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Post by Kage Chaos on Dec 3, 2006 1:57:31 GMT -5
Alright...here's the rules!
The first person chooses a genre (action, comedy, forum story, romance, horror, fantasy, sci-fi, erotica, fan-fiction, mystery, random, etc.)
The next person write a short story with that genre!
I'll choose...
Random (which basically means do whatever you want!)
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Post by silver on Dec 3, 2006 2:30:49 GMT -5
off topic - erotica too, huh?  I'm all over this when my computer stops being STUPID |
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Post by silver on Dec 3, 2006 4:11:15 GMT -5
I call... romanfantarotica.... LOL I have no idea, but here goes... Whisper to Me "Whisper to me." Seraluna raised her hands above her head, putting her wrists together so her hands formed a cup shape, looking as if she wanted to catch some falling star. She stood that way, on the small hill in the middle of the forest. Devoid of trees, the people of her village called it a faerie hill and generally avoided it. Seraluna, however, was always curious and did as she pleased. This night, she pleased to dance. She hummed, slowly swaying to a rhythm all her own and making circles both with her entire body as well as with various parts of her body. Her wrists still together as if they were created that way, she moved the cup of her hands around, spinning. Her moon dance was something of a long-forgotten age. A time when the pagan beliefs and arts were still accepted. Her offering of her naked body given in dance was something told between adolescents to make young women blush and young men sigh in want. Tristan caught himself just before such a sigh escaped his lips. He'd followed her pale form through the village and forest to the hill, entranced by her form first and now by her melodic humming. His feet moved him out of the shadows of the forest and toward Seraluna before he realized what was happening. Somehow she drew him in, and though he noted it, he did not resist. "Whisper to me." He heard the delicate voice seemingly carried on the wind as Seraluna continued to dance, not appearing to care that he was drawing closwer. Soon he stood almost right next to her, and again he heard, "Whisper to me." "Seraluna," he whispered. Her dancing grew a little less wild, and without thinking, he made a circle around her with his arms. The moment his fingers on both his hands touched each other, she stopped dancing and looked at him. "Seraluna," he whispered again, lowering his arms and moving her closer to him. He let his hands drift down her spine and apart across the curve of her hips. Touching her stomach and moving his hands upward, he found she neither shivered or blushed at his touch. It was if she had simply been waiting for him to discover her full moon ritual. He touched her breast, the barest of airy touches, and leaned forward to give her an equally airy kiss. With each breath she took in, she drew him that much closer to him. They kissed, each kiss with a little more pressure than the last, and his hands as well as hers found confidence in exploration of each other's bodies. She sat down, what he deemed as the most graceful of movements, and leaned back on her elbows. As she beckoned him with a smile betraying love and playfulness, he followed her lead. The pair made love with naught but the full moon to play witness. Afterward, they relaxed in silence in the caress of the moon's glow. She smiled and made lilies appear to rain from above them while he lovingly caressed her body. Still, neither of them spoke. After hours of such bliss, Seraluna stood and began to walk away, the words, "Whisper to me" snaking around Tristan in her wake. "Seraluna?" he asked, his voice at regular speaking volume. Suddenly, she gasped and looked over her shoulder at him. An instant later, she burst into a cloud of white butterflies. He watched them fly around him and then off into the night. Every night thereafter, he went to the hill and brought a white lily with him each time. Laying the lily on the grass in front of him, he found if he whispered sweet words to his faerie Seraluna, one or more white butterflies would come to him. He continued on through his entire life in the hopes of drawing enough butterflies to recreate his lost love, Seraluna. For the next, I vote horror.  |
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Post by silver on Dec 4, 2006 21:30:58 GMT -5
Sorry, darlings. I want to use this. Next, I pick fantasy + romance |
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Post by blossom on Dec 5, 2006 8:35:36 GMT -5
Th ... that ... that's HORRIBLE! *cries* W-why did he do that!? *cries louder* - - - - Black clouds rolled over the night sky, obscuring the full moon and bright stars. Thunder growled overhead, and lighting crashed to ground. All the while rain poured down in torrents. The cellar was deep underground, sheltered from the cruel wind and rain of the raging storm. Tao stood near the door, his body stiff and tense. His shirt was ripped and torn, and his body covered in cut and lacerations, but he showed no pain, just anxiety. He wanted to get out of here, but he couldn't leave Aia. She was stood in front of him, her long silver hair and her white gown blowing with some invisible wind. She was still, almost a statue, with a circle drawn in chalk on the cellar floor and inscribed with runes. Opposite her the creature was chained in a similar circle, but with different runes. It writhed and howled against its imprisonment, knowing the worst was still to come. It shrieked in an unearthly voice, every sound torture to Tao's ears. "Please, Aia," Tao spoke, his voice raised about the creature's wailing, "Please. Don't do this." He stared at the back of her head, hoping and praying. Slowly, she turned within the circle to face him. He saw that her eyes, her beautiful, wide, bright blue eyes, were filled with tears. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then shut it again. Tao inched forward, towards the circle. Aia lifted a hand, as though to reach out and brush his cheek, then let it drop. "I have to. I'm sorry, Tao." Her voice was little more than a whisper, and choked, as though the words were forced. "Aia ..." "Please, Tao. Don't make this harder than it already is." She looked up at him beseechingly, "You know I have to do this. I told you the day we met - this what I came here for." Tao nodded, his eyes downcast. He knew in his heart that she was right. This was her mission, her destiny. This was what she had been born to do. She was the world's only hope, only protection. And he wanted to stop her. He looked up again, and saw that she was crying opening, the tears trailing their way down her cheek. "I'm sorry." She said again. He reached out, but his hand was stopped at the circle's edge by the barrier Aia had erected, which now glowed golden. Aia reached out her own hand and pressed it against the barrier opposite Tao's. "Forgive me." she murmured. She dropped her hand, and turned back to the creature. Closing her eyes, she began to chant, slowly and rhythmically. Her voice seemed to multiply and echo, becoming like a choir singing praise. The creature shied back within its circle, hissing and spitting. The two circles themselves started to glow, a bright white. Tao stepped back, shielding his eyes and the light pulsed out, filling the room. He could no longer see. He could only hear Aia's chanting. Darkness suddenly seemed to stain the light, spilling outwards into a swirling, howling vortex. Tao stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. Tendrils of darkness pushed out from the vortex, and moved to envelope the creature. It shrieked wordlessly, a cry of pure agony. The darkness was merciless, and pulled the aberration into itself. With a last cry, the creature and the vortex vanished. The light from the circles also faded, and once more Tao could see the cellar around him. He turned, and saw Aia lying on the floor, her face ashen. He raced over to her, half lifting her so her head rested against his chest. Her breathing was shallow, and the colour rapidly leaving her face. Just as she had known she would, Aia was now dying. "Aia? Aia?" Tao whispered, hoping to speak to her one last time. Aia's eyes flickered, and slowly opened. "T ... Tao?" she murmured with some effort. "Yes, Aia, it's me," Tao answered, tears running down his face. "I'm dying, Tao." Aia whispered, "I feel ... so cold ..." "Sshhh, Aia, sshhh, it'll be all right. You'll see." "No .. Tao ... I'm ... dying ...." "I know." He admitted, stroking the hair back from her face. Knelt there, with Aia dying in his arms, he knew he had to tell her. It was his last chance. "Aia?" "Y ... yes?" "I ... I love you." He whispered in her ear, his words barely audible. But Aia heard, and her lips curved into a final smile. "I know." Then her eyes closed, and she breathed her last. - - - - Not up to Silver's standard of course I pick mystery for the next one! |
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Post by twilightblade on Dec 5, 2006 13:38:10 GMT -5
Blade stalked slowly down the steps, his eyes flashing from one splash of blood to the next. This murder had been a messy one, and tracking the victim had proved to be no problem whatsoever. Unfortunately...the killer hadn't finished there.
He stepped out into the mists rising from the steaming ground. The rain had left droplets on the think needles of the firs that pattered to the ground in little showers of their own as he brushed by, soaking his black cloak.
The heavy tread of his black boots was muffled by years of fallen leaves and the deep moss underfoot, but ahead he could still hear the silver chime of the killer's pace, ringing clear even through the chill, muffling air.
He moved a little faster, finally catching a glimpse of the murderer flitting through the tall wet grass of a small glade. His first impression was pure white...white... Like pearls, his mind insisted, or opals...or the moon's very essence. He told it to shut up.
In one long stride he was at the edge of the trees, just in time to see the killer stop and turn back toward him.
Blue eyes were the last thing he ever saw...but he understood now. No one could ever tame the white...
***
Detective Mix stared down at the body. No sign of blood. Just those weird, white eyes. He'd never seen that before. Oh, sure, it was in the records...but only an idiot would believe the legend. Still, he had to admit that he was shocked by the death of this hunter, Blade.
Only one thing could have done it.
But it was a fantasy creature...unreal.
Surely not.
He looked up, shoving his sunglasses onto his nose, and became the first to live through the basilisk's stare.
*******
Ok, ugh. That was bad.
Sorry.
Um....
Action.
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Post by Kage Chaos on Dec 5, 2006 14:32:09 GMT -5
The two fighters locked eyes and glared with burning hatred. Both of them knew only one could emerge from the Arena victorious.
Fisguard lunged forward and swung his gigantic zan-battou in a horizontal path aimed to sever his opponent's head. Dirk deftly dodged this first attack and took the opportunity given to him to launch a fireball from the palm of his hand, which seared his opponent upon contact, bringing out Fisguard's fury.
Fisguard slashed at Dirk with speed that was seemingly impossible (especially considering the size of his sword, which was designed to kill horses when fighting against cavalry).
Dirk managed to dodge the first few swings of rage, countering each with another fireball that sent Fisguard into a greater fury. The fireballs weren't doing as much damage as Dirk wanted, as Fisguard was wearing fire-resistant armor. Even so, the heat of the fire angered Fisguard into a rage that didn't allow him to fight to his full potential.
Dirk hadn't realized this, so he stopped using fireballs and unsheated his katana. As he dodged another of Fisguard's swings, he jumped up and managed to slash Fisguard's chest with the tip of his steel. The cut was not deep, but it was enough to free Fisguard from his rage. Fisguard regained his senses, and prepared to step it up a notch.
He dropped his zan-battou, which was too heavy to fight effectively, and pulled out two wakazashis. Dirk had his katana ready, and took up a defensive stance against Fisguard. Seeing this, Fisguard gave Dirk what he wanted, and charged. Even though Dirk was expecting a charge, he hadn't anticipated his opponent's massive increase in speed, due to using far lighter weapons than he had previously. Fisguard was a blur and all Dirk could do was to block at the last moment. Their swords collided, and Dirk had blocked successfully on the first blow, but then Fisguard brought down his second sword, in a hammer like action, and wedged his first wakazashi into Dirk's katana, leaving a large crack, and nearly breaking the sword completely.
Dirk jumped back and threw the katana at Fisguard, mainly as a disraction. Fisguard blocked, but the sword broke in two and the tip nicked his calf and left a shallow cut. Dirk drew a long dagger and charged at Fisguard, who was more than ready to meet the challenge. Faking a stabbing motion with the wakazashi in his right hand, he ducked under Dirk's counter, spun on one foot, and stabbed Dirk through the thigh, leaving a fountain of blood when he removed his blade. Dirk fell to his knees in pain, and was finished as Fisguard severed his head with the other wakazashi.
(I already had this on WF, but I really like it, so I figured it'd be cool to post here.)
RANDOM
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Post by Kage Chaos on Dec 7, 2006 1:13:25 GMT -5
I'll change it from RANDOM to...another mixture of genres. Good luck whoever takes this one  fanteroticomedy |
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Post by alatariel on Dec 8, 2006 11:59:12 GMT -5
Ok so I dont have time to reply with a story right now... but I'd just like to say I admire all of your writing abilities... very impressive! I'm gonna try to post on this one later when I have time. But for now... class!
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Post by twilightblade on Dec 8, 2006 16:45:41 GMT -5
RANDOM!!!
The glass butterfly soared on the wind, the light of a thousand rays of sun sparkling through its many facets, turned rainbows by its prism. Drifting along over the snow, it wove color lines across the twists of shadow running across the ice crystals.
Closer and closer it drew to my cracked window, its delicate black-gold wings flaring as it settled on the window, drawing more color lines across it's broken glass. Its breath sent frost through the cracks, sliding the window, grating, shattering, into glittering shards of prism for the sun to play its light upon.
It fluttered through the open window, alighting softly on my hand. Its gently waving wings sent a dream dance of red-gold light against the crystalline edges of the window's shattered glass, and the light was slashed into glancing, rainbowed streamers that fell to the ground as a splash of molten, weightless, translucent gold that carried winter's fire away across the ice of my window's broken glass.
***
Glass Ice
A dancing pattern of black-gold wings
Delicate, flaring, weaving color lines
Across my window's broken glass
Breathing frost through the cracks
To slide it, grating, shattering,
Into glittering shards of prism
For the sun to play its light upon.
A dreaming dance of red-gold light
On crystalline edges that slash
It into glancing, rainbowed streamers
Falling to the ground as a splash
Of molten, weightless, translucent gold
Carrying winter's fire away across the ice
Of my window's broken glass.
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Western.
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Post by silver on Dec 17, 2006 18:07:28 GMT -5
This one might get a bit confusing...
Alice toddled along, clinging her her father's hat to her chest for comfort. He'd walked thought the swinging doors more than twice her height high. She didn't know what was behind the doors - she'd always been forbidden from even playing near the doors - but she did know her father had gone in there.
"You be a good girl, Alice," he'd said, putting his favourite hat on her head before drifting off behind those mysterious doors.
Still clinging to the hat...
***
19 years later...
...she looked at the doors and scowled. She adjusted her father's hat on her head and started...
***
...toddling even closer to the doors. She wanted to be a good little girl for daddy, but now she could hear yelling from inside.
Deciding she would have just a peek, she went inside and...
**
...quickly identified her target. The target she'd set about nineteen years ago.
**
"Daddy!" she screamed, nearly tripping over her short legs as she ran over and knelt beside her bleeding father.
"Aw, was he your daddy, little flower?"
She looked at the man who had spoken and nodded.
"Well, I shot your daddy because he needed to die," the man said, holding out an ace of heart to her. "Take this, darlin'. You're going to..."
**
"...going to need it," she said, taking a step back after handing him the ace of hearts.
He looked at the ace, holding it in front of his heart, incidentally, and looked at her with a puzzled expression.
"I'm little flower," she said. "You killed my daddy."
As realization dawned in his eyes, she pulled out her pistol and shot him.
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Post by Kage Chaos on Dec 17, 2006 20:19:00 GMT -5
Choose a new genre!!
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Post by silver on Dec 17, 2006 20:22:56 GMT -5
oopsie. forum story
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Post by twilightblade on Jan 23, 2007 14:08:21 GMT -5
Raikadin decided to move through the green glass door, but found that a certain word was required to go through it that began and ended with the letter 'e'. Thus began an epic battle disguising his need for this word: beginning with Blossom, going to Twilight, and then to Kage, and back to Twilight, he searched and searched. Then he stopped, astounded, as he discovered etiquette.
Silver hadn't posted there in a long time, but this was her contribution, and it fit perfectly. With a grin, he passed through the green glass door to victory. Silver just went on handing out cookies and various beverages, making all the Chaos Dwellers happier by her presence. Blossom also did the same as Lady of Chaos, joining Kage in scattering various 'Indeed's around for Halthorn to find and have fun erasing, little knowing that a simple modification by the author of a post quickly reversed his work.
Meanwhile, Youko's Rose found that her car had been fixed through some mysterious means and now ran perfectly. ...Amazingly enough, it even stayed that way, when upheld by frequent hugs and some gentle teasing.
Also, there were new gamers showing up on the board, searching for quality rpg...and finding it. Invictus and Zephyrau moved into the Story Board, with Invictus infiltrating rpg #8, Mutants. Zephyr has yet to close in with the prey, but the other members of the board are waiting in tightly-held suspense.
At last, tired with all of the slightly angled newishness, everything went to chaos, and the random factor found it was out of business, considering that all was now random, and order was a random factor.
"Gleep," biggled Kage, "Glog tokn soozp nxc opvoid djkduy jking indeed ist blargity-bllarg!" (or in other words, 'I hereby declare the language of chaos to be established as blargity-blarg!')
The Lady of Chaos followed soon after with a similar announcement, but was unfortunately cut off midsentence by the random factor of orderliness. "Tigs oovp uimmis -- and post in the rpgs!"
The rest was pure American, and none could understand this strange language of non-blargity-blargness. With sighs, and great boredom, they all went to post somewhere as properly active members.
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fan-fiction
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Post by blossom on Jan 24, 2007 10:05:33 GMT -5
Lol, brilliant.
Okay, SO:
- - - - -
The graveyard stretched before Harry, pitch black under the night sky. The thin sickle moon gave off barely enough light to see by, and in the darkness the gravestones appeared squat, ugly shadows.
Harry moved cautiously forward, his left hand clutching his wand and his right hand constantly straying towards the pocket of his robes.
I can do this ... he told himself, This is the final showdown ...
He walked forward. He could see Voldemort at the far end of the graveyard, tall and thin. A chilling breeze swept through his hair, and Harry shivered. Could he really do this? Could he really defeat Voldemort? He had worked out a strategy with the Order of the Phoenix, but would it work?
As if hearing Harry's doubts, Voldemort slowly turned to face him. A sinister smile was on his face, and his red eyes glinted horribly. Harry felt an icy hand grip his spine.
I can do this ... he said to himself again.
"Can you really?" Voldemort whispered.
"Yes." Harry whispered, not really sure if he believed it himself. Voldemort laughed his high, cold laugh. Harry shivered again.
"You will die here tonight, Harry Potter. You will die just as your parents, Sirius Black, Dumbledore and those foolish friends of yours perished."
Harry felt the icy hand inside him melt as he burned with anger. Red hot anger, that worked its way through him until it settled in his lightning bolt scar.
"You are the one that will die, Tom." he said, using Voldemort's real name. It threw the Dark Lord off balance for a moment, but he quickly recovered and glared at his nemesis.
"You really think your magic is greater than mine? You really believe that you can force your wand to work against mine?" Voldemort whispered.
"Who said I was using my wand?" Harry asked. Voldemort frowned.
"Huh?"
Harry smiled, and pulled from his pocket a thin silver revolver. Voldemort stared blankly at it as Harry pulled the trigger.
The blast echoed around the graveyard and Voldemort slowly looked down at the circular wound in his chest, from which dark red blood was freeing flowing.
"Oh." he said, before crumping to the ground.
- - - - -
Sorry. Had to.
Okay ..... espionage!
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I'm all over this when my computer stops being STUPID
