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Key
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 Posted: Thu May 04, 2006 9:41 pm Post subject: Storychain - An Experiment in Storygaming |
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OK, I thought of another storytelling game we could try. Here's how it works:
- One person starts by writing a short story (best if it's a small one, 750 words or less).
- The next person rewrites the same story, but with minor changes, such as rephrasing the description or dialog in their own words, adding a minor character, tweaking (but not radically changing) the tone or the ending, expanding on or minimizing certain parts, etc. The second story should stand on its own (ie. people shouldn't need to read the first one to understand the second) and the changes should try to improve on or add something interesting to the first story, not changes for the sake of changes. The word length should be roughly the same as the first story, so if you're adding something, try to take something out to make it fit.
- The next person rewrites the second story in the same way.
- We keep going and see how far we end up from the original. Kind of like telephone. 
I've never done this before and have no idea how it will work out, but let's try it. 
I'll start. Here's one that's 550 words or so:
Tiny Shoes
Marko was a poor man. All his life he'd worked hard as a cobbler, repairing the shoes of his wealthy clients who always looked down on him with his shabby clothes and small shack of a house. "Marko!" they'd say, "Don't you care about yourself? Get yourself a nice suit! Get yourself a decent house, and a wife who will keep it for you." "Yes sir, yes ma'am" Marko would say, knowing he could afford none of these things, and they would shake their heads, dismayed that such a stupid, shabby man could live on God's Earth.
Then one day to Marko's great surprise one of the wee folk came into his shop. The little elf, not one foot tall and green as peas from head to toe, held out a small torn boot made out of what looked like felt, and in a tinny voice asked Marko to fix it.
Now Marko had never before set eyes on one of the wee folk, much less fixed one's shoe, but he was a good cobbler and he had pride in his craft. So he got to work, stitching and repairing as best he could, and soon the boot was good as new. He handed it back to the elf, who thanked Marko happily and disappeared in a trice.
Marko thought nothing more of it, but a week later the same elf returned with his lady-friend, whose tiny slipper was in need of a mend. Marko did the job, and the wee folk again thanked him and disappeared.
Soon all manner of faeries were frequenting Marko's shop, asking for new boots or dress shoes. He always serviced them as best he could, and they always thanked him, but they never offered to pay, and Marko was too afraid to ask. So with all the extra work, Marko had to stay open late just to make enough money to pay the rent on his little shack.
Finally he could take it no more, and the next time the faeries came he begged them for payment. They laughed and rushed outside into the forest, telling him to follow them if he wanted to be paid. So Marko cautiously followed them, and soon found himself hopelessly lost in the deep wood, following the laughter of the wee folk.
Finally he caught up to them in a large clearing where all manner of strange creatures were dancing around the Faerie Queen. She said that she was getting married to the Woodland King the following day, and so she wanted all of her subjects to be in their finest clothes, which was why they had all been going to Marko, because he was a most excellent cobbler. So Marko stayed for the wedding, which was the most beautiful and elegant he had ever seen, and at the end the Woodland King and Faerie Queen gave him a gift - a treasure box that would always be full of gold whenever it was opened, as long as the heart of its owner was pure.
And so Marko took his leave and took the treasure box with him, and because his heart was pure he never wanted for money. He bought many fine clothes, got married to a loving wife, and together they lived in a great mansion. And whenever the little people came calling, he would always fix their shoes.
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Chinaren
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| Posted: Thu May 04, 2006 11:19 pm Post subject: |
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OKay, I started doing this, but it isn't really very interesting. I will post it anyway, but I have another idea for later....
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| Posted: Thu May 04, 2006 11:35 pm Post subject: |
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There was once a poor man called Marko. He had been a cobbler all his life, repairing shoes for the wealthy who looked down their long noses at him in in his poor house and second hand clothes.
They would always make cutting remarks to him. "Marko!"they would say, "Why don't you get a decent house and smarten yourself up? You are a decent looking fellow with good skills, you could go far!
"
Marko would agree with them, knowing that he didn't have the funds for such ventures. The people would shake their heads and mutter about a lost cause.
Then came a great suprise. One sunny day a small fairie came into his shop with a tiny shoe that needed fixing. The fairie was a strange creature, pea green from head to foot, and wearing fantastical clothes.
Marko had never seen one of the fairie folk, but he prided himself on his skills and always said that there was not a shoe made he couldn't fix, so he set about repairing the tiny thing. Upon completion the small man thanked him, and went on his way. Marko was too bewildered to ask for any money.
A week went by, and then another of the small folk came in with a shoe for repair. A day later another and another, and soon he was swamped with work from the fairie. He was never paid though, and daren't ask as it was said the wee folk had a nasty disposition if angered.
Eventually he could take no more, and when he opened his shop and had his first fairie customer he timidly asked if he could be paid for his work.
The fairie laughed at him, and then running out of the shop shouted back to follow if he wanted gold.
Marko, frightened but desperate, did so, and ran after them. Soon he was hopelessly lost in the woods, trailing after fading laughter.
Eventually he stumbled, quite by chance, into a fairie grove, filled with bright lights and strange creatures.
Two fairie guards demanded what he was doing there, and, frightened and trembling, he told them his story.
They thought, and then lead him away to the queen.
The queen listened to his tale, and then explained that there was a royal wedding taking place, so all the fairie wished to look their finest. As he was an excellent tailor they had all used his shop.
The queen took pity on the man, and allowed him to stay for the festivities. When they were done the Fairie King came down from his throne and presented Marko with a large box of coin in gratitude for his selfless work.
Marko returned home a rich man and hired people to do his work for him. However, he still works for the occasional Fairie client, and he is careful never to complain or charge for the job.
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Muaddib
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| Posted: Thu May 04, 2006 11:42 pm Post subject: |
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Chinnie you edited out the part where the wedding was the best he had ever seen. Are you allowed to do that?
EDIT: Oh wait, its a standalone so I think you are.
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| Posted: Fri May 05, 2006 1:20 am Post subject: |
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| I was going to make a witty comment on that, but couldn't come up with anything. So, just imagine I've made a hilarious remark and embarrassed you thoroughly.
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| Posted: Fri May 05, 2006 2:51 am Post subject: |
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I know this isn't really within the guidlines of the game, being rather a radical re-write, bu I thought I would do it anyway!
Actually, I have had this idea myself in the past but I started SoaP instead. I find it very interesting how different people could write the same story. Anyway, without further ado, V2:
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A man called Marko strove to accumulate wealth in a small village. He was he lowest commoner in the small community, and the other residents often spat on him, afflictied him with pains and poxes, and sent their hounds and familiars to scare him.
Much as he reviled them all, he kept his mouth closed infront of them, casting low grade curses ineffectually behind their backs.
The only work he could do was as a cobbler, a common shoe repairer, and this caused him much humiliation. He swore he would get his revenge one day.
One dark and foul night he was visited by an imp from the nearby cursed forest. It waved a shoe, the red skin glistening in the dull light cast forth from the candle.
"Fix this for me, or I will cast your soul into hell" the imp threatened.
As lowly as the imp was, Marko was lower, so he grudgingly did the work, too scared to make a mess of it as he wanted.
The imp spat at him when he finished and left.
Life dragged on for Marko for another week, and then another imp appeared with a shoe to fix. The next day a red skinned kobold, and the next a faerie, who cast a canker upon him as he left with his shoe.
This went on for several weeks, wth Marko having to endure curses and beatings.
Finally he swore revenge. Taking a stout club he followed an imp back through the forest, into the dark cover and through the haunted trees.
The imp didn't look back and lead him to a grotto, where many a strange small creature indulged in drunken revellery and debauchary.
Marko crept closer, his knobbly club held ready. As the night went on, and the dark celebration took its course, he saw a large Faerie Queen seated on her throne.
The imps and other creatures approached her one by one, submitting an offering of treasure or other gift. Some she was pleased with, other petiioners she had beaten and one was flayed alive.
When the night was drawing to a close the queen left her throne for a while. Marko siezed his chance. He crept close and stole away with a chest of treasures.
The theft went unnoticed, and he managed to escape with his life.
Immediately he set himself up as a wealthy merchant, whose tactical decisions and cruel finess soon increased the treasure into a vast fortune.
With his newfound wealth he hunted down and cast dark curses of power upon those who once scorned him. The worm had turned.
Never again did he have to endure the humiliation of fixing another shoe.
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Key
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| Posted: Fri May 05, 2006 7:39 pm Post subject: |
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| chinaren wrote: | | I know this isn't really within the guidlines of the game, being rather a radical re-write, bu I thought I would do it anyway! |
That's all right - it's quite in the spirit of the game. Here's the next "link in the chain":
Marko was the lowliest apprentice in the entire School of Daemonology and Summoning. He was clumsy and untalented, barely capable of casting even the smallest cantrip, and so all the wizards and other students looked down on him, spitting on him, cursing him with pains and poxes, and setting their cats and familiars on him.
Much as he reviled them all, Marko kept his mouth closed in front of them, casting low grade curses ineffectually behind their backs. But he swore he would get his revenge one day.
One dark night when Marko was walking the halls of the gloomy school, muttering about his coming revenge, there was a ghostly knocking on the glass of the second-story window. Marko went to the window, and saw a red-skinned imp from the nearby cursed forest.
"Let me in, and I'll make you rich and powerful," the imp promised. Curious, Marko opened the window. The imp quickly set about stealing various magical treasures from the school, then spat at Marko when he finished and left. The wizards were furious when they found out that they were robbed, but no one suspected Marko, as he was considered too stupid.
Life dragged on for Marko for another week, and then another imp appeared at the window, again promising him power. Marko let him in, and again the imp ransacked the school and left cursing Marko. The next day a red skinned kobold, and the next a faerie.
This went on for several weeks, as the wizards grew angrier and angrier, and they said they would cast a spell which would reveal who was letting in the imps.
Marko left the school in fear, and not knowing where else to go, he snuck into the forest, into the dark cover and through the haunted trees. He heard strange singing, but found the way blocked by a mass of thorny trees. Poking its head out from behind the thorns was an imp. "What do you want?" the imp asked.
"I've come to tell you where the wizards' secret treasure room is," said Marko, thinking quickly.
"Oh, well then come in," said the imp, smiling. And the imp led him to a grotto, where many a strange small creature indulged in drunken revellery and debauchary, and they quickly seemed to forget about Marko.
As the night went on, and the dark celebration took its course, he saw a large Faerie Queen seated on her throne.
The imps and other creatures approached her one by one, submitting an offering of treasure or other gift. Some she was pleased with, other petitioners she had beaten and one was flayed alive.
When the night was drawing to a close the queen left her throne for a while. Marko siezed his chance. He crept close and stole away with a chest full of powerful magic items - a ring that would protect him from all curses, a pendant that would make others obey him, and a jewel that would let him see into the future.
With these new treasures he hurried back and overthrew those who had scorned him, taking control of the school and gaining access to all its secrets.
And ever after, he kept the windows locked.
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Muaddib
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| Posted: Fri May 05, 2006 7:47 pm Post subject: |
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| You can change it like that can you?
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Ravagerrr
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| Posted: Fri May 05, 2006 8:10 pm Post subject: |
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Marcus was the head wizard of the most prestigious school of wizardry, Herald's Tempest. All around loved and respected him for his great wisdom and mighty powers.
Unfortunately he hated everyone else. He always imagined them working in the shadows, behind his back. Every negative thing to happen to him, he blamed on his students and staff, believing that low level curses were being cast upon him in jealousy of his position.
He swore he would find a way to get back at them all without being insinuated in their suffering. Spells he had aplenty, but he had taught some of them too well and they could trace the magic back to his hand. So he needed something else.
One night, he walked out into the haunted forest surrounding the school grounds. Painstakingly, he scribed upon the forest floor the runes of a summoning, and to him came, in a flash of flame and fury, a snarling Red Imp.
"Let me out of this circle at once Mage, or I'll burn your soul to hell!" shouted the Imp in defiance.
"I shall," stated Marcus, "but you must do for me a favor this dark night. I need you to be yourself... steal and loot the school in my absense. My student and staff have many things of value which you might find of interest."
Considering his options, the Imp wickedly agreed and looted the school magnificently.
When morning came, there was a great outrage, but no one suspected Marcus; he was too prestigious to have done this!
Gleefully, Marcus spent the next week enjoying the suffering of his arrogant and jealous teachers and students. Languishing in his success, he continued to summon beasts to raid the school, a blue goblin one night, and an evil fey quickling the next.
This went on for several weeks, with the school patrons growing in their anger and rage. A student claimed to have made a breakthrough and revealed that he had captured the most recent creature Marcus had summoned, an Apedog of the 13th dimmension.
Fearing discovery, Marcus fled to the forest to undo all the summoning inscriptions in the effort to send back all he had called forth.
He had not gotten far before his first summons, the Red Imp, called to him from a tree above, "Hey there Mage, do you plan to bring us another?"
Thinking quickly, Marcus lied, "I've come to tell you where the school treasury is. Within those halls you shall have all your heart desires."
"Well then, you should tell us all!", replied the Imp as he flew down to lead Marcus to the place of their gathering.
Upon arrival, and the delivery of Marcus's message, the crowd of summoned beings began to celebrate merrily, dancing around the fire in a drunken stupor.
Fearful of being discovered in any attempts to send them back to their original planes of existance, Marcus remained at the celebration, only to witness, in horror, as the summoned creatures combined their magical powers to summon forth their dark lord from hell.
The Dark Lord waved a hand and a throne of bones rose from the ground for him to be seated in. He sat there in his throne as the beasts gifted him with all the treasures they had thus stolen. Magic wands, rings, scrolls and tomes of ancient magical power were given to the Lord of the Night, one by one.
When the Lord of Evil was happy with the gift, he would promote the creature to a more powerful form of demon, while severely punishing those who's gifts displeased him, going so far as to flay one alive.
When the night was drawing to a close, the Demon Lord asked Marcus about the treasure room he had mentioned. Continuing the lie, Marcus told the Demon that to reach the room, the beast would need to straighten one of the hairs from Marcus's head. Plucking a hair from his curly head, he offered the demon the gift and watched as the Demon, and the evil horde maintained great patience in his attempt to straighten the hair. Having bought some time, he stole away with the Demon's treasures, and snuck off into the night to dispell th summonings. Contained within his newfound hoard were powerful magic items - a ring that would protect him from all curses, a pendant that would make others obey him, and a jewel that would let him see into the future.
With these new treasures he fled the land, never to be seen again. Many wondered where he went and the rumors regarding his disappearance varied greatly.
There... thats my 
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Araex
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| Posted: Sat May 06, 2006 1:30 am Post subject: |
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| Nicely done. I may try this one time...
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Key
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| Posted: Fri May 12, 2006 9:45 pm Post subject: |
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Once upon a time there lived a wizard named Arius, who was the head of the greatest school of wizardry in the land, Herald's Tempest. He was a wise and good magician who used his powers for the benefit of all, and he was universally respected and loved.
When he grew older, Arius began studying curses and evil magics. He first started studying these spells only to better understand how to counter them, but eventually the demonic books began to corrupt his vision, and he became filled with hatred and fear of others, and believed that they were working in the shadows against him, out of jealousy of his position.
One night, he swore to get back at them. He summoned a red imp, and commanded it to go forth among his students and staff and wreak havoc, stealing from them, cursing them, and tormenting them in the night.
When morning came, there was a great outrage, but no one suspected Arius. They came to him for help and he laughed behind their backs.
Gleefully, Arius spent the next few weeks enjoying the suffering of his "arrogant" and "jealous" teachers and students. He continued to summon beasts to raid the school - a blue goblin one night, an evil fey quickling the next. After each night the teachers and students would come to Arius for help in finding who was summoning the evil beasts, and Arius would profess ignorance and dismay, all the while secretly laughing.
But the school patrons were determined to catch the culprit. Finally, a student claimed to have made a breakthrough and revealed that he had captured the most recent creature Arius had summoned, an Apedog of the 13th dimmension.
Now Arius grew afraid that he would be found out. Quickly he retreated to his magical laboratory, ready to consult spell books and send back all the creatures he had summoned. But it was too late! The creatures were there already, and had used their combined magical powers to summon forth their dark lord from Hell.
Arius, afraid now for his soul and not just his life, turned to run, but the Dark Lord waved his hand again and bars of stone sprang up from the floor and blocked his way. "Mwahahaha," laughed the Dark Lord. "You escaped me for many years, Arius, but now your soul is mine." And he reached out to pull Arius down into the pit eternal.
Arius, thinking quickly, said, "Wait! I know my soul is forfeit, but surely you owe me a small boon for allowing you to do so much mischief."
"All right then. One small boon."
And Arius plucked a hair from his curly head, and handed it to the demon, and said, "Please straighten this for me."
And the demon raged, for he and Arius both knew that the Lord of Hell has the power to curl things but can never make them straight, not even a hair. But he had given his word to Arius, and he couldn't deny that this was a small boon. So with a great bellowing and gnashing of teeth, the Dark Lord was sucked down into Hell, taking all of his creatures with him.
Arius quickly burned all the books of evil magic, swearing never to be involved in it again. And he served as head wizard of Herald's Tempest for many more years, with great wisdom and honor. And none besides Arius ever knew the events of those weeks (except for the Apedog, who never told anyone).
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| Posted: Sat May 13, 2006 4:08 pm Post subject: |
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 Well done milord!
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Key
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| Posted: Sat May 13, 2006 8:00 pm Post subject: |
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| Let's keep it going! I like this form.
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Jack_D.Mented
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| Posted: Sat May 20, 2006 11:41 am Post subject: |
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Ok, then. I suppose I'll do the next one.
...............................
Gaius was a student at the academy of the black arts known as Herald’s Tempest. It was the foremost school for necromancy in the land. Gaius was a smart one, a sharp and steady pupil, his performance marred only by his paranoia, which, even in the midst of such dark forces was considered a bit… excessive.
One day, tiring of all the plots and schemes against him, he summoned a fiery red imp. But, alas, he was not ready for such a high level spell, and the creature slipped away from him laughing to pillage and plunder the country side.
The rumors of the creature were on everyone’s tongue and soon the people began to take up arms and prepare for the great hunt that would soon be called.
None suspected Gaius at first. Who would? He was the perfect gentleman and student from a noble family that hailed from the capitol.
But then things began to change when the inquisitor arrived. He had been dispatched from the Grand Temple itself, to investigate the abomination running amok and to determine, perhaps, if it was indeed a manifestation of the devil.
Worried, Gaius fled into the woods to his summoning circle once again. He set out to conjure a mighty foe for the monk. Something that even that master of the martial arts could not beat.
Sadly, however, he stumbled over the last phrase of the incantation and instead of an ape dog form the thirteenth dimension, he brought upon the world a dark lord from the flaming pits.
Seeing no other option, Gaius bowed before the shadow king and groveled like a filthy peasant.
Looking up at his new master, he begged for but one favor, in that this great fiend would straighten one of the hairs plucked from his head.
Screaming, as he had already agreed in his impatience, the demon realized that he’d been tricked. No such being, no matter how powerful or mighty, may straighten anything, as that would create order. Their lot is to cause chaos, and this being beyond his powers, he slipped back down into the dark pit.
Gaius immediately set out to burn all the books of his dark knowledge. He determined to never meddle in such things again.
But as he built the flames, he was approached by the inquisitor. The holy man apprehended him, as he had followed the youth and seen it all.
Gaius was promptly bound and gagged and cast upon the pyre that he had unknowingly constructed for himself.
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Key
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| Posted: Sat May 20, 2006 3:57 pm Post subject: |
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| That's a good one, Jack!
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Jack_D.Mented
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| Posted: Sat May 20, 2006 4:26 pm Post subject: |
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Thanks, Kinky. Means a lot comin from you.
Can't wait to see what they do with that. 
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| Posted: Sat May 20, 2006 4:35 pm Post subject: |
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| Bravo Jack!
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Araex
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| Posted: Sun May 21, 2006 4:58 am Post subject: |
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| Nice dark ending there.
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Luris_of_Klarr
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| Posted: Wed May 24, 2006 6:12 pm Post subject: |
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im not much of a writer, but this will give me a good foundation
i may try this out, if there isnt much activity, as there hasnt been for a while
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Key
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| Posted: Sat Jun 10, 2006 10:14 pm Post subject: |
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So let it be told unto you, initiates of the Inquisition, the story of Petrachus, a monk most holy and devout, so that you may grow in wisdom and strength by following his example.
Petrachus was one of the Order, an Inquisitor from the Grand Temple. One day he was called to the academy of Herald's Tempest, upon a rumor there that one of the students there was a worshipper of the dreaded Bob the Apedog. The students and faculty of Herald's Tempest were openly disdainful of Petrachus, being soft as many were in those days and questioning the methods by which we release heretics from their sins and save them from the fires of damnation. Nor did they believe that one of their own was guilty of this crime.
But the very night that Petrachus arrived, a fiery red imp ran amok through the school and out into the surrounding countryside, pillaging and plundering as it went. Someone had summoned it. The academics who had dismissed Petrachus now begged him to find the culprit.
Petrachus prayed and followed his intuition, and he began to suspect Gaius, a wealthy student from a noble family who seemed a bit too confident and smooth-spoken. Petrachus suspected that Gaius's blue blood hid a black heart.
One night Petrachus followed Gaius into the woods surrounding the school, where Petrachus hid in the bushes and watched as Gaius summoned a dark lord from the flaming pits.
The demon immediately saw Petrachus and called him out, preparing to take him down to the nether regions. But Petrachus tricked the demon by asking one small favor - that the fiend first straighten one of the hairs plucked from his head.
Screaming, as he had already agreed in his impatience, the demon realized that he’d been tricked. No such being, no matter how powerful or mighty, may straighten anything, as that would create order. Their lot is to cause chaos, and this being beyond his powers, he slipped back down into the dark pit.
Petrachus immediately seized Gaius, bound and gagged him, and cast him upon a flaming pyre as just punishment for his sins. And the school of Herald's Tempest was troubled no more.
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Ovrlndnsea
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| Posted: Tue Jun 13, 2006 3:10 pm Post subject: |
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Very, very different.
Interesting, though.
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Jack_D.Mented
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| Posted: Wed Jun 28, 2006 7:15 pm Post subject: |
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Woohoo!!! Coolness, Kinky.
I like. That was a great spin on mine. Nice to see this thing is still alive and kickin.
_________________
Eadgar's Saga Chapter 2 POLL
Abattoir Chapter 2!
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Argonaut
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| Posted: Thu Jun 29, 2006 12:15 pm Post subject: |
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Ok this would be the first story I've written on If, hope you like the variation.
-----------------------------------------------------
This is the story of Petrachus, a monk most low of status, and humble of nature.
Petrachus eschewed the methods that other Inquisitors used to gain in wealth and status. It was a time when the Order was rife with extortion, blackmail, and bribery. Few of the Order were like Petrachus, and so to them fell the jobs that higher monks though would gain them no status or wealth.
So it was that he was sent to Herald's Tempest, a poor fishing town on the outskirts of the Empire, to search out rumors of demon worship. The people of Herald's Tempest were openly disdainful of Petrachus, being used to the Order's practice of treating anyone without money as something not worth their attention. Nor did they believe that one of their own was guilty of this crime.
But the very night that Petrachus arrived, a fiery red imp appeared in his room. The imp mocked and insulted the monk, gloating that his master meant to summon a dark lord to wreak havoc on the Empire. It then burst out the door and ran amok through the town. Many who had dismissed Petrachus now came to him for help.
Petrachus turned down all offers of money or gifts from the townsfolk, but promised to bring them safety nonetheless. He then set about this task, preparing and placing wards on each house in town, while simultaneously he subtly scrutinized each and every denizen of Herald's Tempest. Finally he was sure and set himself to watch the door of his adversary.
As he suspected, Gaius, the blacksmith, tole away from town in the dead of night. Petrachus crept after him through the shadows, unseen.
Out in the woods Petrachus reached the circle too late, his caution had cost him time. The dark lord stood before a cowering Gaius, surrounded by fiery imps.
"B-but your promise... m-my daughter.." Stammered Gaius.
"Fool!" Cried the demon, "I promised only that you would see her, and so you shall, in the underworld!"
"Hold foul beast!" Petrachus called out.
"Dare you challenge me monk?" the demon sneered, "Your order is hollow and powerless, they cannot stand before me."
"That may be true," Replied the monk, "but let me make you a wager. If I can perform a feat that you cannot match then you an your minions return to the pit from whence you came, but if I fail you shall have my soul for all eternity."
A cruel smile played across the demon's lips, he could not resist "Agreed, your soul will make a fine start to my conquest of this land. Now let us see this amazing feat."
In reply Petrachus reached up, and plucked a single curly hair from his head. The imps cackled with mirth at his absurd gesture, but the dark lord's eyes widened in fear. The monk grasped each end of the hair and effortlessly pulled it straight.
Screaming, the demon realized that he'd been tricked. No such being, no matter how powerful or mighty, may straighten anything, as that would create order. Their lot is to cause chaos, and this being beyond his powers, he slipped back down into the dark pit.
Gaius immediately fell to his knees, begging Petrachus for forgiveness. He became the monk's first disciple, and they began a life-long quest to restore the Order to it's former glory.
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Chinaren
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Idea master
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| Posted: Thu Jun 29, 2006 3:44 pm Post subject: |
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Right, this one will have a little spin from my story on it...
***
This is the story of Petrachus, a monk of seemingly low status in the world, who became the great priest that we know today.
Petrachus was most low in his order, mainly because he was the most devout. He was not greedy and did not lust for more than he had. His one goal in life was to bring light to the world and banish the dark beings back to whence they came. Not many in his order were like him, for the higher monks used a variety of methods to attain their posistion, some involving whips and blackmail, and in one case, a corset.
And so it fell to Petrachus to investigate the sleepy port town of Herald's Tempest on the belief of demon-summoning. Somebody had brought through a red imp from the nether realms, which posed a hazard, for the portal was possibly still open, letting other things through.
Petrachus arrived and began asking questions, praying for anwsers, and investigating the townfolk. He eventually found out who had brought the imp through, and followed him to the nearby woods. But it seemed he was too late. For as Petrachus arrived, Gaius had summoned an unholy dark being from the Abyss, a Shadow.
"M-M-My lord, I beg your forgiveness..."
The Shadow boiled and formed a human shape, six feet tall, dressed in long black robes, and wielding a three-foot sword with a wicked edge. It's skin was as pale and hard as chisled marble, and it's eyes were bottomless black pools, deeper than the night sky.
"FOOL! I was in the middle of important work, and I am suddenly ripped from my dimension, and you beg for FORGIVENESS?! Had you any sense, you would have run long ago!"
And with that, the Shadow hefted it's sword and sliced Garius in half. Garius let out a tormented scream, and with his holy sight, Petrachus could see the soul of the poor man being sucked into the Shadow's blade.
"Hold, foul demon!" Petrachus shouted.
The Shadow turned to size up this new foe. "And what would you do against me?"
"I challenge thee to a test of both our skills! If I can do one thing you cannot, then you must leave."
"But if I can do one thing you cannot, then your soul is mine."
"And we shall finish it off with a round of combat."
"Agreed." The ritual completed, the Shadow waited for Petrachus to do his task.
Petrachus reached up and plucked a single hair from his head and straightened it. The Shadow howled, for he could not replicate the feat, as his lot was to cause mayhem and destruction, and the straightening of a hair was considered order.
Petrachus waited for the Shadow to make his move. And make a move he did. The Shadow hefted his sword and pointed it at a tree. Instantly, the tree vanished into nothingness.
Must be more powerful than I thought, Petrachus thought to himself. The two paced twenty-five paces apart and turned. They then bowed and began their respective attacks. The Shadow could not directly touch Petrachus, as he was shielded by his faith. Petrachus, meanwhile was muttering something. He then raised up both his arms and put them next to each other, completing a holy symbol thus painted there. "Into the light I command thee!"
The Shadow screamed as the light of Heaven found it's mark. Petrachus was not finished. "Into the light I command thee!"
The Shadow howled, for it was in agony. "Into the light I command thee!"
The Shadow dissipated, never to be seen again. And so, Petrachus began to be a great priest from that day on, though he was quite wary that the Shadow might find his way back to him one day.
And you know what? The reason you've never heard this story before is because he likes to keep it hidden. But then, who am I to know this story?
I am the Shadow he fought.
_________________
...So I've been summoned back from beyond the veil.
...No plans yet.
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Starwalker
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| Posted: Thu Jun 29, 2006 3:58 pm Post subject: |
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That was cool, nice short story.
You looking at making a SG out of it?
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Idea master
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| Posted: Thu Jun 29, 2006 6:02 pm Post subject: |
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Nah, but it's got some of the general gist from my current story on it...
Speaking of which...
*Pulls out the sword the Shadow used*
Go! Read it! Or your souls are forfit to me!
_________________
...So I've been summoned back from beyond the veil.
...No plans yet.
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Masterweaver
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| Posted: Fri Nov 24, 2006 8:13 am Post subject: |
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Here's a new twist, I think.
This is the story of Petrachus, a monk of seemingly low status in the world, who became the great priest that we know today.
Petrachus was most low in his order, mainly because he was the most devout. He was not greedy and did not lust for more than he had. His one goal in life was to bring light to the world and banish the dark beings back to whence they came. Not many in his order were like him, for the higher monks used a variety of methods to attain their posistion, some involving whips and blackmail, and in one case, a corset.
And so it fell to Petrachus to investigate the sleepy port town of Herald's Tempest on the belief of demon-summoning. Somebody had brought through a martian from the place beyond the sky, which posed a hazard, for the portal was possibly still open, letting other things through.
Petrachus arrived and began asking questions, praying for anwsers, and investigating the townfolk. He eventually found out who had brought the martian through, and followed him to the nearby woods. But it seemed he was too late. For as Petrachus arrived, Gaius had summoned an unholy dark being from Alpha centauri, a Grey.
"M-M-My lige, I beg your forgiveness..."
The human shape six feet tall, was dressed in long black robes, and wielding a three-foot sword with a wicked edge. Its skin was as pale and hard as chisled marble, and its eyes were bottomless black pools, deeper than the night sky.
"FOOL! I was in the middle of important work, and I am suddenly ripped from my planet, and you beg for FORGIVENESS?! Had you any sense, you would have run long ago!"
And with that, the Grey hefted its sword and sliced Garius in half. Garius let out a tormented scream, and with his holy sight, Petrachus could see the essence of the poor man being sucked into the Shadow's blade.
"Hold, tall alien!" Petrachus shouted.
The Grey turned to size up this new foe. "And what would you do against me?"
"I challenge thee to a test of both our skills! If I can do one thing you cannot, then you must leave."
"But if I can do one thing you cannot, then your essence is mine."
"And we shall finish it off with a round of combat."
"Agreed." The ritual completed, the Grey waited for Petrachus to do his task.
Petrachus reached up and plucked a single hair from his head and straightened it. The Grey howled, for he could not replicate the feat, as he had no hair
Petrachus waited for the Grey to make his move. And make a move he did. The Grey hefted his sword and pointed it at a tree. Instantly, the tree vanished into nothingness.
Must be more powerful than I thought, Petrachus thought to himself. The two paced twenty-five paces apart and turned. They then bowed and began their respective attacks. The Grey could not directly touch Petrachus, as he was still carrying foriegn germs. Petrachus, meanwhile was rustling through his robe. He then raised up both a ray gun. "Into the light I command thee!"
The Grey screamed as the light found its mark. Petrachus was not finished. "Into the light I command thee!"
The Grey howled, for it was in agony. "Into the light I command thee!"
The Grey retreated into the portal, never to be seen again. And so, Petrachus began to be a great priest from that day on, though he was quite wary that the Grey might find his way back to him one day.
And you know what? The reason you've never heard this story before is because he likes to keep it hidden. But then, who am I to know this story?
I am the Grey he fought.
_________________
Sarothen, Mesoli, Gerastro
/\___/\
(0)-_-(0)
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Key
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| Posted: Fri Nov 24, 2006 2:08 pm Post subject: |
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Hey MW! Thanks for bringing this back to life
Here's another link in the chain...
This is the story of Dr. Peter Acheson, once a academic of low status, who became the great scientist that we know today.
Peter was a member of the SEI, the Society for Extraterrestrial Investigation, but because he was purely motivated by curiosity and interest in the topic rather than by the chance of getting lucrative government grants, his work wasn't considered high caliber and he hadn't been published in any of the prestigious journals.
One day when there was a news report of an alien visitation in the sleepy town of Heraldson, Indiana, the senior investigators all stayed home, believing that it was likely to be a hoax. But Peter was curious and thought that this might be an actual visitation.
Peter arrived in Heraldson and began asking questions and investigating the townfolk. He was told that the alien had supposedly visited Gary Smith, the town mechanic, at a crop circle nearby.
Peter went first to Gary's body shop. Gary wasn't there, but in his shop Peter found what looked like a piece of alien technology, perhaps a weapon of some kind. Excitedly, Peter made his way to the crop circle, looking for more clues.
As he arrived, he saw Gary pressing buttons on another piece of alien technology, and suddenly a spaceship descended from the sky. The door opened and a tall, grey-skinned alien came out.
"S-s-sorry, I didn't mean to do that..." stammered Gary.
The alien was dressed in a black body suit, and carried a three-foot long metallic rod. Its skin was as pale and hard as chisled marble, and its eyes were bottomless black pools, deeper than the night sky.
"IDIOT! I was in the middle of important work, and I'm suddenly ripped from orbit with a phony distress call, and you say you're SORRY?! If you had any sense, you would have run long ago!"
And with that, the grey alien hefted its rod and shot a beam of energy that sliced Gary in half.
"Wait, tall alien!" Peter shouted.
The alien turned to size up this new foe. "And what would you do against me?"
Peter raised the ray gun that he had found in Gary's shop. "Only this!" he said as he fired at the alien.
The alien screamed as the light tore through its black suit. But Peter wasn't finished. "And this!"
The alien howled, for it was in agony. "And this!"
The alien retreated into the spaceship and took off, never to be seen again. And Peter published many papers on the alien ray gun and transmitter and became a well-known scientist, though he was quite wary that the alien might find his way back to him one day.
And you know what? The reason you've never heard this story before is because he likes to keep it hidden. But then, who am I to know this story?
I am the alien he fought.[/quote]
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Masterweaver
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| Posted: Sat Nov 25, 2006 6:58 am Post subject: |
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Aha, the scientist likes to keep it hidden. Greedy little-
_________________
Sarothen, Mesoli, Gerastro
/\___/\
(0)-_-(0)
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Idea master
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| Posted: Sun Dec 03, 2006 12:18 am Post subject: |
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It's alive! Yay! And kicking me in the ribs! Ow!
I *may* do yet another link in the chain...
Wait...the ideas must come to a boil first.
_________________
...So I've been summoned back from beyond the veil.
...No plans yet.
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Idea master
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| Posted: Sun Dec 03, 2006 12:32 am Post subject: |
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This is the story of Dr. Peter Acheson, the renowned quantum physicist, and how he got there.
Dr. Acheson always held a firm belief that there were other universes parallel to our own, holding forms of life and civilizations long lost to this world. He was a lowly intern at the time, and was working hard on a portal-making device that could send someone or several someones to another realm. He was picked by lottery to go with the expedition.
The rules were very firm. No form of weaponry beyond the middle ages. Yet Peter couldn't resist. He was all about breaking or bending the rules at the time, and stuck a standard six-shot revolver in the waistband of his pants, then secured it firmly with his belt.
The rush of the portal was similar to twenty cups of coffee drunk at once. When the group was ejected, they stood in the middle of a very large, very round room.
The walls were made of bone, held together by congealed blood. The ground was barely solidified lava. Things were inscribed in red in a circle around them, and a...thing sat on a throne of human skulls. More, smaller things encircled the group.
The lead scientist, whose name has been lost due to irrelevance, barely had time to say "Oh shi-" before being ripped in half.
Peter, in the middle, had a few seconds longer. "Please don't kill me!"
The things paused. Then the one seated on the throne, obviously the leader, asked, in a voice that sounded like a mixture of nails on chalkboard and volcano erupting, "WHY NOT?"
Peter whipped the gun out and fired. "This!"
A blossom of red appeared on the thing. Peter wasn't done yet. "And this!"
A second blossom appeared. "And this too!"
The thing slumped, dead. Peter quickly slapped the locator device on his shirt front, and was pulled back between dimensions, to his home universe.
Peter thinks he knows what those things were now, and will even tell people about it behind closed and debugged doors. But he begs people not to talk about it. It's a good idea, and do you know why?
I am the replacement for the one he killed.
_________________
...So I've been summoned back from beyond the veil.
...No plans yet.
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Idea master
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| Posted: Sun Dec 03, 2006 1:48 am Post subject: |
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Because we don't change it too much out of respect for the original?
Random ideas here. Oh, and we have to relate it somehow to the story before ours, which is related to the one before that, so on and so forth.
_________________
...So I've been summoned back from beyond the veil.
...No plans yet.
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Tue Dec 12, 2006 4:03 am Post subject: |
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This is the story of Dr. Peter Acheson, the renowned quantum physicist, and how he survived the trip of his life.
Dr. Acheson worked as a research student and then spent most of his professional life working with a team of dedicated scientists on interdimensional travel, on a project, part of which was so confidential that the team members were kept out of circulation for 5 years.
The experimental portal had been tested many times on inanimate objects, but at last it was time for the first humans to try. Peter and two others were selected to go.
Peter was not a great traveller at the best of times, and the neural jarring and travel sickness he experienced on this transfer nearly finished him.
If the headache and vomiting was not enough for them on arrival, they found they were confronted with a being that appeared to be half rock, half fire, sitting on a throne of skulls, in a room made of congealed blood and bones. At that moment, Peter's companions spontaneously combusted (possibly for technical reasons) but he, being made of more heroic stuff, yelled "Please, dont kill me!"
The thing paused, and Peter trembled, wishing he had now smuggled a weapon along with him, and wondered what his fate would be.
He carefully placed his hand in his pocket and switched on the interdimensional locator device, that was attached to the chain on his belt, hoping that the signal would be received and he'd be rescued in good time.
The creature advanced on him.
Now I am telling you this now, but it's a good idea not to talk about it. And do you know why?
I am the replacement Dr. Peter Acheson. Mwahhhaaaaahhaaar!!!!
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Key
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| Posted: Sun Dec 17, 2006 12:43 pm Post subject: |
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"Mr McNulty?"
The voice was mild and soft, unlike most of the voices that interrupted McNulty's work - voices that demanded to have their stories written, or wanting to know why they hadn't been printed yet, or angry because they didn't like what had been printed. McNulty was used to dealing with loud people. He didn't mind it - he was loud himself.
The soft-spoken man was tall, slightly stooped with wire-rimmed glasses. There was something familiar about the face. "Mr. McNulty," the man continued. "I believe that you're writing a story about me."
That was it! This was Acheson, the quantum physicist, the man at the center of it all. "Come in, come in," said McNulty, quickly closing the door to his office and clearing off a chair. "I've been trying to get hold of you for weeks. The government said you weren't allowed to see anyone."
"Ah, yes. Well, when I heard that you were going to write a story whether or not you spoke to me, I convinced them to let me see you. I'm concerned about everything being reported accurately."
"So am I, Professor," said McNulty, hurriedly finding a tape recorder and turning it on. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
Acheson looked at the tape recorder with annoyance, but didn't object. "Well, as you know," he began, "I've spent most of my professional life working on the science of interdimensional travel. Our latest project was top secret, though apparently there were some breaches of security." He frowned slightly.
McNulty chuckled. "People will talk, and that's good. The public has a right to know."
"Yes, well, be that as it may, we recently made a breakthrough that allowed us to send through not just inanimate objects, but people. My two research assistants and I were the first to go."
He shook at the memory. "It was awful. If the headache and vomiting on arrival weren't enough, we found ourselves confronted with a being that appeared to be half rock, half fire, with a huge black maw, sitting on a throne of skulls. At that moment, my assistants spontaneously combusted (possibly for reasons having to do with heat transfer from the interdimensional gateway). I exclaimed to the being, 'Please don't kill me!'
"The thing paused, and I trembled, wishing I had taken a weapon along with me. I carefully placed my hand in my pocket and switched on the interdimensional locator device that would call me back, hoping that the signal would be received and I'd be rescued in time.
"The creature advanced on me. And as it advanced, it changed. Its features melted and reshaped until they mimicked my own. It was quite astounding, like looking into a mirror. Apparently this creature could take the form of others, perhaps as an adaptation for hunting prey.
"Now I am telling you all this now, but it's a good idea not to talk about it. I'd like you just to write that my assistants met an unremarkable accident."
"Are you crazy, Professor? This is headline news! Page 1 stuff! Why wouldn't I write this?"
Acheson removed his glasses. His face began to melt. "GUESS WHY!" he said in a loud voice, as his mouth got larger. Much larger.
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| Posted: Sun Dec 17, 2006 2:18 pm Post subject: |
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Masterweaver
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| Posted: Mon Dec 18, 2006 11:23 am Post subject: |
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Mcnutiy had only just finished his coffee when a man sudenly appeared before him.
"Achesin? Is that you?"
The man looked at him. "It is I."
"But, that portal that you encountered in the shuttlecraft-"
"Drew me and my assistants to a world of lava. There, we encountered a beast that knocked the others into the molten rock." His face remained impassive.
Mcnutiy, however, was inquireing. "Why did you escape?"
"I begged it not to kill me, and...It paused."
The man's face sqeezed as he attempted to remember.
"It told me...It would let me live, if I performed a favor."
"A-A favor?"
"Mcnutiy, you must help us!"
"'Us'? What do you mean?"
Acherson smiled a smile of razor-sharp teeth. "Why, what do you think?"
_________________
Sarothen, Mesoli, Gerastro
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| Posted: Mon Dec 18, 2006 12:29 pm Post subject: |
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Tue Dec 19, 2006 3:53 am Post subject: |
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The room was a mess, like a whirlwind had torn through it. Papers were strewn across the floor, some drenched in tea, spilt from a recently filled cup.
The body of O'Doyle McNulty, veteran explorer lay limply in his armchair, his arm still laying across the tape recorder on the table at his side. The expression etched on his face was a combination of terror and wonder. The old rug on the floor was singed in various places, some of the holes still smoking. In the glowing embers of his open fire there was a playful twinkling of dancing motes of light, occasionally shimmering into recognisable shapes.
Whether his body was just slightly unbalanced in the way that he was laying in his chair, or whether some other force pushed him, it will never be known for sure, but he seemed to slide slightly, knocking the tape recorder off the table. It fell to the floor, the impact activating the 'play' button.
The noise on the tape was horrifying. Against the background of sounds of burning, crunching and hot lava there were screams of terror, howls of strange creatures, sounds that conjured up the most fearful of images in the mind. And in the middle of it all, O'Doyles last gasps of breath, during what must have been a futile and impossibly ill matched struggle, as his dying moments were replayed in audio...
Then there was silence on the tape as it continued to run, only the ticking of the carriage clock on O'Doyle's mantlepiece could be heard on it. After a while there was a click, as if someone - or something - must have at that point pressed the "stop record" button.
The unrecorded part of the tape ran on, with a faint hiss. A few moments later, voices on the unrecorded portion could be faintly, but definitely heard.
"Almea? Is that you?" O'Doyle's deep tones barely crackled through the white noise.
"Of course it is, silly!" replied a very quiet, pure, clear, tenor male voice. It seemed to emanate from a very small being, perhaps even faerie like.
"Oh, Almea, I've missed you so much! But I had assumed you had perished! That demon had ensorcered you and stole you away from me! However did you escape?" there seemed to be fondness in the way O'Doyle's spoke.
"Awww... he's just a big bully! He took me back to his lair, a dark and evil place of fire and brimstone, surrounded by moats of lava. There, he stuffed me into one of his crystal prisons, and drew strength from my magic, leaving me weakened and helpless!" replied the faerie, his words barely making themselves audible on the unrecorded tape.
"But how did you escape?" O'Doyle's voice, although deep and booming, was still faint and almost undiscernable through the hiss.
"Well... that's where your mistaken! You really don't remember how it all ended do you!" giggled the faerie's distant, tinny tones as if hiding a great secret. "Unfortunately", I was drained of my magic til my magic ran out, and then it began to further take my life force in lieu of my lagging manna."
"I- I don't understand! How is it that I see you before me now?"
"Mcnutiy, you must understand! You must remember!" the faerie's voice was raised, and induced a fair bit of static at this point.
"'Remember? What do you mean?" O'Doyle asked through the resulting hissing and crackles.
"O'Doyle, you silly fool! You've gone and forgotten everything haven't you? Don't you remember... You didn't survive that battle! And neither, it seems did I! But we're free now! FREEEEEE! WEEEEEEEEEE!"
The tape continued to hiss quietly until it spooled on to the end.
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| Posted: Tue Dec 19, 2006 9:09 am Post subject: |
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Masterweaver
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| Posted: Sat Apr 21, 2007 2:41 pm Post subject: |
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The fairy plunked the tape-recorder onto the desk and hit the red button. The troll sighed, and held before him a script. "Almea? Is that you?"
"Of course it is, silly!" read the faerie, stifiling a grin.
"Oh, Almea, I've missed you so much! But I had assumed you had perished! That demon had ensourcered you and stole you away from me! However did you escape?" The troll ran through his lines as if he simply did not understand that feelings could be faked or even emulated.
"Awww... he's just a big bully! He took me back o his lair, a dark and evil place of fire and brimstone, surrounded by moats of lava. There, he stuffed me into one of his crystal prisons, and drew strength from my magic, leaving me weakened and helpless!" The faerie was now openly grinning, and the needles of teeth gleamed mischivously from his mouth.
"How did you escape?" read the troll, annoyed at the faerie's mirth. He hoped he'd get payed well for this...
"You're mistaken!" giggled the faerie. "I was drained of my magic and my life force!"
"I see you now! How come?" said the very angry troll, slamming his script on the desk.
"You remember, right?"
The troll snatched the faerie out of the air, in a rage beacuase it was not taking this seriously. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THIS?!?!"
The faeries slipped out, and began flying around the room. "FREEE! WEEEE!" He deftly turned off the recording.
The next morning, the tape was on the desk of O'Doyle McNulty, investigator in the paranormal. He listened to it, and threw it into the trash, muttering, "Another prank."
_________________
Sarothen, Mesoli, Gerastro
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(0)-_-(0)
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Key
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| Posted: Sat Apr 21, 2007 8:39 pm Post subject: |
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"First thing is, how come you can't get me better parts than this trash?" complained Ben as he waved the script. "I'm sick of fantasy parts. Why don't you ever get me some drama? Or even a good sitcom?"
"Hey, come on, Ben, it's steady work," soothed Donny like he'd done a hundred times before. "And you know, I did get you that gig with the community theatre last month. They're still fixing their stage."
Faye tittered from just above Ben's shoulder. "Maybe you ought to go on a diet," she said. "All the Orson Welles parts are already taken."
Ben swatted at Faye with the script, but she flew up out of reach and laughed at him again, her needles of teeth gleaming mischievously from her mouth. "And second thing," growled Ben. "Why do I have to work with her?"
"Ben, Ben, Ben," said Donny in his most concerned voice. "You know I love you. You know I'm doing my best. It's just that all the troll parts are in fantasy. And the faerie parts too. You guys have just got to learn to work together."
Ben sighed. Donny continued, "Look, just make nice and do the reading, ok? Do it for me. And if you do, I..I'll get you a lead in a romance. Yeah, that's it. You'll be the next Bogart, I swear, or my name isn't Donny Nutcracker."
Faye stifled a giggle from the rafters. Ben shot her a glare, shook his head glumly, and trudged onto the set. Faye flitted behind him. With the directors and writers speechless at his half-ton frame, Ben read the script.
"Almea? is that you?" he said in a bored voice.
"Of course it is, silly!" replied the faerie, grinning.
"Oh, Almea, I've missed you so much. But I had assumed you had perished. That demon had ensourcered you and stole you away from me. However did you escape?" The troll ran through his lines as if he simply did not understand that feelings could be faked or even emulated.
"Awww... he's just a big bully! He took me back to his lair, a dark and evil place of fire and brimstone, surrounded by moats of lava. There, he stuffed me into one of his crystal prisons, and drew strength from my magic, leaving me weakened and helpless!" The faerie was now openly giggling.
"How did you escape?" read the troll, annoyed at the faerie's mirth.
You're mistaken!" laughed the faerie. "I was drained of my magic and my life force!"
"That's enough!" cried the director, a small young man with a goatee. "You've got the parts, both of you. You look amazing!" He turned to one of the many assistants scurrying along behind him and said in a low voice, "We'll need some voice talent for the dub-ins." She quickly scribbled some notes as the writers and hangers-on broke up and went about their business.
Ben's massive shoulders sagged. Bad enough that he couldn't get good parts, now they didn't even want his voice. They were just renting his body as a special effects prop.
But as he began trudging his way back the warehouse where he lived, Ben felt two small feet land on his shoulder. "Cheer up, Ben," said Faye. "You know, I really think you could do romance."
Ben waited for the sarcastic barb that he was sure would follow, but it never came. Instead, Faye flitted off high above into the clouds, and Ben was left on the sidewalk, wondering.
He paused for a minute, then said to himself, quietly, almost tentatively, "Here's looking at you, kid."
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NeverNeverGirl
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| Posted: Mon Jul 23, 2007 9:16 pm Post subject: |
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heres my attempt at this - i think i have understood the task properly...
I am the one he killed. I am my own replacement. Never can you kill me without bringing me forth again.
The one who killed me? Dr Peter Acheson. A mortal man with a no more superior intelligence than the amoeba from which he was descended. Famous alien bilogical scientist? HA! He fell into his fame one day by interferring where no one with any sense would have dared, he is famous simply for the arrogance and stupidity of a middle class white male with mother issues.
It began on a Sunday. Driving down a long and winding road high in the hills of No Mans land in the middle of the night. Peter Acheson had stopped to use the bathroom when he stumbled across the very thing that would lead to his fame. As he zipped his fly up he glanced up and saw a flash of light from amongst the trees.
It can barely be comprehended what he was thinking at that moment, it is far beneath one such as i to sttop so low.
Pulling his gun from teh glove box he shoved it in the front of his pants and hoisting his camcorder from his car Peter panned in on what he had at first taken to be a 'spaceship'. A term used by the uneducated.
He went forwards warily, creeping ever closer to the undiscernable object hidden by the trees and groundcover. As he came nearer he saw a man with yellow skin step forwad from the bushes and into the clearing where the 'flash' had come from.
'Oh Shi-' the man crumpled to his knees with his upper torso twisted around facing the way it had come.
Looking at the point from which the flash had come Peter crept further forward believing that he was yet to be seen. Steeping clear of the shadows the great ShiVa made himself known. A majestic Urok King such as has never been known. Resplendent with oily purple skin and three eyes ShiVa crouched beside the fallen figure.
'No RaVi, not you too.. ' As ShiVa reached to close the eyes of a fallen comrade Peter Acheson stepped out of the darkness.
'Take this you scum sucking alien' firing a shot into ShiVa he laughed. ShiVa raised himself up on his arm - looking puzzledly at Acheson.
'and this' again a pistol cracked thru the night sky. ShiVa stared down at his chest as a bloom of deepest red spread over his skin.
'and one for the road' Peter Acheson laughed manically. At last ShiVa was no more than an empty vessel for a long departed soul.
He spent many months up there with his 10th grade biology texts trying to unwrap the riddle of that night. he produced several papers (with much help from a ghost writer) on what he had 'found'. But what does he know? What will he ever know?
We were lost space wanderers from across the galaxy, caught up in a misunderstanding. We came to offer you respite and we were greeted with hostility, for that we shall never forgive you.
Be warned. What has died on you world on our world is reborn...
_________________
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NeverNeverGirl
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| Posted: Mon Jul 23, 2007 9:22 pm Post subject: |
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I think i responded to the wrong post - but oh well - sorry.. is osmeone going to write a new story or do we kep going on from the orig still?
_________________
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Masterweaver
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| Posted: Mon Aug 06, 2007 6:48 am Post subject: |
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Death is life and life is death.
His name was Peter Acherson. It is now Peter Acherson. It will be Peter Acherson until he dies. And he will die slowly and painfully.
He had been resting, for reasons best unmentioned, when we iluminated the night sky. He was puzzled, but wary, and brought a weapon. A nine tee seven are, we recall. He went toward the light.
They found him, and he was quick. He took them down before the shield formed. Nameless will they be now and forevermore...
But we heard. We prepared our defenses, and strode out to meet him.
It must be said, in his defense, we were terrifying. We were like a yellowed corpse, with our thin fingers and our parchment skin. It must be said that the first shot was paniced, and if he had stopped, we would have pardoned him.
The second, though, was hungry. The third, malicious. In three short bursts, he had gone from the defender to the attacker to the victor. Such turnabout stunned us, and we crumpled down, defeated by surprise.
But not dead. We now prowl about his mind, waiting for his time, and giving him hints of what he has faced. He publishes his findings, if one can call messages findings, and grows rich ans stagent. But it is not time yet. Only at his time will we take and mold him.
Then, when he is named no more, we will step in and claim our name once again!
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Masterweaver
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| Posted: Sun Dec 16, 2007 12:13 pm Post subject: |
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| This was fun! Will anybody continue this?
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Key
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| Posted: Sun Dec 16, 2007 6:17 pm Post subject: |
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They say he is a fortunate man, the one called Peter Archer. He was the first to meet our kind, and when he killed us, they made him a hero. So be it: in his current form, which they call life, let him be honored, rich, and famous.
When he dies he will be ours.
He had been resting, that evening when we illuminated the night sky. He was puzzled, but wary, and brought a weapon. He went toward the light.
We had come only to observe. We strode out to meet him.
In his defense, we were terrifying - like a yellowed corpse, with thin fingers and parchment skin. His first shot was panicked, and had he stopped there, we would have pardoned him.
But the second shot was hungry. And the third, malicious. In three short bursts, he went from defender to attacker to victor. Such turnabout stunned us, and we crumpled, dead, defeated by surprise.
Thus began the war of the races, in which wave after wave of our kind have impaled themselves on the weapons of the human race. The humans grin like idiots, throwing parades for the victors and thinking that they are winning as they destroy the bodies of millions of our people.
But they don't understand that there is existence beyond the body. They don't know that every one of our dead follows its murderer unseen, waiting in silence to extract our vengeance, which shall be eternal.
They say Peter Archer is a fortunate man. They are wrong.
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Crossfire
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Joined: 07 Apr 2007
Posts: 479
Location: Somewhere between here and not-here, now and not-now... in the half-light, the borderlands, between.
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| Posted: Sun Dec 16, 2007 7:47 pm Post subject: |
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They say he is a fortunate man, the one called Peter Archer, but there is a darkness about him. There is something strange in his eyes that makes sane men shrink back from his burning gaze.
They say he speaks to the dead, and in a way, they're right. Our race no longer lives on this world, not really. We are the last.
When he dies, we will.
He was a champion of darkness, one who forsook the light in favor of the shadows and destroyed all those who opposed his black master. He was tainted by the amulet that he wore; it was his beloved, his heart, his most prized possession.
His bane.
We had come only to observe, but we sensed the terrible corruption that was slowly worming its way to the core of his soul.
In his defense, we were terrifying - like living corpses in the half-light, with long, bony fingers and skin stretched over bone like parchment over frame. His first shot nearly took down one of our number, but our shields held firm against his dark might.
The second shot was hungry, the third malicious. The unholy jewel around his neck shone with a sickly luster, prompting more and more unthinkable acts. It imbued him with unimaginable strength, and he mowed us down.
Our bodies died, but we lived on. He knew of our presence now, and led all humanity against us. We had no chance against his vast armies, and our entire people wept as one at the final destruction of the old races.
Thus began the war of the races, in which wave after wave of our kind have impaled themselves on the weapons of the human race. The humans grin like idiots, throwing parades for the victors and thinking that they are winning as they destroy the bodies of millions of our people.
But they don't understand that there is existence beyond the body. They don't know that every one of our dead follows its murderer unseen, waiting in silence to extract our vengeance, which shall be eternal.
They say Peter Archer is a fortunate man. They are wrong.
_________________
Thrash, dash and crash alike.
Silent eyes decide the wise and unwise - for one that lies. Let it arise.
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Mephistopheles
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| Posted: Sun Dec 16, 2007 8:12 pm Post subject: |
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They say that Archer is a fortunate man, and in some ways, he is more such than others who have laid claim to that title. A brilliant soldier, brave and daring where other's are weak and incompetent, he never backed down from combat, never had he fled a battle.
The shadows of those he had slain followed him, haunting him, but he feared their presence not. They were, despite their race, his brothers in arms. Thousands had fallen to his own sword in the years of combat, and countless millions more to his armies.
Every day, people look at Archer, seeing the dark and stern gleam in his eyes that speaks of countless atrocities that he has been part of, and the ability to accept and commit more. What they fail to realize, is that their reasons for believing him to be fortunate, all the gold, women, and allegiances, are not the reason for his daring and bold demeanor.
No, he sees us, the shades that follow him out of respect for him. He knows that we will honor him after death. He knows that we shall greet him as a brother when he passes from the tales of the living and moves into the realm of myth and lore.
_________________
Cause I am, whatever you say I am
If I wasn't, then why would I say I am?
I don't know, it's just the way I am.
eminem
without the threat of death,
there is no reason to live at all
marilyn manson
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Key
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Joined: 08 Feb 2004
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| Posted: Mon Dec 17, 2007 10:06 pm Post subject: |
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They say that Archer is a lucky one, and he is, but they don't understand why. They know him as a brilliant soldier, brave and daring, who's never backed down from combat, nor fled a battle.
The shadows of those he has slain follow him, haunting him, but he fears their presence not. They are his brothers in arms. Thousands have fallen to his bow in the years of combat, and millions more to his armies.
Yet they know him not. Do they never wonder why he lives so long yet never ages, or why he never uses the new weapons, though a rifle shoots further and straighter and deadlier than any arrow?
He outlasted most of us: Axehandler, Swordsman, and Rockthrower are gone now. Boxer and Biter, long dead. But no Archetype lives forever. His time is coming: he can see it in the eyes of Rifleman. When the soldiers no longer bother to learn the bow, when it passes from common use into the pages of history, Archer will pass on too.
He sees us, the shades that follow him out of respect for him. He knows that we will honor him after death. He knows that we shall greet him as a brother when he passes from the tales of the living and moves into the realm of myth and lore.
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Crossfire
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| Posted: Thu Dec 20, 2007 1:58 am Post subject: |
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They say that Archer is a unlucky man, and he is, tortured by memories too terrible to look in the eye but too horrifyingly compelling to forget. What they don't understand is why. They know him as a brilliant soldier, brave and daring, who's never backed down from combat, nor ever fled a battle.
The shadows of those he has slain follow him. They are always by his side. They worship him and, gazing into their adoring, ghostly faces, he knows that he will never be alone.
They are his brothers in arms, his friends, his lovers, his family. Thousands have fallen to his bow in the years of combat, and millions more to his armies. Some he has killed simply so that they would always be by his side...
Yet they know him not. Do they never wonder why he lives so long yet never ages, or why he never uses the new weapons, though a rifle shoots further, a beam cannon shoots straighter, a chain array faster than any arrow?
He outlasted us all. Axehandler, Swordsman, Rockthrower and the Keeper of the Breaking Sphere, all dead. But no Archetype lives forever, and when we die, we only grow stronger. His time is coming: he can see it in the eyes of Rifleman. When the soldiers no longer bother to learn the bow, when it passes from common use into the pages of history, Archer will pass on too.
It's cold out here, but when he walks through the billowing veil and into our arms, it'll be warm again.
We're sure of it.
He sees us, the shades that follow him out of respect for him, out of love. He knows that we will honor him after death, and beyond. He knows that we shall greet him as a brother when he passes from the tales of the living and moves into the realm of myth and lore. He knows that when he does fall, far into the enveloping darkness, we will be there to catch him.
He will join our ranks.
_________________
Thrash, dash and crash alike.
Silent eyes decide the wise and unwise - for one that lies. Let it arise.
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DeadManWalking
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Joined: 24 May 2006
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| Posted: Thu Apr 24, 2008 5:07 pm Post subject: |
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This is my first post in this experiment. I hope I didn't change it too much.
They say that Archer is an unlucky man, and he is, in his way. He is tortured by a memory too terrible to look in the eye and too much a part of him to forget.
It is a memory of a lost age, of happiness and innocence that he shall never now again. But those who follow him do not know this.
They know him only as a ruthless soldier, brave and daring, who has never backed down from combat, nor fled a battle, staying, fighting until the last of his foes breathes out his life into the sky.
Despite the tales, of innocents slain and towns razed, hundreds of thousands follow him. Many of those who, once had said they would swear their souls away rather than follow him, worship him. His eyes burned with his rage and his hate, and his sadness.
He is their General.
He is their Leader.
He is their God.
And they are shadows of the men they once were. They are always by his side. They worship him and, gazing into their adoring, ghostly faces, he knows that he will never be alone.
And Him? He worships battle. It is his only love now, his heart pounding, and his sword slicing through the throats of those who stand in his way. His passion for blood has replaced his old love.
He dances the dance of death, seeking always for it. It is his lover, now, and he dances with her always.
Thousands have fallen to his sword in the years of combat, and millions more to his armies. And always, he has lead from the front, dancing through spears and swords, and eventually guns and canons.
Yet even those who follow him, his chosen, know him not. They never wonder why he lives so long yet never ages. All they know, is that he lives a charmed life, never to die or age, just as they do.
And this charmed life is his curse.
Always he seeks death, but can never find it, always looking for peace and rest.
And always, when he thinks of his dream, in his dark heart, black and turned to dust over the ages, there is a glimmer of light, and life, as he sees again the image burned forever in his brain.
She has been gone, these ages past, thrown down to the dark void of eternity.
All he seeks is to join her.
And so He fights through the ages, seeking for rest, dancing through fire and steel, always seeking what he has lost.
And that is his curse.
_________________
When the dead walk, the living run.
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Black Hawk
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| Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2008 10:51 am Post subject: |
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wow deadman that was awsome 
_________________
"I don't make jokes. I just watch the government and report the facts."
-Will Rodgers
Michael Crichton one of the greatest writers of his time 1942-2008 rest in peace
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shy_blu_eyes
Citizen
Joined: 15 May 2008
Posts: 299
Location: Away
Items
Legends
Fables
Strata-gems
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| Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2008 3:58 pm Post subject: |
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 Somehow I missed the whole second page, but since I already wrote this, this is based off of IM's post from 3 Dec 06.
Sweat poured down Finn’s brow as she typed franticly. Pulling a scrap of paper from her pocket she tried to make out the smudged access code. ABBAABBA…
Finn cursed, she was six digits short. In the next room there was a load crash followed by a two rapid blasts, Eric’s shotgun. A moment later a third shot erupted, followed by the chatter of automatic fire. Finn could imagine Sarah firing short bursts with her characteristic blend of determination and indifference. Smaller pops now, and loud cursing, Eric firing his pistol. The noise level rose to a frenzied crescendo…
Refocusing on the task at hand Finn was struck by a sudden memory, something from a lifetime ago, something about…
“Italian sonnets,” Finn whispered to herself.
ABBAABBA-CDECDE
Access Denied
-CDCDCD
ACCESS DENIED
Finn bit her lip, struggling to remember the rhyme scheme she had worked so hard to ignore all those years ago.
ABBAABBA-CDCCDC
Access Granted
Running down the list Finn quickly found the file she sought…
Acheson-0127-001
A yell, followed by a scream. Continuous automatic fire. And then silence…
Male, Caucasian, age 34 years.
Subject is sole survivor of test group 127, trial 1.
Subject initially showed signs of accelerated heart rate and distraction consistent with previous trials. Currently in good physical health.
Something slammed against the heavy blast door, denting it. Then another slam. Then continuous pounding. The door groaned. The hinges couldn’t survive for long…
Subject shows signs of acute paranoia. Reports other team members killed by “Demon-like Creatures”. Reports that he was able to kill one of these creatures with three rounds of .357 Magnum ammunition, prior to activating return signal. Magnum recovered from subject, three rounds of ammunition expended. Suggest sedation and observation of subject until further testing can verify reports.
The rest of the file was massive, 3.7 gigabytes total, no time to look at it here…
Finn quickly attached a specially designed portable drive, uploading the file in its entirety, hoping it would contain some clues about what had happened.
Now, she though as she detached the drive, how to get out?
A moment later, the door gave way…
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