hips, as she watched him eat. She was disgusted. She had had enough. She screamed, "Clyde Barrow, you stop that right now! You promised me that you'd take me to a nice place to eat! This place is a dump!" She slammed her hand on the table and his food bounced, but Clyde kept eating. She continued, "You promised me!" She grabbed the sides of his table and threw it to the ground, sending food splattering on the walls and nearby patrons. Bonnie huffed and walked out the door.

1. Overwhelmed by the sheer thought of her orgasm, I partook of her flesh, kneading and caressing it skillfully until I could bring her to the gates of climax.
2. I had never seen such bountiful reserves of food before, and subsequently submitted to the primal instinct of consumption; I ate two chicken thighs, five bowls of rice, a bowl of salad, and three glasses of red wine.
3. The subtle changes in Bob’s lifestyle since he had acquired his vast fortune brought Don to his wit’s end; the heightened sense of self, the newly obtained car, that sickening smile-all of which led to the covetous void in the depths of Donny’s heart.
4. “How dare you cheat on me you selfish bitch,” I screamed in righteous fury. Baring my fists toward the tainted harlot, I beat her senseless, first with my fists, and then with my belt.
5. “May I present the Nobel Prize in Physics to Alexander Diunard.” He had better get my name right, the old bastard! How dare they attempt to mispronounce the name of the next Einstein-one of the greatest fucking geniuses to ever live!

Bonus:

1. As she pleaded with me to consummate our spiritual bond with a physical one, I abstained from marring such a pure young woman before achieving permission from the house of God.
2. Frederick “Fella” Rocke had managed to achieve his dream of earning millions through investment banking, and as such, decided to donate part of his fortune to return the magnanimity and luck offered by society.
3. Despite the advice of her classmates, Mara contumaciously decided upon finishing the weeks’ worth of assignments within the span of two days, instead of procrastinating like the majority of students her age.
4. With a level of humility unbefitting of his position, Link gave a speech to the citizens of his nation in order to honor the lives of the soldiers who had fallen in the Battle of Burgzette, using ordinary language and gesticulations which strayed from the typical pomp and circumstance of presidential assemblies.
5. Once upon a time, there was a girl who used to sit on a bench. Every autumn she would sit there, alone as the gentle breeze embraced her skin; caused her hair to flutter. And then one day, a boy came, baring a simple gift: a balloon.

Super Bonus:

Once upon a time,

There was a girl who used to sit on a bench.

Every autumn she would sit there,

Alone as the gentle breeze embraced her skin,

Caused her hair to flutter.

And then one day, a boy came,

Baring a simple gift.

A balloon.

But she could not see him,

For she was occupied by the clouds,

Stark beauty that could take

Any shape, any hope, any dream.

Suddenly, she blinks.

A break in absolute focus,

A fleeting ball of red,

Ascending ever upward.

For the first time in a long time,

She breaks gaze from the heavens,

And in its place,

A boy.

A simple boy.

But it was enough.

“Why did you let go of the balloon?”

No answer.

“Won’t you miss it?”

Silence.

And then,

“I thought you might want something to keep you company.”

She knew that she could wait

A thousand lifetimes,

Free herself from the sky above,

See as many balloons as it took

If only she could tell him

She loved him.

1.  The fountain of delicious, raw flesh that poured before him was undoubtedly an irrefusable treat; whether he would devour it with the mouth on his face or the ones on his hands was the real question.

2. The creature stretched with satisfaction as it swallowed the last remnants of its prey, you'd think he'd notice the vacuumous lamprey mouth down there, but he was clearly preoccupied by her breasts.

3. He was the one in need of a higher standing of living, thought Robert, He was the one who suffered homelessness for years, not the privileged bank teller bleeding to death on the floor.

4. Her house was burned down, everyone she knew and loved was utterly destroyed, yet he couldn't help but feel that this just wasn't enough...

5. He couldn't understand why his son desired men, but he knew that he, if anyone, could beat righteousness into his poor, misguided soul.

Bonus:

1. "Sure," said Arthur to the bearded vagabond, "I could put the $100 in your bucket this week, or I could teach you how to write code and put $100 there every 2 days."

2. He held her close, staring at the wall while she cried; She needed a normal friend more than a boyfriend, surely. That love and pain he felt for her couldn't be anything more than friendly; He insisted upon this especially...

3. Mortimer couldn't understand why she was holding out her hand, she was supposed to let him fall, he was the villain, after all.

4. "I almost thought you weren't coming," said Ripley, in the process of shaving his four-year-long beard off as his date finally arrived, "Almost."

5. Charles spat a few expletives, standing between his friends and a sea of indescribable tendrils, "Look, Belial, I don't care what you have against me, but, uhh... Leave them the fuck out of this!"

Super Bonus: Coming soon!... Maybe...

1. "Jake!  I FUCKING HATE YOU!"

"It's your baby!  You decided to keep it!"

"Well who's the pregnant fetishist here?!"

2. Ben looked up from his embrace with the pillow and stared at his cloak, watching his meeting slowly tick by already an hour late.

3. Gretel stared wide-eyed at her own reflection.  She thought she was looking into a mirror this whole time, but...well, she could see the soft hairs of a peachfuzz setting in, and her eyes weren't supposed to be cocoa brown.  Her reflection shifted into a smile, and coiled its fingers around her neck.

"Mommy always loved the girls."

4. As Xavier clinked the coins in his hand, upon his magnetized little throne, he furrowed his brows.  There in his hand was the metal every man would kill for, though they were all dead.  Even his older sister bowed down to him.  He was the ruler of the world, and well on the way to owning the moon, then probably Mars.

But something was wrong.  He felt he was missing something...as if he had not owned something yet.

5. And the boy beamed at the witch with a brave smile.

"You'll NEVER beat me!" he goaded.  "I'm the hero!  I'm supposed to be stronger than everyone in all the lands!"

With a grunt, his chains came off, and he approached the yong lady who was on the floor in exhaustion.

"H-how did you break out...so easily?!"

"I just said it," the boy replied, before slapping her face with the back of his hand.

Bonus :

1.  Vincenzo worked speedily away at the paper, making all sorts of little nifty tables and graphs.  What he did not do, he sought out through his whiteboard, full of algorithms and equations of mathematical logic.  If he was going to build the best damn reactor in the world, he would have to be the best version of himself.

2.  As the king fell down from his throne, gagging, he stared wide-eyed at the old cripple.

"H-how did you...how COULD Y-YoAAGGGH!  How DARE YOU!  You ha-ave no right to kill m-me!  Y-you...filthy man!"

The old man simply smiled.

"If I am truly so, why did you not clean the very least of me, master?  I am simply a filthy man, and you, simply a filthy king."

3.  She was about to swing down at him, but stopped midway as he flinched.  With a sigh, she dropped her hand to the trigger of the musket, and fired a few degress away from his ear.

4.  The old wyrm heaved sorrowfully as his daughter, human in soul and flesh, gently carressed his brow.  In the face of such a cruel beast, she had loved the father behind that thick layer of scales.  The ground seared as a white-hot tear dropped to the dead earth below him.

5.  Joseph bit his lip as he saw his victim splayed out on the bed, unconscious.  Perfect in every physical way...well, he'd have a fun time.  But...well, he only stared blankly at the redhead, and then at the belts tied at her limbs and neck.  Something stirred within him...that he was in the same position too once upon a time.  Disgruntled, Joseph took the knife and cut her bonds.

**Done late, but wanted to do them anyways, bonuses may come later**

1. Grabbing another handful of gold from the dead man's pocket, Simon ignored the cries of despair from the recently made widow.

2. Frost decided as he watched his sister be made into a full Huntress, something he knew he would never be, that he would do anything to get back at her for being the thing he desired the most.

3. Lexia looked over the room full of people and made a mental check list of who she was likely to screw before the party was over. Twenty-eight was half of what she usually did at parties, but she wasn't in the mood for women tonight.

4. Staring down upon the person he hated the most, the young boy reached for his weapon to burn the bastard and the bastard's family to a crisp. It would be reduce them to the same thing that was left of his family, ashes.

5. The girl knew she was the best. She was the prettiest. She was the smartest. She was the kindest. She was the most honest. She was the funniest. She was the most sexy. She was the best at magic. She was just better than any of the other girls in school. She deserved better than just some jock or nerd that dreamt of her every night. She felt only ashamed on their behalf of even thinking that they had a chance with her. She was too good for them. Her potential would not be wasted on such lower class beings such as they. She deserved nothing less than an immortal, and she wasn't settling for anything less.

Tuesday! :) Good job, all. Let's continue "religion" week!

Now that your character's have known sin and have contemplated the afterlife, let's talk hell. Explain to us or show us your / your character's take on hell. No, I'm not referring to the stereotypical portrayal of eternal damnation via Christianity (or via Hollywood.) In fact, I specifically request that you not use that one, because what I really mean is, "what would you or your character would consider the equivalent of eternal torture or endless suffering"?

Bonus: Now, for a change of pace, explain / show to us your / your character's take on heaven, aka, 'eternal bliss, peace, happiness'
 

(REPLY TO THIS POST WHEN YOU DO THIS EXERCISE.)

@31TeV @ecoLyte @TheNewIAP @Ogre11 @SpartacustheGreat @Morgan_R @Swiftstryker @betaband @nmelssx @Sethaniel @Malkalack @Briar_Rose @MatGods @Deathdefender @Wolfmist @bjhovey @LeoScales7 @AWarriorFan @FazzTheMan @Claw2k11 @Romulus @ISentinelPenguinI @GrottyStatute74 @WarriorCatsRPS @Confused @jamescoker1226

Johnson opened his eyes and saw nothing but white. He squinted a little and looked around, but nothing changed. There were no lines, no spaces, no varying degrees of light or dark, everything was completely and totally white. He looked down and the "ground" he was standing on was exactly the same white. Reaching out in front of him, there was no resistance, he could move. He took a step forward and looked around, but nothing changed.

Suddenly a dot appeared above him. It was something coming towards him, falling. It got only a little larger when it fell, and it landed in front of him. It was a little pink and white fluffy stuffed bunny. His face turned red and he reached out for it. He hated pink and white fluffy bunnies more than anything in the world. He grabbed the head and feet and pulled -- he knew how to deal with these things.

But strangely, the bunny didn't tear. Pink and white fluffy bunnies always tore -- that's how you dealt with them. Johnson looked at his hands and looked at the bunny. He got another grip and pulled... but nothing. This bunny was tough. Just then, another spot appeared above him... then another. He looked up and two more pink and white fluffy bunnies appeared. They bounced lightly on the ground next to him. If possible, his face got even more red with anger. He threw away the first bunny and grabbed another. He pulled and pulled, but it would not tear. He tried pulling both legs, then the head and the body, but the bunny would not give.

Johnson noticed another bunny hitting the ground next to him, and then another and another. He looked up and there were pink and white fluffy bunnies falling to the ground all around him. They were starting to pile up, and he could not do anything about it! He started running, but the bunnies kept falling. Everywhere he ran, there were more and more pink and white fluffy bunnies...forever!

Bonus:

Tilly opened her eyes and saw nothing but white. She squinted a little and looked around, but nothing changed. There were no lines, no spaces, no varying degrees of light or dark, everything was completely and totally white. She looked down and the "ground" she was standing on was exactly the same white. Reaching out in front of her, there was no resistance, she could move. She took a step forward and looked around, but nothing changed.

Suddenly a dot appeared above her. It was something coming towards her, falling. It got only a little larger when it fell, and it landed in front of her. It was a little pink and white fluffy stuffed bunny. Her face turned red and she reached out for it. She loved pink and white fluffy bunnies more than anything in the world! She grabbed the head and feet and hugged -- she knew how to deal with these things.

Oh, the fluffy bunny felt so nice! It was just perfect to hug, and it squeezed just the right amount. It was so soft! Tilly looked at her hands and looked at the bunny. She got another grip and squeezed... perfect. This bunny was so soft. Just then, another spot appeared above her... then another. She looked up and two more pink and white fluffy bunnies appeared. They bounced lightly on the ground next to her. If possible, his face got even more red with excitement. She squeezed the first bunny and grabbed another. She hugged and squeezed, and it felt so nice. She tried hugging just the legs, then the head and the body, and the bunny felt perfect everywhere.

Tilly noticed another bunny hitting the ground next to her, and then another and another. She looked up and there were pink and white fluffy bunnies falling to the ground all around her. They were starting to pile up, and she could not do anything about it! She started running, but the bunnies kept falling. Everywhere she ran, there were more and more pink and white fluffy bunnies...forever!

Okay, I'll try this one.

Jason felt himself going into nothingness as he passed on from life. Then suddenly, there was a small dot above his head. What was it? He grasped for it, reaching as high as he could. The tips of his fingers grazed the dot, but he couldn't get it. What he wanted the most in the world, or more accurately, in this world, was to know what that was. He tried staring at it. No details were revealed. He jumped for it. The dot bounced out of the way. He thinks to himself: Wait, this is the afterlife. If I want something, I should get it. Imagining a trampoline beside him, it amazingly appears next to his feet. He jumps onto the trampoline to get the dot. The trampoline disappears. A voice rings in his head. 'No'

I approached the daily exercise differently this time; it's combined with the bonus to form a single passage:

The girl loved secrets.

Long ago, when she was very young,

Her dad had told her that secrets were special.

“They’re all around us,” he would love to say.

“All you have to do is look hard.”

“And what if I don’t find them?” she always asked.

At that moment, he would swing her into his arms,

And give her a kiss on the forehead,

One that always made her feel fuzzy inside.

“Then they’ll find you. You’re my little girl after all!”

Ever since then, she would always look for secrets.

Every day, when she went to the park, she and her dad

Would search for secrets together.

Fox cubs, shiny rocks, bubbling brooks,

All of the little things that brought a smile to her face,

And made the wonders never cease.

But then one day, he was gone.

Her father said that he would be back when the time came.

“If you want to find me,” she remembered him saying with a smile.

“Just look up, and I’ll always be watching.”

And so she did,

Awaiting her father’s return,

And pleading with God to bring him back,

Crying when she was denied every time.

Ingrid sat down on the parched earth, and looked at the heavy mist around her.

Unmoving, hanging as though suspended by a force transcending simple things like condensation and evaporation, the veil had not let up for precisely 525600 minutes now.

While impressive as her memory was at this point, it was a useless fact considering that there was no one here to compare memory skills with.  Infact, the parched earth itself felt monotonous, all so equally flattened, and the air so consistently lukewarm.

How did she even get here?

She had just finished a chess tournament, one of several dozens, and had easily defeated a succession of the world's 25 best computers with ease.  After flipping the table in absolute boredom, and after kicking the host in his vital point, she stormed off into the streets, as usual.

She hated her stupid medals, and she hated having to give her money away to charities she didn't want to give away to.  In fact, she had to sue the Red Cross by her little 12-year old self to get her money back.  Had they finished the research for cures on HBV, oh, she'd be PISSED.  She earned that money, and she was planning to let it sit in a room and swim in it.  She certainly had the freedom to do that.

UGH.

Well, at least here, there wasn't anyone left to take her...

...oh SHIT.  Her money.

Bonus :

To some, rank; to others, spoiled; yet still to others, most exquisitely pungent.

To Lyra, though, all she smelled was a hint of ocean breeze.  The same breeze that caused her to wipe her auburn-red hair when she bathed in the warm shafts of light above.  The very same breeze that lulled her ears into a dream that would be realized all too soon.  The very same breeze that tickled her skin as she burned her adolescence away talking with the boy she loved.  A breeze that was all too brief.

As bittersweet (with a bit of umami on the side) as the sensation was to her nose, it was delicate, and with this delicacy, came brevity.  As her vision acclimated itself with the dimness of the room, the sharp scent of alcohol, mold, and other things unspeakable in the menagerie were quick to notify the girl's nose as bluntly as they dared.

Lyra sniffed, snorted even, loudly at the rude intrusion, but showed no other signs of disgust.  After all, she had something to look forward to.

It wasn't the dank, teal floorboards or the ghastly, cerulean will-o-the-wisps cajoling about, but rather one of the room's inhabitants.  And no, it wasn't the lady-killer clinking an absinthe spoon in the middle with a vacant seat, nor was it the lavishly-dressed warriors clad in the iron of their fallen enemies, their very breaths putting ale into her tongue, nor was it the hopeful youths, dressed in oddities, that giddily chattered about their upcoming adventure as they bumped past her.

She was above those banalities; she was too divine to deign upon those subjects of pursuing legends and glory.  Quite literally, she was a goddess in disguise.  With only the fragrance of rock salt as a hint to what she truly was, few would ever guess that she was a siren, let alone the unknown, unseen deity so many others of her kind aspired to be.

Her true target, her true reason for returning, was because of another person she loved.  Transcending the love of physical and emotional values, Lyra understood this person from the conception to death and beyond, and because of this profound comprehension of the person, Lyra was able to come back into the very same room she had done a literally innumerable amount of times, no matter who was in there, no matter the smell, no matter what the room looked like, sounded like, or even felt like.

It was none other than an eccentric girl, with red hair many shades more brilliant, more scarlet than hers, with a spark of vivacity and spry youthfulness gleaming in those chartreuse pools people would dub "eyes".

This girl was busy wiping an already-pristine glass when Lyra came close, and already, all the scents of rot and ruin were absent from her nostrils.  Lyra could not care anymore about the murmurs and shifts that happened around her.

All that mattered was that Lyra had someone to return to, to make even the most disgusting places a haven for her heart.

And that was that.

Wednesday! Day three of Religion Week! Let's delve into the details of world building once more.

Your challenge of the day is ... create two opposing / warring religions. Explain the religions and why they're at war to us.

Bonus: Now, write a scene about two acolytes / young believers passionately fighting (and by that, I mean actually fighting, as in fists, staffs, knives, guns, bombs, whatever) over or, alternatively, heatedly debating their religions. Near or at the end of the scene, end the conflict between them. (I was originally going to insist you end it peacefully, but I'll let you choose.) 

(REPLY TO THIS POST WHEN YOU DO THIS EXERCISE.)

@31TeV @ecoLyte @TheNewIAP @Ogre11 @SpartacustheGreat @Morgan_R @Swiftstryker @betaband @nmelssx @Sethaniel @Malkalack @Briar_Rose @MatGods @Deathdefender @Wolfmist @bjhovey @LeoScales7 @AWarriorFan @FazzTheMan @Claw2k11 @Romulus @ISentinelPenguinI @GrottyStatute74 @WarriorCatsRPS @Confused @jamescoker1226

There are the Hulundites, the ones who believe that there is a council of gods that rule like a democracy without elections. Seven members make up the council. There are two ultimate rulers, Kairoh (the god of light) and Maliah (the goddess of darkness). Next is the trio of belief, Jorez (the god of truth), Xeq (pronounced Zek, god of lies and fiction) and Audis (goddess of mystery). Finally, the world essence, Yanesis (space) and Dobas (time), who never appear physically, but inhibit statues during meetings of the gods. Hulundites worship by building shacks, called Qera (plural) or Qu (singular) to house the gods whenever they are around. If a qu happens to fall down or is destroyed, the builder is locked away for a week, in belief that the gods were not pleased with the qu and that a week is sufficient to appease Dobas. 

Their opposition are the spacionists. They believe that long ago, one god simply named Space created everything in existence, then disappeared. Beyond this one divine appearance, they are more or less atheists. They do not worship anything, except for lords among men which they have many of, mostly just rich people. 

Bonus: (this is a medieval setting)
Koro stepped back from his creation. This was definitely the best of his many qera he had built. A sandstorm started to brew, so he started to trek out of the desert he was in. But when he turned away from his qu, he heard a rustling noise near him. Confused by this, he squinted, looking for anything suspicious. There was a shadow off in the distance, looming over a dune. The man casting this shadow looked to be coming toward Koro with a weapon in his hand. 

Oh gods, please forgive me. While the qera are very sacred places, he prayed to the sky, I need shelter. My shrine is now my refuge. May Maliah smite me. He turned away from the bulky man approaching him slowly and entered his qu. He was shivering from fear, but it didn't bother him much. What he was worried the most about was what would happen to him if he survived. One can offend a single god in an act of foolishness, but what he was doing was rude to all seven of the ones who are dangerous to anger. In his pocket, he felt a sharp object. It was a small shard of jade, green as the leaves of a flower. he disregarded this and peered out of the hut. In front of him stood a tall, burly man with a club. He wore dark colored armor and goggles to protect his eyes from the sand. There were bandages around his arm, held on by a metal brace. He looked down at the scrawny hulundite laying at his feet.

"What are you doing out in this storm?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"I-I um, should ask the s-same of you." Koro managed through his chattering teeth.

"If I am correct to assume that you are a god worshipper, then I am here to put an end to the likes of you."

"Th-that is true." he admitted. "But please give me a chance to reason with you."

"You have not long. Begin."

"Y-you see, sir, this hut here is sacred to the gods. I have built it as a shrine. So by entering this shack I have built, I have already put myself in more danger than you could give me. My fear is not you, but my rulers. While I'm breaking the no entry rule, we might as well go inside."

"Hospitality is, while unexpected, pleasant, so I will take you up on this offer." the man said, going inside. The two of them sat facing each other, the large man with his club in his hand. "I see that I do not frighten you, so while I'm here I'd like to know a bit about these gods of yours."

"Um, okay." Koro said. "There are seven gods, Yanesis and Dobas, Kairoh and Maliah, Jorez, Zek and Audis. The rule as a council in the sky. We build these huts, which we call qena, to give them shelter in their travels. That's why we're not supposed to be inside." 

"But why bother with gods, when you can just live freely, like me?" he asks. "Why don't you give up this phony little thing and I'll let you live. Deal?" he puts him hand out to shake with Koro. Taking the shard out of his pocket and hiding it in his hand, Koro reaches out toward the man. But right before their hands meet, Koro moves his hand and shoves the gem into the man's injured arm. The man howls in pain and clutched him arm. Koro grabs the man's dropped weapon and smashes his head with it. The man then falls unconscious. Slowly removing the front of the man's armor, then sinking the blade into his heart, Koro flings the man from the qu and leaves the bloody jade for the gods as proof of his victory. He then starts the trek back to his village through the blowing sand.

**Will edit and complete later**

On the continent of Lyridn, there are two drastically different religions that frequently cross paths with destructive consequences.

The first religion is called "Caramusle." Caramusle is a religion that believes in one goddess, that they typically refer to as The Grand Artist or Mother of Light and Darkness, The Grand Artist created the universe from nothing and populated it with the beings that live on it now. They say that The Grand Artist is a beautiful, stunning woman with infinite patience, wisdom, creativity, and compassion for all living things. Some of the clergy also refer to her as The Mother of All or Mother of Existence. This religion has little influence over the practioners' daily lives. Most tend to be more private with their beliefs, though some radicals do attempt to spread belief in The Grand Artist across the world.

 

The other religion has no united and agreed upon name. It is composed of the belief in many spirits and ancestor worship.

 

The year was 1895 when the first Jazz song was played. Men and women the world over were killed and/or seriously injured by the great muscial revolution that took place when the saxophone buzzed and the swingin' heartbeat took over. It was an age of joy in hard times, filled with rythm and character and good noises...

In 1931 Les Paul created the electric guitar, and as the zygote of guitar entered the 38-year-old egg of Jazz, something miraculous happened. The genre cells began dividing and dividing until something marvelous began to form.

Year by year the music changed, it evolved, it became something greater than the sum of its parts, and soon a single man stepped out of the darkness with incredible hair and a shapely face, grew a mighty voice and began to lead countless men and women to eternal glory. Forever onward would he be known as the King of Rock. Then England adapted his style, and they refined his style, and The Beatles were sent back to the holy ground on which Rock was born in order to bring sweet, sweet music to the world. Those who had followed Jazz were stunned, and many were converted to the truth, to the glory of Rock Music, and those prudes who had followed the Old Words of Orchestra and Opera were shocked and appalled as they turned their ears away and desperately tried to hide their Rock'n'Roll boners.

The revolution had begun, and it was unstoppable. Rebels tore down all that was shitty and boring, uprooted ignorance and spread their seed with freeness. They needed glorious flaming noise to express their powerful and transformational emotions, and Metal answered the call. Aerosmith came, Black Sabbath and AC/DC followed. But after many years, the terrifying hair had taken its toll, and eventually Pop had begun to form in the black blackness of disgusting musical heathenism.

By the time the 90s rolled by, Rock had lost the battle, and a pile of one-dimensional fools had crawled up from the bowels of Stupid-Hell, (Stupid-Hell is the bad hell, not the awesome badass kind that Metal songs are written about.) and began to pollute the very air that we breathe with the cacophonous cries of their fermented, yeast-infected mouth-bowels... And the people were lead astray as Rock God after Rock God slowly began to die...

Few loyal followers were strong enough to take on the overpaid shitheads, (some of which dared to make their livings off of musical sacrelige that they lacked the talent to even make for themselves!) and a war was brewing. A war between the last true believers in Musical Art, and the unwashed hordes of Musical "Expression".

Bonus: (Is there such a thing as too much dialogue? We're about to find out!)

Ax, Umlaut, Conrad, and Spoons gathered together outside the eerie art-nouveau building, filled with the thumping noises of overpumped degeneracy and the babble of idiots.

"Alright, guys." Ax said excitedly, "Who's ready to kick some ass!?"

Ax was a stocky man of 30 years, with a short beard and long, wild hair. He wore a leather jacket and the colors of his people: A Metallica T-Shirt, Aviator shades, and tight leather pants. His weapon of choice was the mighty Stratocaster, which lay strapped to his back.

"JAH!" Shouted Umlaut, a river of golden mane running down his back. There was lots of eyeliner, tattoos and piercings on this 18-year-old Norweigian. He brought with him a Megaphone and a crazy-looking guitar that looked more like a melee weapon than a musical instrument. He was dressed almost scantily, and, all in all, he looked like a tanned, Viking version of Lobo, without the beard.

"Not so loud, they might hear us!" Said Conrad. Conrad was a devout, 16-year-old fan of the Beatles, Elvis, and older jazz music. He wore ironic, thick-rimmed glasses and a khaki sweatshirt-jacket thing. His hair was of normal length, and fairly well-kempt. He brought with him a pair of drumsticks to represent his trade, since it's impossible to just drag a fucking drumset around.

"Oh... Sorree..." Umlaut said, with a crestfallen look on his face.

"Alright, let's try this again," sighed Ax, "Who's ready to kick some ass!?"

"Jass! I am!" said Umlaut.

"I'm ready, I guess."  said Conrad.

"Spoons?" asked Ax. Spoons responded only with silence.

"C'mon, Spoons, look alive, we're protecting the conceivable future of the world here!"

It was impossible for a heavily face-painted creature like Spoons to look alive, but he tried his level best as he rolled his red-contact-lensed eyes up to the sky above him (and then back down to his black, knee-high boots with metal plates for buttons, which would get any white person kicked out of the Holocaust museum for suspected Neo-Nazism.) and sighed, crossing his cut-filled arms.

"We're saving a dark, cold place underneath the unrelenting black sun of death by disgracing the soil beneath us with the blood of the retarded. I see no point in defending it."

"If we win this battle, I assure you, the world will be a much brighter place."

"And that's supposed to be a good thing?"

"Look, when the world is saved, you can have any amount of lighting you want."

"Deal."

"Now, are you ready to kick some ass?"

"They will know the pain and blackness and turbulence of my highly complex soul when I'm done with them."

"Close enough, what's our game plan, then?"

"I sink ve should send in Conrad first. He looks just like von uf zem." Said Umlaut.

"Hey," cried Conrad, "I take offense to that!"

"But ees true!" Umlaut insisted.

"Well, when we invade the Dubstep Convention we'll send you in first!"

"But I dun't luk like a Dubstep."

"You do, a little!"

"Shut up, you two," Said Ax, "We're not raiding those guys. We made peace with them a long time ago. It's the ungodly things in this building that we need to clear out."

"Alright, fine, I'll go in first and let you guys in..."

"Sounds like a plan."

And so, over the course of the next few minutes, Conrad successfully infiltrated the club, brought himself to burst a guard's jugular with his drumstick, and thus gained access to the backmost garage door, where his compatriots were waiting for him.

"What took you so long, Conrad? We almost thought you converted!" Ax said, as they stepped into the dark, light-flashy part of the club.

"Do you know how hard it is to assassinate a 300 pound man in a suit with a pair of drumsticks without anybody seeing?"

"Hardcore, man. That's what metalheads live for."

"I'd think so. Shall we begin the raid?"

"Yeah, let's raid this rave!"

Everyone got into their positions. Conrad would handle all the melee combat by getting into the middle of the dance floor. Umlaut guarded the first exit, guitar at the ready, and Spoons guarded the other... And Ax would take care of that fucking DJ once and for all!

Carefully sneaking up behind the bastard who allowed such horrible sounds to burst from the speakers like Hitler's Syphillitic diarrhea, Ax raised his stratocaster up high and literally blew him, (And his DJ table) off of the stage with a flash of righteous Metal flames as his power chord blasted from his guitar and shook the very walls. Throwing the clubbers into a panic, and as the cowardly horde members who were unwilling to fight flooded towards the main exit, Umlaut was ready.

The viking of Norweigian Black Metal raised his own guitar and performed a face-melting solo so incredibly extreme, that their faces didn't simply melt, but were flaming, and exploding into chunky tomato-sauce blood like that one scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark. When those who survived the lightning bolts and twisting flames went towards the other exit, where Spoons screamed the Emo Death Scream of a thousand castrated gothic demons, the last thing every one of those pop-loving heathens felt was the pain of their ears filling with a soup of burst-eardrum blood as their brains liquefied section by section.

Those who were brave enough to do battle, (or just horrified by the display of Rock's undeniable and undefyable power) hoarded into the middle, where he was ready to dispatch them with drumsticks and kung-fu. Conrad, praying to the Rock Gods for all he was worth, was filled with the combat experience of all other early rock warriors before him.

The tactical and martial genius of Sergeant Pepper the Nazi Slayer had imbued itself within him as he smashed infidel skull after infidel skull, deconstructing groins and caving in ribcages as his limbs swung with the force of Maxwell's Silver Hammer. He was the Walrus, and he was ready to challenge the world!

But something was wrong... It seemed that they had weapons of their own. Suddenly, the Dj, getting up, pressed a button, the speakers turned 'round and bass-blasted Ax into the wall behind him. Ax was pinned, unable to power-chord the DJ and keep him from spewing his musical vomit.

Umlaut was attacked from behind by an angry, purple-haired cosplayer-type with a very loud synthesizer, and a section of the horde turned to Spoons and countered his screams with repettitive chorusses so annoying that his own ears began to bleed, no matter how much he screamed in an attempt to cancel them out.

And Conrad... Well, Conrad was confronted by someone all too familiar...

"Mandie?" He said to his girlfriend, in utter shock as he froze mid-swing, "What are you doing here!?"

"I... I tried to break it to you gently..."

"But... But..."

"I know... And I know what you have to do... All I ask is that you do it quickly and make sure the other two guys don't melt my corpse..."

"No.. I can't do this!"

"You have to. It's too late for me!"

"I won't!"

The horde around them had left them to discuss this, as they were busy attacking the soon-to-be-overwhelmed Umlaut and Spoons.

"CONRAD!" Shouted Ax over the blasting bass of bastardliness as the damnable DJ daringly flayed him to fuck with terrible techno tones, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!? HELP US!"

"I... CAN'T!" Shouted Conrad, weeping, "I FUCKING CAN'T!"

"YOU MUST!" Ax screamed, "YOU ARE ROCK'S ONLY HOPE!"

Spoons screamed one final time as his chest was blown open and his unbeating heart was chewed out by an army of Beliebing teenagers, Umlaut's fingers began to burn as he struggled to keep the synth-y asshole at bay.

"STOOOOP!" cried an oddly familiar voice... And suddenly, all the music in the room was silenced. All combattants sank to the floor.

Willie Nelson, descending from the heavenly light of one of the glow sticks on the ceiling, stood over them, his eyes filled with pity and grief, "This is seriously the stupidest war I've ever seen. Why're you killing each other over it!?"

"BECAUSE POP MUSIC IS THE CAUSE OF THE DOWNFALL OF SOCIETY!" Screamed Ax.

"JAH!" Screamed Umlaut in hearty agreement.

"Isn't that what people said about Rock years ago?" Willie said, struggling to comprehend their rage, "Listen, boys... You've become so wrapped up in your own anger that I think you've forgotten what music is really about."

"It's about hedonism! And sex!" barked one of the people in the Belieber horde, spitting out Spoons' evil aorta.

"NO!" Shouted Ax, "Music is about glorious riffs and delicious beats!"

"No, you fools." Said Willie, "Music was invented millions of years ago. The first ever beat came from people just walking together. In ancient China, people in monasteries sang with one another in order to assist in transcendance. Can't you see? Music is about togetherness. Harmony! It's the one universal language, give or take a few messy interpretation jobs."

"I thought that the Stop Sign was universal too, though..." Ax said, dejectedly, grasping for reeds.

"Nope, there's a few different kinds. I hear Japan uses a triangle one." said Willie.

Suddenly, torn and melted bodies began rebuilding themselves throughout the club. Wounds healed, and eardrums started beating again.

"Now you kids have fun." Willie said, "And for the love of all things holy, stop killing each other."

And with that, Willie Nelson dissappeared into the shadows of the club.

Solari and the Frigus.

Two distinct subraces of the same species, both eerily human in appearance, though their capabilities extended much farther beyond the mortal man's.  Though both were created by the fire-blooded Wyvern, one of the few Aulde Gods, the Solari had been struck by something along the lines of foolery, led by the accidental creation of the Wyvern himself.

And now they were in war.  One faction believed they were descendants of a sun god, a deity nonexistent and feeble as light itself, and that it was their duty to destroy their cousins that lived high up...secluded.  The other side fortified themselves with the protection of their own living, in-the-flesh avatar...the first being that wasn't a god, and yet could still do every single thing a god would had arisen.

The Wyvern's Spawn, the Prophet...he went by many names, but all knew him by the lineage of queens that took his name : Vedrisca.  Vedrisca, the First.  He was the one to bring about the channeling of the dragons' breath, he the first to carve stone in such ways so nothing, not even the test of time itself, could best the craft.

There was no way the Solari, who all brandished fire that burned uncontrollably, could conquer a place with so little to burn.

As the first year wore on, the winner became apparent.  The fake god and the accidental, so-called prophetess was reported to have died in a duel with the Wyvern's Spawn, but lingering sentiments still exist.

Bonus :

"You're a liar!"

"No, you are!"

A blonde hair, blue-eyed girl with skin likened to snow was wrestling with a younger boy with much more bronze skin, and like his contrasted complexion to her, also had dark hair and eyes.  They both wore simple white clothing, she a dress and he a suit, accented with red dragon motifs, though the boy had stitched a golden sun on top instead.

The two children, numbering the equivalent of 9 and 8 in our own years, finally tipped over into a bed of grass, rolling as though two crocodiles had embraced each other in a death-lock.  They spun left and right, twisting and contorting their waists to whip back against the opponent.  Though the girl was older, she was rivaled in strength to the boy.  One could tell in her gentle features she wasn't fit to fight, and yet her wits kept her in stalemate.  His anger and instinctive movements kept his half up to par.

And for a moment, he exceeded her as he jammed his knee into her diaphragm and straddled himself on top of her, before dropping his arm on her throat.  Before he could choke her out, though, he was slapped on both ears, and then struck on the left brow.  The disorientation gave the girl a chance to deliver a powerful palm strike to his throat, further dizzying him before she straddled herself on top of him.

With her weight in her legs pressed down on his arms, he could do little as they both panted.

"...there is no Sun God," she panted, raising a hand to slap him.

The boy shook his head, and wriggled his arms from under her legs and over his face to protect himself.

Just before she could drop her hand, a larger hand, pale yet roughened, grabs her wrist.  The two turn to see a woman just as pale as the girl, with hair and eyes as dark as the boy.

And the two children froze in despair.

"Up.  Now," the woman commands.  Despite this, the girl did little to help herself as she was lifted strongly off of her rival, allowing him to scramble onto his feet.  Both of their faces were apprehensive as the girl hovered slightly above the ground by her wrist.

"...the patch.  Off."

The boy tore off the sun from his dragon insignia, and offered it to the lady.  With a flicking motion, the symbol burned into flames.  Satisfied with a twitch in her eye, the woman scratched her neck, or rather, the exposed flesh underneath a thick, black-violet collar.  She dropped the girl, and let her own hands rest to her sides.

"Wash yourself off."

"Yes, mothe-" the girl attempted, but was stopped by a frightening glare from the woman.

"You are no daughter of mine, so long as you have his hair and his eyes.  Just as spoiled rotten as the worm was, every part of you!"

Without warning, the girl was slapped back-handed on the cheek, and her brother was fore-handed on the face right after.

"And you!  Almost like me, but lacking everything I could hope for in a son!  A temper of a woman!  What say you for this?!"

"The anger of being told I was wro-"

*Slap*

"YOU!"

*SLAP*

"ARE!"

*SLAP*

"WRONG!  That is all that matters, you fool!  There is no Sun God, and there certainly are no followers.

Unless you listen to these words, you are no son of mine.  I know for a fact you are certainly no son of your father's either."

The boy nodded, his left cheek bleeding slightly from the woman's fingernail.

"Help this...thing cleanse herself, now.  She's to be presented at the Peak."

The woman gesured to the girl, and the boy took his sister by her hand, towards a white house half a mile back, sullen and ashamed that his own mother, the ultimate prize captured by the Wyvern's spawn, had already lost hope.  She was said to be so full of hope and joy, and yet...now she was nothing more than a cruel governess.

Order of the Scales: This was a group founded before the dawn of civilization, who used its connection with the Goddesses in order to create an organized coalition of those beings touched by divine forces. According to legend, a young woman named Mara was the founder of the Order.

Originally a tribes woman, she usually assisted the males of the Kelnor (seeing as how she was the chief’s mate) in hunting, and tended to the other women and children as a kind of role model. Her routine life changed however, when the group went to take on a newly found creature within the depths of off the Reyvak tribe’s valley.  Supposedly, this creature was one of unimaginable power, which had the ability to call upon lightning as a weapon, and could destroy a mountain with its hoof.

For the sake of glory and reward, the Kelnors, famous for their feats in total warfare, decided to challenge the beast. Upon arriving, they found that the beast was the height of ten men, and had the build of five oxen, with a set of hooves, claws, and horns to match. One by one, the Kelnors fell as the slaughter ensued, and the Kelnors resorted to luring the beast out the valley and away from the Reyvaks. After some time and losing more of its number, the tribe was reduced to Mara, the chief, her newborn child, and two other men.

Fleeing for their lives, the men fled with the newborn son, and left Mara to die by the hands of the beast. In what she believed were her final moments, Mara cursed her cowardly tribesmen and wished for the life of her newborn baby, whom she desired to see as a grown man. At that moment, the beast was reduced to ashes in a burst of flame, and a divine being descended from the sky. In return for saving her life, the Goddess (as she would later learn it was female) demanded that she take its place as the newest Dius, so that it may be released from its mortal-form. Mara accepted the request, along with the powers of the previous Goddess.

These powers, as the strongest Dius, included omnipotence, the power of fire, and super strength. The drawback to these powers, however, was that she could only truly ascend to the heights of the Goddesses by finding four unique individuals with high spiritual aura, and making them her servants, in order to draw upon the power needed to attain divinity. If a Dius is not able to attain divinity, then it must pass on its powers to the person with the next highest spiritual aura, and relinquish all hopes of Goddess-hood.  

Knowing what she had to do, Mara spent many years, and eventually decades gathering the people she needed. In the process, she would gather large crowds and followings willing to make her desires come true. By the time Mara gathered the much needed energy to ascend, she had reached an age of 93 years, and was incredibly sick. In her dying moments, her servants managed to make her a full Dius, and as a reward, she gave each of the four servants control over certain latent abilities, and made them the Grandmasters of her following. These Grandmasters would then form the Order of the Scales, and lead the group against the only perceived threat to the Goddesses and their will for peace: the Order of the Nature.

The Order of Nature: This was a group founded slightly before the founding of the Scales group, and stems from the path of the Mara’s quest. This Order was actually founded by an older man named Artem, who is also the son of Mara.

After the chief and the other tribesmen managed to flee with the baby from the monster that had been attacking the Reyvaks, the band regrouped in the nearby woods, using the chief’s wife as a distraction to buy them time for a strategy of attack. Unbeknownst to the other men however, the chief was the one who released the beast onto the world, in order to try and defeat with his tribe and boost his reputation. Unfortunately, the records left behind in the form of pictures by the last people to seal the beast did not properly demonstrate the monster’s true might, and the Kelnor massacre was the subsequent result.

Realizing that the chance of their survival was fairly low, the chief decided to use his club and beat the other men to death, saving them from a slow, agonizing death. Although he and his son were about to follow a similar fate by his own hands, he managed to see the bolt of lightning, as well as the cries of the beast that followed. Upon reflecting over his misdeeds, he decided to trace his steps back to the place where the bolt had landed. It was then when the chief saw Mara and her newfound powers. Angry over his cowardice, and envious of her new abilities, he hatched a plan; he would raise Artem (after the word in their language for lightning bolt- Tetrartem) into the mightiest warrior in Kelnor history, and have him challenge the Goddess.

Years passed, as did decades, and Artem grew into a man of prodigious strength and intellect, wrought from a life of hardship and challenges. Before dying, Artem’s father has passed on the secrets on how to find other demons and their hiding places. It was only a matter of time before Artem would unseal and bind the souls of thirteen demons to his body and soul-becoming a demon lord and hive-mind. However, that did not mean that he sought to throw the world into chaos. Using his strong moral code (despite the lies imprinted into him by his father), he subjugated the demons to his will, along with their minions (granted, the latter took the majority of his life) and unlike the Goddesses, strove to have demons, humans, and Goddesses live in harmony.

At the age of 67 years, Artem had gathered a following, with the original thirteen demons taking hosts in order to manifest their powers (without harming the humans, of course), and formed the Order of Nature. In time, though it would try to promote unity between all of the races and beings in the world, the Order of Scales would come to claim their order as one of heresy, and the mere trickery of demons.

(I shall post the bonus early tomorrow morning, because I was very busy today.)

Busy week, so I need to catch up! Writing machine, here I come, monkeys, start typing!

The opposing factions:

The black shoes and the brown shoes. No, really. Each faction believes that it is heresy to wear shoes of the other color. In fact, people believe that when others wear a different color shoes that they are purposefully showing off and flaunting their god's power. This is a big deal in this society, and the different factions live on opposite sides of the town. Oh, and there is no middle ground -- you either wear black shoes or you wear brown shoes. There are simply no other options.

There is a short stone wall, about two feet tall, that runs down the middle of the town. There are a couple of places in the wall that are openings where people could, in theory, walk through and traverse from one side to the other, but no one can remember the last time something like that happened. After all, what color shoes would such a person wear? If you wear black shoes, you stay on your side of the wall, period.

Bonus:

Jim looked down at his wonderfully polished black shoes and declared to the crowd, "This is it! We simply cannot have those heretics of the brown shoes to exist any longer! We must put a stop to them here and now. Today it ends!"

The crowd cheered mightily and raised their fists in anger. Jim started purposefully walking towards the wall. As he was approaching it, he could see another crowd gathered on the other side with their loafers and brown wing-tip shoes. The anger welled up in him as he reached the wall. He jumped up on the short wall, looked back at his followers, then yelled across the wall, "Enough with the brown shoes! Black shoes forever!"

With that he jumped down from the wall and started running through brown town. He punched a man in the face and the man with brown shoes fell to the ground. He saw a woman in a dress with brown sandals walking out of a bakery and he slammed his elbow into her cheek. Ahead there were two children playing wearing brown kids shoes. He kicked them as he ran past.

Everywhere in the streets was chaos. Men, women, and children were fighting. There was blood running along the edges of the roads. There were screams and grunts of pain. Jim had one man by the neck and kicked towards another. When he did, his finely polished black shoe flew off and through the air. Time seemed to slow down as those around him saw that he had simple, normal feet. A man standing by with a brown shoe reached down and took off his shoe, showing the same foot. The fighting suddenly ended as each man looked at one another and their feet. They slowly walked towards each other and held out their arms for a hug. They embraced for a moment. Then Jim kneed him in the nads. The man bent over in pain and Jim's black shoe team continued their assault.

In the end, the brown shoes were completely and utterly defeated. The black shoes all returned to their homes and let the brown shoe side of town crumble, satisfied that they had done as they should and that no heathens would be ever found in this town again with those horrible brown shoes.

The creature dwarfed the young man, standing roughly ten feet tall. Brass adornments fall on strings off of it, and it's whirring metal armor causes it to have an appearance roughly akin to a metal cyclone. It stands on four legs, two of which are propelled by steam-engines. It boasts a massive forge-hammer in one hand, which stands almost as tall as it is. The massive machine-man spat out a harsh burst of code, a song of praise to the Machine God. 

Standing opposite, was a young lad in armor. His only protection against swords and arrows was rusty, and beaten down. Blood trickled down his face, and he stood upon a mountain of forsaken machinery. His sword was chipped and battered, a testament to fighting metal automatons. "The Seven will smite you, unclean machine!" He hisses, leaning on his weapon. The machine didn't respond. 

"Aeballa, Lady of the Night, guide me!" He pleads, to no avail. "Malkalack, Lord of the Hunt, steady my hand!" He tries once more, and his prayers fall on deaf ears. 

"Your gods aren't real." The machine chides, before swinging the hammer into his chest. The boy sails into the air, before coming to a halt. The sounds of cracking bones fill his ears. 

"Fahraengarr, God of Madness! Deceive his senses!" He begs. "Alakus, Maiden of Sensation! Take the pain away so I may continue to fight!" The youth's voice begins to crack, as the machine approaches him. It places a massive foot on his chest, and begins to crush the life out of him. 

"Zeres, King of All Gods! I pra-" His last desperate plea is interrupted by a metal foot going through his ribcage in a gory explosion. The machine grabs his head, and lifts his corpse high in the air, gloating over his dead corpse. 

Thursday! Day four of Religion Week! I just want to pause to say that I appreciate anyone referring new or old members to these exercises. Your participation has been great and it's a highlight of my day to see all the awesome stuff you guys come up with. Keep it up! :D

Today's exercise is "character creation"! I love these, honestly. We have two of them this week, so there's a little heads-up for y'all. The challenge is: Create a saint for one of your religions. Make a detailed bio (aka "profile") for them and explain how they reached sainthood.

Bonus: write a scene about their greatest accomplishment and its effects on believers and/or the world at large.  

(REPLY TO THIS POST WHEN YOU DO THIS EXERCISE.)

@31TeV @ecoLyte @TheNewIAP @Ogre11 @SpartacustheGreat @Morgan_R @Swiftstryker @betaband @nmelssx @Sethaniel @Malkalack @Briar_Rose @MatGods @Deathdefender @Wolfmist @bjhovey @LeoScales7 @AWarriorFan @FazzTheMan @Claw2k11 @Romulus @ISentinelPenguinI @GrottyStatute74 @WarriorCatsRPS @Confused @jamescoker1226 @pinkalily21

File type: .MP3

Source: CIA Bug placed in the IPIM building: Auditorium, 9:00 PM Central, August 20th, 20??

Speaker: Unknown, presumably an authority.

*Press Play*

The scientists call it Gideon Syndrome...

It's when a person gets so close to God- Or whatever you prefer to call it - during a prayer or a service that... impossible things just start happening...

It happened first happened to an Irish meat packer in 1920. He caught his hand in the sausage machine, which chewed it clean off. He dislocated his arm pulling the wrist free. And in minutes, he was replaced by another poor immigrant. The guy cried and screamed, and then started praying as overseers dragged him out.

The next day, he returned, both arms as intact as the day he first started working for him. He stood outside the doors, proclaiming that he had a message from god. A very out-of-character move, the plant owner called him to come up to his office. Something in his voice was wavery, threatened, even.

When the police opened the office up three days later, the man was gone, and the plant owner  had a shortsword in his stomach, stabbed clear through to the spine.

We here at the International Paranormal Investigation Ministry call this the Ehud event, and many more followed. A seal clubber has a revelation, and kills 130 of his coworkers with a cattleprod. An African warlord abandons his peace treaties with other warlords and goes out to destroy them, performing miracles in the process. A teenager in Stalin-era Russia walks out of a church, kills 200 Secret Police with his executed father's jawbone, and nearly tears down the Kremlin with his bare hands before the bullet-wounds get to him.

The list goes on. The important thing is, that we keep ALL of these things from getting to the public. Burn all the records, and keep all eyewitnesses from talking. God knows what kind of creepo-cults and maniacs we're gonna have on our hands if any of these get loose.

St. Leone of the Hearth was among the first of the High Priests under the Sun God's Order.  A humble man at heart, mind, and soul, Leone grew up on the Southwest Coast of Trovostria travelling from community to community, helping others master their own usage of Fire.  He himself was admittedly not a good wielder, but his efforts and ingenuity with such little skill had earned him his title.

For example, he averted a wildfire by creating a trail of fuel off to the side of the village within the span of half an hour before it reached the settlements by a method he dubbed selective burning, a technique he reported to have learned while observing a hearth.  Hence, his first thaumaturgy had earned him his name.

He was then reported to have then go onto a succession of various other good deeds, all by the usage of fire, such as hardening tar pits throughout the East Coast, and eventually invented cauterization, a medical technique that saved countless lives during the War.

Bonus :

His greatest act, though, was when he learned to fly against the Wyvern's Spawn and engage him in one on one combat.  He was able to provide enough time for the Solari army to flee before he fell in battle with a stab through his heart.  The Prophetess then re-learned this technique to use for mountain rescues in future battles, while at home this was applied to provide warmth during stormy days without exerting too much energy.  To this day, Solari rescue workers are the preferred distress force in natural disasters, all attributing their ability to float up the cliffsides to the Saint of the Hearth.  Through ingenuity and prowess, what little fire he could control gave the Solari almost total victory over the Pale (derogatory name for the Frigus).  Today, Solari households are powered by pipelines using the heated air technique, powering automatic light for all around, as well as air conditioning.

Saint Henry of the Blood is sacred to the Coven of the Dead, as he led them out of the Age of Light. When he came upon a small group of vampires, instead of pulverising them as instructed, he became one of them. He allowed them to destroy the tyranny of the Sun, ending the Age of the Living. Since then, vampirism has run unchecked, and the age of Vampires has long since begun. Henry  of the Blood allowed for Man to end. 

========

The massive hammer absolutely crushed the feeble wizard's head, and blood spewed onto Henry. He grunted as he hefted the  thing onto his shoulder once more, and continued his trek for liberty for his people. From where he stood, he could see the massive beacon of light firing into the sky, producing Vern's only source of light, and the thing that keeps vampires oppressed. If he could only destroy the beacon, he could free his people. It was roughly fifteen feet ahead, and he had just slain the last guard. Corpses littered the ground around him. 

Without thinking, Henry bent over and bit the old man's throat. His juices dribbled out, allowing Henry to revitalize himself as the viscera dribbled down his chin. He walked closer to the beacon, groaning as the sunlight burned him. However, the essence from the old man allowed him to keep going. Soon, he stood on the edge of a massive pit. Inside of it, was an enormous crystal, placed there by the gods at the inception of the world to keep the creatures of the night at bay. Soon, that will change. He mustered his courage, and leaped at it .

He brought the hammer down with all his momentum, cracking the glass. He applied every ounce of magical energy he had, draining his very life force to destroy it. Henry let out a scream as the dome erupted, incinerating everything for miles. 

And then... Darkness. Darkness and the sounds of ten thousand people screaming. 

(My exercise and bonus are combined, once again.)

Daphne, waiting for the lecture on Order history to begin, sat patiently along with the rest of the men and women who decided to arrive early at the lecture hall. Considering the fact that this is a religious-history class, she was surprised that many people had even shown up. In recent decades, many proud believers were led astray by the foul demons of TON, and even more have become apathetic to Mara’s once valiant cause.

Soon enough, the lecture hall falls silent as one of the most famous professors and preachers of the last decade walks into the room, and ready to deliver a grand lecture.

“Hello and good day to you all. As you all may know-and even you don’t-my name is Walton Cane. I am here today because the doddering old fool who was originally supposed to give the lecture on Early Order history quit his job yesterday. Oh well…”

Of course, such a response would garner intense reactions, from the typical gasps to the radical shouts of contempt to Mr. Cane for his blatant disrespect of our previous professor.

“Calm down, you all; there’s no need to be sore about the whole thing. Besides, you should be grateful for what I have in store. It’s better than the three hour snooze-fest the old man was going to present.

“Anyway, my lecture is far more relevant to your everyday lives, and it only discusses one person. Today, we shall discuss Gideon Maxwell, the 17th Grandmaster and pioneer of the modern Order. All of you already know that he is considered one the few people touched by an ACTUAL Dius, not just by a previous Grandmaster.

“He was born approximately one hundred and fifty-five years after the initial founding of the Order of the Scales. Growing up in the remote village of York, Gideon was born into a peasant family with an older sister and brother. Although he was indeed the youngest, the young boy would quickly prove himself to be one of extraordinary intellect. It is said that by modern day standards, he could think with the capacity of ten geniuses combined. He was also fairly adept in anything related to agriculture, and was born with charisma that could strike up friendships in moments.

“Unfortunately, his life was filled with the hardships brought by our Order’s conflicts and skirmishes with the demons at the time. In one of the more important-strategically-battles that occurred, York was caught in the cross-fire, and the village was reduced to ashes. With the loss of his family weighing heavily on his heart and convictions, Gideon swore to take revenge on not one, but BOTH parties for their misdeeds.

“For the next five years, in order to fight against both the Order and TON, he trained diligently in both mortal and magical/demonic fighting arts. By the end of his training, he was a master of hand to hand combat, swords, axes, spears, and magic. It was around this point when he began his life as a mercenary by both sides, and garnered the nickname of “Demon Monk.” As the Demon Monk, Maxwell earned a reputation for his almost complete shift in personalities during combat; he often went from a cheerful, wise ascetic to the ruthless and dreaded hunter in a flash.

“But one day, his life changed at the famous Battle of Zakrai, where he was hired by the demons and paid handsomely to help their minions slaughter the rowdy Order members causing problems in one of the TON-allied cities. Leading an army of 20,000 demons, he charged into the city with sword raised high, ready to slay the 30,000 targets. At first, he was successful. Catching the Order of the Scales men off-guard, the demons gave the mortals little time to prepare for battle, and had killed about 8,000 by the time they WERE ready to fight. But soon, both sides were forced into a bloody deadlock, until each one was left with 14,000 soldiers. Realizing the potential outcome of such a costly conflict, TON and the Order arranged for a compromise to end Zakrai’s suffering: the Demon Monk would face off against one Grandmaster, and whomever succeeded would decide the results.

“And so, they fought long and hard. Gideon barely did any damage to the Grandmaster, and Gideon also remained relatively unharmed. But at some point, Gideon dropped his guard (the reason of which is still unknown), and the Grandmaster nearly killed him; however, the Order member spared his life, which provoked the demons into a rage. Filled with anger and hatred over their loss, they tried to attack the mortals anyway. Gideon, ashamed of the dishonor shown by the demons, wished to stop the demons, only to remember that little strength remained within his body. Sacrificing his pride and goals, he prayed that whatever divine being had prompted the Grandmaster to spare his life would also grant him the strength to defend the Order members. Hearing Gideon’s plight, Mara herself heeded his call, and bestowed upon his the powers of a Grandmaster for a short time (being blessed as a saint in the process). He slaughtered the remaining 14,000 demons, and joined the order, where he was made a true Grandmaster, and gave the ‘true believers’ another bright light in the hope for the future.”

By the time Mr. Cane finished his speech, he took the time to take a brief break in pace to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. By that time, the entire lecture hall was heavily invested into his story and on the edges of their seats. It was then when Daphne spoke up, drawing all of the stares in the room. “So, Mr. Cane, what happened afterwards?”

“Well, he helped to develop the Order of the Scales into its modern style, with five Grandmasters instead of four. He was also, despite some dissent from the other masters, the one who began and encouraged the movement of tolerance for demons within the Order. However, at some point, he left his Grandmaster position by simply leaving his post. Though he still retains his authority, powers and seat as a Grandmaster, nobody knows where he currently resides. However, because a Grandmaster cannot die without his powers leaving a sign for the other masters, he must still be alive and well, though well over 100 years old.

“I hope you all enjoyed the lecture. I hope to continue teaching such an interested crowd in the future!”

Soon after Walton Cane said his goodbyes, the lecture hall cleared out, and Daphne was one of the last few to leave, eventually following Mr. Cane outside.

It was there when she said, “Goodbye, Mr. Cane! Have a good evening!”

“You too young lady. Get along now before it gets dark.”

And as soon as she blinked, the young professor smiled. For a second, it appeared as though he became much older, and then completely disappeared…like magic. 

Saint Shinyboots was well-known throughout the land of the black shoes. Oh, there were few people who had actually seen him, but some claim to have caught glimpses of those shiny black boots he owned.

Most people did not have the money to afford nice shoes. Oh, they made sure the shoes they did have were black, whether they were athletic shoes, sandals, or regular shoes. But very few people could afford more than just one pair of shoes, or even a pair of nice shoes. But everyone knew about that one person, Saint Shinyboots, who had this giant pair of black boots. Some people claimed they were size 13, or even 14. Those boots went halfway up his calf, had fancy black stitching, and were always shiny. No one else in all of the city had any boots like that.

Saint Shinyboots actually was short. That's why he had created those boots -- he just wanted to look taller to impress Jenny. He spent years in his workshop making those boots, saving and spending all his earnings on those boots to get them just right. And he obviously had succeeded, but so well that he quickly became much more well-known than he had wanted. Most of the time now he just left his shiny boots in the closet -- perfectly shined, but out of sight. Usually he would take them out and walk around town at night, just because the boots felt so nice.

Bonus: write a scene about their greatest accomplishment and its effects on believers and/or the world at large.

BONUS:

One night when Saint Shinyboots was talking around, he decided to head on over to The Wall. Yes, the short wall that divided the brown shoes from the black shoes. He walked up to the wall and looked around. He didn't see anyone walking around on either side of the wall. He decided to do something that no one had done in recent memory -- he was going to go up on the wall.

Now the wall was only a couple feet high, and a foot or two wide, but it was made of solid stone. Everyone knew that people with black shoes stayed on their side and people with brown shoes stayed on their side. But the wall? No one remembers who built it, but it was built to keep the sides apart.

Saint Shinyboots really didn't care about all that, he just thought it would be neat to walk on the wall with his shiny boots. So up he scrambled, and he stood looking around. It wasn't that much of an increase in view, but it was nice. He started walking down along the wall and his boot heels clicked on the wall. He was mostly watching over to the black shoes side, because that's the area he knew. He walked between buildings and houses, and through open spaces. As he walked, those boots shined brightly in the moonlight.

Unbeknownst to Saint Shinyboots, a number of people saw his boots on both sides of the wall. They could not recognize him, but the sign of those shiny boots walking on top of that wall was a message to both sides. The black shoes side felt it was a sign that they were right, and they were more powerful than the brown shoes. Many people attribute the appearance of the shiny boots on the wall as the spark that really got the black shoes rebellion in full swing.

Friday! As promised, one more character creation exercise for this week:

From your previous religion or from a new one, invent a god. Make a full bio for us. Name, age (if they are ageless, how long have they been worshipped / acknowledged by mortals?) gender, familial connections if they have any, weaknesses if they have any, their duties, how they are worshipped, and their powers in detail.

Bonus: Write a scene from their perspective about a day in their life. Do they have rivals? Enemies? Bothersome followers? Is their existence sweet bliss? A never ending power-trip? A life of diligence? A life of luxury? Pure torture? Concerning the world around them, are they creative, destructive, active, or indifferent?

(REPLY TO THIS POST WHEN YOU DO THIS EXERCISE.)

@31TeV @ecoLyte @TheNewIAP @Ogre11 @SpartacustheGreat @Morgan_R @Swiftstryker @betaband @nmelssx @Sethaniel @Malkalack @Briar_Rose @MatGods @Deathdefender @Wolfmist @bjhovey @LeoScales7 @AWarriorFan @FazzTheMan @Claw2k11 @Romulus @ISentinelPenguinI @GrottyStatute74 @WarriorCatsRPS @Confused @jamescoker1226 @pinkalily21

Jim is the god of brown shoes. He is 31 years old as of last Tuesday.

Mostly Jim just sits around. He is worshipped by people wearing brown shoes. Actually, he gets a percentage take from the sales of brown shoes, which is why he is the brown shoes god.

He doesn't have any family, he just sort of is. Strangely enough, he usually wears large black shoes. He gets them by spending the money he gets from the sales of brown shoes. He just prefers black shoes, so that's what he buys.

The people worshipping him, think that he demands brown shoes, and he is okay with that as long as they keep buying the brown shoes. Those that sell the brown shoes just know they're supposed to put a certain percentage in the god box, which Jim empties out once a week when no one is looking.

Bonus:

Jim woke up in the morning and looked down at his black slippers. He liked to sleep in black slippers. He sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes. He let the slippers fall off his feet and he shoved his feet into some nice, shiny black shoes. He held his leg up and looked at the shoes. He liked those black shoes.

He got up and got dressed, then headed out into town. He stepped behind the butcher's store and moved towards The Wall. He looked around to ensure no one was watching, and then he slipped through the space in the wall. He carefully moved down the streets, making sure no one would spot him or his shoes. Then he reached the god box and slipped open the secret bottom. A pile of coins dropped out and he grabbed them up off the ground, while watching around furtively. When he had them all, he slipped the box closed and walked away.

He made his way back to the other side of the wall and started whistling a tune. It was a good haul this week. He might have enough to afford a new pair of black boots...

God and Progenitor of the Frigus, Wyvern

[To be edited, do not reply.]

Two gods from my Wednesday entry, Kairoh and Mailiah, had a child one day. This was the god of balance, Conlis. He is also the god of sunrises and sunsets, ties/draws and equality. In the world where Hulundism exists, the years are counted as every 2 earth years since the date of the earliest found artifact. This is called 'the creation', and the present would be at about (c for creation) C1372. Conlis was born during C736, under the first quarter moon. Conlis is genderless (but uses male pronouns). As stated above, Kairoh and Maliah are his parents. He has two siblings, Jorez and Xeq. He despises gloating, cheating and deceit. This makes him generally dislike Xeq, who does all three of these constantly. His responsibilities include deciding fights between the gods, calling the verdict on tie council votes, and he is the judge at the godly court. His powers include being able to clear his mind instantly to resolve any problem, insanely precise and selective hearing to remember what people have said and the ability to be injured and incapacitated so that he can compete fairly with mortals.

Bonus: (a more modern setting, around C1351)
"Welcome, everyone, to the thirty-first annual International Rings Tournament, or IRT-XXI! Playing in today's semi-final match are the Knights versus the Frosters! In this heated match, we will see if the long time champions, the Knights, will finally be defeated by the new team, the Frosters, who have miraculously made it this far in their first season! Oh, here the players come!" the announcer continued to ramble about some other players as Connor Pollis made his way onto the field. Unknown to anyone but himself, he was a little less than human. He was Conlis, the god of balance. For some reason he had been drawn to this new starting team, since they were doomed to be horrible in their first year. Even though it was filled with horrible sportsmanship and people lacking in ability, this assumed rookie athlete was drafted onto the team and encouraged the whole team to do their best and become just as good as the other teams. Now, they were in the semi-finals with only five losses throughout the season. They were at risk of being eliminated by a six-time champion in the league. Having lost three of their five losses to them, the whole team was on edge. But Conlis was determined to help the team win. All of a sudden, he heard the announcer again.

"... and there goes Connor Pollis! He's one of the star players of the Frosters. Said to be a great inspiration by his peers and a great threat by his enemies, fans are hoping he can help carry the team to the finals. He'll be one to watch, of course..."

That's what he liked to hear. All of a sudden, the whistle blew. Connor sprinted over to the middle of the field for the decision. This was where the team who was first alphabetically would call a coin flip to decide who got the ball first. Meeting the captain of the other team at the center line, the official came over.

"Frosters, your team gets the pick. Heads or tails?"

"Heads." Conlis chose confidently. To keep even more equality, Connor always chose heads when he got to choose to even the odds from game to game. The coin flew through the air, landing in the palm of the official. It was tails. "Oh well," he sighed. "Should be a good game anyway."

The two teams took their positions around the field. The whistle was blown, and the opposing team had the ball. Up by the left hoop, the striker from their team took a shot, but the Froster's keeper blocked it with ease. Connor snatched the ball and bolted down the field. Nobody could touch him, He ran up next to the keeper and threw it around his back. The ball bounced off the rim of the hoop and fell to the ground. The Knight's defender threw the ball up the field to the striker who was up there before. He got the ball in the center hoop, earning his team two points. There was seven minutes in the first period left. Despite their best efforts, neither team could do anything.

Once the second period began, Connor was really excited. He was running up the field when, *WHACK*. He flew across the grass and fell to the ground.

"Stop!" yelled the referee. He came over to see if Connor was okay, but he was knocked out cold. Connor could see it all happening, but he knew better than to come to. There were a lot of rules he lived by saying he couldn't do anything. While the paramedics took care of his unconscious body, Conlis, back as his godly self, watched the game. They had brought out their worst player to replace him, and the goals against them rolled in like bowling balls. Before he knew it, the game was over. The score was 12 - 1 for the Knights. Maybe hoops wasn't Conlis' specialty. The team would be fine without him. This was his last game.

Mortals love to claim that I created the world in a seven day-long escapade. To be perfectly honest, I can’t stand them and their assumptions, but I just can’t bring myself to smite them from the skies above. Though technically, I’m not in the sky (another ridiculous notion), nor am I above it. In fact, I have only visited their world-the one I created-twice. If I haven’t mentioned it already, my name is Maurice Godard.

In “mortal terms,” I live in the universe marked 12s45d. Considering the human world is universe 12s45dE, you can assume that they are extremely close. Their world is actually within walking distance of my home, and inside of a government laboratory. According to the average person, I work as a simple salary man; my office is my kingdom, my cubicle the royal quarters.

But of course, I’m actually a physically enhanced human. You see, by REGULAR human standards, I’m a divine being, but this universe is simply an alternate reality and parallel world where humans developed at a much faster rate. However, this also meant that our world was very prone to conflict, as change often occurs too suddenly. In order to provide a back-up to this world (in case something happened to it), we created the “regular human world.” And by we, I mean my colleagues, Jane Duwat and Max Keating (of course, one could assume that the r-human construct of ‘monotheism’ is foolhardy; how could one human create such a complex system on his or her own?!).

They are pretty much my family, considering my real family has either died, lives very far away, or considers me as an outcast. Being born a male in a highly conservative household, I always had meaningless machismo and competition thrown my way, which I frequently scorned with sheer disdain. As a result, some family members even disowned me! But I’ll show them all; as the ‘God’ of another world, I’ll make sure that my creation continues to be a success!

Bonus: 

“Hey, Maurice!”

What the hell, man…who’s calling me at this time?

“Yo, Maurice! It’s 9:45; we’re gonna be late for work if you don’t hurry it up!”

Wait, is that Jane and Max? Looking at my alarm clock, I find out that I have overslept. Although it isn’t the first time that I have done this same thing over the course of this week, my boss doesn’t want me to be late anymore. Otherwise I might get the axe!

“Hold on for a second, guys,” I call out the window in a grog. “I’ll be outside as fast as I can…” It  takes another five minutes, but I manage to scramble outside, briefcase and research notes in hand, ready to tackle another day at the lab. Thankfully, when we arrive at the entrance, we punch in our cards just before the machine would have marked us tardy. Sighing out of relief, we celebrate by going to the cafeteria for our daily breakfast routine.

Of course, since breakfast is the most important meal of the day (at least in my opinion), I order scrambled eggs with a roll, bacon, and a tall glass of milk. Jane and Max, being as stubborn and lazy as possible, order a box of cereal and coffee respectively. I give them the usual lecture about gaining more energy in the morning, once again my teachings fall on deaf ears.

After we finish, I ask what the plans are for today. Jane responds, “Okay, according to my data, the r-humans should be in their Post-Classical era for the time being. All we have to do is guide a few of them along, and just monitor them for any significant developments.”

“But that doesn’t sound like a lot of work at all,” Max interjects suddenly. “I still wonder why the government makes have these 11-hour research days just to do menial and tedious labor like that! I could be relaxing!”

“But then you’d be out of a job, remember? Besides, we all know how long it takes these sub-humans to go through the motions.”

That’s certainly true. I remember that their Classical age took about a millennia, and they only achieved basic philosophical and religious progress. And I had overtime that day, too…

Anyway, we made our way to the inner sanctum itself shortly afterwards. Placing the space converters onto our heads, we became synchronized the r-human universe, where we manipulated the forces of nature and outcomes of daily lives.

But, we are entitled to some mistakes. For example, Max accidently started talking to some strange young r-human, who appeared to be a girl. For some odd reason, she interpreted his ramblings about our universe as the words of her God, and she led an army in the name of the region’s religion. Jane accidently spilled a glass of water onto the apparatus while we were on break, and caused massive floods and typhoons in the Eastern corner of the globe.

And of course, I made a mistake; I gave a young man in a desert a special book of code of our world. I unwittingly gave him the means to read it, and then he created a new religion that shouldn’t have arose. Oh well…

Finally, at about 9:00 PM, we got ourselves ready to leave the office, and turned off every light accept for the observation light (it was very white and bright, but apparently the foolish r-humans think it to be a special ‘celestial body’).

“See you guys later,” I shouted through the darkness to Jane and Max. They replied shortly afterwards, and I walked to my house alone. I ate dinner, showered and then prepared myself for bed, only to continue the same workday the following morning.

It’s tough being a God. 

YOUR THIRD WEEK SCORES:
(Subtractions from regular 5, 10, and 15 point additions are made for missing sentences and incomplete scenes. Keep in mind, please, that you are allowed to work on scenes / sentences for the entire week, I will count exercises that you went back and finished, but once Saturday hits, the work you've done is judged ... with the exception of weeks where I am late in giving you guys your score.)  

@31TeV - 0
@ecoLyte - 0
@TheNewIAP - 0
@Ogre11 - 90
@LeoScales7 - 80
@SpartacustheGreat - 0
@Morgan_R - 0
@Swiftstryker - 60
@betaband - 0
@nmelssx - 0
@Sethaniel - 0
@Malkalack - 25
@Briar_Rose - 0
@MatGods - 0
@Deathdefender - 0
@Wolfmist - 0
@bjhovey - 35
@AWarriorFan - 0
@FazzTheMan - 0
@Claw2k11 - 0
@Romulus - 0
@ISentinelPenguinI - 45
@GrottyStatute74 - 0
@WarriorCatsRPS - 0
@Confused - 0
@jamescoker1226 - 0
@pinkalily21? - 0

Our Third Week Winner is: Ogre11!

Third week, second place: LeoScales7!

Third week, third place: Swiftstryker!

Good job, guys! I can guarantee that the results of the next week will be different, though. xD

ged fecking demmit

xD Would you feel any better knowing that Leo has decided to drop out for the time being?

not at all.  D:

:P Then do all of the exercises and get first place this week, maybe?

To those who have, more will be given to him.  If he is responsible in small things, large responsibilities will be given to him.

And they only seem to grow as the days go by...

I left out of this week 'cause I didn't like the "religion" theme.

Ok ... ? You don't have to make excuses, lol.

Actually, though, why? Does the very idea of writing about supernatural things offend you? We didn't actually write about any real world religions. It seems strange to skip out for that reason alone, especially considering no one else protested and we have some pretty wide belief gaps here. Atheists, theists, and agnostics on this list, including theists from opposing religions. The exercises were really about morals / character values, vague concepts, culture building, conflict creation, and character creation. @Wolfmist

Honestly, not to try and put a damper on your efforts at ALL, Kiel, but the subject made me a bit... uncomfortable this week as well.

That said, I took that as a challenge and intentionally worked through it, knowing that the idea was to WRITE, damn everything else!

@Ogre11 ... >_> Ok, but "as well" does not apply here, because Wolfmist said that she "didn't like" the theme because she finds religion "complicated." You're saying you were uncomfortable. That's different. Also, I repeat the question, why? I had you guys address the concepts of some positive and negative character traits, describe your character's worst reality, had you invent two warring groups with a pre-established motive for fighting, and included two character building exercises. That's it.

I didn't have you guys debate say ... Islam vs Buddhism, or Christianity vs Satanism. :P The concepts of "lust" and "envy" and "paradise" "hell" are -basic- in human cultures all over the world. Sure, they have a ton of different names, I was just going for what Westerners would easily recognize. :P

Anyway, I never said I intended or wanted to keep you guys within your comfort zone, I push my own limits a lot to try to get better as a writer. Good for you for rising to the challenge, everything else aside. 

Yes, that is kind of how I took it -- as a challenge to do more and things I wouldn't normally do.

As for why, well, who really understands why people have feelings and emotions? I mean sure, we know what physiologically happens when a person feels certain ways, but we really have no idea how the brain works and why it does what it does. Why do some people throw up when they smell certain smells, but others do not? Just because, that's why.

I dunno, maybe creating a new god is just wrong for me. Making up a saint for a religion that doesn't exist seems... wrong? as well.

... Uh, no. =\ No, it's not "just because" because there are answers for those questions. That's what science is for. Neuropsychology is the study of the brain's structure and function. There's also psychology and sociology. As for why some people throw up when they smell certain smells, that can be pretty easily answered if you know enough about their history. Mind you, if you don't know the answer to my question, that's fine; you don't know, but that isn't to say that there isn't an answer at all.

Alright, and that's fine, I guess my point is just that religion is a part of culture. Honestly, references to religion exist all over the place, both inside fiction and outside of it. If you're uncomfortable dealing with the topic, that will hinder projects you could've worked on as a result and could prevent you from fleshing out a world. Whether or not that's actually a problem is debatable, but as a theist, I've created deicidal and atheist characters more than once.

Come to think of it, if you have a problem with religious concepts, why are you writing WC stories? They indulge in ancestor worship by 'giving thanks' (praying) to StarClan for their food's life and by addressing them during important times. Their concept of heaven is being brought into StarClan's ranks by the spirit of another dead warrior, so ... if you have no issue with that, why this?

I don't know... WC religion doesn't seem as complicated. :/

... Huh? "As complicated" as what, exactly? For the latter exercises, it's a religion you're inventing. It's as simple as you make it. 

For the first exercises, it's not even dealing with actual religions at all. Lust is a basic human concept. Envy is a basic human concept. Pride is a basic human concept. Wrath (meaning anger / rage) is a basic human concept. They all boil down to emotions. If that's too complicated to bother with, then ... why write anything at all ... ? :|

Hell, religion in itself is also a basic human concept. Many would say that it stems from the belief or desire to believe that life has a bigger purpose or that there is something greater than ourselves. It is in our nature to desire purpose, to want something that motivates us or guides us.

Wait, there's all that crap in WC? I would not have known that by reading the WC stories on this site at all. In fact, I was working on a draft of a WC story that I could put on here that's written well, to show it can be done. But if there's all that other stuff in WC stories, I might have to break down and read one before I get too far in my story here...

... Knowing there's religious stuff in it makes you more interested, but me having a set of semi-religious / supernatural exercises makes you "uncomfortable"? >_>' What?

The existence of that stuff in WC stories doesn't make me more interested in them --- it just make me realize if I'm going to write a story in that genre, that I'm going to have to learn more about it. Based on what I've read here, WC stories have very little depth to them, but I'm finding out actual WC stories do.

Oh, and P.S. Ogre11 Rules!

cough cough LUCKY cough cough XD

But yeah, congrats on your three week win-streak. If I manage to finish the story I have in mind, then "I'll be baack!"

Though sadly, I will admit (or at least use as an excuse) that my other writing does slow down a slight bit when doing this sort of writing. It's almost like my brain allows me to write a certain number of words a day, and once I reach that limit, I'm done. It doesn't seem to matter what type of writing it is, just that I have trouble going beyond a certain point. Hopefully, though, with things like this I can get better.