The Rules by Mr. Pants, And Minor Changes:
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1. If you’re interested in writing the next section, please come to the forum named, “Writing Challenges: The Thread” and leave a note. This is to avoid having two or more writers working on the same section. You could say something like, “I’m gonna do the part after Beckett Grey.”
2. Keep you sections to around 500 words. I’d like many people to be able to participate, and this should enable it.
3. End your section with the characters on the verge of an “event.” This will make it easier for the next writer to pick up where you left off.
4. Follow the characteristics that have been established for characters. If in one section “Johnny” has blonde hair, then he should still have blonde hair in your part too.
5. Do not post comments in the comments box. That space is for the continuation of the story. If you wish to leave comments, please do so at the forum.
6. You are allowed to declare a definitive end to the story. I have noticed that some of the stories end over a year ago on a cliffhanger, which is disappointing to interested readers.
7. Above all else, have fun, be creative, and get involved!
He giggled insanely, the blood dripping down arrhytmically from the vermilion knife. His arms were shaking uncontrollably, and his smile was stuck to his face. His cloak flapped in the wind, tattered but of good quality, it almost seemed to be trying to get away from where it was. “First is the worst first-is-the-worst,” he mumbled incoherently. All in all, Alenx presented a nauseating tableau.
Crunch crunch. The sounds of Gormen’s footsteps through the gravelly sand were strong. He was a strong man, almost incapable of weakness. He had few vices, and many women. In his tribe, he was admired, because strength was admired. He was not particularly stupid, but neither was he very smart. He was clever in the manner of people who have survived too many encounters not to be wily. And now as one of his further honors, he was being asked to be the Guardian, an important responsibility for a man of only thirty-one. To take a child along the path to manhood was usually reserved for the elders, and so Gormen viewed his task as an enormous honor. He was going to issue Alenx into the time of manhood.
It was important to be a strong man in this world. Not the oldest tales remained of how they had arrived upon the desolate sphere, it had faded past the point of legend. And no one could decipher the Artifacts. Pieces of burnt metal, screens that glowed eerily, devices with no discernable function. The tattered corpse of an anonymous past.
Alenx heard the steps coming towards him, but only distantly, like he was wearing coverings on his ears. He reacted too slowly, couldn’t even stand up. Moreover, he didn’t want to. His tight pants were soaking through with blood, and he couldn’t feel a thing.
“Boy, did you finally do it?” Gormen asked laughingly. “Did you kill your first inf . . .” he trailed off as he took in the scene. Alenx was kneeling in a pool of blood, which had happened before when a boy prayed for the safe journey of his victim. But there were tears running down his eyes. And everything was somehow wrong.
Alenx had to say something. It was his move in the game.