NyNES Preview: Carnival of Pen and Sword

Players are more than welcome to write "spectator entries" where their characters continue to romp around the grounds and interact with each other after they get eliminated, but I want to keep this first one a competition to begin with.
 
THE ORIGINS OF


4​

A new email arrived, rerouted from “medicine.com” to the private servers of Dr. Radiation. Al quickly got to processing the message.

Dear dr_radiation,
I am a 20-something news reporter for the International Enquiry. I am suffering from radiation poisoning. I saw your ad on google on a FREE treatment on radiation poisoning and would like to receive help. Please respond as soon as possible,
XOXO,
Harry Smith
hsmith@international-enquiry-mail.com


Al read the message several million times over within a second, before generating a response and sending it almost as soon as the responded-to email had arrived.

5​

Harry was scanning his report on the Pentagon disappearances when suddenly his computer screamed: “YOU'VE GOT MAIL!” in the most annoying television-man voice he's ever heard.

That was fast, was his fleeting thought as he sent the newly-scanned report to one of the Enquiry editors. He then opened up Microsoft Outlook 6 to check out his new message, which read:

“Click here for nude sexy pictures of hsmith and all my friends cheap medicines on mortgage 90% discount!!!!”

Nude pics? he thought. Craps, I thought I got rid of those!

Before he could follow this line of thought, the television-man once again said “YOU'VE GOT MAIL!” Still distracted, he barely read the new message:

Harry Smith,
You are person #0000 to give us a call on your condition. Seeing as you are the first one in almost a year to contact us, you are obviously desperate and poor; no-one will miss you! Which is a good thing, don't worry. Go to 933 Whirlpool Street to meet us.
See you there,
Al, on behalf of dr_radiation


He should witch-hunt his so-called friends for beaches of privacy... wait, what? He read the email again and again before, “desperate,” “poor,” “933 Whirlpool Street,” and “no-one will miss you,” were all firmly planted on his mind.

Well, I've got nothing to lose and everything to gain, he told himself. I think. Shaking away all his pessimism, he looked for his first aid kit, quickly bandaged his swollen, glowing red hand, stood up, took his coat, went out, then hailed a cab.

“Where to, buddy?” The driver was fat and Slavic-looking, in contrast to Harry's lean Aryan features.

“933 Whirlpool Street.”

The driver looked at Harry through the rear-view mirror, puzzled. “933... Whirlpool Street?”
“Yes,” said Harry irritably. His hand was hurting quite fiercely, thumping hard as though trying to break free of the tight bandages.

The Slavic man just shook his head and drove. “Shady fellow, ain't you?”

“Huh?”

6​

Upon reaching Whirlpool Street, it became clear to Harry that this wasn't the sort of place a man like him should be going to, for any reason. Well, I'm desperate. Okay, for almost any normal reason.

The place was sparsely populated by ethnic minorities of all kinds huddled in the corners, talking, drinking, smoking all sorts of thing, generally hanging out, wearing loose-fitting clothes and listening to hip-hop and rap. There were blacks, Mexicans, Cubans, Puerto Ricans, Jamaicans, Russians, Quebecois Canadians, and even some Chinamen and Yakuza-types; it made Harry fear for his life.

Checking his watch, he found that it was three-thirty in the morning.

“Here we are, buddy,” said the driver. Harry tried to pay him with his good hand, hiding the other one under his coat. The driver saw this, and said, raising his hands into the air, “Hey man, I don't want any trouble!”

Harry raised an eyebrow, then noticed that the driver was staring at his hidden arm. “Oh,” said Harry, then revealed the bandaged hand, which was now oozing some dark liquid, probably blood, but it was hard to make out in the dim light of the taxi.

The driver sighed in relief and took the money. Harry got out and stared at a massive warehouse before him.

“Yo,” came a voice from behind him. Turning around, Harry saw a bunch of gangster-types with bats and planks and brass knuckles who just swaggered in his direction.

“Uh, yes?”

“Who're you and what'choo doing here, boy?” said who appeared to be their leader, an apish man with large muscles and a blinding array of bling. “This ain't no place for bourgeois capitalist pig-biatchez like'choo to be.”'

Bourgeois... capitalist... pig-biatchez? thought Harry in a panic. What is this?

“What do you want?” Harry stammered.

“We want you to spread the wealth,” said the apish man, cracking his knuckles. “Since your bruthas up there in the social stratosphere are too high and mighty to return the value of our labor, I think you have to stand in for them.”

“Value of your labor? You're criminals!”

“In some societies, thievery is an honorable profession,” replied the apish man. He then looked at one of his companions, and said, “Ain't that right, Mongŭc?”

“Word.”

The leader returned to looking at Harry. “And this society ain't any different,” he continued. “Except small-time operations like ours ain't sanctioned by the monopoly of coercion, unlike the big ones like car companies and too-big-to-fail banks.”

“Fo' shizzle, brutha!” added another one of the man's cronies.

“Anyways,” the leader man said, cocking his head up at Harry. “You gonna share the wealth, or” – he looked around at his friends – “do we have to spread the revolution to yo' sorry ass?”

Jesus frigging Christ! The armed men were closing in on Harry, who was desperately trying to feel for for his wallet which, he just remembered, wasn't on the coat he was wearing just then. Jesus mother-frigging Christ!

Al watched and correctly calculated that the sorry man about to be mugged was indeed Harry Smith. It then decided that it was just about time to step in.

To be continued...
 
I think it is time to start the actual thread as ample interest has been showed in this NES.
 
I think it is time to start the actual thread as ample interest has been showed in this NES.

And that's exactly why I plan to have it up as soon as I finish cleaning up the OP. :)
 
I wandered around the grounds of the Carnivale. I was looking for someone I remembered; anyone I remembered. They are so few in number now... Maybe I should settle down again and live a normal life for once and then go back to my wandering? I wandered past the Ferris Wheel and heard. Latin. Proper Latin not the latin of school boys and dusty old men with their dusty old classrooms, which are always either hot and stuffy or cold and stuffy with no in-between state of existence. Latin spoken with the proper accent with conviction and passion and power in each word. I concentrated hard and managed to hear enough of the speaker's words to work out it was a prayer to a god of war. Hmm... I will have to speak to this Roman and find out how he reached the present day.

Could he be another like me? No I am unique. A freak of nature born so that Mother Nature may have the last laugh when her runaway children finally kill themselves but one will be left still living in a burning world, the one who cannot escape into the void. And how she will laugh! Or am I the next step on the evolutionary path? Will all humans eventually become like me? I hope not! I think the release of death after a good life is far more appealing than living forever. Well not quite forever but as long as life exists somewhere I will exist...

Anyway by now my wanderings had taken me close to a mad woman. How do I know she is mad you may wonder? Well apart from the fact she was walking on what looked like glass and not noticing any pain what so ever, I have certain abilities. I can see minds and read them, like a book, and her mind was a broken thing, all twisted and tangled and folding back on itself. I could fix her mind but I would not do that without her permission and I doubt she would give it. She seems to enjoy being insane. I moved away again...

I stumbled across something. I had gone back to the Ferris Wheel to speak to the Roman. I look down. No wonder I stumbled two mountains, one made from flesh and one stone, lay in a dip in the ground. Damn it looked like the flesh mountain was waking up, not that it matters he cannot see me. I begin to move on then I heard the mountain speak: "Why you kick me?"

OOC: I hope stories aren't judged on length alone as I seem to have an inability to write long stories. Ninja Dude over to you.
 
Deleted. Please look elsewhere.
 
You dare insult my recent stories about Harry Smith, my Arbitrary NES updates, and that thing I had in FANES II, germanicus?!

I now hate you forever for insulting every single piece of writing I've ever made.
 
"I'm tryng to sleep right now stranger. You could talk to boulder if you like, but he may be sleeping too."

Jiefin went back to bed, leaving Boulder and the strange man alone. Cabera thought to simply leave the fool alone when something caught his eye. That strange stone began to glow, letters in bright teal and orange shining on it.

"Leave me alone." A voice emitted from the stone.
 
OOC: The Arbitrary updates are good as are your Harry Smith stories, the latter of which tend to have very short paragraphs making them easy to read and seem longer than they are.

I looked at the rock. Rocks do not have minds but now I looked I could see perhaps a faint glimmer of a mind. I send out my mind to it. "What are you? Rock or man or some other creature?"
 
I cant wait till this thing gets off the ground and starts flying I just know it will be a lot of fun!
 
OOC: The Arbitrary updates are good as are your Harry Smith stories, the latter of which tend to have very short paragraphs making them easy to read and seem longer than they are.

I looked at the rock. Rocks do not have minds but now I looked I could see perhaps a faint glimmer of a mind. I send out my mind to it. "What are you? Rock or man or some other creature?"

"Hungsu, Guardian of the Huphata Clan. I am here to assist Jiefin and keep him out of trouble. Now please, leave me be. I'm not in the mood for talking."
 
You dare insult my recent stories about Harry Smith, my Arbitrary NES updates, and that thing I had in FANES II, germanicus?!

I now hate you forever for insulting every single piece of writing I've ever made.

The comment was meant to be funny, I am sorry if I offended you. Your stories are great, I was just have a moment of stupidness when I typed that. Using your superb stories as an example that better quality stories can trump long but low quality stories. (not that yours are low quality, just using it as an example)

Again sorry if I offended you. I will erase my comment and we will forget it even took place.
 
Nolan quickly walks down the street to his haven... The bar. It is night and the only thing that can be heard are the past memories of the carnival. You can almost feel the amount of enjoyment that has taken place here. The screams of happiness, the laughter of the young and the quite discussions of the old discussing their own memories of old reverberate around his head constantly. But as he rounds a corner he instantly realizes what makes this carnival, a place of happiness, so eerie to those who feel emotion. For the first sight that greets his eyes is that of the charred skeleton of a funhouse. The sign that should have said "Enter the halls of good deeds past". Now only says "Enter the past". So he did, and the first thing he noticed was the skeletal hand of a long dead child, beckoning to him. "Come closer" he hears whispered into his ear "Come closer, deeper into the halls of madness". Walking delicately forward as not to crush the bones of the dead and disturb their rest he complies. The second sight that greets him is a graveyard, a hall filled with the bones of those that tried to escape and he realizes the answer to the question that has bugged him since he arrived to the carnival. He now knows why it has been abandoned. Nolan steps outside because the loud whispering was starting to annoy him and says to himself "Oh well guess I will just have to explore it later" as he begins along the empty road yet again.

As Nolan walks past a large Ferris wheel he notices something he hasn't seen since the war. A man standing in full regimental battle attire the likes of which those in the field of command would wear when about to face a last stand. Nolan walks quietly behind him, and hears him sing an old song that he recognizes to be a Roman battle hymn. As he stands but 2 feet behind him Nolan whispers "Hello" into the back of his ear. Startled the roman draws his sword and prepares to strike Nolan down but notices that he is not making any move to harm him so he sheaths his sword whispers a gruff "hello" back and turns around ignoring Nolan once more. Nolan walking up to stand next to the roman says "My name is Nolan" but the roman says nothing back just nodding his head once and resuming his stance of solidity reviewing the Ferris wheel and taking in the sunrise. And Nolan just stands there, sharing the silence with the man who, 7 years ago, would have been trying to kill him in the Great War. Nolan's mind clears and doesn't alert him to the leave of his "companion" and once again Nolan tries and fails to bring himself to care about the dead bodies in the funhouse. Sighing Nolan begins his last stretch back to the bar.



Again any suggestion?
 
Perhaps break up the paragraphs a little bit, but otherwise I like it.
 
An interesting rock. I wonder once again... It must be another like me but how did he or she transfer their mind into a rock? I will interrogate the rock later, and its fellow traveller but now the Roman. I approached him, just as someone left. He turns on his heel precisely, in a controlled way, typical of a serving or ex-serving Roman legionary or officer.

"Salve milites! Qui es tu? Quam fecivit tu advenit hic?"
"Hail soldier! Who are you?" How did you arrive here?"

When I speak in Latin I develop a subtle accent, a mix of Persian and German and Greek and Iberian and a mixture of other languages. I hope he understands...

OOC: If the Latin is a bit off, and it might be seeing as its late at night and its been awhile since I did direct questions, blame it on Cabera's accent.
 
Origins of Hungsu: Part 1

Hungsu's letters and inscriptions faded, and his mind once again turned towards his own history. He could remember every second, every moment perfectly. So many millions of years ago he had been gigantic, an unstoppable force hurling through the heavens. But he was not meant to stay in the heavens, amongst the radiant stars and celestial bodies. He would become a herald of death and destruction.

He sped towards earth, burning and crumbling into smaller and smaller pieces. But something strange happened. As he flew through the atmosphere, there was a loud crack, and he could see himself, his former self, falling towards the ground. With a large crash Hungsu slammed into the ground. He could see the remains of his massive body just before it slammed into the ground. Then everything became dark. Smoke, dust, water. Everything became one for a split second as it rushed over Hungsu. At that moment, he had ended the lives of countless organisms. But he didn't care. All he cared about was his lack of propulsion, his lack of form. His majestic, celestial form was now a part of this insignificant planet.

For eons he sat there, pondering why this had been done to him. Why had he been damned to a misearable existance as a immobile chunk of rock. Vermin crawled on him. Massive beasts stepped on him, roaring and stomping, unaware of their insignifigance in the universe. But then one day, something strange happened. a creature unlike any other stopped near Hungsu. It was covered in grey fur, but its limbs and head were smooth and bare. The creature picked Hungsu up with a grunt, bringing him to a cave. There the creature hammered on hungsu with another stone, until finally the other stone shattered. Then the creature pushed Hungsu into a fire it had made, causing Hungsu to heat up.

Enraged at this creature's antic, Hungsu shouted loudly, shaking the cave they were in. The creature appeared startled and then began to do something Hungsu hadn't anticipated. It began to bow to Hungsu, backing away and offering him food. Hungsu laughed at this gesture, and simply snickered as the creature sat in a corner, waiting for Hungsu to eat the food.

For many years this went on, the strange creautre raising a family that observed and watched Hungsu. They worshipped him, making offerings and cleaning him everyday. But as time grew on things got dull. He once again grew bored with his existance and wished for something more interesting. That wish was granted.

For on the horizon appeared a large group of nomads. They rode horses, and carried dangerous weapons like spears and bows. hungsu watched as they killed or enslaved the ancestors of those that had worshipped him. But before the nomads could ride away, Hungsu let out once again a horrid shout. The nomads turned and drew their weapons, alarmed by the noise. Hungsu shouted again, this time glowing brightly. The nomads stabbed and shot at Hungsu, but didn't manage to do any damage.Then one of them, whom Hungsu assumed to be their leader, ordered his men to carry away Hungsu, much to his pleasure.

For many years men tried to turn Hungsu into armor, or really any useful tool. One had been comissioned to turn him into a sword. Another a shield. But over the generations it was no use. Their tools broke, and none could shape Hungsu's form. He remained a rock against the will of thousands. That is, until one day...
 
I'de help judge, or if you don't want me as judge, I'll join.

Sorry I missed this earlier! Judging has already been taken care of, but we would absolutely love your input as a player :)

EDIT: Full thread shortly
 
Top Bottom