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Old 10-15-2008, 05:55 AM   #61
Call me Padfoot
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Default Re: ○ The Author's Criterion • Think You're a Good Writer? • Put Your Skills to the Test Here for PSFs! • All Spots are Filled, But You Can Read Along! ○

Hey, FWP, what's the deadline?
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Old 10-15-2008, 12:36 PM   #62
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Default Re: ○ The Author's Criterion • Think You're a Good Writer? • Put Your Skills to the Test Here for PSFs! • All Spots are Filled, But You Can Read Along! ○

Oh, I forgot, the deadline! Thanks for the reminder, B2S!

I'll make it...hmm...how 'bout October 26th? Yeah, by 11:59 PM KT on Monday, October 26th, I'd like them done.

If you guys have concerns, please let me know, and I can tweak around with it.

♫ ♪ Cheryl Faer ♪ ♫

---------- FairwayPup added 3 Minutes and 50 Seconds later ----------

EDIT!

The deadline will be October 27th, 2:59 AM KT for those who are Pacific Time Zone. (If you are in this time zone, and my time is inaccurate, please tell me! )

♫ ♪ Cheryl Faer ♪ ♫

---------- FairwayPup added 2 Minutes and 32 Seconds later ----------

View Post Originally Posted by zoeychloe101
okey dokey but do you still like it/
Yes, it was a great start! But if I ever use the same scenario, I'd prefer if there was a bit more written. Otherwise, it was good!

♫ ♪ Cheryl Faer ♪ ♫

Last edited by FairwayPup; 10-15-2008 at 12:36 PM.. Reason: Automerged Doublepost
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Old 10-15-2008, 03:08 PM   #63
Call me Padfoot
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Default Re: ○ The Author's Criterion • Think You're a Good Writer? • Put Your Skills to the Test Here for PSFs! • All Spots are Filled, But You Can Read Along! ○

Thanks and one last question. Are we making the chpater of finishing the story? That could mean the difference between lengths for me.
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Old 10-15-2008, 05:17 PM   #64
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Default Re: ○ The Author's Criterion • Think You're a Good Writer? • Put Your Skills to the Test Here for PSFs! • All Spots are Filled, But You Can Read Along! ○

Thanks so much for the far away deadline! Life's so hectic right now!
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Old 10-15-2008, 08:45 PM   #65
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Default Re: ○ The Author's Criterion • Think You're a Good Writer? • Put Your Skills to the Test Here for PSFs! • All Spots are Filled, But You Can Read Along! ○

ok it's late so i will post my entry here 2 mar oh!
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Old 10-15-2008, 09:04 PM   #66
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Default Re: ○ The Author's Criterion • Think You're a Good Writer? • Put Your Skills to the Test Here for PSFs! • All Spots are Filled, But You Can Read Along! ○

Well, if you look at Lydie's entry, she basically turned her ending into a short story. Maybe something like that?

I'll try to think of a more clear way of explaining that. (xD)

Okie dokie, kinz!

♫ ♪ Cheryl Faer ♪ ♫

P.S.: Cherio still has the hand trying to squash DL (from our VM thing)!
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Old 10-16-2008, 06:45 PM   #67
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Default Re: ○ The Author's Criterion • Think You're a Good Writer? • Put Your Skills to the Test Here for PSFs! • All Spots are Filled, But You Can Read Along! ○

The Unending Quest
Gwyndion stared at the emerald-studded bow which lay before him in the stiff snow, a trembling hand stretched out to grab it. He looked up at his/her companions for support.
"Should I take it?" the fifteen-year-old asked.
"I wouldn't," advised a man, who looked in his early thirties. His hair was short and dirty-blonde, but an edge of grey was hinted at the tips. "There's something...mysterious about it. Maybe the warriors from before put an enchantment on it."
"What kind of enchantment?" That was a teenager about Gwyndion's age, female, with dark brown hair pulled into a perfect braid to her waist.
"Something undescribable."
The girl grimaced.
Without any help given, as Gwyndion found it, he grasped his hand around the bow, and suddenly the weapon was illuminated by a lemon yellow glow. Before anyone had a chance to blink, the bow and Gwyndion disappeared.
The next thing Gwyndion knew he was falling endlessly into nothingness. Wind rushed across his face flapping his lips and ruffled his ever so carefully styled trimmed golden locks. The brightness around him was blinding and through his eyelids he could still see the flashing spiraling colors. Which way was up or down he could no longer tell. Then it all went dark. Warily, Gwyndion opened his eyes, which still had spots dancing across them from the sheer intensity of the light he'd just received.Brushing off his elegant indigo tunic and standing upright, he could hear a rhythmic clicking sound at a strict tempo and no longer feel the handle of the bow in his grip..Suddenly he was aware of a hearty laughing that soon seemed to multiply as it echoed off matter and that he was lying face-down on something smooth and hard yet warm to the touch. Gwyndion spun around to see an old man chuckling perched upon a mahogany door with intricate patterns carved into the rich wood. The man had a straggly, white beard that went down to his chest and the hair upon his head dwindled.The smile he made at Gwyndion had numerous gaps. His outfit consisted of a plaid top that looked too large for him, denim jeans, spectacles and bare feet.Perhaps he had selected his clothing out of the options that came by. "W-where are we?" Gwyndion stammered in disbelief. He had observed his surroundings and came upon hundreds on objects cluttered as far as he could strain to see. They floated in midair. There was plenty of of variety: They ranged from a bountiful array of books to pillow embroidered with lace. There were many doors and windows too. Each was unique from the rest. Faint percussion of the random items clanking into each other could be heard. Gwyndion was startled as a thunderous tolling rang out from behind him. It was a grandfather clock chiming at noon. That's what the hands read anyway. A pendulum swung covered by a reflective glass cover. Gwyndion also realized he was balanced upon a simple cedar door with a tarnished brass handle. A jolt ran up his spine when he sensed a presence watching him. The old man was staring intently at Gwyndion. He was innocently interested. His pale face was creased and Gwyndion traced them subconsciously to the inviting green eyes that sparkled in the dim lighting. The man replied "You may call me Taliesin. As for where we are, you could say we dwell in the Land of the Forgotten." This man had a British accent. It occurred to Gwyndion these items were out of place and must be lost. "Oh." whimpered Gwyndion, who drew himself up immediately. He was almost a man for heavens sake, he had to act like so! "This Land of the Forgotten you say," began Gwyndion, "where are we and where did these things come from?" At the end he voice became rather frustrated and Gwyndion heard his breathing calm as he forced himself to relax his tensed body. "Hmm..." Taliesin murmured, apparently at a loss of what to say. Gathering his wits about him Taliesin sighed " This is the black abyss. Anything that is completely lost to the memories of someone but exists is here. You see these doorways and windows?" Gwyndion turned to examine the window closest to him. Sunlight streamed through it illuminating a minuscule portion of the space that consumed them all. Returning his gaze to him Taliesin eagerly continued certain of how to explain now." The years I've been here living off this" he gestured to the wide expanse "never once have I tried going through one. I'm frightened I will never be able to return." A ripe apple was there within his reach after a brief Pop! and he reached over and grabbed it, waving the fruit towards me and considering me nodding my head violently before crunching into it. Through a mouthful he explained "You see I got here because I was forgotten. Not a soul had the knowledge that I am or I was, so I simply came to be here." He chewed and swallowed. "Whoever you are, you are the last human beings I have seen in at least 68-no" Taliesin counted his gnarled fingers " 73 years" Gwyndion felt sincerely sorry for this Taliesin when he heard the terrible loneliness in his voice. "I need to think for a moment " Gwyndion voiced. "You'll have time don't worry" Taliesin jested under his breath. Gwyndion knew his intentions weren't untrustworthy. Gwyndion faced away from the window( which now had pouring rain splattering against the barrier) and let the concentration of thought envelop him. He pictured again the events that had lead up to his fortune or misfortune, whatever it turned out to be. Their perilous journey began long ago...
His father was as clear as day wearing his indigo swimming trunks and a towel around his neck. A camera dangled from his neck by a cord. He was my dad, whose name was David, struggled to keep up with the pace of my sister and I. He taught a history class back in our hometown of Edmonton, Kansas. My sister, Emily bore a pink and purple flowered swimsuit with her chocolaty brown hair cut to her rosy cheeks and held back by some Barbie sunglasses. "Wait!" my Dad protested but her and I ignored him. My flip flops flung sand in the air and my blond curls, similar to my father's, bounced with each bound I took. Back then you could say my real name was Dylan. Emily and I were about seven years old at the time.In my mind I smiled contentedly and dramatically gasped when I recalled what happened next. We were exploring the island of Kauai on our wild Hawaiian vacation. David decided to eliminate our energy by visiting a museum full of relics from the tribes that had resided here long ago. A tan manger cast us a suspicious look, and his instincts were right. We, being the rambunctious youngsters we were stormed the place under the loose control of my father. The museum's wooden floors shook as we raced past the rough maroon and green walls and under the low ceiling. Most displays bored us:
There was an authentic hula skirt, a dart shooter made from a bambooish plant that was to our dismay in a closed off case and posters pasted with dull photos of ancient culture and words we did not bother to read. David trotted behind us, pausing to learn from the meaningless paragraphs. Soon we came upon the particular piece that caught our attention. It was an ornamental tiki statue that stood at least eight feet high. The whole length down the wood was inscribed with peculiar symbols and strange dominant faces that aroused fear in our hearts. I overcame my original reaction and stated "It's not so tough!" Just before I knocked it over my father rounded the corner and his expression turned to outright panic. I struck the pole a mighty blow. It came down crashing and the aged wood didn't stand a chance. It shattered into splinters and a swirling mist engulfed us.
Then we were tied tightly with a thick rope to a tree with no hope of escaping. Emily faltered, merely squeaking "Dad?" To me it was that we were restrained at the bottom of a rock pit looked awestruck up at a crowd of people encircling us above in the clouds and were arguing hotly. These people could not have been less corresponding. They could have come from around the world in assorted places and times. An Eskimo in a parka engaged with an Egyptian princess decorated with makeup and hung with jewels. The queen of England contended with a Native American chief wearing a mountainous headdress of feathers. "STOP!!!!" shouted a Roman soldier, who I inferred was in charge. He addressed them in a dignified tone and said "Tokamachachua will prove her case. Tokamachachua, a Hawaiian woman wearing clothes that were a copy of those we'd seen hung on the wall with grass bracelets on her wrists and angles and a necklace of blossoms rose. For such an elegant lady her features were flushed with anger. "These ignorants have defiled artifacts showing my people ever existed! " She eased and went on in a gentler tone "But they are just foals under the guidance of their parent. We were frozen to the tree, mouths wide with terror. "Let them gain broaden their wisdom and not sacrifice them as a consequence.
"Very well. The elders will be consulted. Let us vote." enunciated the bold Roman. Magical whispers filled their ears as if in a dream. "What-" I " jumped into saying but my Dad hissed "Don't interrupt!!!" as they passed judgment. It ended and the audience was looking upon us and for the last time the Roman said "And so it shall be..."

Their punishment was a quest to find Man's Sacred History. Ever since they had been wandering aimlessly searching for sacred articles of history. When they accomplished their goal another person of a culture would materialize and transport us to the correct place and time and inform us what we are trying to find.
All they had to do is have one of themselves touch it. For some reason the powerful figures replaced the names of David, Emily and Dylan with Mordred, Jinnlor and Gwyndion. Dylan adopted Gwyndion as his nickname. They gave us a hint disguised as a riddle. The only thing we had been given to accomplish our tasks is the ability to speak any tongue.
For eight years now, almost nine, they had came near to quitting their quest. The family was like a pack of wolves now and throughout their adventures loathed leaving each others' sides. Throughout history they traveled and struggled to survive.Soon they became accustomed to danger and spells and enchantments. Indeed their quest shown them the mysteries of men beyond what a renound history professor at a elite college.If it wasn't for their David's preknowlege they wouldn't have succeeded on any of their challenges.All they had to do is have one of themselves touch it. The three wondered when or even if they would be freed of their mission. Each day they doubted it increasingly. Gwyndion could almost hear his sisters voice taunting him, reminding that this was his fault...Then Gwyndion knew it was her actual voice. He sprang lightly to his feet and Taliesin, who had been snoozing, woke. The voice was gone and Gwyndion felt a rush of disappointment. Then he could hear the muffled cries below his feet. Gwyndion sidestepped onto a dictionary stationed by him, wincing when he felt he might sink but reliefed when the dictionary was sturdy. Taliesin watched, intrigued, as Gwyndion flung the door open and looked out into the snow. Jinnlor's slightly panicked voice was clearly screaming Gwyndion's name.Gwyndion had matured much over the last years. He knew it was his fault they were in this situation, and again he felt the overwhelming urge of responsibility to take care of his family and get them back home whatever it took. That bow he had grabbed on that wintry day in Sherlock Forest was supposedly Robin Hoods bow. Gwyndion pictured his sister in his long robe of dyed wool with her sharp face drawn in worry and his father in his chain mail and cape valiantly determined moving farther and farther away the more he hesitated. Why had this happened? The moment they found what they were looking for his father and sister would appear in the next dimension and if it wasn't then nothing wouldn't happen. The bow certainly was not forgotten especially since their trio had been searching for it. Then why? Could this possibly mean they were at the end of their odyssey? He was about to find out. As Gwyndion prepared to jump in Taliesin demanded "Where are you going!?" Gwyndion in turn replied "Not here." In haste the old man begged
"Please take me with you!" Gwyndion urged "Fine!" and grinned "Come. Let's go."



---------- kinzdreamer added 7 Minutes and 4 Seconds later ----------

too long? i spent awhile on the details

Last edited by kinzdreamer; 10-23-2008 at 05:57 PM.. Reason: Automerged Doublepost
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Old 10-16-2008, 07:22 PM   #68
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This is really COOL!

Last edited by Nightowl; 10-16-2008 at 08:38 PM..
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Old 10-17-2008, 03:55 PM   #69
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Default Re: ○ The Author's Criterion • Think You're a Good Writer? • Put Your Skills to the Test Here for PSFs! • All Spots are Filled, But You Can Read Along! ○

*gapes* OH. EM. GEE. Definitely not what I had expected -- awesome!

Yes, it is pretty cool, isn't it Syrup?

♫ ♪ Cheryl Faer ♪ ♫
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Old 10-17-2008, 03:57 PM   #70
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Default Re: ○ The Author's Criterion • Think You're a Good Writer? • Put Your Skills to the Test Here for PSFs! • All Spots are Filled, But You Can Read Along! ○

Wow, nice one kinzdreamer!

*giggles to self*
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