City of IF

[Kalanna Rai]

I'll try but that's 9a.m. for me...oh well I'll be there in spirit at the very least...

[Dean]

I'll try and make it if I'm still around in 3 and a half hours....

[Shady Stoat]

I should be around :)

[Solomon Birch]

I'd be there, but I don't have internet at home anymore, so.... :( :sad:

[Key]

Kalanna Rai wrote: I'll try but that's 9a.m. for me...oh well I'll be there in spirit at the very least...

Where are you that's 9am at that time? :confused:

And where is this "place without morons" ;)

[Dean]

Ah, sorry I missed it. The storychat was at 3 AM my time, and I fell asleep. (I live in South Korea.)

So, that would mean Kalanna Rai is one time zone east of Hawaii, right? Either Alaska, or the pacific islands off the US coast.

[jnmrcs]

Wow, I didn't know you live there....

[Chinaren]

Dean wrote: Ah, sorry I missed it. The storychat was at 3 AM my time, and I fell asleep. (I live in South Korea.)

So, that would mean Kalanna Rai is one time zone east of Hawaii, right? Either Alaska, or the pacific islands off the US coast.

Yes, it is rather late in China too, though I could possibly join in sometime if I remembered!

SK eh? Not that far away from me! :)

[Solomon Birch]

Run and hide Dean, he's coming for you now he knows your on the same continent.... :shock:

[Smee]

A fairly large continent though ;)

[Dean]

Haha, by the time you arrived, CR, I'd be back in Canada. I only teach English over here.

[Solomon Birch]

Ah, but now he knows that your near, he can send out his drones to find you wherever you go. I'm sorry Dean, but you will never be safe again! ;) :P

[Dean]

Haha, that's OK. I'm safe. North Korea's kind of blocking his path. (Unless he has a boat. Hmmm.... You don't have a boat, do you CR? LOL!)

[Solomon Birch]

Psst! He's Kim Jong Il in disguise! I said there was no escape! :shock: :P

[Solomon Birch]

And if I can (if I can get to the comp on Sunday evening) can I finish my SC? Unless there's another one planned. :biggrin:

[Solomon Birch]

Okay, I reckon i should be able to finish my SC tonight, so come join in the fun! Probably be at 8 :-D

[LordoftheNight]

8? drat - i wont be there after 8

[Shady Stoat]

You could always make it earlier Soily (if you want Lordy to be there). A lot of the SCs start at 6, brit-time :)

[Ravenwing]

We have a lot of brits on this forum, so I think it makes sense to have it after afternoon tea and before supper. :cool:

[Solomon Birch]

6 is too early for me.... have my dinner then on sunday... :P

[Solomon Birch]

No SC tonight then? Shame...

[LordoftheNight]

that's why it says the first sunday of each month

[Key]

Yes, we're on for next week. Any volunteers to be author?

[Solomon Birch]

Well I'm hoping to finish mine with this third installment, but I'll only do it this weekend if no one else wants to.

[Phang]

Soily, you can finish your SC this Sunday, then I shall do mine whenever the next one can be.

Gives me time to plan some more stuff out anyway.

[LordoftheNight]

Key, has soli's second part gone up on the history now?

[Smee]

Coming to an IF chatroom near you...



On Sunday 5th March at 6pm GMT...



For a one-time visit only...






SMEE'S SIZZLING SORCERY SUPPLY STATION

Make sure you're down there to pick up the best bargains on the highest quality potions and spells. We've got everything to make YOUR life better.

Need something to grow back new teeth after eating some Chinaren INC Candyfloss*?

Maybe your back needs straightening after a few of Kalanna's Dragon 'massages'?

Whatever your ailment or desire we can find a potion to help you.



-~-

"Crymzon where are you?" Smee demanded impatiently from atop of the wagon.

Almost immediately a rather large gnome appeared from the back. His face was creased and care-worn from the perpetual look of worry and terror that had setup home there.

"Y-es Master?"

We're almost there, is everything ready? This could be my one chance to take a portion of Chinaren INC's revenues. Not even he has managed to get a shop into the Chatroom yet.

Crymzon frowned. He still had four cases of labeling to do. Thankfully worry invited frown in for tea and creme-cakes so Smee didn't notice.

"Y-es Master, all is ready."

Smee turned back to the track and watched the border approach. As they crossed the stream into the supernatural mist of IF, Crymzon disappeared back into the depths of the wagon.

With horror Crymzon realised he'd miscounted and there was infact eight cases left to do. With a sigh so deep it caused an earthquake in AHA** he picked up the large pile of labels. Opening the first box - all meticulously numbered and arranged by Smee - he pulled out the first bottle. A large number one was pasted on the bottom of a dark blue bottle. Crymzon glanced across the contents of the box. Every bottle looked the same but with different numbers. He reached out for the labels and then watched silently as horror came out of his house and stared at the potion decending rapidly to the floor.

It'd slipped out his grasp but like with all such accidents it isn't the fall that gets you in trouble; but the hard impact with the ground that comes at the end.

Luck came out from behind a bookcase and grinned slightly. The bottle arrived at the hard impact but just rolled under the table. Crymzon couldn't believe it and joyfully bent down to retrieve it. Being a large gnome has it's problems. The gnome brain is firmly convinced by the fact that it is a gnome and therefore of fairly short stature. Crymzon's problem was that he wasn't short at all. Triumphantly grabbing the escaped potion he brought his head up under the table with a crash. The table tettered for a moment awaiting some decision. Luck had gone to read it's 'Visit Muaddib District for the time of your life' brochure, so it was left to horror and worry to decide. Almost immediately they did.

All eight boxes flew spectacularly to the floor with a crash that echoed around the narrow confines. Crymzon's mind flew briefly back to the start of his apprenticeship. This was not what dreams where made of, this was a horror beyond the cruelest nightmare!

Dark blue bottles lay everywhere with little pieces of paper littered amongst them.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING BACK THERE!"

Smee's voice was verging on bat-like frequencies. Unfortunately gnomes can still hear them and he winced as worry went into a frenzy. He poked his head through the curtain seperating him from the driving seat Smee was sat in.

"Nothing Master, just tidying a few things up."

Smee, distracted by thoughts of massive amounts of the valuable 'fatbacks' awaiting him in IF, just smiled. Crymzon was shocked, but decided it must have been his sad eyes pleaded their case eloquently enough for once. He took advantage immediately and ducked back behind the curtain.

An after-shock like sigh possessed him again and he set to work. It should be easy enough to clear up, everything was numbered. Smee would never know.

He picked up a bottle. A label was stuck to it, somehow perfectly aligned in the middle as it should. He looked at the tiny number in the bottom corner - 28. He looked at the bottom of the bottle. 14 ! Worry set off an alarm and he tried to remove the lable. It was fastened good. This was a new phenomena, Smee hadn't told him about any new labelling magic?

He frantically picked up other bottles. Every one had a perfectly aligned label well and truly stuck to the front. This couldn't have happened by them falling surely? He started reading. 11 and 22, 31 and 37, 4 and 62.

A noise outside alerted him from his panic. Voices! They had arrived. With a haste powered by worry*** Crymzon hastily shoved every bottle back into the boxes, set the table straight and arranged the boxes as they had been. What was he going to do?

Outside Smee's voice raised to the masses gathered...

"STEP RIGHT UP, STEP RIGHT UP. IN A FEW MOMENTS SMEE'S SIZZLING SORCERY SUPPLY STATION WILL OPEN UP FOR YOU ALL TO SEE. PLEASE FORM AN ORDERLY LINE, CUSTOMERS WILL BE SERVED ONE AT A TIME."


* Made from refined Idearium Sugarcane - 2000 times sweeter than sugar
** See IFnews tonight for more details - over 2 bruised knees and a rather viscious papercut so far reported :shock:
*** On a treadmill

=========================================

OK Storychat fans we have a chance here for you all to get involved before the main event.

Also, it allows everyone who won't be able to make it to shape the story in this crucial way.:D

You'll have noticed that my apprentice is named X throughout the introduction.

You have until I go to sleep this evening to come up with your nominations as to who will be my apprentice.

A poll will then go up and you'll have until 5:30pm GMT tomorrow to vote.


Happy Reading :D


WANT TO BE A CUSTOMER?
WANT TO NOMINATE SOMEONE TO BE A CUSTOMER?

Head over NOW to the Market place to bid.

Time is short so get moving.

[Shady Stoat]

:lol: I can see this one being a riot!

OK... it's the 'Name that Gnome' competition. I name that gnome in seven, Bob :D

I was going to pick Ingro, but I think he's spent enough time being a gnome in Chinaren's stories, so...

Crymzon. He seems like the type to make merry with a disaster like this (he could also be the type to let a disaster like this happen in the first place, but who am I to judge?) ;)

Count me in, I'll be there tomorrow :D

[Chinaren]

LOL!!!! :rofl:

I f5 Stoaty, I think Crymzon fits the bill perfectly in the Name that X Gnome compo! Actually, I though X was the name of the Gnome.

Shame I can't make the SC. I will read the history though, and I will be there in spirit, if nothing else.

Maybe I should start a merchants guild. :?

[LordoftheNight]

Nah, I still have to go with Ingro, being the resident gnome of these parts. Or what about Author or Res, they were gnomes too if I remember correctly.

[Crymzon]

Insane ... Lunatic ... Sociopath ... "Oh my god who let him out" ... I've had all these things ... but Gnome? Well this is definately new :D

It'd be an honor to be Smee's diminuative side kick

[Smee]

The poll is up for the Guess the Gnome decision.

Swing by the shop to vote, and maybe stick in a bid whilst you're at it. :D

Happy Voting :D

[Smee]

Just 20 minutes or so left before the poll and auction is closed.

Any last minute entries get in now...


AND IT'S OVER...

Crymzon is the lucky person who gets to be a Gnome. :D

*runs off to replace X*

[Key]

Thanks to everyone who came to the storychat on Sunday. Unfortunately, due to technical problems, the storygame had to be aborted partway through - the chat room crashed.

Smee has graciously volunteered to finish the storygame this coming Sunday, March 12th, at the same time. Hope to see you all there. The first part is in the Storychat Archives for your reading pleasure.

I'm not sure why the chat room crashed. I've done some work on the chat room software that will reduce the load on the web server and hopefully prevent this from happening again, but I can't guarantee that this is fixed.

If the chat room does crash again at any time, please let me know. I will continue working on the problem until we get it fixed.

Thanks,
MK

:-)

[Smee]

You can also catch up with what's happened so far here

Help us decide what happens to our Mayor after drinking a mis-labelled potion.

A poll will be going up on Friday, so get your ideas in - can we beat Chamber Pot :shock: :P

At the same time - I'm still taking bids for other customers that might come to the Supply Store.

Hope to see you there. :D

[Smee]

New Poll up in the MarketPlace for what happens to Key.

Get there to vote quick - closes on Sunday at 5:30pm GMT.


Storychat, part 2 will start at 6pm.


Hope to see you there. :D

[Solomon Birch]

I shall come, but I will be a little late. :(

[Shady Stoat]

I plan on running this storychat on 23rd April, if anyone's interested. If not, I'll leave it to another week/month/year/century... :D

==============

It’s Alive!

It was midnight in IF.* The moon was full** and the stars were dotted multitudinously, like salt specks thrown by the great gritter in the sky. Most of the citizens were safely locked away in their beds – in some cases, complete with restraints. Each and every one of them was oblivious to the mischief that was stirring while they slept.

The Crazed Council met in one of the abandoned factories of Jester Park. They looked at each other gloomily.

“No lightning,” sighed Smee. “Again.”

Stoat sat down heavily, then leapt up as daggers of crusted mud sliced through her fur and into her butt-flesh. “Soily!”

“Sorry.” Solomon grinned apologetically. “It’s just, with the weather being so dry lately, the mud’s flaking off me in clumps!”

Fauna fluttered over to him, head cocked thoughtfully. “Maybe you should try a good moisturizer. I think I have one back at…”

“Uhh… everyone?” Smee’s voice cut through the growing babble. “What are we going to do about… the creature?”

“Well, if there’s no lightning…” began Soily, but Stoat cut him off, irritably.

“There hasn’t been any lightning for months now. Every week it’s the same old story. We started this up to become authentic mad scientists. Now we’re in danger of turning into a Beauty-Tips Social Club.” She stared pointedly at Smee. “I don’t see why we can’t just use magic, like everyone else does.”

“Lightning is more traditional,” argued the Wizard. Then, seeing the glowering of the group around him, he shrugged. “But seeing as we haven’t got a convenient storm out tonight, I guess we’ll just have to forget that and go straight for the sorcery.”

“About time, too,” muttered Fauna. “The subject’s probably beginning to grow mould!”

“Nothing wrong with mould,” said Soily, cheerfully. “I get it all the ti… I mean… umm… should we just get on with it then?”

“Oooh, yes, let’s!” There was an avaricious glint in Fauna’s eye as she hovered closer to the entombed package. “It’s about time we got to see what all our preparations have spawned.”

“Indeed,” murmured Smee.

The four crazed councillors gathered around the package. Nobody knew quite what to expect as Smee began his incantations. Over many months, certain highly prized items had been purloined from prominent IFian citizens. The mayoral trousers had disappeared from his washing line one day. Lordy’s teddy-bear had joined the unholy creation and Muaddib’s communist leaflets had joined the ranks of the pilfered (but only for the common good, I’m sure!). Chinaren’s factories were also short half a dozen WheelieDibs and there was an empty crate in the corner of the room, that looked suspiciously like one of the lost soul crates from the Idearium Mines.

The group themselves had made sacrifices too. Soily had almost had to endure cleanliness, as his mud was added to the cauldron of life. Fauna had been forced to throw many of her best flowers in there. Smee’s collection of slug slime was badly depleted and Stoat was still pouting about her magenta hat being down by almost a pound of wax fruit!

From such beginnings is life created…

As the weeks had gone by, the primordial soup had been poured into a vaguely human-shaped casing of finest Idearium. There was no telling what might be inside it by now – but they were about to find out.

“It is time,” announced Smee. “Complete the circle.”

Nervously, the four of them stood, surrounding the Idearium coffin.

“Now,” he continued. “The sacred dance.”

Soily, Fauna and Stoat looked at each other doubtfully, before breaking into the Chicken Dance. It was probably just Smee’s way of getting his kicks, but you never could tell with Mages. Never meddle in their affairs, it was said, because you don’t look good char-grilled.

Smee carved complicated runes in the air, where they glowed with a mystical light. His face shone with sweat as he leaned down and rapped the Idearium box.

Rap! Rap! Rap!

For a moment, there was no reaction. Then, before they could so much as blink, the four crazed ones were thrown back, one against each wall. As they slid down to the floor, they could only shield their eyes against the brightness of the exploding Idearium. Parts of the coffin landed all around them, shattering in deadly shards which, thanks to blind luck (not to mention narrative causality) all missed skewering the crew.

A silhouette rose from its coffin. The four mad scientists blinked their watering eyes and squinted through the glare. As it stepped from the haze, they gaped. Whatever they had expected, it wasn’t this!

A six foot insectoid, with bulging black eyes and a green carapace. It had long, spindly legs, and it kept rubbing the back two together, making an irritatingly high-pitched whine.

“What is it?” whispered Soily, nervously.

“Oh no,” said Fauna. “I think it’s a…”

“It’s a cricket!” interrupted the Stoat, picking herself up and padding forward, curiously.

“Stoat! Don’t!” yelled Smee, but it was too late. The insect advanced on the unwary ermine.

It hissed, then spoke in a creaky, dry voice.

“Call yourself a writer? I’ve never seen such inane drivel in all my life! What slop! I mean, what sort of author picks parody as their genre? The sort with no imagination, that’s what! And don’t even get me started on the plot-holes in that game-show rip off of yours. It’s hanging together by a thread, and you know it. Spelling, punctuation, grammar – they’re all awful. I’m only telling you this for your own good, because those people you call readers are too cowardly to come forward with the truth. They’d let you carry on making a fool of yourself forever, but not me. Oh no, I tell it like it is – and what it is, is absolute dung of the first degree. How you can miss those sorts of glaring inadequacies is beyond me, when authors are supposed to be observant. You really are a hopeless…”

The stoat by now was a quivering puddle on the ground. She moaned and writhed under the pressure of the acidic little voice. It cut through her weak protests, continuing unmercifully.

Smee had been watching, mouth agape. Now, he collected himself and, putting his hands over his ears, charged straight for the creature.

“Drive it out!” he shrieked to the two team-mates who were still upright. “It’s not a cricket, it’s a critic! Don’t listen to a word it says.”

He barrelled into the critic, which hissed and whined and backed unwillingly from its prey. The others joined, blocking their ears from the poison that it spewed forth.

As it saw that it was outnumbered, it turned and, with a dramatic spring, dived out of the window. It was quickly swallowed by the night.

* Well, not precisely. It was closer to 1a.m., but midnight sounds so much cooler, doesn’t it?
** Well, three-quarters full, but see above

EDIT: Since the 16th was Easter Sunday, I've changed the schedule to the week after.

[Solomon Birch]

ROFL!!! Hilarious! Can't wait. And the 23rd is exactly my birthday! WOOO! :cheers:

[Shady Stoat]

Well, happy storychat - I mean birthday - Soily :D