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Post by MelCorbett on Sept 17, 2015 18:38:03 GMT
So, this was one of my favorite games on JanNo years and years ago when I first started doing these WriMo things :-) (also we used to do a similar thing with vocab words in middle school English) The person before you picks three random words. You use those words to write a little snippet, it can be with your recurring characters, a standalone, or whatever. Post that snippet & three random words for the next person to use. Also... since I'm starting and whatever, I used this random word generator I just found with google. (not implying anyone else ha to use it, but hey... Now it's saved somewhere I can find it again)
Drink Abomination Barbwire
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Post by Jᴀy V. Aꜱᴛᴇʀ 💀🐍 on Sept 22, 2015 3:03:45 GMT
How Nameless Got His Groove Back
Perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to single-handedly storm the Citadel of the Light Alchemists. Nameless the necromancer despised grubbing around the world for a bit of stale nethre like a worm, but he needed the power. Needs must, but this place reeked of treachery. Nameless' foot crunched upon the glass skeleton of a rat, which still twitched like it was alive. Too late. He was already here. The broken glass skeleton fled, its head flapping nastily, just as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something dead was watching him. He felt the disturbance to the mortal plane as a muted vibration in the air, which made a bead of cold sweat form on his brow. Nameless immediately reached for the omnipresent cold of Oblivion, which enveloped him like a quivering, gelatinous second skin. The world froze about him. The world was washed in shades of gray, as the darkness leached the color from his sight, but in exchange, the fuzzy dream that was Oblivion sharpened, and the sight he had lost in the mortal world enabled him to distinguish black from black.[1] Oblivion tried to suck him in, but he would not enter this time. If he let it, it would take more than he had given, and he might not get back. In the darkness behind his eyes, the denizens of Oblivion hissed closer, sensing prey. Forcing his body to stay put, the mental ghost avatar that was Nameless navigated only the thoughtscape, quested for the Generic Pit of Evil, and summoned forth the pitch black nethre he found therein.
There then arose an unearthly susurrus that rattled his innards in a silent fleshquake. Straight ahead, Nameless sensed the presence of something. As subtly as he could, Nameless let a flare of burning oneiric energy envelop his fingers in a haze of fire that leeched all the warmth from his fingers, and made his bones ache. He gritted his teeth. He was proof against the wiles of the occult, but not against the length of living barbed wire that suddenly caught him across the neck. He howled in pain. Rivulets of blood dripped down his robes. In his colorblind state, the black rivulets on pale flesh resembled the waters of Orostra, the Dead River. No more than he was, really. The tentacle was clearly spelled, for it had ripped clean through his robes. Nameles walked forward, letting his outer robes fall. They would only hinder him now. Oblivion must be thin here, for he swear that its fabric was suddenly set to throbbing madly with the screaming of thousands of fangirls on the other side of the veil. The blackened rags lay like a sleeping sorcerer, the items contained therein scattered across the ground, his pet toys of the mortal and immortal world: a pale white flower, a human skull, a pair of golden binoculars, a bendy straw. Hissing, the creature emerged. It was a mass of minuscule homunculi fashioned of broken glass, barbed wire, and lightning, all fused together in an amoeboid mass. Heads peeled off the creature's glittering, deadly flesh, and turned to assess him, blinking. A hand emerged from beneath the mass, caught up the binoculars, and absorbed it. Crunching sounds emanated from deep within. The hand reached for the skull... "Not my skull you abomination!" cried Nameless, and sent a blast of . All it did was to set the wires rattling, and to anger the creature. However, beneath it, he caught a glimpse of the wire on the creature's other side. There was no flesh beneath, which was sort of a blessing...something that didn't happen to him very often. This meant a manipulation field of some sort. Such was an Earthly art, but an art nonetheless. He could work with that, but he would have to get closer. Nameless dropped to the dirt, grabbed the bloodflower, and slapped it onto his wound. The spines pierced his neck, and thirstily sucked up the blood that still gushed out of his wound. Petals like soft baby fingers lovingly hugged his exposed flesh like the human teddy bear they thought he was.[2] A spirit of Oblivion washed through his vision like a mirage, and offered him the glowing orb of his sight. Nameless shook his head. He wanted to the compound went dead quiet. Even the flies had gone still, perched upon the fence, only twitching slightly. Sensing his intent, the metal creature hissed, but it was too late. Nameless was close enough to touch it, and this he did. He grabbed a long shard of mirror, ignoring the stinging agony as it cut into his palm, and pulled it free. Then he summoned forth his spell of bedazzling, and let it trickle into his fingers. There was a muffled roar, as it entered the oneiric field. Then he laced the whole with the last dregs of his remaining oneiric power, and then sent the whole as a single concentrated against the mirror, which multiplied the force, and directed the whole at the metal creature. His veins turned to lightning. The bloodflower screeched, as the flames dried it into paper, curled off his flesh, and burst into flames. The fumes made him cough. The metal creature writhed in agony, though Nameless felt it equally. His skin boiled, but the weakness of flesh was a lesson necromancers learned early. Bodies came dear, but they could be obtained. Those who defeated this pain could learn to sway the balance. His vision flickered, then went black, as Oblivion crashed around him, and tried to suck out his soul. If he disengaged without the proper preparations, he could lose his sight forever, but he had no time. Nameless screamed, and wrenched himself away. He blinked. His eyelids felt like sandpaper. Then daylight came. The creature diminished, then exploded. Nameless opened his eyes surrounded by a pool of heavy metal rain that laced a tattoo of icy metallic threads across his skin. To his amazement, wherever the silver threads formed an image on his skin, he could feel the cold stamp of Oblivion, like a living, frozen web, ever-present. Somehow, his magic had bonded with the original arts and created a new sort of entity, a thing that could bridge the gap into the nothingness without him having to trade his mortal abilities. He had become some sort of heavy metal Illustrated Man, a necromancer whose soul was as black as the night he had conquered, but who glittered in the sun like the most elite of the arcane wizards. A high-pitched wall of squealing sound assailed his ears. That did it. He did have screaming fangirls! The rest of the creature was still at large. A shit-eating grin slid across his face. The pool of liquefied nightmare gurgled, sparks of night black necrotic power arcing across its evil silver surface. He could already sense the power emanating from the thing. It was layers of necrotic and oneiric force, now unravelling. It wouldn't last long, but it was potent while it still remained in liquid form, undiluted by the earth. That would be too bad, wouldn't it? Through the haze, Nameless grabbed his bendy straw out of the sand. "Indeed," he said, smoothly, "I believe it is time for a drink!"
[1] Everything is black in Oblivion, but some black is blacker than others. In order to perceive anything in Oblivion, you have to exchange some amount of Earthly ability, e.g. color/clear vision on Earth for the ability to make out shapes in Oblivion. [2] Yes, yes, vampire flowers, been there, done that. Less than 5k in and already two things are using Nameless as a life source.
Sorry for turning this into self-written fanfiction of my own canon. :-P Also, I guess this isn't really 100 words. I suck at writing story arcs that short.
In other news, why does everything I write lately seem to be focused on someone sneaking into a Wizard's cyberpunk fantasy fortress with crazy bad security?
Words for the next poster:
GROOVE DWARF MANDOLIN
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Post by MelCorbett on Sept 24, 2015 17:58:06 GMT
It's a good game for playing with your own cannon, learning about your characters, or for refreshing your brain and writing something complete different. :-) BTW I love the detail of the glass rat skeleton. I don't know why, but I'm like, what's a glass rat? why is its skeleton glass... ooh vampire flowers that heal wounds. Cool! And to answer your question, is it because in real life you are planning on breaking into a cyberpunk fortress sometime soon? *ahem* I may now have a flash story to add to my flash collection I'm playing with making.
Groove Dwarf Mandolin
Snow began to fall from the sky. Just what he needed, the dwarf sighed as he lugged the heavy mandolin case towards the palace. The sun was setting and he was already late for the ball he was supposed to be entertaining at. "Become a musician, see the world, dine with royalty," his mother had told him when he was young. Somehow it seemed to him like the old army slogan, "Join the army, travel the world, meet interesting people." Then kill them. The stupid case was bigger than he was. He couldn't play something small and practical, could he? A flute. Now that would have been a good choice, but then you couldn't sing while playing a flute. Or a violin... no, the same problem. Unless you played it as a fiddle, but then you weren't nearly as likely to be invited to palaces to perform for royalty. With the fiddle, you'd be lucky to get the tavern crowd. No. He pulled his cloak tighter around him and the case banged against his stubby legs as he trudged along the road. Maybe someone from that royal family would come along in a coach and he could get a ride the rest of the way to the palace. Behind him, he heard the thunder of horse hooves – yes! he would be lucky enough to get a ride to the palace after all. He stopped and held out his arm, begging the gods that the coach would stop for him. It didn't. Instead, the thing – which smelled of rotten pumpkin and rats – ran him off the road. He tumbled down into the drainage ditch. He lurched to his feet, he'd never be invited back now. He was late, soaked in icy muck, and... he glanced around for his mandolin case – hah! there it was lodged into the roots of a massive tree. The dwarf scurried towards the case, and with trembling fingers, opened the case and checked for damage from the fall. Nothing. No damage at all. He might not be invited back to play at any of this palace's balls, but his mandolin was still in one piece. He sighed and leaned back against the groove in the tree. The tree opened, swallowing him – he lashed out and caught the mandolin as he fell into the tree. Inside, there stood a sprightly man –– No, not a man, and not stood. A spirit hovered before him. The dwarf could feel the magic crackling off the being. "Please sir," the dwarf said. "I meant no harm. A carriage ran me off the road and I fell..." "A musician?" the spirit asked. The dwarf nodded, timidly. "If you play me a song I find entertaining, I shall grant you one wish. If you bore me... What shall I do if you bore me?" Before waiting to find out the consequences, the dwarf dropped to the floor and laid the mandolin across his lap. He played his best song. He sang of love and desperation. His voice echoed throughout the hollow beneath the tree. If only the mandolin would shrink to fit in his pocket for travel.
python land antiviral
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