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Judging. ?
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Jul 7, 2015 18:10
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| # ? Apr 23, 2024 15:42 |
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Bompacho posted:Thanks SkaandScreenplay hubris.height posted:It must be.  RedTonic posted:In, because why not? And flash me. Benny Profane posted:Thanks for the crit, Ska. Killer-of-Lawyers posted:No swearing? Characters? This is what the cleric ordered for me. In, and flash me, cause so far they've been pretty good. Grizzled Patriarch posted:This should be interesting.  theblunderbuss posted:Sweet prompt. I'm in with a flash rule, please. Thranguy posted:in, and I'll take a flash rule as well. docbeard posted:The denizens of this mystic place fall upon you without warning! You face: Jonked posted:I'm in and would like a flash rule. LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE posted:in N. Senada posted:In with a flash please.
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Jul 7, 2015 18:47
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Bad Seafood posted:THIS WAS NOT THE PARTY YOU ASKED FOR, BUT IT'S THE ONE YOU'VE GOT. SORRY. 
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Jul 7, 2015 18:52
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In! Flash me.
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Jul 7, 2015 19:01
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In with a flash rule pls
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Jul 7, 2015 19:02
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Thanks for the earworm
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Jul 7, 2015 19:05
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I can't help but be in.
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Jul 7, 2015 19:08
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Be rough, it's my first time.
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Jul 7, 2015 19:08
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epoch. posted:Be rough, it's my first time. Hello fellow first timer. In and ready to probably get a new rear end in a top hat torn open! (also flash please/thanks)
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Jul 7, 2015 19:14
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epoch. posted:Be rough, it's my first time.
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Jul 7, 2015 19:23
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HopperUK posted:In! Flash me.  DING DING DING DING Congratulations HopperUK! As our honorary 17th sign-up, 17 being arbitrarily my favorite number, you get a super special flashrule deluxe. Your party may be brave. They may be strong. They may even be a little bit crazy. But are they crazy enough to enter...  THE TOMB OF HORRORS? So the Tomb of Horrors is a legendarily nasty meat-grinder of an adventure module written by the godfather of D&D, Gary Gygax himself. We're talking "Prepare two extra character sheets in advance in case your first dude gets obliterated immediately" levels of nasty. Death is on the menu. Your characters, for whatever insane reason, have decided to test their luck and the grace of whatever gods they hold dear, steeling themselves to enter...THE TOMB OF HORRORS, which I expect you to do a little research on just FYI.  Since I'm technically throwing an established setting your way, the no fanfiction rule is kinda sorta slightly suspended for you and you alone, though I expect the characters and plot beats to still be yours. Your reward for tackling this challenge is an extra 500 words just to ensure you actually tell a satisfying story without resorting to "Rocks fall, everyone dies." If you refuse, you'll have the same word count as everybody else along with a much lamer flash rule in place of this one. DO YOU ACCEPT? Blue Wher posted:In with a flash rule pls C7ty1 posted:Hello fellow first timer.
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Jul 7, 2015 19:43
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Bad Seafood posted:The party paladin is increasingly concerned over the cleric's liberal use of blood ritual and raising the dead.  I told you this wasn't a good idea! Now look what's happened! Come now, Doctor, everything is under control!  YOU WILL BE LIKE US ...oh, right, you said no fanfiction. docbeard fucked around with this message at 19:48 on Jul 7, 2015 |
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Jul 7, 2015 19:45
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Thanks for the crit. I'm in again. Can I get a flash please?
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Jul 7, 2015 19:48
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Bad Seafood posted:
DARE I DO! That is to say hell yes I accept, gently caress it why not.
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Jul 7, 2015 20:00
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Aight. In. Flashinate me.
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Jul 7, 2015 20:08
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I'm in. Gimme a good flash rule, Doof.
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Jul 7, 2015 20:21
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Lazy Beggar posted:Thanks for the crit. Megazver posted:Aight. In. Flashinate me. A Classy Ghost posted:I'm in. Gimme a good flash rule, Doof. You split the party.
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Jul 7, 2015 20:41
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In. And I hope I don't regret this, flash me. Thanks for the crits Ska.
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Jul 7, 2015 20:55
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unburied posted:In.
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Jul 7, 2015 21:12
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id also like to join the cool club of ppl who are in and being flashed
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Jul 8, 2015 02:03
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I am in to write a story and we may be seeing some old faces make their return. Some of my 'dome stories have continuity between them I will let you guess which.
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Jul 8, 2015 02:10
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I'm in and would like a flash rule
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Jul 8, 2015 04:07
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I'll throw in with a flash rule. I wrote in thunderdome a year or two back, during a brief internship and more free time than talent. I'm back with definitely less free time to prove I have more talent. Bring it.
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Jul 8, 2015 05:50
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in purely to make doof suffer, as i hope he will make me suffer with a flashrule
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Jul 8, 2015 06:19
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Jopoho posted:I'll throw in with a flash rule. Almost all of my free time disappeared fifteen months ago. I found that it made me value it so much more that I made the decision to do something awesome with it: learn to write stories in thunderdome.
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Jul 8, 2015 08:37
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I failed my saving throw vs prompt. In and flash me.
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Jul 8, 2015 10:15
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spectres of autism posted:id also like to join the cool club of ppl who are in and being flashed Morning Bell posted:I'm in and would like a flash rule Jopoho posted:I'll throw in with a flash rule. Sitting Here posted:in purely to make doof suffer, as i hope he will make me suffer with a flashrule Meeple posted:I failed my saving throw vs prompt. In and flash me.
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Jul 8, 2015 10:22
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Almost finished with a book I've been writing (at 149k words/397 pages) and should wrap it up tomorrow or Friday. But then I need to read a book on self-editing, write a poo poo ton more (need to level up that skill, baby!), and edit it so it's not complete garbage so IN and please flash rule me.
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Jul 8, 2015 21:10
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Jagermonster posted:Almost finished with a book I've been writing (at 149k words/397 pages) and should wrap it up tomorrow or Friday. But then I need to read a book on self-editing, write a poo poo ton more (need to level up that skill, baby!), and edit it so it's not complete garbage so IN and please flash rule me.
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Jul 8, 2015 23:44
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In. Flash me, please.
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Jul 9, 2015 01:41
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Schneider Heim posted:In. Flash me, please.
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Jul 9, 2015 03:35
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in, fl@$h
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Jul 9, 2015 03:44
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Ironic Twist posted:in, fl@$h  This is your party.
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Jul 9, 2015 04:09
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Strike Duty, 1,497 words “A few extra hundred bucks,” Ed thought as he pulled the tourniquet tight on his shattered leg. He had cut off one arm of his solid navy coveralls to stave off the bleeding. The fabric was not just covered in fine coal dust, it was saturated with it; this gave him pause and he considered what effect it might have on the open wound. “Jesus! Ed, you ok?” Reggie called from the catwalk above the coal bin. Reg’s booming voice echoed but was still almost impossible to hear over the continuous roar of the powerhouse. The “bin” Ed had fallen into was perhaps not so aptly named. It housed roughly thirty tons of lump coal. A black, smoking mountain. Ed felt the heat emanating from under him and briefly recalled what their supervisor had told them about the bin. The coal was brimming with potential energy; each chunk of coal rubbed against the other, causing thousands of points of friction. Sometimes, the mountain would spontaneously combust. That’s why there were hoses spooled up every twenty feet or so along the narrow catwalk that flanked either side above it, each of them connected to the 100psi water supply used throughout the powerhouse for both cleaning and extinguishing. Reg was running down the length of the catwalk, his heavy footfalls causing fine clouds of a century’s worth of coal dust to drift down over Ed. With a few dozen feet of hose looped around his shoulder, he barked orders back at Tim. “Keep feedin’ me slack, don’t lemme get caught up or I’ll end up in with ‘im!” Reg hollered. * * * Tim did as he was commanded, although normally he’d never let a database administrator talk to him that way. He was the team lead. He had organized last year’s golf tourney. But he kept his mouth shut tight, just like when he was a boy and his WWII vet grandfather had told him: “Fall in line. Be quiet. There’s a time for talk and a time for action.” And now, two nights into scab duty, with one of his junior software engineers laying on top of a mountain of smoking coal with probably a broken back or Lord-knows-what, all while some … thing … hunted them? No, this was not the time for talk. Not at all. * * * Ed shook his head and cursed his dead brother. This was Mike’s fault. If Mike were still alive, Ed would … well … do something to him. Mike was always bigger and stronger than Ed. “Eddie. Dude. The Union only strikes, like, once a decade,” Mike had said. “You’ll make time-and-a-half, every day. Work out your arms, get a nice strong back, get some … well, not exactly ‘fresh’ air. In fact, the coal dust in your lungs might take a few golden years off, but, eh.” He shrugged and snatched a fry from Ed’s plate in the corporate cafeteria. “Uh … I’m not fat,” Ed had said. He looked down at his wiry frame, with his slight little stomach paunch. “And I don’t exactly need --” “No, you do need the money. Everyone always needs the money. Hell, just ratchet up your 401k contribution to the max during the strike.” He paused, then pointed at his younger brother with another stolen french fry, adding, “That’s the thing, though, you never know how long it’ll be. Last strike was a fart in the wind, man. It was, uh, two? Three weeks?” Ed tilted his head a bit and looked up, considering it. “Why the powerhouse, though? Most guys are building tires.” Mike made a raspberry sound of dismissal. Then he leaned in, conspiratorially, ducking his head down. “The powerhouse is where it’s at. The coal’s delivered at six --” “AM?” Mike chuckled and silently tapped the end of his nose. “Right-o, little brother,” that motion had always said. “-- and by noon, hell, maybe ten, we’re done shoveling it. I mean, you don’t really even ‘shovel it’, shovel it, anyway. You just sort of baby it. Make sure it falls cleanly into the hopper. On wetter days, it sticks a little.” “I thought you didn’t work last strike.” “I didn’t, no. It’s just what I heard,” he said. He leaned in again. Lowered his voice again. “I tell you what, too, that’s not all I heard.” Ed got up fast, crumpled his napkin into a tight little ball and put it on his half-eaten tray of food. “Don’t, Mike. Just don’t.” When they were kids, nothing entertained Mike like scaring Ed to death. He’d hide outside his window in their country home, late at night, when little Eddie was falling asleep, and growl deep like a monster. He made Eddie watch alien abduction documentaries and made-for-TV horror movies. All Eddie wanted to do was watch Mr. Belvedere, but Mr. Belvedere doesn’t make you wet your bed and get Mom and Dad to yell at you for being a baby -- a baby at nine years old, for Chrissakes. Mike grabbed Ed’s wrist, hard. His eyes were serious. The familiar “I’m gonna git you, Eddie” smile was missing. “Ed,” he’d said -- not “Eddie” this time -- “it’s real. Reggie? You know, that black D.B.A.? He saw it, man. He saw it last time.” * * * The day the strike began was surreal. Leading up to September 27th, the idea of the union powerhouse guys, along with all three hundred union tire-builders at the factory, actually going on strike, seemed far-fetched. Even more so than an unnamed, vague ghost-beast-monster-whatever. Even after sitting through the half-hour pow-wow with a couple dozen other scabs, even after walking behind the engineering research center, even after the rented box truck showed up full of fold-out cots that looked -- and smelled -- like they hadn’t been used since the sixties, it all seemed like vaporware. A great promise, sure, time-and-a-half twelve hour days, six days a week, with double-time on the occasional sunday (if the work warranted it), that’s one big hoverboard or flying car of a concept. It finally sank in that it was really going to happen, as the surreal tends to cement into the real, in the dark. When the small crew of programmers and administrators had held the last hand of poker, told the last joke about how they really, really could use some beer, and had settled down on their rented cots in a closed-off maintenance shop. Ed had laid on his back and tried to be tired. Tried not hear the other men shuffling and farting and tossing and turning and snoring. They had to spend the first night in the powerhouse. The standard technique for the strike was that, on the first day of business, the faithful brotherhood would block the entrance to the factory. They’d picket out front and form a human fence. Someone would have to call a judge and get a court order to make them move, but that might not happen until noon. It was all standard operating procedure. And the coal trucks showed up at six -- AM, remember -- so in order to ensure that the rest of the factory had power tomorrow, it was up to Ed, Mike, Reggie, and Tim to make sure the coal burned. * * * Ed had done the math over and over again. It had become something of a mantra he’d repeat to himself while showering, or drifting to sleep. Fifty-seven k a year, twenty-six paychecks at two-point-two grand, pre-tax, that’s about twenty-seven bucks an hour. Times that by one-and-a-half and that’s about forty bucks an hour. For twenty extra hours per regular work-week (four extra hours of O.T. per day) then you tack on beautiful, beautiful Saturday, with its glorious twelve full hours of O.T. and baby you get one thousand, two hundred and eighty bucks. Extra. Per week. Not even counting double-time Sundays. Or Holidays -- pray the strike lasts long enough to see Holiday pay, Ed. Double-time-and-a-half. But now, laying on his back, watching Reg dangle a limp hose a good ten feet overhead (too high to reach even if he could stand up), it just felt more like a few hundred extra bucks. Somewhere past the narrow entryway into bin #1, somewhere in that labyrinthine tangle of catwalks, pipes, service elevators, hissing pumps, blackened once-yellow handrails, flickering shop lights, rusted tools, it rested or it stalked, its belly full of big brother Mike. Ed was vaguely aware of a change in attitude from above. Reg was running the other way. Tim had disappeared somewhere. Probably ran off. The edges of Ed’s vision began to darken. He had lost a fair bit amount of blood. Reg was brandishing a spud bar like a jousting lance. The image triggered a deep memory in his brain and Ed immediately thought of an old book he read as a child. It was about a group of friends, set off on an adventure to steal gold from a dragon.
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Jul 9, 2015 05:26
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gently caress you, I'm signing up, and I don't care about no swears either.
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Jul 9, 2015 13:15
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Also, give me a flash rule and a tankard of some generic fantasy alcoholic beverage.
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Jul 9, 2015 14:28
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So last time I joined one of these I totally hosed up, "Killing the Necromancer" is still sitting around somewhere collecting dust. I might finally finish it and try for a redemption sometime. Until then, in, give me a flash rule if you want, and I'll even toxx for finishing this time if necessary.
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Jul 9, 2015 15:21
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OK i have a dumb idea and i gotta do it. Sign me da gently caress up
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Jul 9, 2015 21:24
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I'm in.  after failing to submit for Voidmart.
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Jul 10, 2015 00:32
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| # ? Apr 23, 2024 15:42 |
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WeLandedOnTheMoon! posted:Also, give me a flash rule and a tankard of some generic fantasy alcoholic beverage. Flesnolk posted:So last time I joined one of these I totally hosed up, "Killing the Necromancer" is still sitting around somewhere collecting dust. I might finally finish it and try for a redemption sometime. Until then, in, give me a flash rule if you want, and I'll even toxx for finishing this time if necessary. As an example, cameras exist in Terry Pratchett's Discworld, they're just boxes with lenses containing tiny imps who draw what they see really, really fast.
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Jul 10, 2015 00:59
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