Katzaniel Posted June 7, 2003 Report Posted June 7, 2003 I challengenst thee to a duel! Here's how it works: Someone issues a challenge, and someone accepts. Whoever accepts must immediately write and post a story (or equivalent piece of writing) containing one and only one of the three magic words: Rock, paper, or scissors. The challenger, who has already written and saved a story elsewhere, will then post it, and the duel is won or, if tied, replayed until won (the person who posts the tying story would begin writing again immediately and post again when the other's post is made) according to the usual hand-play rules. For those of you who do not remember or never knew: Rock smashes scissors, scissors cut through paper, paper smothers rock. And no cheating! Not even Wyvern! I know this is open to many possible methods of cheating. I need not list them all... suffice to say we all trust each other Dost anyone acceptith mine challenge?
Annael Posted June 8, 2003 Report Posted June 8, 2003 erm, I'm not sure that I get it? Maybe cause it's like 3:30am, but how's this work? I just say challenge? or do I have to write something first? Cause if I go and write something, then it's so easy to just pick the item that beats mine and write about it. Bah...need caffiene....
Nobody of Consequence Posted June 8, 2003 Report Posted June 8, 2003 I see your caffeine, and realise that neither paper, scissors or stone beat caffeine. This means that I've just used all three of them in my own posting in response to the challenge, whcih really means I've just cheated. And I'm not really a cheat. So just pretend that I actually rote vellum, shears and an oversize pebble, please .... Oh, err ... if you really like, just pretend that I wrote down stone, and that the reason (which is actually the real reason, as opposed to an excuse) is because I _tried_ so hard to adhere to the spirit of this game. Really, I did.
Aardvark Posted June 8, 2003 Report Posted June 8, 2003 I choose thermite Thermite destroys all Except for adamantium But that doesn't really exist
Katzaniel Posted June 8, 2003 Author Report Posted June 8, 2003 Annael: If you're making a challenge, you would write your story but not post it yet. When someone accepts a challenge, they write their story and then immediately post it. Then you post yours, and you'll see who wins. For example, I issued a challenge, and Nobody Of Consequence just answered it - I think - so I'm going to post my story. ------------------- Andre sighed and resumed his trek up the mountainside. He had been going all day, but continue he must. Turning, he motioned for his companions to follow, and though sullen, they did. The treasure was naught to be found, not anywhere nearby. They had staked their homes and families on the expedition, however, and had little choice but to continue. Onward they journeyed, through day and dusk, nothing to guide them but a ragged and yellowing scrap of paper. They followed the spiderwebbing line carefully, retracing their steps many times, tracking up and down the mountain, attempting to cover the entire area. They had reached a point where the map seemed to differ greatly from the actual terrain, and it had scared or depressed them all. Finally, though, dying from thirst and hunger, they stumbled upon the pass that must mean their salvation. Beyond must lie the treasure that they had hoped and dreamed of, that they could bring back home and live comfortably until the end of their days. Stumbling forward, half blind, they saw it, glittering only twenty steps ahead. Breaking into the run, the small group ran right over the crack that had appeared in the decades since the map's creation, falling into the crevice that was the only thing keeping them from fortune and from life. ------------------------ Depressing, but hey. And paper covers rock - or stone, presumably you people are used to another version of the game which uses stone - so I guess I win this time. I'm not in the mood to write another whole story right now so I'm not going to issue another challenge, but mybe later. Or maybe I'll be able to answer one.
Nobody of Consequence Posted June 8, 2003 Report Posted June 8, 2003 Blech ... lost again ... So, I guess this means I issue Annael a challenge?
The Portrait of Zool Posted June 8, 2003 Report Posted June 8, 2003 We really are a hopeless bunch. Seriously, in the 'bad old days' of Archmage, if someone wanted to duel, it was a matter of posting first, and asking questions later. It was up to the challenged to blast the challenger with his style, kill him with his wit, smear him with his similes... You get the picture. The highest expression of this art was nothing personal - it was simply skill against skill. Still, we discourage it for social reasons - we like to think we all 'write well' with others here at the Pen. Just as much fun without the malevelolance of one-on-one literary combat is the 'King of the stage' type writing contests such as the Legion of the White Rose occasionally holds - just about the best thing that guild ever did, IMO. That might be fun to try sometime too.
Peredhil Posted June 8, 2003 Report Posted June 8, 2003 Why not have someone volunteer to referee? Both parties PM their stories to the ref', and the ref posts them both after an agreed amount of time. If one or both parties don't PM a story by the time cut-off, the ref posts the one recieved and they win by default. Fast, competitive, fewer chances of error. -helpful Peredhil
Katzaniel Posted June 8, 2003 Author Report Posted June 8, 2003 I did think of that, but I didn't want to be the one to volunteer... shows how helpful I am Actually, I thought of e-mail but not PM, which I probably don't use enough. And I'm not - usually - around often enough to be responsible like that. If someone is willing to do that, then yeah, it would probably work better...
Ayshela Posted June 9, 2003 Report Posted June 9, 2003 i could referee this if you wish. Simply let me know what length of time you wish between acceptance of the challenge and deadline for submission and posting.
Aardvark Posted June 9, 2003 Report Posted June 9, 2003 Zool! For dishonouring my former guild, I challenge you to a duel Rules are simple. No hitting below the belt, namecalling or distorting the fabric of space/time Well, not too much, anyway And, as I'm such a nice guy, I'll let you have the first punch, so to speak
The Portrait of Zool Posted June 9, 2003 Report Posted June 9, 2003 I accept your challenge, Aardvark. Once upon a time there was a guild called the Legion of the Trite Prose. They were a great bunch of guys, but their leader, Pendrick, was an ambitious sheet of paper who dreamed of one day being covered with reams of praise for his honour, valour, and any other words he could possibly stick a 'u' into. Of course, you can't do that if there are no 'u's in them, so first he knew he had to establish 'u'ism throughout the land. "When I am the biggest sheet in the land, then everyone will HAVE to nonsensically spell words with 'u's!" He waged many campaigns, collecting many pledges to spell words with as many extra 'u's as possible, even if they didn't actually have a 'u' to begin with. He expanded his area more and more. Overall, he was very satisfied, but for some reason it always seemed there was more work to do. Then one day a stranger came to the castle of the Legion. His poise and equipment showed he was obviously a knight of high birth. When asked what his business at the castle was he said that he had come to pledge his allegiance to 'u's, guys. Even the guards of the Legion of the Trite Prose groaned at that one, but when Pendrick heard he ordered that he be let in immediately. When the knight was before him, he asked him his mission again. "I have come to offer my allegiance IF... you can beat me at a duel!" Both men leaped up, simultaneously drawing their steel. "Look, over there!" shouted Pendrick. The knight looked over curiously and was immediately slugged below the belt so hard it distorted the fabric of space/time - but not too much. Even the court of the Legion of the Trite Prose winced at that one. "Okay, you win, you win," squeaked the knight from where he lay curled on the ground. "But I must warn you, another challenger will come... another challenger is right behind me!" (Go easy on poor ole Pendrick now, ya' hear! )
Aardvark Posted June 9, 2003 Report Posted June 9, 2003 Oh, allow me to retort It was a quiet day at the Almost Dragonic Sub-penHQ Underground Weapons Research and Fabrication Facility. The kind of quiet day people can't stand. The kind of quest day which declares loudly and proudly, "Something's about to happen. Something... interesting." The kind of quiet day you'd punch in the face, if a day could be punched or indeed had a face to punch. Touring the facility this quiet day were a number of top military officials from various rogue nations around the globe and around other globes that people didn't want to know about. People (Human or non-human, their gold's still the same) come from across the universe, multiverse and everywhere in between, real, unreal, hyperreal, surreal and just plain made up, to buy various weapons of mass destruction for educational purposes. This was the most common reason given on the written application for entry, the one that consists of the question "So why do you want weapons of mass destruction, anyway?" It was commonly assumed that the most educational purpose for anything from this bunker was to educate people in the price of... whatever transgression these intercontinental/galactic autocrats saw was justification for wiping out entire villages/planets at the push of a button. An educational experience rarely experienced twice As the group toured the facility, guided deeper onwards by everyone's favourite wyvern, Wyvern, constantly chattering away about various things, such as the average killzone in the AA-23 being worth the damage tradeoff over the AA-21, as the total power is more than enough to punch a hole in existence and out the other side and where to get the best mung beans this side of Joe's Mungbeanatorium, none noticed the lone individual slip away from the group and travel past a sign that read: "High Secret Testing Labs. Don't tell anyone about them" The hooded figure ran down the maze of corridors, all with white, featureless walls, white floors and mirrored ceilings. Left, Left, Left, Right, Left, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Lef... Arrgh! Wrong turn. He about-faced, ran back a few turns and corrected himself. After several minutes, he came to a large set of double doors marked "Caution! Use of high explosives in this area not recommended. Any and all individuals who detonate explosives in this area waive their right to continued residence in this plane and the right to sue Almost Dragonic Industries" In small writing, of course. This didn't matter, though. The individual couldn't read a word of it. Had he been able to read a word of it, he would've noted the large red button marked "Non-explosive method of entry". Instead, he pulled a box of Thermite from his cloak, set it upon the ground and attached a coil of wire to it. He unraveled the wire and moved several corridors away. Holding the plunger, he found a reasonable piece of cover, then detonated the explosives. Over the speakers in the area came a calm voice. "We asked you nicely not to detonate explosives here. For your transgressions, you shall be immediately terminated." The stranger looked around, only to find... nothing. He sighed and pressed the plunger Half a second before he ceased to live, he looked downwards to see his box of thermite on the ground, at his feet
The Portrait of Zool Posted June 9, 2003 Report Posted June 9, 2003 Very well done! I see you don't play by the rules - of course, neither do I. Best two out of three?
Nobody of Consequence Posted June 9, 2003 Report Posted June 9, 2003 Psst ... Zool ... over here. I gots ya somethin' real good wot will beat Thermite, like, ya know? *hands Zool a business card with the number of a Petht Extherminator*
Vlad Posted June 9, 2003 Report Posted June 9, 2003 Vlad comes up to a marvelous oil painting, looks around and whisper's to Zool "I gots the goods right here" motioning to the inside of his coat. Looking around a few more times, the vampire reaches into his coat. An anxious Zool makes a few nervous glances around "Hurry up! Nobody's here." Vlad quickly pulls out the mystery item and tosses it into the painting before running away. Zool looks to see that there is something in his hand. An electric pickle.
Damon Inferel Posted June 17, 2003 Report Posted June 17, 2003 Alas, thy challenge presents itself to Damon, and as he is one of whom who both adores and hates competition, the latter half loses the argument, and dear Silent Daemon decides to try his hand at Jan-Ken-Pon. Lying amidst the table in his study, a fair variety of books strewn about, a great many of which written upon the practical application of time travel, Damon finds himself pondering the exact proportion of his sanity compared to his insanity. "Well, considering I spend exactly 2.3 seconds laughing every minutes, 1.6 of that deeming that I am closer to the solution, thus being able to transmogrify myself into a beam of light and throw a few key ingredients into the beginning of time, thus ending my present existence, as well as the existence of man as I know it. The perfect plot to destroy the world!" He taps his finger to his chin contemptuously. "However if .7 of those 2.3 seconds are a measure of my insanity, then it is approximately proportional to... my brain hurting." He laughs for exactly 2.3 seconds, a wide, mad, grin spreading his face for the latter .7 seconds of his laugh. "Well then... I suppose we could run another test, shall we? previously, I made it to the birth of Jesus... correct? Correct. Let us see if me may make it back to the legendary 'Primordial Soup'..." A small lever with an 8-Ball handle is pulled, sending several coffee machines whirring about in the rotating mechanism as the heat from the coffee is transmitted through a prism. small particles of light are bent into the prism, uniting with a large prism, powering the machine to it's full capacity. "Well, I suppose I should sit down now..." As Damon sits in the chair, he places his prime ingredient for the 'Soup' into his pocket. A pair of scissors the size of a large butcher knife, the edges honed to molecular thinness. I may die in the process, but I can kill everyone on the planet, as well as the universe with this one pair of scissors. Theoretically, the entire planet will be a mass of greenery, all living material being a soft as it is now, yet impossibly sharp, flaying all living creatures instantaneously as they are cut into ribbons for infinity, their blood flowing through the small crevices in the earth. This... is worth it..." (Meow... sorry, this is my third morbid post in just an hour...)
Ayshela Posted October 3, 2003 Report Posted October 3, 2003 i dont' think so? i offered to referee, but never heard from anyone. Since, without a referee, the second person to post can automatically choose the win, it seemed to have become more or less random.
Aardvark Posted October 3, 2003 Report Posted October 3, 2003 I retired unbeaten after realising that I couldn't really cheat as often as I'd like to get away with, without spoiling the game for the poor bastards who go up against ROCKROCKROCKROCKROCKISOCALLEDROCKBEFOREYOU!!!!! me
The Portrait of Zool Posted October 3, 2003 Report Posted October 3, 2003 Oh, allow me to retort. "Pthththththth!"
Aardvark Posted October 5, 2003 Report Posted October 5, 2003 Don't make me thermite your unholy arse back to the stoneage, when holy and unholy were words yet to be crafted by the club-wielding linguists of yore, where man had to fight man-eating tigers, man-eating dinosaurs, man-eating men, man-eating wombats and oversized novelty man-eating birds of prey for their very survival. Needless to say, back in those days, man didn't occupy his rightful place at the centre of the foodweb like the man of today. No, back then, man didn't even have the advantage of Thermonuclear Warheads to defend himself, like we do today. Yes indeed, we've come a long way since those early days, living out of our parent's caves, etching picture stories into walls and then inviting friends around to share in the bounty of the hunt and gaze in awe at our wonderful artworks which would oneday confound and amaze the scientific community, causing them to come up with theory after theory about mankind's true origins, each one more radical than the last
The Portrait of Zool Posted October 8, 2003 Report Posted October 8, 2003 First of all, not to be off-color, but my arse IS holey - that's part of what makes it so useful. I also find it useful to sit on, and to moon hapless aardvarks. Zool's mind begins to spin off tangentially as he reads Aardvarks brilliant synopsis of the history of the word. They used to think the word was flat, but Webster proved the word was round. Of course, he was forced to recant under threat of: Ex-communication. Words - Zool loves words. He loves the texture and the crunch of them, way they roll off the tongue, the way they drip between meanings and fill the charged void of possibility. Zool momentarily considers himself back in the stoneage as he continued reading, stone chicken by his side, but is then abruptly thrown back to the present by Aardvark's obsession with thermonuclear persuasion. Words. Words. Words... The secret of the universe was something subtler than words - but out of it came words, as surely as energy coalesced into matter. The solution to Aardvark's obsession lay in a word - Zool knew it; He could feel it, he could taste it... His mind focused on a new scene. The snapping of surgical gloves and the beeping of a heart monitor echoed off the operating room walls. The smell of cheap liqour lurched through Zool's surgical mask and cloaked the the prone form on the gurney before him. A loooong oxygen mask covered the snout protruding from the form under the sheet. "Scalpel," said Zool. The rubber chicken, looking very sterile in his green scrubs, snapped the instrument into the waiting hand. "Clamp." "Forceps." "Suction!" *Hours later* The rubber chicken daubs Zool's forehead, then returns to his station at the instrument tray. Zool stepped back and cracked his knuckles, announcing, "It's time to get serious!" Turning back to his faithful assistant he called, "Margarita." The rubber chicken turned to the blender, snapping the frosty glass into the waiting hand within seconds. *Glug, glug, glug* "Cluck Puk-ack," said the rubber chicken. "Oh, thanks." Zool wiped the salt mustache off of his surgical mask. "Drill." "Sawzall." "Prybar." Zool gave a withering look at what the rubber chicken handed him, and repeated, "PRYBAR!". The rubber chicken took back the 20cm nail puller and handed Zool a 2 meter crate crusher. Zool put one boot on the patient and hung waaay over the side of the gurney, jerking down on the massive prybar with all of his weight. "AaaGhaaUUUUGGGGaaaaGGK!! Got it!" Zool dropped something into a pan with a resounding clang which was immediately whisked away, and grabbed a rag to wipe the prodigous fluids from his gloved hands. "Close him up," he said as he turned to the door. If all went well the outlook for the patient was good, but it was up to his will to heal now. Only time would tell if the Thermectomy was a success.
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