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Event 4: The Library of Imaginary Things



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Tue Feb 11, 2014 11:09 pm
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Rook says...



skrendihourer’s


how to foster a species, raise it in your name, and use it to do your bidding in three easy steps!


step one:

You must somehow obtain the entirety of a species. Whether this is done by cooking them up from scratch, or finding a couple in danger of becoming extinct, or using some form of mass mind control is entirely up to you. Each method has its pros and cons. Making your own species is exceedingly difficult and time consuming. (See Skrendihourer’s How to create creatures: a step-by-step guide to making creatures simple as a single-celled organism to creatures as complex as a polyendophirminatorasaur.) However, the species is completely customizable and loyal (if you make it correctly). Saving a preexisting endangered species is a bit easier, and if you save the right kind, they will be fairly loyal to you, or at least appreciative. However if you do not find the right kind, you may have a problem on your hands. If you choose the third option, you must have a superior skill in mind control and be ready to realize that you are the bane of the existence of an entire species. However, you will not have to wait for them to reproduce enough to form a formidable army.

step two:
Once you are fully committed to raising an entire species, you must triple check that you are fully committed. Think of it as if you were going to have upwards of a hundred infants that never grow up. It’s slightly different from that, but only slightly. You must be prepared to settle disputes between individuals. Whether you like it or not, you are the new government (For a complete guide on governing a species, see Skrendihourer’s guide to governing a species). If you want to retain control over your species, you must develop a system where they are happy, or at least extremely afraid. They deserve certain rights, but you need to remain as the absolute ruler.

step three:
If the creatures seem willing to follow your every command to please you, feel free to use them to do your bidding. Be wary of work that endangers the creatures beyond reasonable measure, work that is too tedious for their intelligence, and other work that may change the (hopefully) charming disposition of your species as a whole.
Instead, he said, Brother! I know your hunger.
To this, the Wolf answered, Lo!

-Elena Passarello, Animals Strike Curious Poses





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Tue Feb 11, 2014 11:12 pm
Joe says...



The event most commonly known as the great alien invasion or the day the sunshine died is possibly the most important events in history.
The technology the aliens had were brutal and selfish, not considering the effects their weapons had on our ecosystem. Their planet was much smaller than ours but it had grown overpopulated, although communication was hard between our species we estimated they had approximately one trillion soldiers. Although they had strength in numbers our technology excelled over theirs.
The war lasted fifty-five years making it the longest in history. One of the most famous events being the battle of yewend which was the most violent of them all. Over two million of our soldiers were killed.
Several species were driven to extinction and many countries were deemed too hazardous to set foot in again.
I use this excerpt from the book Blood of aliens to display the severity of the situation.
" We'd been siting in a trench for five days. The mud had sunk deep into our bones and all sense of survival had been abandoned.
The aliens just kept coming.
Mounds of bodies crowded the battle field the enemy had to crawl over their own dead to reach us. I loaded a bullet and aimed at one coming towards me. I shot. It gave that horrific squeal they all do before dying and toppled off the mound to add another body to the mound.
Their mothership hovered in the distance blocking out the sun but illuminating the battlefield with artificial white spotlights. Smaller ships zoom around it like flies to a hog. I retract the visor back into my helmet stare across the plains.
They look like ants, crawling across the fields. They are endless, as far as I can see small black dots of life rush forward.

Eventually they ran out of recourses and had to evacuate.
The aliens themselves were very odd looking creatures. Only two eyes and two legs, walking upright with pale skin that covered their bodies except for their heads which had strange string like material protruding from it.
They called themselves Humans.

A photo of these violent creatures
Image





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Tue Feb 11, 2014 11:17 pm
Bellator says...



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Tue Feb 11, 2014 11:29 pm
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Cirute says...



So I based this off the book I am writing. Bonus points for using my home town of Moultonborough!
Spoiler! :
From “A Robbery in New York: The bizarre accounts of the Bank Of Manhattan massacre”.
Excerpts from the journal of Kevin G. Milton.


It is to be made clear that, prior to today, the great nature preserve to the north of Lake Winnipesaukee was of little concern unto me. Protected under a rather shady agreement between the nations of Canada and the United States, the preserve is estimated to be about the size of Washington State. It has always been a mystery to why none are allowed to enter-- some going so far as to say that the government uses it to test thermonuclear devices. But in this year of 1975, I have found a much simpler, yet no less astonishing answer, and it comes in the form of a short texan who wishes to be addressed under the alias, of all names, Richard M. Nixon.

I first met Richard in a run-down pub in the small town of Moultonborough, New Hampshire. The man, who looked to be barely above college age, was in the middle of a profanity-filled rant about communism, corruption, and blindly obeying one’s “provider’s”. As a veteran of the Chinese War, my first thought of the boy was that he was just another hippy who think’s he knows what this world is really about. But upon seeing me, or rather, the Weirs Times logo printed on my briefcase, he proceeded to start up a conversation. After some time, and after the man had knocked back nearly two pints of whisky, he told me that he had “one helluva a story”, and that I ought to come back to his house.

As a journalist who, due to these recent economic hardships, has been strapped for cash, I saw no reason not to investigate the man’s story in lieu of a possible profit. After a quick ride, we arrived at a small cabin on the outskirts of town. The whole ride over the man had often told me that I would never believe this story of his, and by the time we arrived at his house I had already planted some seeds of doubt within my mind. I wondered, was it just the whisky talking? Still, I found myself sitting at the man’s table, pen and notepad in hand, while he rummaged through a large box, desperately looking for something. After a minute, he lay a clipping from a newspaper, written by yours truly no-less.

The date said May thirteenth, 1974, and in large black letters were the words “Four dead in NYC bank robbery.”

“Ya know how they ain’t never find them guys who did that?” Asked Mr. Nixion, leaning back in his chair.

I nodded affirmatively.

“Yeah, I was one of ‘em.”

I was rather taken aback by this claim, but listened nonetheless. He told me, in great detail, about how the whole even happened. Then, after knocking back two more glasses of a fine whisky that sat on the table, he proceeded to tell me the most amazing story I have ever heard in my entire career as a journalist.
He and his two comrades, he explained, had escaped to the great nature preserve, where they encountered, and I fool you not, a colony of dragons. I could not help but laugh at this. Up until this point I knew that dragons had gone the way of the savages that once roamed this land, having been completely wiped out after the New World War of the early 1500’s. It was only after the man had laid a photograph on the table in front of me which, to my slacked-jawed shock, depicted a man, who I assumed was one of Mr. Nixon's comrades, sitting calmly next to one of the beasts. Under the photo were, scrawled sloppily in black ink, the words ‘Louis and Nimbus, 2-6-74’.

I lit a cigarette, and attempted to explain to the man that he needed more than a grainy photo to prove his bizarre tale to me. At this a sly smile crossed his face, and he began to pull more photos from the box and place them gently in front of me. All of them were either of the men, the strange beasts, or of the two interacting. They also all had been carefully labeled and dated. I feel it is also important to note that, as an avid photographer myself, I could find no indication that they had been faked in any way.

One common trait I found was that many of the labels included the word Nimbus, as if it were a name. When asked about it, Mr. Nixon smiled and pointed at a rather sad looking dragon in one of the photos, “That’s Nimbus, ‘e was the first of ‘em that I met.”

“You mean to tell me they can talk?” I questioned skeptically.

“Of course they can!” He spoke the words as if they were common knowledge. He then began to speak of how smart this ‘Nimbus’ was, but soon stopped himself, telling me if I wanted to really see, and learn the rest of his story, I’d come back the next day. I know he’ll probably still be there tomorrow, for I believe he is currently passed out in his drunken stupor at his kitchen table. Once he had lost conscious though, I found myself carefully picking through large box he had been rummaging around in, and found something that erased what doubts I had left within my head. This piece of damming evidence was a thin, blue-green oval that was extremely hard, yet light as a feather. After a moment of examining it, I realized it was a scale, like that of a reptile.

I do not know what exactly tomorrow will bring, but for some unknown reason I feel as if I am on the fulcrum of something larger than anything that I have ever experienced.
Last edited by Cirute on Tue Feb 11, 2014 11:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Regrets, I've had a few. But then again, too few to mention."
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Tue Feb 11, 2014 11:43 pm
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Spotswood says...



Here is a tale from my fictional realm of Caenterin. It is part of the Tales series of stories.


It is heavily inspired by something from my childhood...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ej-WhK77wQM


Tales of Caenterin: The Tale of Sir Duff

There is a fine line between doing what is right and doing what is easy
-The Gilliad
Section Seventeen, the Book of the Prophets 4:13

The most famous event in the recent history of our great nation Boraelgrasp, the great kingdom of the north, is, without a doubt, the “The Twenty Days War” or, as some people call it, “Duff’s Liberation”. The tale is known by all men in the kingdom; various tapestries being woven to depict the famous event, including the most ornate of them all, the one which lies in the Jewel Vault, deep beneath Wynterhold.

Beginning in the 1950th year of the Fifth Age, over sixty years ago, the Twenty Days War was initiated in the aftermath of the Second Great Continental War (1940-1946 FA), the conflict in which a self-proclaimed “emperor” from Ostria, Adder Herod, attempted to conquer Caenterin for himself in a vicious campaign that led to millions of deaths. Herod, a veteran of the First Great Continental War (1910-1920 FA) was able to do this by infiltrating the divided Teutonian government, being fought for control by the twelve houses of Teutonia. Once he was defeated, hostilities between the Caenterian Alliance and our former mutual ally, the “Common Empire” of the Dale, grew, initiating a conflict known as the Great Cold War.

Even though Boraelgrasp was near the Dalish Border, King Bard, the then ruler of the kingdom, led our nation into a golden age, expanding the influence and economy. The kings of our land dwell in the massive fortress of Wynterhold, which is situated on a rock high above the White Lake, also overlooking the capital city of Wynter’s End, which, at the time, was still a relatively small town, having no walls or battlements (they were later added by King Bard when he expanded the town). To avoid attack by sea, due to the fact that a narrow strait connects the White Lake to the Northern Bite, numerous watchtowers were erected to line the coast and the strait, just in case the Norrkings would ever attack again (as they did nearly fifty years later).

The war was ignited by Bard’s twin brother, Raegar the Smudge, a hero of the Second Great Continental War. For his bravery, the Smudge was given a small holdfast on the Dalish Border known as “Borderrock”. Borderrock was an extremely strategic location, being the reason that Raegar was given wardenship of it, because it would provide a proper first line of defense against Imperial invaders from the Dale, if they should try and invade Caenterin and initiate another war.

Boraelgrasp itself has always been a kingdom crucial to the survival of Caenterin. We are the northernmost nation, bordering Rhun, the Dale, and the Far North, responsible for defending the continent from invaders.

The Smudge was a power hungry warmonger, unlike his virtuous brother, and wanted nothing more than to sit on the throne himself. Setting out from Borderrock, Smudge and a hundred of his most loyal followers (jokingly referred to as “The Naughty Knights”, their black armour being their most distinguishing feature) travelled west toward Wynter’s End as to pay homage to the king. Discretely arriving in the city, Raegar and several of his men climbed up the hill to Wynterhold and took the keep, catching the guards and King Bard off-guard (they were celebrating the Feast of Menethil, resulting in drunkenness).

Bard was thrown into the dungeon, the Smudge taking his crown and declaring himself the new king of Boraelgrasp. Raegar publically stated once he annexed the throne that he would be publicly executing his brother on the twenty-first day.

Only a handful of men managed to escape, including five members of “The Six”, the ancient order of knights responsible for defending the king and managing their own spheres of influence (the six positions are “The Warrior”, “The Warden”, “The Rider”, “The Scout”, “The Diplomat”, and “The Scholar”). According to legend, the tradition of The Six dates back to the 9th century of the Fifth Age, over one thousand years ago, when the first king of Boraelgrasp, Mak’thor the Conqueror, the second son of a Teutonian lord, launched an invasion of the lands that would one day become our glorious nation from the Norrkings, who dubbed their domain “The Norrlands” before the conquest.

It is said that during the Battle of Borealis, the bloodiest battle in the kingdom’s history, that only seven men survived, one of them being Mak’thor, defeating the armies of Vigor the First, the lord of Vikgard, the fortress that would later be renamed “Wynterhold”. Vikgard was then singlehandedly taken by the seven survivors of the battle, and several weeks later Mak’thor became the first king.
Boraelgrasp has no title of knighthood, save for those of the Six, the only other ones to have the title bestowed upon them being those that achieved victories of great merit.

As was previously stated, only five of the six managed to escape, Sir Sheldon, the Warden, being captured by the Smudge and sent to the tourney grounds. He was to face Raegar’s men until he himself would be finally cut down in combat. The other five sought refuge in and around Wynter’s End, avoiding being spotted by any of the Smudge’s own guard.

The sixth man to escape was the one only known as “Jester” who, while posing as Bard’s fool, was, in actuality, a deadly assassin. He made it his goal to seek out those who would assist him in rallying the Six to retake Wynterhold.
Help came in an unusual form…that of an outsider only known by the name “Duff”. Now Duff was a mercenary from the Gaeland Highlands, just west of the Northern Bite. He had come to Wynter’s End with his band to restock and prepare for the journey eastward, where they were to discretely scout out the Dale and raid cities belonging to the Common Empire, posing as bandits from the Far North (if official soldiers were sent into the Dale, it would be seen as an act of war)

If it hadn’t been for Duff’s drunkenness, he would have been killed along with the rest of his band, which was obliterated by the Smudge’s men when they attempted to depart from Wynter’s End as a violation of the martial law. Duff had overslept, and so his party left without him.

Jester found him in the square and managed to convince him to help him rally the Six, promising a substantial pay if Duff succeeded in the task.
The description of the first knight, “The Scout,” who was named Sir Mounte, matched that of a man who Duff had seen in the inn, owned by a portly gentleman named McFadden. Upon showing the man the royal seal that was given to him by Jester (which actually bore an image of the Blue Seal that roamed off the coasts of Boraelgrasp in the Northern Bite), he revealed himself as Sir Mounte, promising to assist in restoring King Bard to the throne.

The next one to be found was Sir Javert the Cyclone, “The Diplomat”, who was hiding on the edges of a pond in Wynter’s End (he himself was a foreigner, hailing from Gaulia). He too agreed to assist and, along with Sir Mounte, promised to await Duff in the blacksmith, where another knight was allegedly hiding.

Duff then proceeded to the tourney grounds along with Jester to attempt and free Sir Sheldon from the Smudge’s men. Firsthand accounts of the tourney report of a man in a motley carefully picking off the “naughty knights” one by one as to free Sheldon himself. Duff himself said that he was able to cause a distraction to divert their attention by firing a canon and destroying a large, wooden dragon, finally escaping with Jester and Sheldon amidst the chaos.

Sir Alastair (the knights called him Elasto, following a mispronunciation of his name by a whore, while they were all present) was found next, captured by another one of the Smudge’s men and was being held in the marketplace. Duff managed to free him after knocking the other man unconscious. Sir Whiz, “The Scholar”, the last of the knights to be rallied, was found hiding in the wintercave, the home of Eli the Magi, a former member of the Council of Magi who made Boraelgrasp his home. Being a mage himself, Whiz was able to seek refuge safely.
The knights being gathered, Duff travelled to the blacksmith’s where they were rallied. The smith then revealed himself to be the final member of the Six, “the Warrior”, Sir Liftoralott.

This entire process took nearly a fortnight, leaving them only one week to plan their attack.

On the twentieth day, the knights, Duff, and Jester hiked up the hill and infiltrated the castle, killing many of the Smudge’s men and causing more of them to flee.

The final confrontation occurred in the dungeons, where Bard was being held. It was there where Raegar was waiting for them. A bloody skirmish ensued, ending in the deaths of what was left of the Smudge’s guard. While it is only conjecture, it is said that Raegar, being a man of immense size and brutality, actually ATE the key. Either way, it went missing, preventing the prospect of unlocking the king’s own cell. Sir Whiz was able to render the Smudge unconscious and the group was somehow able to recover a spare set of keys off of the dead warden (again, it is also said that Sir Alistair picked the lock with his FINGERS), freeing good King Bard. They freed him just one day before he was to be executed.

Instead of killing his brother, Bard being a compassionate and reasonable, decided to banish him to the Far North, as is a common punishment in Caenterin, where he lived out his days as an unsuccessful sellsword. His body was recovered ten years later in a tavern north of the Northern Cities, dead from a stab wound over an unsettled debt he couldn’t pay (twas’ only four coppers).

Although it is shady in regards to the details of what went on behind the walls of the keep, it is known that Duff refused to accept the reward from King Bard, displaying both honour and virtue. Instead, Bard knighted Duff, proclaiming him as “Saviour of the Realm.” To this day, there has never been a truer man in all of Boraelgrasp.
The original members of the Six are now dead, as is King Bard, the lands now being ruled by his grandson, Lord Stewart Fortman, who now rules a reborn Boraelgrasp, its relevancy and infrastructure having grown ever since, including the expansion of Wynter’s End and the reinforcement of Wynterhold. However, there is still one man who yet lives to this day, occupying the role of “the Warden” in the Six. He is old, mind you, but very wise, having lived to see three kings as well as the growth of his adopted country. His name is Sir Duff…

- Recorded by Sir Geoffrey Galahan, the Scholar, FA 2014
"Often, the best way to improve is swallowing your ego and realizing you're a terrible writer in all aspects of writing, then working to improve it."
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Tue Feb 11, 2014 11:57 pm
UshertheThird says...



Term Paper for High Zoology 3
By Fitzbill Bertswallow
An Analysis of the Eyeball(s) of the Ricketyhoo

Spoiler! :
It is my purpose in this paper to inform you of the many functions of the eyeballs worn by the glorious beast, the ricketyhoo. I would like to begin with a brief explanation of exactly what is a ricketyhoo, in the sad chance that you are unfamiliar with the greatness of the creature. The ricketyhoo is a mammal that mostly inhabits the jungles of South America, although it also can occasionally be found in the African Sahara. It is the approximate size and shape of a softball, although it is not entirely round; it has many feelers and limbs. It is occasionally mistaken for a snail because of the shell it wears on its back, and it is sometimes mistaken for a bat because of its flight patterns. However, it is an extremely unique creature, and it cannot be done justice through comparison to other creatures.
Now, upon reading this paper, you may feel inclined to ask me, Why did you choose to write your term paper on the eyeball of the ricketyhoo, of all things?
And I will enthusiastically agree with your point, because of the infinitely high number of interesting body parts it possesses. I will cite the forehead of the ricketyhoo, which is stronger than concrete, and the middle spike of the ricketyhoo’s spine, which generates electricity, and the pinky finger of the ricketyhoo, which has magical properties. Everything about the ricketyhoo is extremely fascinating, but I have chosen to focus on the eyeball because I believe it is the most fascinating part. I will explain my belief to you if you will kindly allow me to continue.
That is all well, you might say, but I was wondering why you chose the ricketyhoo, and not some other animal.
The answer to that is obvious: Compared to the ricketyhoo, every other animal in existence is a bore.
No, no, no, you say. What I mean is, why are you writing about the ricketyhoo when there is absolutely no evidence to support its existence? As far as I am aware, you just made the thing up yourself.
At which point my only choice will be to ask you, politely but firmly, to screw off.
To return to the topic at hand, the ricketyhoo has eight eyeballs, four on each side of its face. Its eyeballs have countless uses. One of the uses is eating; the eyeball of the ricketyhoo is considered a delicacy in Western culture. As far as personal use, the ricketyhoo often uses its eyeballs as playthings; when they are dislocated from its head, they can bounce up to several feet off the ground. Aside from that, the ricketyhoo does not have much use for its eyes. In fact, it cannot even see through them.
Fortunately, that is not an inconvenience for the ricketyhoo. It has no need for vision, because it has a built-in navigational system. The ricketyhoo is only active when it is searching for food, and it locates its food by tracking thought-waves. Through its toes, it can see the thought-waves of a person who is thinking about the ricketyhoo. It follows the thought-waves until it locates the person. It circles the person for a while, then spies on the person from a short distance. Once it has acquainted itself with the person’s surroundings, it latches itself onto the person’s head and proceeds to feed on the person’s insides. The ricketyhoo absorbs the nutrients contained within the person, and when it is done feeding, it disposes of its host and begins searching for its next meal.
When the ricketyhoo is not feeding, it spends its free time in trees. It builds extravagant nests in treetops with the use of jungle materials. These nests are strictly for the purpose of comfort: The ricketyhoo does not mate or raise children. This is due to the fact that there is, and has forever been, only one ricketyhoo in existence. However, the ricketyhoo does not have a place on any list of endangered species, because it is immortal. The ricketyhoo is ageless, and it has no predators, because it destroys all of its attackers with its magical finger.
For the past few minutes, I have been hearing a strange sound outside of my house. It reminds me of the sound made by a hummingbird, or a swarm of bees. But it sounds more mechanical; I would assume my neighbor is mowing his lawn, but I have no neighbors. Perhaps I should go outside to make sure something isn’t wrong. I think I will once I finish my paper.
To return to the subject of the ricketyhoo: I said that the ricketyhoo does not raise children, which is true; however, it does sire children. It mates with a variety of different species. None of its children bear any resemblance to the ricketyhoo; if, hypothetically, the ricketyhoo were to mate with a panther, the child would likely be something along the lines of a koala bear.
The evolutionary history of the ricketyhoo is complicated and difficult to ascertain, because the ricketyhoo has been alive for an indefinite period of time, and it does not have any clearly apparent ancestors. It was once proposed that the ricketyhoo was present at the creation of the universe. However, that theory was tossed out when it was established that the ricketyhoo is the product of a relationship between a unicorn and a butterfly. It has since been discovered that the ricketyhoo’s aunts and uncles are whales and nargles, and its first and second cousin is a lime tree.
When I glanced out my window a few minutes ago, I saw something strange in my tree. For a while, I thought it was a raccoon-type animal. But I can’t see it now. I wonder if I should call the pest control. I have heard that raccoons are dangerous.
But I have wandered from my focus: The ricketyhoo spends about half of its time in its nest. While in its nest, it enjoys novels, opera singing, board games, and television. Its favorite novel is The Catcher in the Rye, because it feels that it can connect to the narrator’s struggles with the oppressive aspects of society. The ricketyhoo has a vibrant social life, and it often hosts parties in its nest. It especially enjoys spending time with peacocks, flamingos, and flying squirrels. However, it is a very territorial creature. It destroys any creature that has the nerve to enter its nest without invitation. That is one positive for a person who is being fed on by a ricketyhoo: It will effectively keep all the bugs away.
I think something is moving inside my house. Which is strange, because I do not have any pets, or friends. I wonder what it could be. Perhaps the floorboards are settling. It is quite loud, though. It sounds like a sort of sucking noise.
But I don’t mean to worry you, so I will resume my paper now. The ricketyhoo has made many great achievements while in its nest. It has developed a functional solar calendar, and it has mapped every visible star around the Earth. It has created a full language and system of glyphs. It is skilled at mathematics, and it is one of only three species to invent the concept of zero.
I feel something strange on my head. But I don’t recall putting a hat on, and anyway, it feels much heavier than a hat, and stickier. This is rather uncomfortable. But I am nearly finished with my paper.
The ricketyhoo is a mainly nonreligious creature. This is because it has itself to believe in. Nearly every creature aware of the ricketyhoo’s existence worships it as a deity. This is entirely understandable; the ricketyhoo possesses many strange powers. In fact, I am considering taking it up as a god myself.
Do you remember how I mentioned that something might be on my head? I would like to make a correction to my paper: The ricketyhoo has eleven eyes, not eight. Also, just after latching onto a person’s head, the ricketyhoo clamps its pincers onto the person’s—ouch—face, and it inserts a sort of tube into their nose—oh, that does feel quite strange—and it pumps some type of toxin into the person’s—oh, my—into the person’s body. And blood begins to spurt rather violently from the tips of the person’s fingers, and I believe the person’s vision goes sort of cloudy, although I’m not entirely certain; I’m having trouble focusing. It feels as though I have become somewhat mushy, and—is the ricketyhoo climbing inside my head?
Well, then. I sincerely apologize, dear reader, but I do not believe I will be completing my paper.





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 12:00 am
niteowl says...



How The Planet Earth Was Undone
By Smargna Spillygaw of the Planet Thawgats, Sector 5
Spoiler! :
They called it the year 2015. Media outlets throughout the Milky Way had become fixated on the planet that called itself Earth. The intelligent beings that evolved there had become a dormant volcano, waiting for what would be their undoing. It was an era of great social and political tension and also one of technological innovation. Yet none of those things proved to be the fall of “mankind”. It was a leaky pen.

Now, most of you reading this probably learned in school that the people of the “First World” (as the elite of this planet dubbed themselves) were horrendously greedy. They colonized entire continents, started wars over something as useless as oil, destroyed everything they touched, and charged obnoxiously high prices for everything. However, there was one resource they shared without caution, without even a second thought. Their Pens.

It seemed absurd to me at first, the idea that otherwise intelligent beings could buy, lose, and share such obscene quantities of pens, but then I recalled that the last galactic Ink Invasion occurred in their year 1492, when they were still “discovering” their own planet and not concerned with joining the Galactic Network. As is widely known, only planets that have left the confines of their atmosphere can be vulnerable to the Ink Invaders.

When the Earth men first stepped foot on their satellite, the Network knew something had to be done. Until that time, their scouts had been content to simply watch these fledgings murder each other for no apparent reason, but now they were declaring intent. Whether they knew it or not, they were now vulnerable to a number of threats. Without the protection of the Galactic Network, many of our planets would have met their demise several Galactic Years (GYs) ago. And now, with a new vulnerable planet, the entire galaxy was at risk.

The Earthlings, however, were not yet capable of receiving Network signals, so they continued their lives unaware of these threats. As it was a time of relative peace, the Network President decided to simply send increased patrols around the planet. At the time, he was convinced that the planet’s major powers would solve the problem for us in their so-called “Cold War”. However, that war ended and though other threats passed, it seemed that Earth was on a path of maturity rather than self-implosion.

Meanwhile, Earthlings seemed more determined than ever to expand their reach. In their year 2013, their primitive probe Voyager left the confines of its solar system. Around the same time, they expanded into the old territory of the long-dead Redlings, on the planet they called Mars, with semi-intelligent robot creatures. Around their own orbit, the Earthlings used their “satellite belt” for war, navigation, and entertainment, unaware of what was heading their way.

Like most Network children, I was often told to “Keep your heart close and keep your Pen closer.” Though most of us have long evolved past needing our Pens, we know that there are times with other technologies simply will not do. We also know that Ink Invaders are sneaky, can come from any angle, and will infiltrate through innocent-looking devices that look just like our Pens. Once they have reached a sufficient number of Pen clones in a planet, they leak. Their ink spreads throughout whatever is containing them, eventually reaching the walls. This ink is impossibly sticky and will suffocate any being it comes across. In this way, the Invaders completely engulf a planet, destroying anything that once lived.

Of course, the children of Earth learned of incompetent explorers and pointless squabbles instead of practical knowledge against invasions. Their society evolved, turning to primitive computers instead of Pens. Even the writers (who in our worlds are Pen collectors) often preferred keyboards. However, Pens were still used for brief notes and to sign important documents like Receipts. Quite often, an Earthling would find themselves without even one Pen, but that was not a devastating occasion. Someone would freely give them a Pen and not even notice if it was returned. Businesses would give away Pens as freely as we might give out Flaxybits!

The Network scouts, distracted by the War of Sector 7, did not notice the threat until late in the Earth year 2014. Attempts were made to contact important Earthlings, but they were dismissed as “babbling conspiracy theorists”. A short time later, the Pens burst, and Earth was lost to us.

Many have been blamed in this debacle, including the countless reporters who mocked Earthlings for entertainment. A Galactic Month later, most of the officials who ignored the threat have been confined to the Redling Planet. But there are many lessons that endure from this tragedy. Even strange beings like Earthlings deserve our protection, and of course, always know where your Pen is.
"You do ill if you praise, but worse if you censure, what you do not understand." Leonardo Da Vinci

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Wed Feb 12, 2014 12:00 am
TinkerTwaggy says...



Meteor Marathon

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Here it is folks!

The 6th edition of the Meteor Marathon is finally back to business. Brand new obstacles and rules await our participants in the wackiest obstacle course ever created across the Jykan Star System!
Come along and enjoy the show with us!


For those who are not familiar with the event, the rules are simple.
one hundred to one thousand constants from all 9 planets of the Jykan System can participate. They'll have to make a Jykan Tour, which means they'll have to race across the whole System and come back to the starting point. But they won't come back empty-handed: each planet has a total of three obstacle trials. At the end of each of them lies a Starsphere, which will grant bonus points to those who manage to complete the trials and come back on time. So coming back isn't everything, bringing shiny trophies is also part of the Marathon!
Of course our courageous volunteers won't do the trip on foot, they will be equipped with all the necessary tools required to complete the tour:
-The Kan-Comet MkII, latest model of travelling shooting star, exclusively for the Marathon's utilization.
- The Uni-Gauntlet, where the Starsphere are kept on.
-The Cosmic Tool Kit, CTK for short, containning a Space parachute (essential for swift landings on planets), and various items useful in the different environmental conditions the athletes will have to endure, such as the trademark all-terrain Kan-Goggles, also useful to safeuly pilot a Kan-Comet across the deepest corner of space.

For the 3rd place: Bronze Marathon Medal and 2 million of Kannids;
for the 2nd place: Silver Marathon Medal and 5 million of Kannids;
for the 1st place: Gold Marathin Medal and 10 million of Kannids; plus a trip to the planet of the winner's choice.

From 4th to 10th place: Amber Medal and 1 million of Kannids.

May we reach one thousand participant once again, and we hope to see you spectating the event. Don't forget to bet for your champion!
"Is there a limit to how much living I can live with my life? How will I know if I've gone too far?
And why did I spend my life savings on sunglasses for a whale?
I shall find the answers... to these questions."








No man or woman who tries to pursue an ideal in his or her own way is without enemies.
— Daisy Bates