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  1. This is the second book in my fanfiction series The Gundaru Nui Saga. It's still a work in progress, but I hope you all like what I've got so far. Remember to post in the review topic!
  2. As most of my readers know, I am in the process of writing a sequel to my most recent epic, Dawn of the New Century. It is currently titled In the End and will be released early or mid 2014. It will also be my final epic in the Shikaverse and my final epic on BZP in general. For those of you who don't know, the Shikaverse is my Bionicle fanfiction universe. Nearly every epic and short story I have written and posted on BZP is set in the Shikaverse, starting from my earliest works all the way to my newest. I've been writing in the Shikaverse for a little over five years, I believe, which is a pretty long time when you think about it. Only my comedies do not take place within the Shikaverse, although I did write a comedy parodying one of my Shikaverse works once. The name "Shikaverse" comes from the name of the very first story set in that universe, my first epic called The Tales of Shika Nui (which you can't read on BZP anymore due to the deletion of the Archives). The island of Shika Nui is a defining feature of the Shikaverse, even though it does not appear in every story. As a result, I can think of no other name more appropriate for that universe than the Shikaverse. When I started writing The Tales of Shika Nui, I had no idea that it would grow into this sprawling, complicated, and (I'll be honest) sometimes contradictory universe. I have had no other collaborators to help me keep the facts straight or write my stories. Aside from showing a few of my works to friends and family for feedback before posting, the entire Shikaverse has been written, edited, and posted by me. So I take full responsibility for every word I have written: the good, the bad, and the just plain strange. And I honestly would not have it any other way. As much as I love the Shikaverse, I've known for some time now that I can't write in it forever. In order to pursue my dream of being a professional writer, I have to stop writing fanfiction. While I am currently juggling fanfiction and original fiction, I know that only one will get me published, only one will make me money, only one will help me build my platform, and only one will help me grow in ways that the other cannot. And that one is original fiction. Because I knew this, I am determined to end the Shikaverse on my own terms. I will not simply abandon it to rot in the darkest corners of BZP. I love it too much to simply abandon it. I have to give it a good ending. More than anything else, I need a sense of closure, which I cannot get if I do not write and finish the Dawn Duology. I planned Dawn specifically with this in mind. I had hoped for Dawn itself to be the Shikaverse's ending, but the story ended up being too big for a single epic, so I have made it into a duology. I was aware that could happen, as I tend to write organically, but it does make ending the thing a bit more complicated than I had thought it would be. I am convinced it won't become a trilogy, however, so don't worry about that . I have no idea if anyone else really cares about the Shikaverse. My works have never been very popular. I have certainly built a reputation here (I think?), but I don't consider myself one of the big time BZP writers like, say, GaliGee, for example. As I said above, I am writing this to give myself a sense of closure more than anything. If there are any readers who have been following my works from the beginning, then they, too, shall receive closure. Over the next few months, leading up to In the End's release, I will be talking more about the Shikaverse. I will be talking about favorite characters, favorite stories, favorite moments, and lessons I have learned from the Shikaverse. It won't be all sunshine and rainbows, though. I will probably also talk about my least favorite moments, stories I wish I could have rewritten, characters I felt I should have developed more, and even stories I regret writing at all (all writers have works they regret writing and I am no different). Consider this post an introduction to a series of posts about the Shikaverse. There will be no regular schedule. I will try to get it all posted before the release of In the End, but there is no guarantee for that. I have no planned number of posts to put up, although if I had to guess I'd say it will consist of seven or eight. But again, no guarantees. I doubt this will appeal to many people and I don't expect a lot of people to follow this little series of blog posts. Certainly I would be happy if people read and commented on this series, but ultimately I am writing this for my own benefit and enjoyment. If anyone else enjoys it, well, that's a bonus. Posts in the "Looking Back" series: Looking Back: Top 10 Favorite Characters from the Shikaverse, Part 1 Looking Back Top 10 Favorite Characters from the Shikaverse, Part 2 Looking Back: Top Four Favorite Stories from the Shikaverse That's all for now, so see ya, -TNTOS-
  3. As of this morning, I finished my NaNoWriMo novel, The Mad Voyage of Prince Malock, clocking in at 92,245 words, as you can conveniently see in the content block to the right. So I will not be updating the content block any more this month, although I will keep it up until December 1st because of reasons. I expected to hit 100k, but 92k is fine, too. I'm just on a high right now, feeling really happy about myself. This is the first original novel I've written that I feel I can make into something publishable, although as per the usual course I will put it aside for a few months while I work on some other projects. It will definitely need to be rewritten and edited and I need to do some research in some areas as well as flesh out the world a bit more, but I'm so excited for it, which is definitely a good sign. I'm just stunned that I not only hit 50k before the end of the month, but I also finished the novel itself. It's not unusual for me to hit 50k by Thanksgiving, but in past NaNos I've finished the novel itself in December. It was like the novel just came rushing out of my fingers and it was all I could do to keep up with it this time. So what are my plans for the rest of the month? Well, I do have an original short story I need to write for the Ambage website's "Selected Writings" page, so I will probably be working on that. Not to mention In the End's third draft is not yet complete. So I will probably spend the rest of the year on that short story and In the End, unless something else comes up in the meantime that I desperately want to work on instead. That's all for now, so see ya, -TNTOS-
  4. Thought I'd post a little update on my fanfics, mostly 'cause I'm bored and I thought now would be a good time to talk about 'em. I finally finished reposting the chapters of BIONICLE: The Legend Reloaded that were lost in the hacking. Funny how I had to repost it during November because I originally wrote it for NaNoWriMo in 2011, I think. Hope I don't have to repost it again anytime soon 'cause honestly I got a bit sick of posting a chapter a day like that. Good riddance. Currently, My Little BIONICLE: Friendship is Explosive is a little over halfway posted. If you like Bionicle and MLP, then you'll love MLB:FiE. If you hate both, you'll probably still get a chuckle out of seeing me writing a crossover for the first time (and most likely failing miserably at it, although I like to think of it as failing with style). In the End is on its third draft. I am currently rereading Dawn of the New Century and taking notes on any plot points I need to resolve in the sequel. I am going to continue work on In the End in December and it will probably be ready for posting on BZP in early 2014. It will probably be the last epic I write in the Shikaverse, although I do have an interesting idea for a prequel focusing on the Kra-Matoran War, but whether I will actually ever write the thing is uncertain because I want to focus more on my original work than my fanfiction. No short stories in the works right now. This is because A) NaNoWriMo and B) I don't have any ideas for Bionicle short stories. All of my BIONICLE fanfiction energy is going toward In the End, so unless I get a random burst of inspiration or something soon, no Bionicle short stories anytime soon. That's all for now, so see ya, -TNTOS-
  5. -Ozymandias- “Disillusioned, but determined, to complete my odyssey, I followed his corpse to its resting place in Alexandria. The night before returning to America, I wandered into the desert and ate a ball of hashish I'd been given in Tibet. The ensuing vision transformed me. Wading through powdered history, I heard dead kings walking underground, heard fanfares through human skulls. Alexander had merely resurrected an age of Pharaohs, their wisdom, truly immortal, now inspired me. What intellectual magnificence their system encouraged.. Ptolemy seeking the universe's pivot from his light-house at Pharos, Eratosthenes, measuring the world using only shadows… their greatest secrets entrusted to their servants, buried alive with them in sand-flooded chambers. Adopting Ramses the Second's Greek name and Alexander's free-booting style, I resolved to apply antiquity's teachings to today's world. Thus began my path to conquest… conquest not of men. But of evils that beset them. Today, that conquest becomes assured, in which your questioning assistance has proven invaluable. Do you comprehend the triumph which you have contributed, the secret glory that it affords? Do you understand my shame at so inadequate a reward?” -Alan Moore, Watchmen A single bitter tear drips down my cheek, falling to the polished stone floor with a half-hearted plop. I am unsure, my normally concrete determination unsettled by inklings of doubt. Has my will weakened so soon? Have I surrendered to uncertainty so quickly? The screens roar the news of an entire planet, urging me to hark everything they desperately yell, to observe the pixels they so desperately want me to see. To my right, a reporter yells over the sound of gunfire, to my left, a droning voice reads information concerning the social tumult of the all-important United States, even when their own country is in political turmoil. Turning from the screens, I observe the glass displays that line my Antarctic abode, filled with relics and artifacts whose very existence is unknown to the world. The centerpiece of my collection instantly attracts my eyes, its blade gleaming in the natural, soothing crimson light of fire. The sword of Alexander of Macedonia. Not only once the ruler of a sizeable portion of the world, but ruler of what most considered a controlled, orderly world. Yet it was not a perfect world. There was needless death, there was ego-driven war between his and other nations. For so many years, I worshiped that man. I thought of him as a god, whose history was the story of the world’s greatest and smartest man. I find myself incapable of worshiping anyone now, least of all myself. Me, a hero styled after Alexander the Great, my name the Greek name adopted by Ramses the Second. It was not so long ago that my body was controlled not by my mind, but my ego, which drove me to worthless and unimportant activities. It was during those years that I met Edward Blake. He was a brute of a man, but he said something to me that will always change me. He told me how I was, like the rest of this world, doomed to be ashes when the thermonuclear weaponry of this world’s nations descended upon the earth. He made me realize that I would not be left miraculously standing when others were little but cinders. It was then that I resolved to do what Alexander could not. It was then that I began to plan, to plot, to harden my heart. Now, the conclusion of my plan is at hand. Now, a masterstroke is about to be dealt onto an unsuspecting world. Now, the balance of the world is in my hands. Now, I sacrifice the lives of millions, for the lives of an entire world. * * * Silent, I watch the monitors as the reporters flounder with confusion at what has occurred. Beyond the microphone-holding bringers of news to millions, I see humans in agony. Crying, weeping and screaming obscenities to the skies, they walk the broken and shattered streets as if dazed, staring glass-eyed at the world around them. In the distance, I hear footsteps. Shutting the screens off, I turn, and begin to walk away. In a moment I am seated at my table, a prepared meal set before me, now cold and tasteless, though I doubt I would find it anymore appealing if it were not. Kovacs and Dreiberg are approaching now, from behind; they think themselves stealthy, no doubt. I chew my food slowly, hating the taste of it. I steel myself for what is to come. I have made the sacrifice already; I have endured the pain, not for my profit, but for the profit of an entire planet. I created order from chaos, I brought forth light from darkness. I am Ozymandias, king of kings. I have conquered the evils that beset man, through the immortal wisdom of the Pharaohs. I am the world’s smartest man. "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"Nothing beside remains. Round the decayOf that colossal wreck, boundless and bareThe lone and level sands stretch far away.-Percy Bysshe Shelley
  6. TNTOS

    Fanfic News

    Good news, everybody. I just finished the first draft of the sequel to Dawn of the New Century, tentatively titled In the End. I am going to work on something else for now, but rest assured that I will start work on the second draft as soon as possible. It will have to go through at least six drafts before I feel ready to post it, however, so don't expect to see it posted this year. That's all the news I have right now regarding my fanfics. So see ya, -TNTOS-
  7. (AUTHOR”S NOTE: This story is based loosely on the biblical story of David and Goliath in 1 Samuel 17, set a few years before Mata Nui’s arrival on Bara Magna. I’m not trying to preach or anything here.) It was pretty much a normal day in the small Jungle Tribe village at the edge of the Bara Magnan desert. The sun emanated its searing heat down on the village’s inhabitants. Glatoran and Agori milled around in the village streets. One could hear the jungle birds singing their mating calls. On the eastern horizon, a small army of Skrall was gathered on top of a sand dune. Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly a “normal” day. I guess I should have started out by introducing myself. My name is Davnik, and I’m an Agori from the Jungle Tribe on Bara Magna. As is tradition in the jungle tribe, my clothes and armor are green (though by personal taste there are a few red highlights). My helmet has a pretty simple design; it’s just got a snakelike ponytail coming out the back and not much else. I’m not the strongest of Agori, nor am I all that fast. In fact, one could easily describe me as scrawny. I used to work as a Nogra herder. For those of you who don’t know, Nogra are animals that come up to about the height of an Agori’s hip. They are covered in dense, fluffy wool that we Agori harvest to make garments and other things, and, if cooked right, they can make a delicious meal. I was extremely protective of my Nogra flock. On more than one occasion, I had a Spikit or a Wasteland Wolf run off with one of the flock in its jaws. I would chase it down and put a rock through its skull with my trusty sling, then take the Nogra back to the flock. I never lost a single one of my Nogra to wild beasts. Oops, I’m starting to get off track. Let’s get back to the story. So anyway, there was a small army of Skrall about to raid our village. We had some Glatorian just outside the village ready to fight the Skrall, but they were far outnumbered. For the sake of safety, the other Agori and I stayed inside the village. After a few days of having the Skrall practically at our doorstep, I was sent to bring some food the Glatorian. As I came out of the village gate, I saw the Glatorian looking as if they had already given up. I got curious, so after I dropped off the food, I went up to a Jungle Tribe Glatorian and asked him what was going on. “The Skrall have brought a giant with them,” the Glatorian said wearily. “His name is Golrith. He’s absolutely huge! He’s got a gigantic spear the length of two Glatorian and a huge sword that could chop three of us in half with one swipe! Every day, he struts out in front of the Skrall lines and shouts, ‘You Glatorian haven’t got a chance against me! Why don’t you send out the best fighter among you, and we can fight. If you win, you can take us as slaves, but if I win, you’ll be our slaves!’ None of us are willing to fight him, we’d be mincemeat before you could say ‘Thornax!’” I was astonished to see these Glatorian looking so hopeless. I had thought of Glatorian as brave, intrepid individuals who could, and would, stand up to anything. To see them quitting without a fight like this left me, to put it lightly, flabbergasted. “Who’s in charge around here?” I demanded. “Ackar, Prime Glatorian for the Fire Tribe,” he replied. “When he heard that the Skrall were about to attack this village, he came to take charge of the defenders.” “Could you take me to him, please?” I asked him, “I’d like to speak with him.” “Sure,” he said. “By the way, my name is Gresh. What’s yours?” Gresh held out his hand. “I’m Davnik,” I replied as I shook his hand. And so Gresh led me to Ackar. The Glatorian was tracing patterns in the sand with a stick, discussing strategy with a tough-looking Glatorian from the Ice Tribe. “Um, excuse me, Ackar,” said Gresh, “This Agori wants to speak with you.” Ackar’s head turned towards me. His battle-hardened face looked me up and down. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked me. “There certainly is. Why don’t you Glatorian go out and fight the Skrall?” I asked. “Just because they’ve got that giant doesn’t mean you can’t beat them!” “That giant isn’t just an overgrown Skrall,” Ackar explained, “It’s one of a special breed of Skrall, just like Tuma, the Skrall leader.” “But you’re the best Glatorian in all of Bara Magna! You fought in the Core War!” I insisted, “Can’t you go out and fight him yourself?” “I’m too old to fight him,” Ackar said, “I’m not the fighter I used to be.” “Well,” I said, “if you won’t fight him, then I will.” Ackar’s eyes practically popped out of their sockets. I could hardly believe myself that I had said that. “You?” Gresh almost laughed. “You’re just an Agori, you couldn’t possibly take down a Skrall that big. How do you expect to beat him?” “I’ve killed Spikit and Wasteland Wolves that attacked my Nogra flock,” I replied. “I’ll do the same to that Skrall.” “You’re suicidal!” Ackar exclaimed. Eventually I was able to convince Ackar to let me go and fight Golrith. I think it was my confidence that won him over. However, he thought I needed some extra protection, so he lent me his armor and sword. I tried it on, but it was way too big and heavy. I thanked him, but politely declined the armor. I left the Glatorian camp and entered the jungle to get some rocks for my sling. I picked my way through the tangled shrubbery and eventually found a small stream. I reached in and, one by one, I drew five smooth stones from the rushing water. I use smooth stones for my sling because they tend to fly farther, and they cause less wear and tear on the leather of my sling. Anyway, I now had myself some ammunition for my sling, so I headed back towards my village. Just as I was emerging from the jungle into the desert, I saw the giant Golrith on top of a sand dune facing our village. My heart skipped a beat. The guy was huge! He looked like he could rip me in half with his bare hands. Backed by battle cries from the other Skrall, he began to shout taunts at the Glatorian defending my village, calling them cowards and daring them to come out and fight. I could hear the Glatoirian outside my village crying out in fear. If I told you that hearing Golrith insult the Glatorian made me mad, I’d be lying. Well, not exactly lying, I guess it would be more of an understatement. Oops, I’m rambling again, sorry about that. Anyhow, hearing Golrith insult the Glatorian made me absolutely furious. I was practically seeing red. I ran through the Glatorian’s camp and onto the battlefield. I faced the giant Golrith and I stared him right in the eye. For a few seconds, everything was dead silent. The Glatorian had stopped panicking, the Skrall had stopped screaming battle cries, Golrith had shut up, even the jungle birds seemed to have stopped singing. Then, all at once, everybody burst into laughter. “THIS is what you send out to fight me?” Golrith’s laughter boomed across the battlefield. “You have an army of Glatorian at your disposal, and you send out this pathetic Agori as your champion? I won’t even bother enslaving you; I’ll just slaughter you all!” “You ugly Skrall scumbag!” I yelled back. As you can tell, I’m really good at making up insults. Golrith seemed to hear this, because he drew a massive black sword from his back and charged at me, screaming bloody murder the whole way down the sand dune. I charged at him and drew a stone from my pack and placed it in my sling. I slowly began to swing it around my head, rotating my wrist to keep it moving. I focused on the charging giant, visualizing the trajectory the stone would take. Gradually, I started speeding up my wrist movement, and my sling spun faster, faster, until it was a brown, leathery blur whirling above my head. Golrith was getting closer now, probably fifteen strides away from cutting me to ribbons. I aimed on his forehead, which was rapidly growing bigger as he got closer. Then, I swung my arm downward, sending the stone flying from the grip of my sling. Time slowed down. The stone seemed to be floating through the air towards the charging giant, slowly rotating as it traveled through the air. Each of Golrith’s thundering strides appeared to take ten seconds each, with him briefly hovering over the ground between steps. I tensed as the distance between the stone and the giant shrank. Ten feet, seven feet, five feet now. Now I was positive that the stone would hit its mark. Three feet, two feet, one… Time suddenly sped back up as the projectile collided with the Skrall’s helmet. Pieces of the helmet went flying as the stone punched a hole right through it and struck Golrith’s forehead with a resounding KER-CRACK. Golrith dropped his sword as head jerked backward at the impact. For a second or two, he stood motionless, frozen in mid-step. He began to teeter, and then he toppled to the ground not two feet from where I stood, kicking up a huge dust cloud with an earth-shaking impact. I coughed and fanned the sandy dust away from my face. I stared at the prone form of the giant Skrall, amazed at what I had just done. Coming back to my senses, I picked up his sword and hefted it above my head. I almost fell backwards with the weight of the huge blade. Struggling to keep my balance, I held the weapon high above my head, then, with a roar, I swung the blade downwards towards the giant’s neck and chopped his head clean off. I dropped the sword and lifted the severed head into the air, yelling at the top of my lungs. The Glatorian and Skrall were silent, none of them believing what they had just seen. Then, as if noticing for the first time that I had just killed their champion, the Skrall began to panic. “CHARGE!” yelled a voice behind me. I looked to see who it was, and there was Ackar, with the rest of the Glatorian following close behind. The sound of Thornax blasters filled the air as the Glatorian opened fire on the enemy. Skrall after Skrall fell under the barrage of exploding spiky fruit. The Glatorian fell upon the fleeing Skrall and cut them down until there wasn’t a single one left alive. So there you have it. The story of how I defeated a giant Skrall. Now I’m just about the most famous Agori in the Jungle Tribe. Maybe Metus, the Glatorian recruiter, will ask me to be a Glatorian. He seems like a really nice guy. Anyway, now that I’ve defeated their all-powerful champion, I don’t think the Skrall will be attacking again anytime soon.
  8. ZTG

    Theory of Evolution

    Theory of Evolution ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Review Topic Index: -List of Chapters -Prologue List of Chapters: Prologue: Four walls made of metal, chains hanging from the ceiling and metal walls, dangling from the positions they hung from, gravity attracting them towards the ground. The chains were a dark grey, metallic color, with some marks of the red rust that would surly consume it as time passed on. On one of the walls was a small, barred window, which let in some of the moonlight that dimly lit up the outside world. The prisoners in the room only wished to head back out to the outside world, free from the room that contained them, as they awaited their end.The prisoners were mostly Matoran, some Skakdi, and a select number of the prisoners were Vortirxx. Some of the prisoners hung from the chains that were screwed onto the walls, and some were on the ground, either shaking in fear or just accepting their fate. The sound of the metal door opening alerted them, as they heard a loud clang as the door made impact with the grey, metal wall as it was forcefully swung opened, only to reveal a hunchback like creature, with fists that were that were the size of its rather large torso, with legs the shape of an average Toa's, and a gas mask that covered its head. It's torso and arms were over buff, with veins ready to pop, and his lower arms, fists and chest covered in ebony armor, with cloth covering around its waist, and stitches and bolts that were visible to the naked eye. Stitches surrounded its neck, and bolts pierced into its skin, as well as some bolts piercing into its armor and then into the organic matter. Most of the prisoners were able to identify the being rather quickly, and knew what would come next. With its red, doe eyes the beast prowled among the room, walking in a matter similar to an ape, quickly shifting its head left to right as it looked for the next volunteer. Immediately the beast stopped, shifting its focus onto a Matoran of blue ad sea foam armor. It was obviously a Ga-Matoran, and upon her face was a powerless, Noble Mask of Translation. The Ga-Matoran began trembling with fear, and without warning, one the beast's giant hands reached for the villager and took her away, the beast's hand being able to cover all but her head. She screamed, she called out for help, yelling as loud as she could, and did her best to squirm out of the monster's vice like grip. But the other prisoners chose not to, more concerned about their own lives than being selfless for another. When the door was shut, the screams could no longer be heard, and the prisoners knew right away that her fate was sealed.The monster walked throughout the hall ways, designed to be like a labyrinth so that those that somehow managed to escape would be forced to find their way out through a maze of hallways. Only those that worked here knew the way. The Ga-Matoran continued her screaming and panicking, terrified of what was going on. hallways were dimly lit, some of the lights flickering on and off, each path would even make the bravest of heroes become fearful and worried. After what seemed to be hours, the beast opened a door that was different to others, being crimson and written on the door, was the word "Danger" in the tongue of Matoran. The beast opened the door and entered a huge room, with a huge machine that was covered in metal sheeting, hiding the danger inside. Inside the room as well was a cloaked being with several Matoran clad in white and grey armor, all having the same mask. All wore powerless Masks of X-Ray vision. The Matoran had their attention on all the machines and computers, taking close attention and care to make sure nothing went wrong.The cloaked being turned his body to the direction of the beast, and saw the Ga-Matoran in the beasts right hand. "Toss her in," said the cloaked being. His voice was raspy, and sounded somewhat airy, with no emotion in his voice. The beast obeyed the mysterious figure and made its way to the machine, strapping the Ga-Matoran to the conveyor belt. The blue Matoran struggled to become free, but the monster's peerless strength was overpowering her, as she was fully strapped in, her limbs, torso and head all tied down so she would not move. It would be less painful. "What are you going to do to me?!" The villager demanded, fear and anger in her voice "Simple, we are going to evolve you," the cloaked being said, a chuckle in his voice. He gestured to the Matoran manning the machine, and they proceeded to start it up. The sounds of gears turning and grinding could be heard, blades spinning, and the mechanical parts clanking and making metal noises as they moved and made impact with one another. The poor, defenseless Matoran kept repeating no, fear growing in her voice as the conveyor belt inched closer to the inside of the machine. In a few moments later, when she could no longer be seen, a blood curdling scream echoed through out the place, going through the thickest of walls, loud enough so that everyone could hear the Matoran's pain and suffering. The cloaked being laugh hysterically, enjoying the pleasure of hearing the Matoran feeling pain, and demanding help. Some called this man sadistic, some declared him insane, even demonic. But titles like that didn't cause he him to be annoyed nor angry, and he was proud to bring fear into those who knew his name, and what he did.
  9. MEANWHERE, ELSEWHILEOutside an office in a different London than he'd left, Phileas Fogg waited patiently for a man in a black lab coat to return with a box containing seventy-nine very small pocket watches.Phileas Fogg was no longer following the busy schedule he'd been, and he suspected that he would take a short while before devising a new one. And after his recent adventures, a short while was a concept of which he'd attained a new personal understanding.The wait proved him no challenge; as a proper English gentleman, patience was one of his most prominent skills. He had spent a while staring at the clock in the hallway of Royal British Institution of Science (which was, much unlike he knew it, located in an apartment above a large cinema on Oxford Street), but had found that its signals had lost all meaning to him. He glanced through the spotless glass window at his new home town.As it is, there are points in time when particular decisions are made, and no matter what one does, one will never be able to change that. One might even go back in time and kill – or otherwise incapacitate – the persons making the decisions, and it won't matter. The decisions will be made by other people, or they might even make themselves to avoid further complications.In the 1972 London which Phileas Fogg had initially left, the scientists of RBIS (the real institution, not the alternative version in which he now found himself) had been able to somehow track down and pinpoint these points, or some of them. It'd been one of those points from which he had taken off, along with his at the time rather dumbstruck new servant, a Frenchman going by the name of Passepartout, after making an extraordinary bet at one of the points in time which he knew wouldn't change, even as he'd travelled through the times and managed to eventually turn his beloved London into wherever he was now. Through the window, he saw the infernal change: There were flags waving in the air, but not the flags he'd been used to. There were machines that flew, higher and larger and faster than he had seen at any point in his travels. There were monumental towers, castles and public libraries, either floating in the air or suspended in wires from, peculiarly, each other. With all of these changes, Phileas Fogg's eyes rested on the relatively familiar sight of an old man sitting outside on a wooden bench, casually chatting to Passepartout, who had sat down next to him. Mr. Fogg's servant could, and did, instantly make new friends anywhen.Phileas Fogg noted the concerned expression in his servant's face, but wrote it off as anxiety for whether their bet had been won or lost. Passepartout was as passionately engaged in the bet as Fogg himself, and much more eager to let the world see that. At any point of their journey, a bypasser would have thought that it was Passepartout, not Phileas Fogg, who had his entire fortune and status at stake. And the Frenchman had reason to worry; the very last of their pocket watches had been lost after they'd placed it, and they now had nothing to show for the final of their efforts. It had been supposed to be placed in 1930, but they had been forced to leave the historical period in order to at least finish their travels in time, even if it meant fulfilling only seventy-nine eighties of their goal. The carbon-dating of the watches, now taking place behind the closed doors of the office on 56 Oxford Street, was a mere formality. In truth, they had already lost.Passepartout had by this point returned in the company of the gentlemen Sullivan, Ralph and Stuart. Not the Sullivan, Ralph and Stuart with whom Phileas Fogg had originally made an agreement, but close enough; besides, they seemed to have made an agreement with a Phileas Fogg, and they had the papers signed by him. It was all close enough; it was the same decisions, as had been the plan all along.Also in the company of Passepartout and the three gentlemen was the elderly man whom Phileas Fogg had seen Passepartout talking to outside. It was a mystery to him why an apparent stranger had been allowed into the small, but still rich and exclusive establishment, although the old man did appear strangely familiar. Then again, perhaps just relatively familiar, as he'd first thought.“So, are we getting any results?” Asked somebody who was either Sullivan or Stuart. “Not that it makes any difference, of course. We're still withdrawing the entirety of your earthly goods – 20 million Yen – from Bank of England's London division. Do we have an agreement that once your watches have been proven either real or fake, you'll immediately come with us to sign the transaction?”“Certainly,” said Phileas Fogg, as always showing a minimum of emotional influence from the outside world. He glanced sidewards to his servant, who appeared more nervous and less broken than he'd expected. At this point, the old man nodded towards Phileas Fogg, and pushed Passepartout forwards. Passepartout started speaking.“Mr. Fogg, Sir. I know how much you've given to go on this journey, and I have been both flattered and honoured to have made your acquaintance and company while travelling. I feel, however, for quite pressing reasons of my own, that this is the time when we must part. I am terribly sorry to not explain further, but you have to believe that I must do this. If I don't succeed, chances are you'll never see me again. But I'm going to try, because from what I hear, I've already almost finished succeeding.”Phileas Fogg did not understand at all, and neither, of course, did Sullivan, Ralph or Stuart. Not understanding, but trusting his servant, he took from his backpack a smaller bag with Passepartout's belongings, and gave it to him. Passepartout opened it, and checked its few contents: a small, red book that was his passport, a pair of boots that had been bought for Passepartout's own money after he lost his own (when accidentally offending the locals by wearing them indoors in a tavern in Belgium, 1825), and a still unopened letter written by a very sad young woman in 1930. For reasons he wouldn't reveal, Passepartout passed the passport around to everyone in the room, making sure that each gentleman remember specific, individual details in order for them all together to have the whole picture of it. While he was doing this, Phileas Fogg could read in his expression that his mood was now subtly changing, gaining the courage of a stage magic performer. When his passport was returned to him, Passepartout gathered his things, wished his former master goodbye, and left the room in a hurry.Shortly thereafter, the scientist in the black lab coat returned from his office with the box, the seventy-nine frozen watches and a little slip of paper to prove their validity. The gentleman who was definitely either Ralph or Stuart cleared his throat, and Phileas Fogg instantly caught the impatient insinuation. The Ralph or Stuart he used to have known would never have drawn attention to themselves in such bad manner.“Well, my fine gentlemen,” announced Phileas Fogg in a voice that, unless you knew him well, appeared perfectly untouched by the loss of the wager. “I suppose I have lost. Since I'm not familiar with this version of...” he paused for a moment. “...London, would you mind showing me the way to the Bank of England? I should be most grateful.”At this point, the ticking noise stopped. With the situation in mind, nobody had noticed it in the first place, but everyone heard it stop. They all looked to the old man, whose coat pocket the noise had come from. He was sitting in one of the seats, absent-mindedly looking through an old, battered passport with obvious appreciation, as if he were reading a letter from someone he had once known.Phileas Fogg recognised the passport. He also recognised the boots, having helped picking them out somewhen in the middle of the eighteenth century, and naturally, he recognised the still unmistakably French accent to his words when he muttered “Oh, is that the time?” and then, in a louder voice, “Excuse me, my sirs! I think there's another small aspect which you have to consider.”With Passepartout's testimony, proven by his possession of the passport and the watch that had allegedly taken him two decades to recover, Phileas Fogg was pronounced the winner of the wager, being able to prove that he had indeed crossed the centuries and achieved truly marvellous changes to history, all in only eighty days from the perspective of himself and the clocks he brought with him. He kept the clocks for reasons of affection.Three days later, Phileas Fogg disappeared off the face of the city, and was never again seen in that London.
  10. TNTOS

    Fanfic News

    As of this morning, I finished the third draft of my upcoming epic, Dawn of the New Century. I think it's really good, but I am going to go ahead and write a fourth draft because, while third draft is good, I came up with some ideas that I didn't put into the third draft and I really don't feel like tossing them after the fact. So a fourth draft it is. When will I write this fourth draft, you ask? Why, starting next month, for NaNoWriMo, of course! Normally, I reserve NaNoWriMo for original fiction (which doesn't explain why I wrote The Legend Reloaded and Dimension Hoppers during it, but whatevs). However, I really want to get Dawn finished as quickly as possible, so I am going to write the fourth draft of Dawn during NaNoWriMo. Not sure if that's against the rules or not, but who cares about the rules IT'S NANOWRIMO DARN IT! Anyway, for NaNo, expect to see me update my word count daily here on this blog. I'll be bringing back the old NaNo word count content block from previous years, so expect to see that tomorrow. As for TLI, it's still coming out December 1st, don't worry. Unlike TLR and TLE, I am currently editing TLI. As it is my last (planned) comedy, I want it to be as good as I can possibly make it without betraying the heart of the Legend Trilogy. It'll still be as crazy and awesome as the last two, but the plot will be slightly more coherent, more like my usual style of writing. So there's that to look forward to. Memories, a short story involving Toa Chimoy (a character from the Shika Trilogy), will probably not come out until the end of the year, if that. I haven't gotten around to editing it yet and probably won't until NaNo is over. Not going to say much, but it is a romance story, although not the kind of romance story you might be thinking of. Also, happy Halloween! I'll probably just be chilling at home eating candy, maybe watch a movie or something. No trick-or-treating for this 18-year-old, especially since I don't have a costume to wear. That's all for now, so see ya, -TNTOS-
  11. Cellblock 5397C* * *The turbolift doors of Cellblock 5397C aboard the Death Star opened.The Imperial officer at the prison section’s computer looked up. His back stiffened as the two stormtroopers and Wookie entered. “I wasn’t made aware of any new prisoners,” he said, his tone as prim as his black uniform.The taller stormtrooper shrugged. The shorter one offered, “Prison transfer from... ah... cell block one-nine-eight-two-A to cell back five-three-nine-seven-C.”The officer keyed for a list of prisoners; his lip twisted. “I see no such transfer logged.” His hand was now on the butt of his blaster.The taller stormtrooper canted his head. “Superiors. You know ‘em.”“I am one,” responded the officer.He promptly fell to the floor when a shot struck him in the chest.The other stormtroopers in the room were caught off-guard; their blasters’ panicked responses struck the metal walls about the Wookie as he charged and slammed one into the wall. His companions made short work of the other guards, the bright shots making their faceplates iridesce.When the last stormtrooper fell, the taller newcomer tore off his helmet. “It was stuffy in there,” protested Han Solo.“Suck it up,” Luke Skywalker told him, leaving his own helmet on. He hefted his blaster and walked to the entrance into the prison area proper. “I’m going to find the Princess. You stay here and keep guard. I’ll holler if I need anything.”“Try not to holler,” Han called back and leaned in the officer’s seat, propping his legs on the computer monitor.Rolling his eyes, Luke advanced down the corridor. Stark metal hovered in his peripheral vision; the black lettering above each cell door was nearly indecipherable in the dark, and so Luke’s progress was slow. The Force must have abandoned him for the moment, for the very last cell Luke checked was the one for which he had searched. He pressed the door release, imagining the Princess’s gratitude, and took a step across the threshold before realizing the Princess was not lying on her metal bunk.A blow to the back of his head pushed him to his knees. His blaster was torn from his grip, his head slammed against the metal floor with a clang, his arms pulled behind his back with such pain he yelled. He was pushed roughly to the floor, his arms still pinned behind him; an arm wrapped around his neck and a weight pressed upon his back.“Blasted stormtrooper,” said a feminine voice.“I’m — not the bad guy!” Luke gasped.“Sure you aren’t.”She pushed harder. Luke tried to keep his tears pent — what would Han say? — but the pain stung his eyes.“I’m serious!” he insisted.“That’s what they all say.” Luke’s arms were released and the pressure removed, but before he could exhale in relief, the click of a loaded blasted emanated from somewhere to his right. He looked in that direction; Leia glared coldly back at him. “Don’t. Move.”“That’s fine,” Luke sighed. “I like the floor. Much more cozy than the escape ship waiting in the hangar for you, because, you know, I came here to rescue you...”Leia shook her head. “I’m not falling for your tricks. Now give me your armor.”“My — my what—?”“Do it!”Luke hesitantly removed his helmet.At this moment, Han conveniently poked his head into the doorway. “Doggone it, kid, I told you not to holler—” A blaster bolt from Leia forced him to duck back under cover. “The heck? Your Highness, if you didn’t notice, we’re here to rescue you.”“Vader is full of tricks,” hissed Leia. “I’m not trusting anyone who wears stormtrooper armor, and you can’t tell me otherwise. Now get in here.”Han emerged from behind the doorframe, his hands behind his head in surrender. “I don’t see where you’re going with this...”“Get on that bunk.” She jabbed with her blaster then peeked out the doorway. “Good, no one else— My goodness, what is that? — a walking carpet?”“Yep,” Han said through his smirk. “Mine.”Leia wrinkled her nose and raised her blaster. The distinctive warble of a stun blast echoed through the corridor; Han snarled and started forward, only to be stopped by Leia’s raised weapon and eyebrows. Beeeeep.“Cellblock five-three-nine-seven-C, this is Imperial Command. What has happened to your men? Please respond.”Han swore. “They’re coming, Princess. Let’s jet. Quick-like.”“...not enough time,” Leia murmured to herself. Then she looked up. “I’ll be sure to do that, sir.” Leia smiled brightly and stepped out of the cell. Han realized what she was about to do a split-second before she pressed the door close button.“Princess, that’s not a good idea—!”The door closed before her face like metal curtains.Han flung himself against the door, his yelling punctuated by the impact of his fists on the stubborn metal. “PRINCESS! LET — US — OUT!”Luke had already resigned himself to the bunk on the far wall. “It’s no use, Han,” he said. “We’re stuck here.”The muscles along Han’s jaw throbbed with fury, but his voice belied the fire in his eyes as he turned. “Your fault, kid.”“I didn’t know she would lock us in here!”“With women, expect the unexpected. FYI, I call dibs on the bed.”Luke shifted. “It’s not much more comfortable than the floor.”Han grunted in reply. A chorus of blasterfire rang outside the door, and he resigned himself to the fact that he would be getting no reward. * * * * * I wish I had made this more humorous, but I couldn't think of how to include more jokes whilst keeping the story some dignity, so this is it. Comments and criticism are appreciated, especially because this is the first time I've written fan-fiction prose comedy.
  12. So, is it?I know the topic of homosexuality has always been hotly debated on BZP whenever brought up, but I've checked the rules for Epics, Short Stories, Comedies, and even COT and none of them say it is against the rules to write a fanfic featuring homosexual characters or characters of the same sex kissing or anything like that.Now I figure, if it is allowed, it goes under the same rules as heterosexual romance (i.e. no graphic sex), but I need to know for sure what the BZP administration's stance on this is, 'cause I plan to post a story sometime featuring two characters of the same gender kissing and I need to know if that is allowed or not. The rules say nothing against it, but I just want to make sure there aren't any unwritten rules that forbid it for whatever reason.Not trying to ruffle anybody's feathers or anything. Simply looking for clarification so I don't get in trouble.-TNTOS-
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