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sebmojo posted:Twisting in the Queef Wind with Djeser Brawl Ironic Twist posted:TWISTA VS. DJ ESCHER FLOOD BRAWL quote:Gardens
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Jan 15, 2015 12:16
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Thanks, sebmojo. Congratulations Djeser, well done.
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Jan 15, 2015 12:23
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 MERC-BRAWL 8: HITMAN MONKEY For this week, four brawlers will be tasked to write 1,500 words about a contract killer who is also a monkey. "Waaah, Mercedes has lost his touch! This prompt is boring!" gently caress you! Your Hitman Monkey must have a human sidekick. The genre is wide open to you, but I swear to God if you give me erotica or poetry I will defecate in a dog bowl and smoosh your face in it. Please take a step into the Prize Vault and have a look around. Instructions are inside. If you sign up to brawl you will be  'd to finish. When you finish your story and post it here, you get a sweet video crit from yours truly.The due date is Wednesday, January 21st 2359 EST. Who are my killers? Fanky Malloons - The Silent Killer Morning Bell - The Happy Killer Martello -The Christmas Killer Tyrannosaurus - The Jurassic Killer Screaming Idiot - The BLARGAHRAGARAGA Killer No. 48 - The Bald Killer Mercedes fucked around with this message at 18:34 on Jan 18, 2015 |
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Jan 15, 2015 20:47
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Mercedes posted:
Yes. Me. I will do the thing.
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Jan 15, 2015 20:52
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Mercedes posted:Who are my killers? I will be your killer
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Jan 15, 2015 22:11
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monkeys + guns = my life irl
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Jan 15, 2015 22:19
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I like to kill.
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Jan 15, 2015 22:19
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in other words: put me in, x-mar
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Jan 15, 2015 22:20
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same
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Jan 15, 2015 23:55
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Last call for flash rules, going cheap
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Jan 16, 2015 00:41
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sebmojo posted:Last call for flash rules, going cheap Flash me, flash me hard
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Jan 16, 2015 00:59
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Can I can still sign up for this weeks Thunderdome? Generate a title for me please!
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Jan 16, 2015 01:38
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SadisTech posted:Flash me, flash me hard Flash rule: arithmetical incontinence.
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Jan 16, 2015 01:44
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asap-salafi posted:Can I can still sign up for this weeks Thunderdome? Generate a title for me please! You're good. Signups close in 23 hours and 10 minutes. Your prompt is: Its Fire Torments It (word limit: 910) Maugrim fucked around with this message at 01:53 on Jan 16, 2015 |
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Jan 16, 2015 01:50
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asap-salafi posted:Can I can still sign up for this weeks Thunderdome? Generate a title for me please! whoa. living TD legend right here. The most failingest person to have ever joined TD. http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?author=asap-salafi
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Jan 16, 2015 02:19
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Balls, I want to join your brawl Merc, but I was at work while everybody signed up  Room for one more? Or do I have to make room? *opens switchblade* Benny the Snake fucked around with this message at 03:13 on Jan 16, 2015 |
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Jan 16, 2015 03:10
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Benny the Snake posted:Balls, I wanted to join your brawl Merc, but I was at work Flash rule no mention of switchblades ever again this is one of'em rules that follows ya round like the eyes of La Gioconda, you feel me
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Jan 16, 2015 03:13
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sebmojo posted:
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Jan 16, 2015 03:14
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Mercedes posted:Monkeys (Semi) serious anthropological question: When you say monkey, are you including great apes, or only the lesser primates?
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Jan 16, 2015 03:19
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Fanky Malloons posted:(Semi) serious anthropological question: When you say monkey, are you including great apes, or only the lesser primates? omg you are such a nerd
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Jan 16, 2015 03:30
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sebmojo posted:omg you are such a nerd
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Jan 16, 2015 03:39
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Benny the Snake posted:I think a full-grown ape would be a more badass hitman than a monkey An ape is a kind of monkey, though.
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Jan 16, 2015 03:46
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newtestleper posted:An ape is a kind of monkey, though.
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Jan 16, 2015 04:01
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Benny the Snake posted:Wait, I thought it was one of those "all rectangles are squares, but not all squares are rectangles" thing All rectangles are squares, but contrary to popular belief a square is a fruit not a vegetable. Tell that to your salad!
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Jan 16, 2015 04:05
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newtestleper posted:An ape is a kind of monkey, though. If it doesn't have a tail, it's not a monkey. Seriously, though, they're both primates and simians, but apes aren't thought of as monkeys. DreamingofRoses fucked around with this message at 04:08 on Jan 16, 2015 |
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Jan 16, 2015 04:05
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You say "po-tay-to", I say "stop this pointless tangent of words".
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Jan 16, 2015 04:07
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Edit:never mind
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Jan 16, 2015 04:07
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DreamingofRoses posted:If it doesn't have a tail, it's not a monkey. This isn't right. A gorilla is the only kind of monkey that can mate with a human.
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Jan 16, 2015 04:08
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newtestleper posted:This isn't right. A gorilla is the only kind of monkey that can mate with a human. 
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Jan 16, 2015 04:08
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Benny the Snake posted:...something you wanna tell us, dude? I want to tell you to spend twice as much effort on brawling about aeronautical orphism and this weeks TD entry, and not enter any more brawls simultaneously.
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Jan 16, 2015 04:11
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Shut Up And Write
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Jan 16, 2015 04:25
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Okay
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Jan 16, 2015 04:32
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I would like to write about a hitman monkey.
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Jan 16, 2015 06:37
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1. mon·key ˈməNGkē noun A small to medium-sized primate that typically has a long tail, most kinds of which live in trees in tropical countries. 2. Benny, you are already in a brawl, buster, AND you're doing this week's prompt. I'm gonna say no because of #3 3. I'll make an exception for Screaming Idiot and I'll let you join the brawl. Remember: By joining this brawl, you are also 'd to complete it!
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 07:09 on Jan 16, 2015 |
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Jan 16, 2015 07:06
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Maugrim, I'm a terrible human being with terrible tastes. Will you generate me a metal prompt that kicks me in the nads and washes my palate clean of my previous poor decision?
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Jan 16, 2015 17:22
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Doctor Idle posted:Maugrim, I'm a terrible human being with terrible tastes. Will you generate me a metal prompt that kicks me in the nads and washes my palate clean of my previous poor decision? Did you just change your mind and then pre-empt my insulting you for it? Who the gently caress do you think you are ugghhhhh I'm gonna castrate you with a garden rake and feed your gonads to the pigs I suppose if it will result in a better story you can have: Glorious Altars Of The Blood-red Insanity Edit: Less than six hours till signups close Also, in an effort to encourage staggered submissions, I will (at some point) do line crits of any entry submitted more than 24 hours before the final deadline
Maugrim fucked around with this message at 19:23 on Jan 16, 2015 |
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Jan 16, 2015 18:57
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I am IN with Insufferable Commandments Of The Pagan Shrine.
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Jan 16, 2015 20:01
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Signups are now closed. I can't wait to find out in what creative ways you're all going to fail me.
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Jan 17, 2015 01:09
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Defiling The Dark Corpses 998 words Anzu Menelik lies on a table under a paraffin lamp, his head resting on a textbook of spirit-binding. He's a page's thickness away from a doze when the basement door slams open, the patter of his twin's tread almost lost in the heavy beat of his master's. A pungent, unfamiliar smell reaches his nostrils and he gags, his face twisting. He's smelled a great many corpses in the past few years, but nothing like this. It surpasses even the revenants his master raises. He hops off the table, the high heels of his boots clacking on the floor. "Darlings," he says. "What the blazes have you dug up this time?" Siris, his twin, grins and winks at him. Master Raimut remains impassive. Slung across his atlassian shoulders is a sack too small to contain the human body Anzu had expected. Anzu stares. "No, ah, really," Anzu says. "What--" "You'll see," says Siris. Her grin broadens. "It's bloody amazing." Raimut gives her a sharp look and tosses the sack down onto the table. It splits, revealing a slimy, black-furred flank. The corpse smells worse than wet gangrene, with an undertone that bypasses Anzu's nose and twists his stomach. He gags again and turns away to dry-heave. Raimut snorts. "Really, Anja?" he drawls. "Man up." Anzu shudders and looks back at the corpse, not touching it. Whatever it had been, it's mangled, missing half its head. Anzu can only tell for sure that it once had four cloven-hoofed legs. There's an air of wrongness about it that's not quite a real aura but not quite his imagination. "What is it?" he says, weakly. Siris shrugs. "We think it was a goat," she says. "Not the important bit. It's, er. A former vessel." "Vessel," Anzu repeats, with numb lips. He steps away from the table and tears off his fur stole and suit jacket, tossing them back over his shoulder. "Vessel! Why didn't you say so, dearest?" Raimut crosses his arms, watching the twins with hooded eyes. "I wanted you to figure it out for yourself," he says. "A little ... challenge, as it were." Anzu barely hears him - he's rolling up his sleeves and hunting for the sharpest scalpel in the metal tray, hands trembling with excitement. He's never been so close to a formerly-possessed animal that was so marvellously intact. He's never even caught a glimpse of one that wasn't a mess of bloody chunks and scraps of fur. The low spirits ride their victims hard. He pulls the torn sack off the corpse and drops it under the table. Beside him, Siris leans on the table. Her grin has faded, but there's a sharp, hungry look in her eyes. "All right, dearest," Anzu breathes, turning the goat onto its back. "I've got this, so you just, ah, bear witness, would you? I'll ... I'll examine it and-- and-- see where the spirit dwelt and--" He pauses to compose himself, resting a hand on the goat's chest. Through the whirlwind of excitement, he realises there might be a paper in this and laughs aloud. Let's see the Academy dismiss him as a profane butcher then! A faint, almost imperceptible pulse shudders under his fingers. Anzu glances down, frowning, and the goat strikes out at his nose with a hoof. He yelps and jerks backwards, almost falling over. He grabs the edge of the table, head craned away from the goat. The goat's legs spasm, kicking at the air. The remains of its head toss, sending blood and flecks of brain flying. A chunk smacks wetly into Anzu's cheek. The goat's body convulses, thumping against the table. Either the spirit has not entirely fled the vessel or the goat isn't dead yet. Anzu's not sure which is worse. He reaches out, hand trembling, and clamps down on the goat's neck, squeezing until he can feel its trachea crack. The goat arches its back, jaw grinding, ears flicking. It rocks its torso back and forth, until it wrenches its neck free from Anzu's hand and falls to the stone floor. It lands at Raimut's feet, the skin of its belly splitting open. Viscera, blackened and putrefying, spill over his shoes. Raimut wrinkles his nose and takes a step back. The goat shudders and rocks. The stubs of its hooves scrabble for purchase on the floor. As Anzu stands rooted to the ground in shock, the goat hauls itself toward him, jaw chewing. Anzu shrieks and throws his scalpel at it. The blade nicks its sole eye, bursting it. Vitreous humour sprays everywhere but the goat is unimpeded. Anzu reaches for the heaviest thing nearby - an amputation knife, curved like a farmer's sickle. He brandishes the knife at the goat, preparing to throw it, too. Raimut chuckles. "What do you think that's going to do?" he says. Anzu keens in terror. The goat crawls on, its intestines dragging on the floor, leaving a slug's trail of bile. The skin and muscle slough off its side. One of its back legs gently parts ways with its pelvis. The goat stretches its neck, jaw chomping, tongue reaching for Anzu's boot. "loving bind it or something!" Siris yells, her voice hoarse. "Before it rides you!" Anzu kicks the goat, sending it skidding across the floor, under the table. He drops to his knees and pushes his thumb against the tip of the amputation knife. The pain shakes him, empties his mind. Teeth grit, he smears a sloppy rune of binding on the floor with his blood. It comes out crooked, but the goat gives one last twitch and falls still. Anzu sticks his injured thumb into his mouth, shaking from adrenaline. The vessel is ruined, he thinks, blankly. There goes the paper. Raimut grunts and shoves him aside. He picks up what's left of the goat and deposits it onto the table. "How much," he says, "do you think the Academy will pay for a bound low spirit?"
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Jan 17, 2015 06:56
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Prompt: The Miasma and the Leprosy Flash: Arithmetical Incontinence Words: 790 Svarngrim the Reaver In the foul depths of winter, when darkness ruled daylight, and sea-spray ice-coated the Thane-hold's great door, the mist came a-creeping. Thick-stinking and silver, it coiled through the village, and animals fled to avoid its cold touch. Svarngrim the Reaver, many kills to his glory, stood proud-shouldered, gaunt in his dire-bear furs, and stared up the mountain. Mist rolled down upon him. He knew it uncanny. Though fear did not touch him, disquiet rose within. Three nights fell the fog, and the youngest, the oldest, had the the taint of the mist graven into their skin. A fever, a weakness, and silver-scaled peeling. Nails sloughed from their fingers and blood wept from their gums. Svarngrims-son Jutan had counted twelve summers. Strong-limbed and handsome, now shuddering sick. He called for his father: "The mountain cries to me. It whispers of knowledge that men should not know. "Your shield on the wall? The handspans across it would encircle its rim an accounting of three; and then one part of ten, and four of one hundred, and one of one thousand and the numbers go on; they go on forever and keep getting smaller and they burn in my mind like the mountain at dawn." And Svarngrims-son Jutan tore his face with his fingers, and the tearing of soft-silver skin only stopped when his father released him. There was almost no blood. The boy's strong-limbed body was hollowed and husk-like; and so Svarngrim's soul. The mist-stricken villagers writhed and spoke numbers; they screamed of the angles of doors and of stars. They counted the reeds in the roof and the matting, and numbers flowed from them like piss at a straw-death. Their bodies decayed as their minds caught aflame. And always the pull to the mountain within them. Donned Svarngrim his doom-armour, blackened and bristling. Donned he his great cape of dire-bear fur. Donned he his corpse-paint, sign of a dead man, a warrior lost to the warm halls of life. He took up his shield with the sigil of Wotan, and took up his great-axe, reaper of men. To the mountain came Svarngrim, skin growing silver beneath the stark corpse-paint smeared on his face. Climbed he the slopes where the foul mist came rolling, leaping the chasms with uncaring ease. The numbers plucked at him, frothing and hissing. Found they no purchase on icy resolve. Waves of equations came tumbling and crashing, only to break upon his steadfast shores. Svarngrim the Reaver came climbing the mountain, only death in his heart, only death in his mind. 'Neath the peak of the mountain a cave stood in waiting. The plague-mist came trickling in gouts from its mouth. A fish-belly glow shone within the dank tunnel; Svarngrim readied his weapons and bellowed his rage. The challenge was answered in crystalline echo. The source of the mist stood revealed in the cave. A larval-white body, pulsating and throbbing, and jetting forth spray in a manner most vile. Around it, attendants of spidery glass-stuff, ticking and clicking and stroking its bulk. From the ringing of echoes an eldritch voice sounded: "Mighty Svarngrim, we pray that you hold your axe fast; we offer you wonders and give you forever. Do not act in haste until you understand." Then the Reaver reeled back at the highest of horrors; voice of Svarngrims-son Jutan came forth from the mound. Spoke the pulsating worm: "They have caught me within. "Their web of cold numbers entangles my spirit. A world built of figures and smoke and no more. And they tell me that I shall live in here forever. "LAY THEM WASTE, FATHER. SEE THEM ALL BURN." And Svarngrim leapt forward and the great-axe was singing, and the Reaver was chanting a song of his death, his voice hoarse and rumbling as he cried of destruction, and the spider-things shattered before his great wrath. Their razor-legs cut him and pierced him; but bloodless was Svarngrim, and hollow his flesh. "Why cleave to this world?" chimed the great pulsing creature. "We bring you forever in order and grace, yet you choose death and ignorance, darkness and squalor. The strongest man, Svarngrim, in this pitiful world - "But the biggest maggot in a vast rotting carcass. We would set you free and enlighten your mind." Upon it spat Svarngrim. Raised he his great-axe, holding it high. His death, creeping into the edge of his vision; one perfect blow lying coiled in his heart. "Order and grace are creations of weakness. Free? I am free by my own force of will. Your knowledge is worthless. The darkness will have you, fight it or no; embrace it and own it and welcome your end." Howled down the great-axe. Screaming, the creature. Laughing fell Svarngrim into the night.
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Jan 17, 2015 07:04
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