David Schofield

Ehh, I was just trying to create a meaningful short. I wasn't up for writing when I made it, and it was a simple parody of false prophets and Jesus (The guy that shoots the prophet is supposed to be Jesus reincarnated).

David Schofield

I feel like this thread belongs to me :(

Why does no one else post?


well it's probably because you seem to be more suited to creating short stories than creating RP's, which everyone else does.


i believe in ghost to be honest i am scaded to go loo by my own.i want to be a writer some day. i make a ghost story but i bet i will only get 2/10 max is call old town i such a bad writer.:(:tumble:


There was old town name it was very strong and poverfull and the member of the town is strong and strict but they were kind and gentel but mystirialy when stranger come to tat town they always disaper like they just vanish into thin air but there was a rumor of the town they say the town was formaly a graveyard tat say is hanted by great ghost they believe the town leader ship make a deal with the graveyard ghost and the ghost the feal angry when stranger went into town so they pull the stranger in to hell.Now the town is silence.
There was a great war it was so bloody tat around 1milion cleaner take 1000 day to clean it funy the cleaner alway disaper when the sleep over headquater but cleaner who go home never disaper so the "the westen star: copany go to interview the place they put camerear at the head quater and they sleap over tat night they went missing also but the boss cant find the camerer so they suspect is the gh0ost don not want to be disturb so they told the bosss of the cleaner to stop asking cleaner to clean the mess they say the ghost want to be left alone now the earth is still red.....
Note:Myself and Lord Regal discussed this and decided it would be a nice idea.

This thread was made for writing Stories, not involving Role-Playing, so you can express your imagination.This thread will be locked if Spam,Flaming & other things come to it's pages.Rules are below.

The Rules
Rule 1: No sexual or offensive language.
Rule 2: No Trolling or Flaming or thread will be locked.
Rule 3: Do not spam ex. "fail" "0/10".
Rule 4: Rate fairly, and give your reason for it and read thoroughly.
Rule 5: Do not go off-topic, keep to the topic.
Rule 6:No Religion Bashing in stories, to keep the arguments out.

Do not spam thing like "0/10 fail" "10/10 Gr8", state the reason the level you rated the Story or it will be considered Spam.


why this call spam?
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Lord Regal

Well-Known Member
A couple of things here. First off I'm giving both of the above stories a 3/10 and let me expain why. You have the creepy feelings as expressed through down, but your stories lack plot. You need to elaborate more on details...for example in the first story where is the town located in the world? What does this "stranger" look like? Why do they believe the mayor made a deal with the ghosts? How did the townspeople drag the stranger down to hell? You need to at least outline these things to make the story truly intriguing. Also, (and I'm not trying to bash you here, simply offer advice) take the time to properly spell your words and use proper grammar. It's frustrating as a reader to have to work through both spelling and grammar errors while trying to read a story. It only takes an extra minute to ensure that your story is easier to read in that respect. Think of it as the handwriting of typing. Anyway, if you work on those details I think you'll do a lot better as a writer.

Now, in answer to your question, if you mean the whole 0/10 fail being counted as spam, it isn't informative as to why. I explained above why I rated your stories as I did, wheras if I said "good, but lacking stuff" that wouldn't help you at all. The rest of the spam, flaming, off topic...that seems fairly self explanitory.


well sorry. i am just 12 yrs old and my spelling i bad i dont like my parent to know i am typing strory so i never ask them. and the first Q.i am not related to anywhere but i am saying the west game.2Q.the stanger mean is like visiyor or people who want to come relexe like holiday or ivestigater.3Q is just a story u can say anything in a story anyway is just a rumor so i no need to tell u why.4Qi never say the town people drage the people to hell i meent the ghost drag them to hell .5Q. u want my best story u got to wait until my mum dont let me play computer then i have time to type just weait until school start.ok?


2/10 of course your english isn't very good, and i found it actually quite difficult to read. i think you should try to use shorter sentences, and improve your spelling, try using a spellcheck, it should help with punctuation and spelling.


well sory i forget is hard to read small word i like the short word next time try to make biger and also i will see if any spelling mistake after i finish writing

David Schofield

Bob Winter's Mexican Standoff.

This is a short article about an old cow-poke named Bob Winter, who, six shooter at his side, managed to defeat the Marshal Daniel Marston of New Douglas, Nebraska, in 1873. Bob used an 1869 model S&W American in .44 American, while Daniel Marston used a brand new Colt Single Action Army, chambered for the .45 Long Colt cartridge. From information collected from the spectators of the New Douglas shoot out between the two men, we've managed to put together this story to satisfy and entice the community on the amazing allure of Western culture, and the lawlessness that failed to retain the ways of old rebels. This is how it all played out.

As you stand in the same street where blood was spilt, approx. twenty years ago now, you get a decent feeling of how the times were back in time then. One can imagine it simply as, how the hot wind of the August day swept through the dusty street, blowing a lone tumbleweed down the road as two horsemen rode along side it. One man was the Marshal, carrying a freshly delivered new sidearm that could make even a grown man wince. The other, was a close enemy, Bob Winter. "Bob was a good for nothing drunk," said one of the witnesses to the shootout, Alman Kirby, "he'd beat his wife every morning, we could hear screams from the other rooms. He'd always deny it, and say he and her were trying for a child, but lord knows that man wasn't right. He'd never been."

The two men didn't ride together out of finess, nor a healthy spirit together. Marshal Marston was wanting to bring Bob in on charges; vandalism, robbery, and domestic assault. As Alman put it, "Bob was more stubborn than the offspring of a mule."

At 11:21, Marshal Marston gave Bob a final warning, quoth Bob, "If you don't lay down your gun and come in on these charges, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you in by force." Bob wasn't a fan of threats, and Marston's words signaled danger. He just stepped down from his horse, and pulled out a nice cigar, lighting it up as he eyed the marshal. "I told the marshal," said Bob, "If you want to take me in by force, then have at it, boy."

Another witness to the situation, Mary Blacksdale, said this; "If we'd have made bets on Marshal or Bob coming out alive, not that we'd bet this on a mans life, but we saw the odds on Bob's side. Marshal had the power and authority, not to mention that nice new shooter of his, but he didn't have Bob's instinct. I don't reckon he had any instinct."

And so, Marshal Marston, too, stepped down from his horse, and gave Bob a tough look in the eye. Bob quoted Marston, "You dare pull your pistol on me, son, I'll gun you down like there's no tomorrow."

Then it began. Some folk claimed that the stand down lasted thirty minutes, others a mere twelve seconds. Regardless, it happened a little like this.

Bob did draw his gun on Marshal, he didn't have a face to kill, but as Nash Williams put it, "he looked hurt," we asked him to elaborate, "say your wife just told you she wouldn't have your baby. That kinda' hurt." And so, that is the face we see Bob with as he holds his Smith and Wesson on the Marshal.

As we all know, the Marshal wouldn't stand for having a gun trained on himself. "He drew his gun like lightning!" said Alman. "I'd figured he'd shot a man before with that look, and he'd had the hammer back just as quick as Bob has his, but he didn't take a shot, he tried to talk him down."

Bob said, "You plan on taking me in, Marshal, you'll have to carry me, because I didn't do nothin' wrong." And from Marshal, "Bob, I'll shoot you where you stand if you hold that gun on me a second longer."

Marshal's words were lost, as the standoff continued past a simple second. Though Marshal, too, was the first to fire. "When I saw his wrist flicker with that gun, I figured Bob'd be out of luck," Mary said. "It had a dud in the cylinder."

As Mary said, the gun didn't go off. The Primer had been missed, the hammer was cut short by a piece of metal that had chipped off and sat, blocking the path of the hammer by mistake, keeping it from firing. "As much as Bob knew, he'd been dead," Nash said. And so, Bob took his shot. The bullet lodged itself in Marshal Marston's lower intestine, and "the marshal just sat there, looking up at Bob as if he'd been his God of some sort."

Bob stared Marshal down as he died, and he went ahead and turned in his pistol, and walked into a Jail cell on his own accord later that night. Charges were never pressed, and his wife did turn up to dispute the charges against him. Several of the spectators acted in defense of Bob; "He were just defendin' himself," Nash said. "Ain't no one thing wrong with defendin' yourself."

And so, Bob got away with murder.


well sorry. i am just 12 yrs old and my spelling i bad i dont like my parent to know i am typing strory so i never ask them. and the first Q.i am not related to anywhere but i am saying the west game.2Q.the stanger mean is like visiyor or people who want to come relexe like holiday or ivestigater.3Q is just a story u can say anything in a story anyway is just a rumor so i no need to tell u why.4Qi never say the town people drage the people to hell i meent the ghost drag them to hell .5Q. u want my best story u got to wait until my mum dont let me play computer then i have time to type just weait until school start.ok?

I myself am 12. Do not consider yourself inferior when matched in spelling or grammar against older people. Consider yourself better, since you can partly match someones grammar who is 3 or 4 years older than yourself.

@Davids Story: 6/10 Well written and very descriptive, but one flaw I found is that there is no indication of the Marshal & Bobs relationship being bad or good before you write the showdown. If you had written a brief flash of the history between the two I would of rated the story 8/10.

My own story will be edited in after dinner.
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well ok are u a female.

PS:tell me if i am breaking any rules

Lord Regal

Well-Known Member
Ok, a reminder to people to please not go off topic here. Masterofwar's post is within the rules as it is a response to Siewkin's explanation. However, Siewkin's response to that post is moving into the off topic area, and therefore should have been conveyed as a PM. In answer to your question Siewkin, Masterofwar is a boy, and if you want to know if you're breaking rules by a post, please PM me with a question rather than post then throw in a "am I breaking the rules?" post script. It just streamlines the process for everyone that way.


Masterofwar is a boy
You're giving out private information :huh:

A chapter from a book I'm writing called Run Away the chapter is called You only live once.

You Only Live Once
It all began six months ago a week before my birthday. I returned home from school, and as usual was doing my homework before dinner, but that dinner never came, ever. The usual sounds of the countryside were sounding. Birds singing, cattle mooing, dogs barking and everything you can think of. The wind breezing through the leafs and branches of trees. The sun glaring down upon the Earth, as if it was trying to cook us for a meal. It was a normal summer day up to the 7 PM. I had just finished my homework, and was about to help my mother prepare dinner, when I heard them. They were trying to be silent and stealthy, but the grass was dry enough to emmit a sound loud enough for my ears to register it. See, my ears are very sensitive.
When I was younger, I was extremely good at Hide & Seek, especially the seeking part. I was brought to the doctor for him to analysis my ears and to give a reason to why my hearing is so good. He said that one sense will increase if another sense decreases. I had always known that my nose wasn’t working right with smells, since people around me can smell things that I can’t. So, back to the story at home.
I went to the front door, and was about to open the door, when I froze. My eyes had widened with surprise and fear so quickly, that I was frightened before I knew what I was frightened of, but it quickly hit me. My father hadn’t been a very good worker, but how come he had a Porsche? He was a burglar. Not any ordinary one. A very well known & wanted burglar, known as Wolf. Ever since he told me his nickname was Wolf, I wanted to be called Rex after my grandfathers sheep dog. After I told him that, he used to joke around calling me Rex and calling me like a dog, but the rest can be told later. A SWAT badge was on the right forearm of the man beside the hedge. He saw me, and the rest of his team or squad, I never know which, saw me. I turned around, and ran. I yelled at the top of my voice, to warn Dad and Mam. As the SWAT officers closed in on the front door, I could hear my father rushing down the stairs. He said quickly to me “I’m going to call you Rex from now on, OK?” I replied with a nod. My father said to me “Rex, I want you to have my Magnum” and with those words he tossed me his Magnum revolver. He told me to run, to get away from the house, to get out of America, to go to Ireland. And I never saw my father again, but I’m doing exactly what he told me, get out of America, but he never told me, that I’m going to be chased all over America by the SWAT, CIA & FBI all at the same time. My father had told me one time, you only live once, and I’m keeping to that motto, which is making me be careful about what I do. You only live once...



Very well written, and extremely descriptive. I felt during the time I read it, it had more description than a few books I've read.


The two-headed skeleton

"Where are you,Mion" I shouted. "Right here.Aaaaah!"Then i look infront of me i saw nothing except the sky.I felt i am faling and i scream "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!"Sorry I forgot to tell who am I. I am a just a normal boy living in a vilage in a deserted island near america.The chief ask my friend is calle Mion to go gatter skystones.Oops i forgot my name is gionfg. Skystone can magicaly protect our vilage from beats , sikness and evil sprits.

We starded to pack our food and tent because is going to take 1and a halve day to finish the job.When we started our jouney is aready evining.And we starded walking i feal someone push us so i asked my friend did he push me he say no.So,after for a while my friend sundenly disaper so shouted to him "Where are you,Mion" I shouted. "Right here.Aaaaah!"Then i look infront of me i saw nothing except the sky.I felt i am faling and i scream "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!" I was falling toward the earth.

Sundenly,I shot out of bed!When i open infront of me i saw two header skeleton it look like a alien because it 2headed is 5x the xized as the body.When the skeletonf floate towad me that was my last straw,i fainted.

i hope i can get more than 3/10
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5/10 the spelling and grammar is still an issue but i could follow the story well enough, though i am not to sure how the 2 headed skeleton figures in the story

Ok here is something i have written under the working name of "The Children of the Revolution" its set in a fictional country and will probably later develope into steampunk. enjoy

Dazzled by the bright sun they dragged me out. I had been in prison now for what seemed an eternity and now they were going to execute me. Before me stood the guillotine, the headless bodies of my fellow conspirators were being loaded onto a nearby cart, my final resting place to be on unholy ground, a traitor’s burial. A cabbage explodes on my shoulder, all around me the shouting, screaming masses cry out for my blood, ungrateful sods I did this all for you! And this is how you repay me. Do not blame them Heinrich they are sheep, stupidly following whoever would lead them never mind the fact that you fed them, fought for them and will now shortly die for them. How did this all start? How did I come to be here, dragged across the cobbled streets toward the guillotine, held up by two guards my emaciated form to weak to make the short walk by itself, well I’ll tell you how it all started…

The boy ran down the darkened alley, the tin of paint in his hands spilling down his front as he ran. Stopping in front of the wall he quickly starts to paint the slogan, a weeks pay for a minutes work. “You boy stay where you are!” the boy runs, the tin of paint falls to the floor with a clang spilling contents across the cobbled road. The guard chases the boy for all of a minute before giving up, the boy was gone he shouldn’t have shouted quite so early that much was clear. Gazing up at the wall the guard stared in silent horror at the letters written upon the wall in red paint, times were changing that much was clear and he didn’t like the way they were going. Turning his back on the wall he walked away, but the slogan was already etched in his mind:


I had been sat within the plush seating of the gentleman’s club for about an hour; the smoky surrounds and the brandy made me feel at ease for the task that lay ahead of me, for these were the enemy of the people of that there was no doubt, fops and oppressors the lot them, drinking brandy and smoking cigars whilst outside on the cold streets the masses starved soon the time would come to destroy them all but not tonight though the time was getting nearer.
A young lady no doubt one of the many “Escorts” that walked this “Fine” establishment in search of a wealthy client sat before me, a smile on her painted face. “Is this seat taken kind sir?” I smiled at the blonde beauty that sat before me, blue eyes looking deep into mine, blood red lips spread into a smile to reveal bright white teeth, betraying her wealth and success in this game “No not all…perhaps I can interest you in a drink?” clicking my fingers imperiously I waited for one of the many black coated waiters to arrive “I’d like another glass of brandy and a drink for my lady friend here” ordering a glass of Chablis she sat down in the vacant seat and we started to talk the usual nonsense you say to a pretty lady, I told her that my name was Heinrich Reinhardt, True and that I was a wealthy merchant from Sunno which was a lie of course but a believable one. I had just learnt that her name was Rachel and that she was staying in a room here (no surprise’s there) when in walked my target, one Lord Archibald Meltor along with his entourage, friends, fellow politicians and two bodyguards pretending to be politicians their thuggish nature betraying their true calling. I watched as the pompous ass entered one of the private rooms, a harangued waiter rushing off to find the finest wine available for his new guests. “If you would excuse me for a few minutes there’s someone I need to talk to” rising from my chair I walked across the thick red carpet of club, tying the small black mask across my eyes as I went. Upon reaching the door I pulled the silk scarf up from around my neck to cover my nose and mouth, Taking a deep breath I opened the door taking two steps into the room I pulled the flintlock pistol from within my plain brown coat and aimed it at the back of his lordships head, I pulled the trigger blowing his brain across the card table in front of him, the fool never saw what hit him. The bodyguards rose from their seats eager to make up for their failure to protect, hands reaching with coats for their own weapons. Pulling the second pistol from my coat I backed out of the room, the bodyguards realising that they’d been bested sat back down. Thrusting the weapons back into my pocket I ran, behind me someone screamed “Stop him! He’s an assassin!” a waiter fell to the floor the drinks in his hands crashing to floor as I roughly barged him out of the way. In the corner Rachael stared at me in horror her red lips dropping in shock at the realisation that only moments before we had been sat talking together, she’d deny all knowledge it was safer that way.
Before me stood the two large mahogany doors that led out onto the dark cobbled streets of Praven. A porter no doubt blinded with visions of being a hero stepped in front of me only to be brought down by a swift right hook, I could feel the crunching of bone as I broke his nose. Kicking open the doors I was out and the streets they’d never catch me now a shout of “There he is get him!” alerted me to the guards presence turning right I ran my pursuers close on my tail.


For siewkin 3/10. The creation of the story wasn't even near good enough. You didn't have any hooks to keep me reading, but I kept going only because I wanted to see if I could reply.

For braetwalda, 6/10 Your grammar is good, but not brilliant. I enjoyed the story, and your descriptions were very nicely made, but the story just wasn't for me.