Ho Hopefully Someguy will step into the second slot or Mav will return and take second slot then (another dodge though and he can go elsewhere). It’s not a “rush” to write a couple of thousand words in a few days for me. I could do it in a few hours tbh (and probably will tomorrow unless I feel like reading/drawing instead).
Fair enough, happy to stick with second if it's okay to have it done 10th August ish, would have been sooner of course if I could have got it done before I go away but we'll see what happens next! Won't be online much in the next few days but some guy knows how to get in touch if you need anything! Best to everyone
80o words done. Will probably get up to 2000ish by tomorrow and leave it there. Someguy - You going to take second spot? If not I guess waiting until August 9-10 is your best bet I was thinking this date was so far away ... not really, probably overreacting You’re also last in line now, but if you’re not happy about that I guess I could write an extra third part for my character to finish the story off as best I can (unless either of you two would prefer to finish?
Hi all. Huge apologies for my failure here, I've not been particularly active on this site in a few weeks since I've been inundated with new clients. No excuses though, I signed up for this and failed to commit so I apologise. Will be watching the results with interest and wish you good luck. Cheers Mav
Okay ... I’m done. Only managed to get 1000 words out in the end, but thought it better to leave open at this juncture. Here is the beginning of our story: Dear friends and enemies there has been an occurrence that has spoilt my disposition toward the hunt. Just this passing morn I happened upon a straggler from the Waysome Shift ... it appeared a little destitute compared to your usual vagabond; having one eye gouged out, its upper-right forearm absent and an unbearably gruesome looking gait which had been brought upon by some obviously noxious blow received to the head during the days entertainment - I mean, the thing strode around with the aimless lividity of a spurned lover! I managed to subdue it with my stave, after some considerable wrestling and careful maneuvering, and bound it in the draggle vines besides my camp. It never lashed with any veering commitment toward my good self, luck be my habit, but rather flailed as if swatting at some invisible swarm of maggot floaters - or some such imagined miasmic pests. After a short respite I managed to gather up my exerted energy spent and sat to contemplate how to dispose of the now writhing captive and continue with the hunt. Within little time, of my good self quenching my thirsted throat and sating the belly-moans of hunger, the thing had settled still as a dead goose and was singing the most beautiful wordless melody that my good ears had ever cupped! Such was the delicacy of the timbre, the soft delight of the rhythm, that my jeweled ears supped up every last drop of the music; so rich and powerful the draught that any goblet in possession of this mighty concoction would never allow its liquid to pass from its brim, holding it from the lips of others in greedy intoxication. Have you heard of such a thing? A mere straggler singing, let alone conjuring up a sound so hypnotic and dignified that it could charm the ear of our likes? Trust my goodness, this was only the beginning of this whole worrisome event. Once the song had lulled to a barely audible hum I quickly approached the thing and sluiced the vines with my urine to tighten their hold on its wrapped limbs. Then I saddled up my Lark, removed its nosebag and climbed atop its bulking frame. It gave gruff snorts and grain shot from its nose into the dying embers of the campfire - the Waysome thing let out a shrill, fear-filled screech and began to gnaw on the vines; irked my mount set off with sluggish stomps away from the disturbing noise and I haply allowed it to steer me clear. Once some way off I set to thinking about how to handle this awkward situation. Eventually, against my better judgement, I thought it best to simply leave the thing to die and be slowly consumed by the carnivorous vines rather than worry myself with the burden of cleansing a sullied blade - the ceremony would be too long to allow me any rational hope of winning the hunt, yet the thought of leaving the thing to the vegetation stewed in my good self, like the thought of a pot of cump-resin left open to dry into a useless lump. I decided on a quick hunt to settle my thoughts and spurred on the Lark through the twisted scrub of the tree spattered lands. I rode up the craggy tors and dipped down into the dry gulleys and brooks of Dragglewood; thorny brushes and skeletal trees reached out with scratches and pokes. Larks, if you don’t know, are such sturdy beasts of burden especially suited to this clime having no fear for any predator that I’ve heard of; yet my steed was deeply reluctant to turn its broad snout back towards the thick depths of the forest where the thing sat enmeshed. I wondered why this beast was acting so if not for the Waysome thing? I could think of no immediate answer, which further set my nerves a-prickling. With my Lark licking the salty bark of a rudderbirch I set off to the edge of a coppice and waited for some quarry to wander by unsuspecting - there was a clear animal trail just a few spans beyond my position. The haunting echo of the Waysome thing’s song was beginning to recede, I slowly began to unclench and allowed my eyes to take in the scene of the secluded glade; its tufts of shoulder-high grass, jagged, naked scrub and leafy bundles of berry bushes huddled in the centre of the opening like children fearful of the shadowy edges of the glade. It was then I heard the lowing of my Lark in the distance to my rear. I turned and listened more closely. I heard the foliage snapping and twisting as the Lark moved toward me bellowing in pain, then it sprung into view ablaze! Its shaggy hide trailing strings of fire whilst its eyes bulged in terror-filled agony, it rolled right over me knocking me out cold. I regained consciousness some minutes later, the coppice was smoldering, the grasses in the glade reduced to blackened smoking stalks, a bed for the now cooked Lark. My good self was quite dazed for some minutes more before I managed to lurch to my feet again - quickly I realised my leg was broken as it gave way and I collapsed in a screaming pile. I can only hope you all, my good friends and enemies, can procure the permit to find your way to my location; such is my plight of this no good moment. Bring with haste to me your ire and support in arms against a foe beyond the mere measures of The Hunt! I cannot implore your good selves with any morsel of exaggerated tone, hubris of deception, nor reasonably fathom a manner to express the direness of this here astounding situation I have, by some bizarre luck, stumbled into. Am I thankful or thankless? Come please to my aide and allow me some semblance of understanding about this fateful predicament.
Update: long train journey today, hoping to get my piece done to a standard where I can put it on here. Either way, I've got a solid plan for it, so next two or three days if not later today. Hope you're all keeping well!
It's here! I can only apologise if this drags us in a direction we weren't expecting, changes can be made if needed but see what you think! o forward to seeing where it goes next I didn't see the smoke, at first. Perched on the roof, I looked out over the Whisperfruit fields toward the forest, gripping the lip of a row of slanted shingles beneath me. The horizon was dull and broken, drizzled with grey tendrils of light. The forest punctured smooth ground in a mess of black, twisted splinters - some of the trees had been stripped by the latest storm, but most were shrouded by a thick,, lush veil of green. Everything was still, except... 'Karrie!' someone yelled from indoors. 'You're not on the roof again, are you?' I turned my head. 'No, papa!' 'I'm not taking you into town if you fall!' he called. 'If that physician sees any more bruises on my little girl, he'll think I'm beating you!' I sighed, focusing on the horizon. There was definitely something there. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something had changed. I narrowed my eyes. Tangled, brown hair fluttered in front of my face and I pulled it back behind my ears. There was something new on the horizon, something that shifted above the ground, just slow enough to be almost motionless. I leaned forward to get a better look - I hardly had time to scream before gravity had pulled me forward and I was tumbling, head over boots. I reached out to clutch at the shingles but my fingers grabbed thin air and I was falling, rushing towards the ground in a blur of gold and brown. I crashed into the stalks of fruit at the foot of the house and rolled. Laying on my back in the grass, I realised I could smell it now. Bitter. Thick on the air, thick enough that it burned the back of my throat. I shot up, eyes widening. I could see it now. A plume of black rose up from the trees on the horizon, spiralling as it pushed into the clouds, thinning until it lightened to a shade like burning charcoal, and then to pale, grey ash, and then to nothing. Orange-white tongues licked the bottoms of the trees. 'Fire!' A shadow passed over my head and I spun round, dusting myself off as I scrambled to my feet. Papa stood in the doorway with his arms folded, linen shirt billowing in the wind. He cocked an eyebrow. 'I thought you weren't on the roof,' he murmured. 'You hurt, Karrie?' I shook my head. 'I'm fine. Look!' He followed the direction of my pointing finger and his face flashed white. 'You should get inside, girl,' he said. His voice was low. 'We have to go to the forest,' I said. 'Papa, we have to see if anyone's hurt.' 'You're not going anywhere near that forest,' he shook his head. 'Not while The Hunt is on. It's a dangerous place to be.' I put my hands on my hips and winced. My leg throbbed. 'And you have hurt yourself,' papa scolded. He turned, gesturing for me to follow him back inside. 'Come on, let's see if we can find something for the pain. Shame you're not old enough to drink, Karrie.' 'I can drink,' I pouted, but my mind was elsewhere. I turned, looked back toward the forest. The smoke had risen even higher now, twisting like the smouldering tentacles of some fiery octopus. Before I could stop myself, I was running. 'Karrie!' papa yelled, but I was too far gone. I knew he'd run after me, but I was faster. Ever since papa's accident, he was slow. Sluggish. A pang of guilt struck my gut, but I kept going. Around me, the fruit bobbed and dipped about on thick, thorn-ridden stalks. As the wind passed through red-rimmed holes in their fleshy shells, the fruits hissed and rasped. It sounded like they were warning me away. 'Get back here!' papa shouted, but his voice was fainter now. My breathing grew heavy and fast as I ran, and my twisted hip complained, but I pushed on. A part of me was afraid, for the hunters in the forest, for the animals. A part of me was just excited to see the wildfire. I pressed on, grunting as thorns scraped the skin of my legs and the whispering rose to a harsh, hollow screeching in my ears. As I neared the forest, the smell of the flames grew stronger. It was tangy - meaty, like charred skin and muscle. Almost like - The ground gave way beneath my feet and I fell, screaming. Plummetting through the ground. Trap. Something cold and sharp clamped down on my ankle and I heard a chain snap taut. All the bones in my leg were wrenched upward and I was hanging, arms dangling by my head, hair brushing the dirt. I strained, looking up. The hole was jagged and brittle, and sunlight poked at the edges. It smelled like death, below the ground. 'Help!' I called. Warmth trickled up my leg towards my waist. Blood poured into my skull and my stomach twisted. Bile climbed slowly up my throat. 'Help...' I trailed off as my eyes caught a flash of movement in the dark. The earth above my head was wet and clammy and trails of brown drizzled downward, but below me it was dry and red. Crumbling, like clay. Things moved in the shadows. 'It's okay,' I whispered. 'I'm friendly.' A couple of the things looked up at me, but most of them shuffled about in the dark of the little cavern, more interested in something else, something hidden from me. I swung slowly from my metal rope, reaching up to grab at the chain and pull myself up. One of them watched me from the corner of the cave, eyes narrow and golden. There was something wet and dark in its mouth. It chewed slowly as it watched, picking at chunks of flesh between its teeth. The Leatherheads wouldn't hurt me, I knew that. They were scavengers - death-pickers, papa had always called them. Tiny things, about the size of a human skull, with stumpy little arms and legs and sharp, brittle claws. Harmless, if ugly - all wrinkled skin and twisted faces. Tiny, stubbed tails whipped about as they crawled over the dirt. I would have realised there was something dead down here, I thought, swinging from my chain, even without the presence of Leatherheads. It stank, worse than the fire, stank like rotting flesh and mealworm mess. Something down here had been dead a long time. 'Hey,' I hissed, bobbing my head towards the little death-picker in the corner. The Leatherhead opened its mouth in a grim smile, panting a little. 'You wouldn't be able to drag that little rock over here, would you?' The death-picker looked toward the rock and tilted its head. 'Please?' I said. It looked sharp, and sturdy enough that I might be able to break the lock of the trap device around my leg. 'If I find anything dead in the forest, I'll bring it back for you...' At the back of the cavern, something moved. My eyes darted up, and I saw the thing they were feasting on - dead, white eyes rolled back in the dark; a peeling hand laid flat in the clay, fingers curled into tight claws; dry skin flaked and shifted in the air as tiny, curled claws dug at the corpse's fetid flesh. I shuddered. 'Please,' I insisted. The picker moved slowly, crawling on its little legs towards the stone. I smiled. 'That's it,' I said. 'That's a good boy. Now bring it across...' My little Leatherhead laid a paw on the rock and turned its head. This one? it seemed to be saying. 'That's it,' I said again. 'Quickly, now...' Fear rose in my gut and I swallowed. My head was throbbing. The whole cave smelled like blood. 'Quickly...' The picker turned and started to drag the stone towards me. 'Yes!' I hissed. 'Perfect! I knew you could understand m -' A peeling hand lurched out of the dark and grabbed the little creature, digging cracked claws into its skin. The death-picker yelped and suddenly they were all screaming, chirping with little, blood-stained snouts. The shadows reared up and something moved and then I was screaming with them. The corpse stood crooked, one shoulder dipped beneath the other, pushing the Leatherhead into its mouth. It bit down and the creature's flesh popped, and blood drizzled down the dead man's chin. 'Oh, gods,' I whispered. The corpse looked at me with those dead, rolling eyes, and I screamed again.
Cool! Very, very cool. Already got me an i dea'r two! Sorry to be away these last few days. I'll start clawing my way free right now
This is MUCH more fun than I thought it would be. If we keep up this pace I’m willing to do three cycles if you guys are happy to? I say this because it seems both myself and The Piper have written something akin to a short character intro and I feel like I need two more swipes at this character - meaning two more involved pieces, the next to give more depth and scope and a final one to ‘conclude’. Anyway, let me know. I’m not changing the ‘rules’ if you two are only onboard for writing two parts instead of three (like I said previously I could write the final part regardless?)
Happy with 3 my end, wanted to do a little more the first time around but I had a good cutting-off point and didn't know quite where to take her next without seeing the next couple of pieces. I'm happy to carry this on as long as it goes!
And then, there were three... Like the Picker, I put my paw on the following, "You mean like this?" I was inspired to go way out of the box on this. So it may be way off. Let me know. Yes, I wasn't kidding when I said I didn't know what a paragraph was. :/ I'm a little disturbed by how much I got into this. Grisley and gruesome is not in my comfort zone, per se. But it's shaping toward epic? I've never done anything like this before, or on demand, so to speak. I broke off at 1400 some odd words, in case I'm way off the res... (here goes *cringes*) I walked in my deteriorating guise, singing my siren song, searching… hunting! That’s what they called it, in their primitive squeals and squawks. The creatures of this plane were so diverse, so plentiful, yet so few of them were compatible shells. This one was a prince among these gangled bipeds, yet long fallen from status now that I occupied him. No more jeweled chains and royal robes, now a ragged husk these last hundred years. So short a time for a shell. Common shells lasted more than a thousand years in other planes, but this bizarre place hosted so few compatibles. A worthy challenge. We sang to each other in my home plane, a truly enlightened form of communication. No chopping and stuttering, only a perfect flow of emotion and expression. This shell could no longer mimic their chatter, such was its degeneration. So I walked or deposited my husk on their craft as opportunity presented, and sang my songs, as I searched for a compatible replacement - one compatible enough to take me to the next plane, eventually. My songs were always well received. Some bipeds were delighted, others mesmerized, but none understood the call, none but the compatible ones. Some fed my husk out of pity. Some demanded song before feeding it. It was adequate sustenance. Now I was among these Hunters. Their search for sustenance was also primal ritual, with some mere status advancement as a reward. They had no idea what the true hunt was like - to exist by sheer will, moving from plane to plane after hunting for even thousands of years. My reward was transcendence to the next plane. Then I would be pulled home and granted the privilege to reproduce - the greatest transcendence. A worthy reward. Ah, but the risk. This shell did not sustain me. It held in check my true form, a form that would consume this entire plane, and myself with it, but I had overcome much more difficult planes than this. Some had been consumed as I transcended, a narrow escape. Exhilarating. Yet it was nearly time for concern. I had lost voice, grace, and appendages in these last decades, but song was always with me. I traveled and sang to myself or the bipeds, and acquired sustenance for my shell. The song helped to keep the protrusions of my form from starting fires or expressing strange phenomena. It would not be effective once the shell had disintegrated past a certain point. Long drudgery would become a frenzy of seizing and casting away incompatible shells, and a swath of destruction. Some shells would last short years, some only short days… This moment, I shambled along an overgrown path in this tangled forest, and found the attention of a Hunter upon me. His emotions warred as he considered me. Sad eyes for the condition of my shell, furrowed annoyed brows as he thought, firmed lips and clenched jaw at his decision. He took me, despite my irritation, and I found myself restrained with carnivorous vegetation in his camp. I knew he would not consume my shell for himself, but he had no intention of setting it free. He was a creature of death and ritual. The hunt would call him away. There were only two possibilities; he would kill my shell before he went off, or leave it tied here to perish. I began my song. My call. He had no care for the arts, but he was mesmerized, and there was a hint of compatibility. The beast was stirred as well, and a quadruped was always briefly compatible. Very briefly. My true form would seek any shell at instinct, even for the briefest moment, thus the consumption of an entire plane. I remained, now silent in my bondage. As he left, my shell felt the stinging rasp of its bonds and wailed and gnawed at them, at its own instinct. My form would protrude as the husk lost the ability to follow my will. I felt the hunter and his beast long after they were out of sight. It would soon be time. ***** The vegetation ceased its attack to digest what it had taken from my shell. I felt my protrusion at its weakest point, the gnarled appendage. A delicate tendril crackled as it consumed living air, and I focused its flailing toward the bonds. It was long past time for concern as my very will held all but the tendril in total control. It latched onto our captor and the vegetation steamed and writhed as it paid the price for our inconvenience. Its life force regenerated and invigorated my shell as it smoldered, and the tendril retreated back to me, barely sated. It was exhilarating to feed at the brink of control on raw plane, but I was here to transcend, not consume. The husk consumed its new vitality as it moved with unnatural speed toward the hunter and beast. I would have to replenish from the quadruped, and perhaps ride it to the hunter. A tendril would begin extracting life from vegetation if they had gotten too far ahead, potentially setting it ablaze. I needed to find them soon. It was nearly too late as I suddenly came upon the lone beast. The vegetation was ablaze behind me, but neither of us paid it any heed as we startled each other. More tendrils escaped and crackled as I lept an impossible distance to land on its back. They seared the beast as they latched on, and it bolted, wailing as flames trailed from its rear. I reveled in the exhilaration as the massive, roasting quadruped went mindless in rage and terror. My shell began regenerating just as we passed the hunter, but the beast could not be stopped. I struggled to bring the voracious tendrils back inside me - too late. The severely roasted beast tumbled and my shell was subjected to crushing force as we rolled to a stop. The creature perished as a mass of tendrils penetrated and pulled the remaining life from it. My husk regenerated enough to shamble, but I would never reach the hunter - if, even then, he wasn’t already dead. There was only one choice. I would seek quiet solace among small creatures, and slowly regenerate until I could find a living hunter. I felt for small life forces and turned to shamble toward them… and tumbled into an opening in the ground. My regenerating shell was fractured again, and I willed it to crawl and slither through the dark, toward the small life forces. Deeper now, the tunnel opened to a caveish space. The small quadrupeds were gathered in a mass. More found their way in, retreating from the fire. There was enough life force here to regenerate my husk completely, but it was too late. It was fading - perishing. It collapsed among the creatures, bits of injured flesh already sloughing from it. I mustered my timeless will and sent legions of fine hairlike tendrils in every direction. The little quadrupeds shivered as the filaments penetrated, then calmed as I sang to them directly thru each tendril. They would survive for a time in a tranquil symbiosis, as long as there were enough of them. Then perhaps I could call more, and let these replenish themselves, then return to their blissful place to dream. I would show them where sustenance could be found. I could exist within them all… But no, they would perish nonetheless, from age, predation, elements, and ultimate consumption. We would thrive in our simple bliss, but not indefinitely. I would eventually exterminate them all. I offered them my sloughing husk as occasional sustenance, as I distributed my symbiosis, keeping only what I could sustain, in its fleeting existence. Larger quadrupeds would eventually discover this place, or follow my call, to become part of the symbiosis. I would eventually find a suitable shell among them, or they would attract a Hunter here, to be a shell. I would eventually resume my timeless quest. Unless a hunter wandered into this place, or fell in as I had. ***** As I offered another piece of my husk to a quadruped, I felt a biped approaching. It was smaller than a Hunter. Its heartbeat was lighter. Livelier. It was nearly above me, approaching the flames! A random opportunity, timely for both of us! I would call to… It crashed through the soil and hung, wailing, from its chain. They’re so odd. It struggled as fluids ran down its appendage, then took notice of one of my quadrupeds. It was reaching, speaking, to the creature, as it responded! Is it possible? A compatible shell?? It looked at me as I retracted a quadruped to offer it the tongue of my husk. I reached my last appendage to grab her hand. Exhilarating… *****
As an interested bystander, thoroughly enjoyed all posted sections thus far - great stuff guys! (though I am struggling to link them into a cohesion narrative - did I misunderstand the intention?) Won’t say any more until it’s done, great stuff guys. NC
@Some Guy I wasn't expecting that at all!! But I'm very intrigued. Tough not to let my self get carried away with ideas for my next part before I see what happens next...
@Some Guy The point was to keep a linear timeline. Never mind though, I can work with this. Let’s try to keep events sequential from now on though rather than parallel.
Spoiler: Do NOT read until Christmas! :) It was just a test balloon, anyway. Piper can use it for his work. Grabbing the girl was a closing of the loop for the Vagabond. I too was mesmerized by the song, and so gave the singer resolution. The linear progression can continue with the girl, or the hunter. Both are still in play. I'm learning MASSIVE amounts about story writing from you guys, so a few questions: Since the world is established, this is the time of character introductions, so would story and plot be later? The hunter and the girl were both... actually, all the potential MCs are in a cliffhangar state, the hunter passive, the girl active? The beast is roasted. The Vagabond seemed fated. The fire is still active. Pops is in a totally passive state. Would the linear progression continue with them? What cues do I take from the beginning? There's The Hunt, the Hunters, a carnivorous biome, a fire, semi-sentient creatures, seeming wayfaring souls in abundance, and established characters and settings. Do I introduce more characters and settings, or interact with the existing characters, which would still require another character (if I'm to create one)? As an example, am I meant to rescue the downed Hunter? Is that where the linear progression continues? I assumed (uh oh) that you, as sweep, would steer the characters and events together to set the path and point of the tale, in your final entry for this round? I wasn't kidding when I said I have no training and no experience, so mentor me in this fascinating dynamic we have going I have no attachment to the above submission, so lemme have a bit of prompt this once? I have some few more days left before I disintegrate! Heh heh
I haven’t read this. Please delete ... the point of the exercise is NOT to discuss our thoughts and ideas about the story until it’s finished. The challenge is to work ONLY off what the other person writes and try and control the plot as best you can.
Ask The Piper if they want a rewrite. Strictly speaking you’ve not stuck to the rules, but I can work with what I have ... I’ll hold off writing for now until this is agreed.
More than happy as is, I'll leave it up to you @Some Guy whether you want to change it, I suppose we're well ahead of schedule at this point so up to you, but if Badger can work with it etc then I don't think there's any need to worry - completely your choice! As I say, I'm happy with it
Sounds good to me. I'm curious to see how you roll with it. The QUOTE box didn't go away so you may have to delete it, too. It is spoilered so I can remember what to ask in post-mission debrief I'm hoping to get this process right, eventually.
Remember the time lapse. This girl isn’t going to be in the same position because the story will follow right after what I write NOT lead off from where you left her.
