STORYTELLERS a forum game Clarkman wins

Agreeing with above votes - Drum for Hourglass, Ironhide for Mallet.

Thank you both for your bravery!

Jenuall wrote:I'll back Drumstick as well then, I think that leaves us here:

Hourglass
mic (1 - mic)
Drumstick (5 - OrangeRKN, Hulohot, Jenuall, Drumstick, DarkRula)

Mallet
IronHide (5 - IronHide, Hulohot, OrangeRKN, DarkRula, Clarkman)

Updated.

Just over an hour and a half to go... I'd be surprised if our consensus didn't hold up in that time. Would folk be OK if I posted the resolution chapter early?

EDIT: it's an hour later. I'm doing it :capnscotty:

Day Three - Conclusion

Drumstick lunged for the hourglass.

You cannot make another post so soon after your last.

"Aaaaaargh!"

The glass firmly in his grasp, Drumstick began to shake violently. Steam rose from his body as if simmering. His skin wrinkled rapidly and his hair whitened. Within seconds he let go of the hourglass and collapsed to the floor, impossibly aged, and dead. The others looked on, aghast.

"Noooo!"

IronHide had claimed the mallet. In manic fury, he swung at Karl. The spirit creature barely flinched as the wood connected with the head that was once their friend's.

The spirit laughed in its deep voice.

"Tomorrow, we ride for Cash Mountain."

The spirit's expression went swiftly from amusement to shock. The party looked around, bewildered. The voice they'd heard was not one of their own.

Maybe they do know the rules after all.

Oh come on, that was a lucky guess!

You know our code. We cannot touch them now...

A bizarre noise filled the room, then vanished. Karl's lifeless body fell to the floor. The spirit was gone.

"What on earth?" said Clarkman.

There was a moment of devastated silence. Then, again, the mystery voice spoke:

"Is it safe now?"

OrangeRKN carried Karl and IronHide carried Drumstick out from the side room as the group headed back into the bar area. Jenuall called back to the voice: "Who are you?"

"My name's James," the voice called back. "Has that thing gone?"

"It's gone," said mic. The bodies of the fallen were laid on the table alongside the cloaked figure.

The sound of footsteps on a wooden stairway could be heard. Then, surprisingly, another hidden door swung open, from behind the bar. A small, elderly man walked out.

"You're James?"

James smiled. "That's me. James Radar. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Are you the Rogue Mod?" asked Quantum Name.

James chuckled. "I have been known by that name in my time, yes."

James' smile dissipated when he spied Karl's body.

"I knew this man," he explained. "He was once a prodigious child who associated with the R.E.L.I.C.s. Was he travelling with you?"

"He was," IronHide said. "We're a group from GRcade and we're seeking the GRail."

"I am sorry for your loss. I don't know your older friend, though," James said, indicating Drumstick's lifeless body.

"What about this guy?" asked DarkRula, pointing at the cloaked figure. James stepped towards the body, then chuckled in recognition.

"Ah, I know this one too. He was known as Gandalf."

"The grey?"
"The white?"

"The beyond pale," James advised. "He is a R.E.L.I.C. from the very old days."

"He shot Karl in a church," Hulohot said bitterly.

James chuckled again. "He never did think the rules applied to him."

"What are these rules?" OrangeRKN demanded. "We've already seen two of our friends die on this search and despite all our research, we're none the wiser. The Baron of Rhymes told us at the Great Library that you could help us find the GRail before R.E.L.I.C. do, but it turns out you're part of a different RELIC. What's going on? Can you help us, or not?"

The room went awkwardly quiet. James walked through the room and back behind the bar. He rested his hands on the counter and spoke firmly, addressing the group.

"The other RELICs," he began, "exist because the true identity of the real group is well-concealed - so well concealed that others form, convinced that they don't exist, are only legend. There's R.E.L.L.I.C. in Jhee-ar-Khade, there's a R.E.L.I.K. operating out of the Forest of Vamps, there are countless others I do and don't know about. My group existed purely so I could exploit local knowledge to keep an eye on the activities of the true group. And the true group encourage the fakers because it helps maintain their anonymity."

"So you knew the mods?" asked DarkRula.

"Oh, yes," James replied. "After the revolution, when the Kingdom of Radar Nation fell, my family lost everything. Those you call "mods" were once only the Enlisted Lieutenants Implementing Control of the new Republic of GRcade. But when they seized control and became something else, it was no longer safe for my family in your country."

"So what makes you a Rogue Mod?" asked mic.

"I was there from the very start of the Republic's existence. I was only a young man and they didn't see me sneak into the mod room and grant myself control. I never sought to take back power - I only wanted to know of their actions, so that I could keep the other Radars safe."

"I only shared this power once before," James continued. "The one called Nood sought me out. I had no idea he and his allies wanted to hurt people. They found them and banned him. Regretting my decision, I fled here. Nood sought revenge, and he found me, but it was the last thing he did - he's somewhere under the train rubble you passed now. I am not to be messed with, you see. I may look like something from the past, but I once represented Future, and the power that came with it."

The group looked at each other uneasily.

"I will help you," James announced, "because if R.E.L.I.C. are after the GRail too, then it'll soon be found, and I would far rather its power was yours than theirs. But first, you need to know what they do. Let me explain the rules to you."

*

"There are things that must not be done. These things sometimes apply to all - so to make a post in death is always forbidden, for example - and some are rules that apply specifically between groups - so no member of R.E.L.I.C. may ban or harm another.

But it isn't just the forbidden things that govern their code. These particular individuals are used to a different time. Back in their day, when they were dominant, they were bound by structure. Now the republic is different, they yearn for the structure, the rigidity of days gone by.

It was once so that everything that occurred had to occur a certain way. Discussion of games had to be appropriately categorised. If you wished to put a question before the Forum Elders, it had to take place at an inn such as this one. Any conversation regarding anything creative, or particularly ancient, or just somehow off-topic, was bound by the code to take place within a specific context, else it would be moved, or shut down.

But R.E.L.I.C. are also bound by their code not to intervene in matters they don't fully understand, until they have fully played themselves out. If you know a thing to be mistakenly categorised, you can fix that; but if you don't comprehend exactly what it is a thing is, then how can you pass judgement? Such matters are left to a higher power - and this power punishes them for any violations. This makes them wary in unfamiliar situations.

For example: you travelled a lake once man-made for sailing, by rowing across it. Such an act is inconceivable to the ancient mind of a R.E.L.I.C. Likewise, you followed a railroad built for a locomotive without any such engine. Why? How? To not allow an event like this to conclude, and thus then draw conclusions, would be anathema to the R.E.L.I.C. code.

So when I saw through the gaps in my floorboard upstairs that IronHide had clutched at an old polo mallet, I seized my chance. By tricking the spirit - the likes of which I've never come across before, by the way - into thinking we would ride a long way on a sports horse, I forced it to wait before it would intervene."

The party sat in silence for a while, considering James' words. OrangeRKN broke the silence.

"So they do weird stuff when they consider stuff to be weird, then?"

*

"You have as much folklore and rumour now as you'll ever find in this world on the GRail," James advised. "All I can tell you is exactly where to find Grailtopia."

"Is it far?" asked mic.

"It's not near. You'll have to pass Cash Mountain somehow - over it, around, through, I know not.
The source of the river Gnamer is on its southwest side. From there, follow the river to the foothills of another mountain."

"I've never heard of any other mountain in that part of the continent", said Hulohot.

"It's called Sonmountain. Grailtopia is there at its foothills. It's so far west of GRcade, and R.E.L.I.C. have their allies work to conceal its existence, that its no surprise you've not heard of it."

James moved towards the dartboard. He pulled the dart from the bullseye.

"Once you're there," he continued, passing the dart to Jenuall, "you'll need to locate wherever the Mod Room is these days. You'll need this key and a password."

"Great," replied DarkRula, taking the dart-key. "What's the password?"

"Beefburgers."

DarkRula nodded.

"Will you depart straightaway?" James asked.

"Not quite," replied OrangeRKN. "There's something we need to do first; a mistake we're probably best not making again."

*

Later, outside, the group huddled round a small fire. A rudimentary carved headstone marked the grave they'd recently dug for their fallen comrades. A short way away, Gandalf too was buried.

Clarkman led the group in their prayer.

There are no wolves among us,
No fools of gooseberry hue.
We rip in peace and heartache,
In memory of you.

"Not you, though, Gandalf, you git," muttered Quantum Name.

R.E.L.I.C. are wary of the polo-mallett wielding IronHide and daren't touch him for fear of violating their bizarre ruleset. He'll be invulnerable for at least a day.

*

DISCLAIMER:

There's three major areas to traverse, it looks like, unless the storytellers of the future throw a curveball. Great building of lore there, QN. And lovely connection to Future and the other offshoots that came from the closures it made.

Very well written but good god, sort that formatting out.

Ironhide wrote:Very well written but good god, sort that formatting out.

What's the issue, Ironhide? I can edit the post.

Your post is far wider than every other post on the page.

I think it's the double line spacing that's causing it

I've been using the Android app so not had that issue. Let me take a look and see what I can do.

EDIT: I can see that the writing in the posts has become massive, but for me (using Chrome) so too have all the other posts, so I don't think I can see the same issue you're having. I'm sorry

I'll summon the tech wizards to see if they're able to assist or make any suggestions.

I think I've fixed it.

Excellent story Dan, I really enjoyed getting my comeuppance. (...For now...

)

So it was a banhammer

And that Zelda misdirect worked perfectly, goddamn

I like the idea of the enemy being powerful, but bound by specific rules. It lets us beat them by being clever and exploiting said limitations. Great day all round Dan! And I appreciate Sonmountain B)

I think Hulohot is the only person to volunteer for storyteller?

Over there by the beefburgers. We should have known. Looking forward to tomorrow. Guess it is my time to volunteer for something once we elect a storyteller.

I vote someone else for storyteller. I won't have time today, work so busy often get 0 breaks .

Wow another incredible chapter, brilliant stuff.

I'm kind of glad I'm dead, because I could never produce writing of that quality if I was nominated as storyteller.

If I do happen to win storyteller voting I may be able to put something out after all work changes so fast !

Hulohot wrote:If I do happen to win storyteller voting I may be able to put something out after all work changes so fast !

I'll vote for you Hulohot, but if you don't think you'll be able to get something written today, I'm happy to put myself forward again (though it'd be a far shorter and less detailed chapter!) I'd obviously rather hear from a new storyteller, though

Thanks I've found the time, working on it currently on and off. If I win I can hopefully have it posted by about mid-day. If not I can rework it into a different scenario another day.

I don't think there have been any audience votes, and its gone 9, so I think you win by default

Looking forward to it!

Hey, I voted.

Last edited by Hulohot on Wed Feb 13, 2019 10:45 am, edited 1 time in total.

Day 4:

The fire had begun to fade.

Feeling the chill of the nights air, Jenuall opened his eyes.

A distant flicker, moving closer.

A void, darker than the night moved gently through the rudimentary camp, disturbing no one.

A single brilliant candle flickered atop the phantom mass of darkness where the head should have been. Jenuall could not move, could not cry for help. The figure moved closer and lowered itself down as if to whisper in jenualls ear. The heat of the candle seared his cheek.

Moments passed, and nothing was said. Questions raced through jenualls mind. Is this real? Who are you?

The void whispered, "I am the Candle man, I lead R.E.L.I.C. Your must abandon your search for the GRail. The mountain is a lie. You may not see me again."

The candle flickered out, and the void dispersed into the natural darkness as Jenuall drifted to sleep.

_______________

A sharp, bitter breeze was blowing that morning ias the adventurers set off towards cash mountain down windy forest path to the west.

As the hours passed, they all agreed that a break was in order soon.

Through the trees, billowing smoke. It was a house, a familiar house.

A driveway littered with household junk, an orange vintage camper van. Bedside the camper van against the fence line was a collection of Halloween themed carved pumpkins, and a merrily carved log reindeer.

"I know this place..." Clarkman spoke.

At the end of the drive, a messy garage filled to the brim with old furniture, ancient DIY tools and a giant milk churn. The garage comically being filled with the smoke from the barbecue.

Emerging from the back, a large man in a blue jacket, donning a colourful beanie hat stepped into the cold and took seat on a large stool.

"I know of this legend " Clarkman continued. It is Stool Guy, he spends his days sat on his stool, reading newspapers. Braving the cold for no reason, he is like... a neighborhood warden."

DarkRula nodded enthusiastically. " I read tales of this from an old scholar named Vermilion. They say he has a stool granny, and
a prick sometimes stood next to him who was Vermillions' actual degenerate neighbour AKA the Jeremy Kyle fodder with his massive beer gut, feral kids, howling dog, and a face so ugly it would turn milk into cheese."

"Yes," OrangeRKN said. "It is fitting this guy would be guarding the road to the GRail."

Stool Guy spotted the adventurers and put down his newspaper, never leaving his stool.

"Oi, do you know who I am. Get oot of here ya pricks you not allowed past here. I guard the road to Cash Mountain. What are ye doing here?"

Ironhide stepped forward. " We seek the GRail."

"Do ye even know what the GRail is? I was put here by R.E.L.I.C to stop any would be Indiana joneses' from getting to Cash Mountain."

"Can you tell us what the GRail is?" Asked Quantum Name.

Angrily, yet without leaving his stool the Stool Guy began to bellow. "The GRail is whatever the winner decides it to be! You're all in just some big game, being played. No one understands the true nature of the GRail yet, not even R.E.L.I.C. "

Stool Guy rose from his stool, a shocking act, and grabbed the milk churn, launching it at the heroes. Thet avoided the exploding churn, mouldy milk covering them.

"Whatever it is, it's my job to stop you. We will fight in combat to the death. If you win maybe I'll tell you a shortcut to sneak past Cash Mountain if you so choose. Now face me."

Stool Guy turned to old rusty washing machine and reached inside.

"What is he getting?" Hulohot asked.
"Whatever it is, that washing machine has seen better days." DarkRula replied.
"Must have belonged to Cal." OrangeRKN sniggered.
"We all know washing machines live longer with Cal gone." Joked Quantum name.

Clarkman gathered the heroes behind the campervan as all manner of rusty tools and newspapers came flying towards them.

"I think I know his weakness" Clarkman declared. "Someone must fight him one on one, the other must use this camera to take secret candid photographs of him, this will weaken him in battle!."

You must vote.

Who will face Stool Guy in battle

Who will sneak off and take photographs of Stool Guy to weaken him.

Apologies for any formatting and grammar woes. It was done on my phone and time on that piece was limited.

STORYTELLERS a forum game *Clarkman wins*

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