Writing challenge [unpaid, fun?]

[jhertsch]

I got something for writers around here. Just to sharpen our skills mind you. Each of us should write a 500-word introductory passage to a fiction piece. The passage should involve four elements. After you write your passage, name four new elements that the next writer must incorporate, and so on. Just as a creative exercise, possibly funny, possibly not. If no interest, then no biggie.

The elements for the first challenger:

Robot.
Professional wrestling.
Elvis
Love.

[Kayn]

How about this then...

The spotlight beamed down on the ring as the champion, The Liquifier, took the stage. He'd been programmed to be the perfectly wrestler, and he was too. As he made his pnuematic leap into the ring, Elvis's "Shake, Rattle, and Roll" blared through the stadium's speakers and the fans shouted out to their beloved wrestling-robot. And what a robot he was! The Liquifier stood a good seven feet tall, and his gleaming steel pistons pumped the strength of an army of men through his limbs. His frame was humanoid, as were most wrestle-bots', and he was colored in monochromatic steel and white motiff. And he was a masterful showman, working the crowd into a frenzy with his personal laser-light show, and pelvis shaking dances. He was the ring.

His opponent today was a very unlucky man…as were all of his opponents. His name was, Bonebender, and he too was a wrestle-bot to be reckoned with. Coal black, with red trimming, he was a frightening and ominous sight to behold. Despite all of his programming and cervoes, though, he was no Liquifier, and he knew he'd need a few part replacements after this night. He posed for the crowd, and received a few cheers from his fans, and those polite enough to cheer both competitors, but nothing he could do could match the fervor generated by the champion.

The Liquifier waited for the music to die down, worked a few more cheers from the crowd and turned towards his challenger. In a surprisingly quiet voice, so as not to let the crowd hear, he said, "I'm sorry, fella. I can't break my programming."

Bonebender felt his fuel pump drop at the sincere apologies, and merely nodded dumbly at the gleaming behemoth in front of him. In moments, the match would begin.

In a few moments more the match was over. The Liquifier took a bit of extra time to let the crowd enjoy themselves and get their money's worth, but the end result was the same. Bonebender was carted out of the ring by some technicians…in two loads. Some lucky kid in the back row managed to catch his left eye. It was the usual. It was the way matches always ended. It was The Liquifiers life. It was also his misery.

The Liquifier had once loved the sport, and had worked with a passion for the last 20 years, but things had begun to change recently. It all started one night after a match with a bot named Groundhog (now made into two separate bots for tag-team matches). He had left the arena, and rather than going straight home, he stopped in to a bar named "Manny's" for a quick lube and fuel up. And that's when he met her. Her name was X-45, and she was a factory fresh model. Sure, she'd only been made as an advertising droid, but she was different somehow. His normal instinct to give a fellow bot a pile-driver were overridden by her, and a new sensation. It was a sensation he wasn't supposed to have. It was something only humans get. It was love. And now his life was in question.


New Elements!

Horses
Fire
Silk
Forests


Good luck!

Kayn

[Gamefreak]

i got this handled. i'll finish it when i get back and post it here soon.

[Gamefreak]

a bit over 500, its 610 words but i like it...

The demons were closing in, their flesh permanently consumed by a ghastly fire. Inch by grueling inch they pressed closer and closer. They cackled in glee as they sped up after her. But she had more than one trick up here sleeve left to play. Speeding along at breakneck speeds dodging past trees, ducking under branches. She must escape. She had to.

The trees grew thinner, less common. But her horse, Thunderbolt, slowed down not an inch. At least he understood what trouble she was in. Only him. And the demons. Their hot breath drawing behind her, penetrating through her light silk dress. "Yah!" she said with a kick. But there was no need. Thunderbolts sensed how far behind the demons were. Past one tree, and then another. How much longer would this be? Two hours? Three? Or would she be cursed, fleeing forever, never managing to get away. Evil always on her tail. But her cause was just. And she would prevail.

Or would she? Was her cause truly just? A cause can be just to anyone. Especially someone that follows it. Who was she to judge her cause? In the long run would she really make a difference? Would she be remembered? And if so, how would she be remembered? As a hero who saved humanity, the person that could have saved everyone, or even the pitiful human that tried to stop the inevitable? And did it even matter if she was remembered at all? People tend to wish to be remembered if only because their lives are short. By accomplishing some daring feat their names and deeds should live on forever. But did it even matter?

She thought of these things as she fled. She fled from herself, from her past, from death itself. Her and her faithful horse. Good fleeing from evil so that it should life and survive, so that the delicate balance wouldn't be disturbed. One side fleeing so that it may fight another day. All the stories said Good would eventually triumph. Was that true? If it were to life should be boring and the balance disrupted beyond repair. It was simply a goal, something one strived for. People spent their whole lives trying for it. A goal, always out of reach. Sometimes they came closer to this goal, other times, like now, they were so far away.

And so she rode on. Not sure whether by choice, by destiny… or even by something else, she fled. Death in itself was a scary thing. Because if you didn't do something to be remembered you were gone. You couldn't experience anything. And this beyond anything else frightened humanity. But not this girl. She fled not because of death, this she faced and hopefully would face again, countless time and time again. Death didn't scare her.

So when she came to the cliff and slowed down she worried not about her life. The demons slowed also wanting to savor the kill second by second. This time they had one. She looked over the cliff, a bottomless abyss it seemed, going so far down into a river of some sort. She stood on the edge contemplating what she should do as the demons moved in, ever towards her. Her silk dress and long brown hair flapped in the wind. And then she ran. As fast as she could. Yet the world seemed to slow down. And then she launched herself from the edge and closed her eyes. Not trying to shut out the dark simply closing her eyes as if in piece. She fell and it seemed as if she flew. And then it was over.

next elements:
eskimos,
lampposts,
the internet,
and mithril

[ZenDog]

Originally posted by Gamefreak
next elements:
eskimos,
lampposts,
the internet,
and mithril

I wan't this one.

[ZenDog]

This story owes a lot to Open, Tangency, and AB3.


Eskimo Steve and Ninja Bob, were every GM's living nightmare. Hell incarnate, a best friend duo of cold hearted rules lawyer, and a hot headed fan boy.
GM's across the continent, had failed San tests' after being exposed to their combined onslaught, of no-nonsense adherence to the minutiae of system rules, and total fanboy failure to grasp reality.
It was a deadly combo, or so it would soon prove.

Sunday was D20 Modern night, always was and back then I always thought it would be.

Our play group had gradually been whittled down to two players, we needed fresh blood.

Mikey phoned me on Saturday to tell me that's what he had found.

"Hey man I got us two new players, they're like so cool" he was slurring slightly I think a bar and alcohol was involved. "Steve 'The Eskimo' Jackson and Bob 'The Ninja' Smith"

"hmm ok I'm prettry sure Bob isn't a real life Ninja, is Steve Innuit?"

"No man, they're just nickname's" Alcohol was involved he normally 'got' my sarcasm straight off. "They call him Eskimo Steve cos he's stone cold man, stone cold"

"And Bob?" I said as archly as is possible over the phone.

"Yeah Bob's this guy called Bob. He's Steve's friend ya Know"

"K"

Sunday came, and with it came death, and death was called Ninja Bob.

Eskimo Steve and Ninja Bob, were living proof that hyperbole, stereotype and urban Myth could combine and walk in through your front door.
I don't think I even need to describe them, suffice it to say, one of them was tall thin pale and weasely, the other short,t fat, ruddy faced, and bearded. Both of them were slightly pungent.

Eskimo Steve sat down at the table and Ninja Bob sat next to him. Eskimo Steve had a rucksack, a bulging rucksack, a great big bulging sack 'o' rules. Ninja Bob had one crumpled, stained (don't even ask) character sheet.
They sat side by side, looking all innocent and friendly, and all ready to roleplay, one with a huge pile of rules tomes in front of him, the other with one piece of crumpled paper.

Steve's character was a min/max fighter full of feats every powergamers 17th level dream come true.

Bob's character was a Ninja, a hot lesbian Ninja, A hot lesbian Ninja in a black leather trencoat, a hot lesbian Ninja in a black leather trenchcoat riding a motorcycle, a hot lesbian Ninja, in a leather trenchcoat, riding a motorcycle, with a Katana. Did I mention the Katana was made of Mithral well I didn't really need to because Bob did several times.

Play started and it started well.

Eveyone was in character, Steve and Bob (to my surprise) were good roleplayers.

Then it all fell apart at the first Combat.

The team had been jumped in a dark street by thugs before I could even get a dice rolled it all went to Hell.
Bob wanted to cut through a lampost with his Katana. I don't know why, I didn't get to find out.

"That won't work"

"But it's a Katana" said Bob.

Steve ominously flipped through his copy of D20 Modern whilst eying his PHB and DMG.

"Well" said Steve...

Twenty minuets later Mikey was holding me back as I tried to launch myself across the table to throttle Steve

"look" said Bob, "of course a Mithral Katanna will cut through a lampost, any idiot knows that, jeez a normal Katana will cut through a lampost, if you don't believe me look it up on the Internet retard"

That was the final straw, I broke free of Mikey's grip ran to my bedroom, and came running out again brandishing a katana above my head, a grimace of hate contorting my face.

Everyone scrambled out of my way, in a life and death rush to avoid the beserk sword weilding GM.

Execpt Bob who stared with a look of rapture on his face and reached lovingly for the sword.

"Katana" said Bob.

There was a kind of shlopping sound.

"Cut through a lampost! Cut through a lampost! It didn't even get through your neck with one cut"

I turned to a frightened looking Steve who clutched his PHB as if it could save him.

"Roll your Initiative mother fucker! Roll your Initiatve"


The Next story will contain...

Lesbian Dopeheads on Mopeds
Combat Trained Hamsters
Zombies (lots of Zombies)
And Kentucky Fried Chicken

[ZenDog]

I can't believe that nobody want's to write about, lesbian dope heads on mopeds, combat trained hamsters, zombies and KFC!

:mad:

You people sheesh.

OK try

lighthouse
Visitor
Duke
cat