Hey Guys! I thought it might be fun if we wrote our own Book. Ill start. Just add on with whatever you like. Maybe we can come up with something really wacky or good! :D


The crackling fire was barely enough to fight off the cold and chill that was seeping through the wooden walls and under the door. Outside thunder clashed and lightning lit the world in an eire light. The rain tumbled from the sky in huge wet drops, and the howling wind lashed out at a group of figures making their way up the lane . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I've gone ahead and moved this into the Round Robin subforum of our Lit Spot. The Books forum is more for discussing published works, while this forum is where you should post your own writing. :yes:

Almost nothing differentiating one figure from could be seen, since all of them wore tightly pinned cloakes to protect from such weather as this. The firelight did not penetrate into the dark hoods, although one of them had a dark protrusion coming out that may have been a rather malformed nose. A stranger passing by would have been able to see that none of them were particularly tall or short, although one was oddly lumpy, and another had a case larger than it was resting beside it.

"This sucks," came a gravelly voice from the lumpy one. . . .

Originally Posted by Turtle Kid

Almost nothing differentiating one figure from could be seen, since all of them wore tightly pinned cloakes to protect from such weather as this. The firelight did not penetrate into the dark hoods, although one of them had a dark protrusion coming out that may have been a rather malformed nose. A stranger passing by would have been able to see that none of them were particularly tall or short, although one was oddly lumpy, and another had a case larger than it was resting beside it.

"This sucks," came a gravelly voice from the lumpy one. . . .

...who proceeded to sneeze, a string of snot coming from the protrusion in the hood that was, indeed, a nose.

"That was seriously gross, man," replied one of the other dark-hooded figures who was leaning up against the gigantic case. He eyed the large-nosed man who wiped the snot off on his cloak before he smacked the case and said:

"what do ya spose is in this thing?" and fiddled with the ten pound lock on the case's handle.

Recovering from his disgust, the dark-hooded figure replied...

. . . "I don't know. Or care." He slapped away the lumpy one's hand. The lumpy one didn't seem to notice. Most of the group was almost at the door of the wooden house, so the man with the case sighed and hauled it back onto his back with a grunt before following, his boots sticking and squelching with every step.

The hooded person in front stopped abruptly in front of the door, knocking once politely but firmly. And then the group stood around, gradually sinking into the mud, wondering if the person inside could hear them over the storm. The man with the case dropped it beside him before leaning against it again.

The door opened. . . .

...and out came a voluptuous woman dressed in a pimp-coat purple colored silk dress that had a split to the thigh, showed way too much cleavage, and stuck to her like saran wrap.

The woman stepped over the door jam, flipped her black hair over her shoulder and looked down at the scrawny men in the black cloaks who were dripping wet at this point. "Yes," she cooed in a husky voice.

The chins of the seven hooded men were all touching the sidewalk at this point. The lumpy one pulled himself together, shifted the weight of the box from his right to his left shoulder and again pondered at the contents of the container, wondering what the Hell this woman would want with a box delivered by his clan of hermits.

The cloaked figure who had knocked on the door swallowed his tongue and raised his chin from the ground and said to the woman, "here's your box, lady." The lumpy one came forth and dropped it with a resounding thud at her feet. The woman's eyes shifted back and forth seductively, she smiled, thanked the hermits and moved towards the box...

but the lumpy one doesn't have the box. . . .

Originally Posted by Turtle Kid

but the lumpy one doesn't have the box. . . .

This is true. Smacks forehead. Fixes... (My bad)

...and out came a voluptuous woman dressed in a pimp-coat purple colored silk dress that had a split to the thigh, showed way too much cleavage, and stuck to her like saran wrap.

The woman stepped over the door jam, flipped her black hair over her shoulder and looked down at the scrawny men in the black cloaks who were dripping wet at this point. "Yes," she cooed in a husky voice.

The chins of the seven hooded men were all touching the sidewalk at this point. The one carrying the box pulled himself together, shifted the weight of the box from his right to his left shoulder and again pondered at the contents of the container, wondering what the Hell this woman would want with a box delivered by his clan of hermits.

The cloaked figure who had knocked on the door swallowed his tongue and raised his chin from the ground and said to the woman, "here's your box, lady." The cloaked figure carrying the box came forth and dropped it with a resounding thud at her feet. The woman's eyes shifted back and forth seductively, she smiled, thanked the hermits and moved towards the crate...

(Sorry about that)

(Hahah, it's fine. Thanks for fixing it!)

She picked it up delicately, as though it weighed nothing. The men whose jaws had re-hinged dropped once more as everyone gaped. Her seductive smile widened into something not quite a smirk as she practically purred the words, "Thank you, boys." The hermits didn't react as she moved herself and the box inside and shut the door in their faces.

There was silence for a moment before a crash of thunder broke it and made the men jump.

The cloaked figure in front sighed and turned around, almost reaching up to ruffle his hair before remembering that it was raining and he had a hood on. He scowled. "Well, that's that." Ignoring the whining coming from the lumpy one as they started walking away he turned to the man who'd carried the box. "How heavy was that box, anyways?"

"Pretty heavy," he muttered. Before the other man could say anything else he continued, "Considering her looks and strength, I doubt she was human." . . .

The eyes of the hermits twitched about, each man judging the others reactions to this insinuation before they all shook their heads in unison and tramped off into the hideous night to their various hermit holes, all of them except for a lone cloaked figure that remained standing under a street lamp.

Back in the leaky hut with the small crackling fire, the woman dumped the case to the floor which proceeded to crack the hard old wood and land in the muddy dirt below. "Damn," she said as she picked it up, wiped it off with a towel that she produced from thin air, and set the case on the threadbare couch that was pushed up against the South wall.

She proceeded to inspect the box for a long moment, all the while wondering where the Hell the key had gone for the thing when she heard a voice over her shoulder ask in a deep, masculine voice, "lose something?"

The woman spun about swiftly and threw a fierce right hook in the direction of the creeper's nose, who could be seen as wearing a cloak. Said creeper grabbed her hand and shoved the arm attached to it back to the woman's waist, murmuring the whole time, "break my nose once, you're lucky, break my nose twice, I'm an idiot."

The man dropped her wrist and stepped back, placing his hands on his hips under his cloak.

The purple woman looked him up and down, suddenly recognizing the lumpy man from the crowd of hermits that had delivered her box.

"YOU!" she shouted, "you conniving bastard," said she, tendrils of purple magic sprawling about her form.

The man snickered and pulled his cloak off in one fell swoop and chucked it on top of the box--a gorgeous man was he, except for his crooked nose. Average of height with glossy white cropped hair and black eyes. He smirked, and said to the seething woman, "what ya hiding, Semele?". . .

Semele snorted and drew the purple magic back. "It's not really any of your business, is it?"

The man raised his eyebrows at her. "Aw, don't be like that! We were friends, weren't we?"

"Yes. We were." She frowned, looking back at the box. "You have the key, don't you."

He held up a battered key lined with rust. "Yep! And I'll give it to ya . . . if I get somethin' in return." He smiled a libidinous smile. Semele grimaced but moved closer to the man slowly. He puckered his lips and she leaned in closer, closing her eyes as though she didn't want to see what she had to do.

Then she punched him in the nose.

He actually went through a wall with a wet cracking sound. She could hear him cursing outside, but was more worried about the roof falling on her and whether or not the key in her hands actually fit the lock. . . .

(Neither of us wants to say what's in the box, do we? Lol)

Semele listened silently for a minute, attempting to hear some warning creak or another that would tell her the roof was going to collapse. Becoming satisfied that it would not she lifted her hand from her side to look at the key she had snatched from the man just before she socked him, only to realize that the key was no longer in her possession.

"The Hell?" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "Darion!" Semele cried towards the hole in the wall and, noticing his absence muttered, "Crap, where'd he go?" and looked about calmly, trying not to seem concerned. . .

"So, dis is what's in here?" Semele turned and scowled at Darion, who was holding his gushing nose with one hand and holding the case open with the other. "I though' you'd said id didn' exist." He spit out the blood that had trickled into his mouth onto the floor.

Semele wrinkled her nose and, with a wave of her hand, summoned a hankerchief and gingerly passed it over. Darion stuffed it up his considerable schnoz. "I told you that because at the time I wanted to kill you."

"You don' now?"

"Oh, I still do. But I don't think I can anymore."

"Why dah?"

"I've taken a vow of purity." Semele ignored Darion's snort with great aplomb and reached in the case to take out a huge square piece of wood with swirls carved all over it. Besides the corners of the block, there were no angular features. . . .

(I had his name as Darion not Dorion :yes:)

She admired it's beauty for a moment turning the wooden block over and over a few times in her hands, noticing the wondrous detail of the inlaid golden swirls that spoke to her of great magicks. It shone slightly in the light of the fireplace and Semele smiled wickedly. Darion smirked slightly at the smile and then muttered an oath at the pain the simple lip twitch had caused him.

Semele tucked the tablet under her arm, walked over to the couch against the southern wall, hauled the box off and hocked it in Darion's general direction before plopping down on the couch and admiring the tablet again.

Darion managed to jump out of the way just before the empty case would have hurtled into his head and cursed Semele, rubbing the place on his head that would have been bashed in by the box had it made contact. He was in the process of this when he suddenly heard Semele's voice murmuring lovingly to the tablet:

"Good tablet, pretty tablet, Seme' loves you tabby...." Darion's eyebrow rose to meet his hairline, seeing that he'd never known Semele to act crazy this way. The woman continued on to say, "you're gonna do everything mamma asks you to do, right tabby...right?" all the while stroking the thing like a cat.

The tablet proceeded to glow as Semele continued to sweet talk it and. . .

(Whoops. ^_^() Thanks!)

caress it. When the glowing suddenly grew brighter Darion stepped out into the rain and backed away from the house. Then there was a great flash of light followed by Semele shrieking followed by silence. Darion waited a few more seconds before his curiosity got the better of him and he peeked back in.

Semele lay on the couch looking flushed and triumphant. Darion stared for a moment before remembering that there was supposed to be a large wooden tablet lying around. It seemed to have vanished, and Darion pouted before sighing. ". . . It did what ya wan'ed?"

Semele sat back up and said, "It will. At the right time." She stood up and stretched. Darion admired the view. "For now, I gave it a place to stay."

Darion raised his eyebrows and thought back to what he remembered of magical artifacts that were probably made eons ago. "So . . . did you have to pay a price?"

Semele turned her back on Darion so that he wouldn't see her expression. "Not that it's any of your concern, but yes. And no, I won't tell you what it is."

Darion rolled his eyes and muttered, "It feels like I been hearin' that all day. . . .

"Really," said Semele flippantly, brushing her black hair over her shoulder and out of her face, completely ignoring Darion's lascivious stares.

Darion pulled himself together and replied, "reawy," only to realize that Semele's lace kerchief was still stuck up his nose, which had finished bleeding at this point. He proceeded to grab the end of it and pull it out like a band-aid off skin--quickly. It took him a minute to feel the pain, but Semele was sadistically waiting for it and cocked her head to the side and counted to three.

"Un, deux..." she paused a second and then said, "trois," which was followed by a very high-pitched scream of pain coming from Darion. No sooner did he yell out than did Semele laugh like a drain and hunch over, holding her gut and slapping her thigh.

Darion eventually stopped screaming and rubbed his nose, then turned to Semele, who was still sniggering, and said, "that," gasp, "was," inhale, "not," gasp again, "funny!" he screeched between exhausted breaths.

Semele stopped laughing instantaneously, straightened up gracefully and replied without skipping a beat, "was so," and stuck her tongue out at him. Darion glared. Semele shook her head and brushed by him, walking through the hole in the wall into the rain and towards the woods. . .

"Wait!" Darion stepped out of the house after her. "Where you goin'?" Semele had just opened her mouth when Darion added, "And don't say it's none my business."

Semele shrugged, as if to say If that's what you want, and disappeared into the underbrush with a flash of purple.

Darion stared for a moment before sighing. "****** fairys. Won' even wait for a body to say why they've come in the firs' place." He reached into a pouch hanging off his belt and, after shuffling some things around, pulled out a mirror bigger than the bag. He cleared his throat and began: "Show me a person who can help me with my quest." The mirror didn't noticeable change, except that when the raindrops hit it the glass started to ripple. Darion stepped under the trees, since they were now closer than the house, and the mirror's surface became still except for the occasional swaying from his involuntary movements. After a few seconds the mirror turned purple. "Show me a person who can help me with my quest and exists on this plane of reality at this moment," Darion clarified, biting his tongue so that he wouldn't curse in frustration.

The mirror's surface changed . . .

. . .and in it appeared the face of a grizzly old forest fairy with hair made of maple leaves and clothes of ivy. Darion double-checked the mirror a couple of times, watching as the elderly tree-man in the reflection scratched his head, snorted, and then spit off to the side.

"Wha'da' ya wont, ya prizzy little wisard?" said the gnarled man suddenly, startling Darion to the point that he almost dropped the mirror. He steadied himself and combed his hair back into place with the fingers of his left hand, inhaling a long breath.

"I need advice," he replied eventually.

"On wha'? Ye're a man ere ye no? Deal with it yerself," the fairy said and slowly began to disappear.

"Wait!" shrieked Darion. "Seriously, come on!"

The old man rolled his eyes and let his face return to focus in the mirror again. "Fine. Boot ye better make it good." . . .

(Uh, you may need to help me with the forest fairy's language, or change it yourself. I don't know if I can get it right.)

Darion organized his thoughts for a few moments, but when the forest fairy started shifting he quickly explained, "I'm on a quest. And, uh, you see, the first part o' the quest is ta rescue someone. 'Cept I can't find 'em."

The forest fairy raised an eyebrow. "Tha's the first part o' th' quest?"

"Yeah. Uh, it's a man."

The forest fairy looked interested now. "A man? Tha's different, non?"

"He's a prince," Darian admitted.

"And ye's true love?"

Darian chocked. "What? No!"

"Oh." The forest fairy didn't look half so interested any more "If ye were innit fer love, that'd be summin'. . . . Are ye innit fer power? wealth? fame?. . . .

(You didn't butcher it, just think about a drunk Irishman :D)

Darion stopped for a moment, considering the idea of telling him that he really was in love with the prince just so that he could get some enthusiasm out of the old forest creature. He shook his head, though, at the thought of it and instead replied, "I'm in it for nothing."

The forest man smacked his forehead with a resounding thud against a tree that was next to him, wherever he was, and replied, "ye're in it fer nothin'?" he shouted through the mirror, "how can ye be init fer nothin?"

Darion was startled at the rage of the fairy and even moreso startled when he saw the leafy fingers of the man reaching towards the glass of the mirror, disappear for a second, and then reappear on Darion's side. Darion dropped the mirror in horror, having thought the instructions that had come with the magical device had said that nothing could come or go through the glass.

The green man grunted as he got his right arm through the mirror and then stuck his left through, eventually pulling his entire body through the glass. As he stood up he smacked at the leaves on his costume to get the trans-dimensional dust off of his body. He sneezed as the sparkly particles filled the air and then turned to the flabbergasted Darion.

"Wha'da ya mean, nothin'?" he said again, raising one leafy eyebrow. . .

(Feel free to name the leaf fairy since I've named the last two)

(I don't know if I can do that. Every time I try to think of it, it turns Scottish! But I will try.)

Darion hesitantly reached over to pick up his mirror again and the fairy obliged by stepping away. "I heard a kingdom was in trouble, and when I went there they asked me ta find this prince that had been lost hunerds of years ago. They wanted to take over this kingdom, see, but the population wouldn't accept 'em. They'd governed themsevles fo' a while, and are fightin' mad that a kingdom with no claim over 'em started comin' in and demandin' servitude. They said they'll only accept a true heir, except that the line died out twenty years ago in an attack, and the only other person who could possibly be of blood has been missing for, uh, hunerds of years. Like I said. And I can't just let somethin' that might destroy th' whole order of things happen. It's not suppose'd ta happen now!"

The fairy gave him a shrewd glance. "Ye're part o' th' Griven Tribe, ain't ya?"

Darion nodded while wondering just how strong this fairy had to be. He didn't think even Semele could get through this mirror.

The forest fairy sighed. "Figures." The fairy held out a hand. "Well, ye've concinced me. I'll help ye. M' name's Tim. 'M a leaf fairy."

"Darion." Darion shook the fairy's hand, frowning. Not only did this man have an odd name, but he was supposedly part of some of the weakest fairys in existence. Just how had he gotten through his mirror?

"I know 'tis an odd name. But 'tis simple. . . .

(ROFLMAO. I love the name!)

"Nah, all's good. I'm actually rather happy that it wasn't something like 'Timachtus Lionitagus Schmango'," replied Darion to Tim who replied:

"Hot damn boi! How'd ye guess me name?" Tim smiled and pounded a flabbergasted Darion on his back.

"You're kidding me," said Darion, looking Tim straight in the eye.

Tim smirked and let Darion stand there for a few seconds, allowing him to build up his ego for a second and then said (right at the moment that Darion looked proud as a peacock), "Damn straight I waz kiddin' ya boi!" and smacked him on his back again, causing Darion to splutter as all the air went out of his lungs. "Ye ought naught b'lieve everythin' ye hear. Specially bein' that we're goin' on such a jurney as this un," said Tim to the wizard and then walked off into the distance, disappearing every few steps only to reappear another twenty feet ahead.

Darion finally caught his breath and proceeded to snap his fingers, white electricity shooting in between thumb and forefinger as he did so, and began to float into the sky. His black eyes seemed to glow internally as they focused on Tim, and his entire body was now surrounded by the white, arching magic. Darion's form seemed to vibrate momentarily, and then he zapped like a bolt of lightning after the green man. . .

(Monty Python inspired me. And, uh, new chapter!)

"Get oop, boi!" Darion groaned and made a weak motion with his hands. "Donnae give me tha'. Ye were fine a few seconds ago!"

Darion lifted up his head and spat leaves from his mouth. "I tripped!"

Tim looked at Darion for a second before laughing at him.

"I's not funny!" Darion struggled to his feet and winced when he tried putting any weight on the right side. "I twisted my ankle!"

"Ye shoulda been payin' more attention." He walked over and leaned down to squint at Darion's ankle. "Ye should also tell me when yer gettin' tired."

"'M not gettin' tired!" He twisted his neck and pointed. "That thing appeared outta nowhere! . . .

Finally Tim managed to notice the odd thing that Darion was pointing to. He bent down towards it, poked at it a bit and finally picked it up. There was no way of saying what the thing was. Tim turned it over a few times in his dusty gray hands and looked at Darion for an explanation.

"Hell if I know," replied Darion from his perch on a rock where he was massaging his ankle, to the inquisitive look that Tim was sending his way. "Leave it," said Darion after a half hour of Tim staring blindly at the thing, "let's get out of here. There's no way telling how long it's going to be before we find that dratted Prince." He got up and began to lift off of his feet, surrounded again by his white magic, when Tim waved his arm in a downward motion directing Darion to wait. "What?" whined Darion.

Tim came out of his trance for a moment and looked to the wizard, "as there is no tellin' 'ow long it's gonna take t' find the Prince, there be no tellin' of what import this thing is t' us." Tim shook his head and continued, "and bein' that an ole duffer like me does na know what this is, ye ought to be guessin' that tis somethin' we do na wan' to pass up."

Darion sat down and sighed, examining the thing that Tim was holding in his hands from afar. It was round and the size of a basketball with all manner of purple, green, pink, and yellow swirling appendages sticking out from it in every direction.

Tim stared at it in contemplation for three days and three nights, not moving the entire time, whilst Darion sprawled on a rock and drooled in his sleep, occasionally getting up to relieve himself or forage some food. 'Twas on the fourth morning of this contemplation that Tim got up, looking as though he had finally figured the thing out, and moved towards a river with Darion trailing behind him, happy for some form of mental stimulation, to see what the old leaf fairy was up to.

Tim reached the edge of the river and held the strange orb over the water by one of its neon-pink tendrils and made as if to drop the thing in. . .

(Do they have basketball in . . . uh, wherever this story takes place? Also, I apologize for not posting here for a while! My creative juices were all sucked dry. . . .)

"Ye might wanna stand back," he told the wizard standing right beside him. Darion backpedalled and Tim dropped the object. It sank slightly before bobbing innocently back up to the surface.

When there was no explosion Darion cautiously came forward to stare. "Okay, so it doesn't move with the water. So?"

Tim gave him an annoyed look. "Do ye nah understand?"

Darion rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

Tim frowned at the eye-roll and bent down to pluck the object out of the river. "This 'ere's an artifact thousands o' years old. I's called an Achlardn, 'n they were made ta hold prisoners o' war--keep 'em safe from 'arm. Even s'pposed to keep 'em safe from the passin' o' time."

Darion frowned. "But when the prince vanished the Kingdom of Yottel wasn't in a war."

"I said tha's what they were made for, not what they were used for. . . .