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Post by James on Jun 17, 2012 20:56:30 GMT -5
250 words. That's what the AWR Project is all about, making sure you write 250 words a day, every day. But what happens if you don't have a story to help you meet that target? And none of the challenges seem to be tickling your fancy. Well, you've just come to the right spot.
The Co-Op story is a story that anyone can add to. However you can only post exactly 250 words. And then you have to stop and let the next person take over. What will the collective mind of AWR come up with? Let's see. Anyone can start us off and anyone can jump in. All I ask is that you post a little post saying <reserved> so that people know the next bit is being written. However, if the <reserved> isn't edited for two hours, then feel free to make your own reserved post and take over.
Get writing, AWR.
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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Jun 18, 2012 5:31:16 GMT -5
A strong wind blew through the canopy of the thick forest; bringing with it a cold, damp and worrisome future. It was a promise of a storm, a winter storm. For the small group of wanders marching through the undergrowth below, it was a nasty prospect to get caught in such weather. Already they were covered in muddy filth and wore haggard and starved faces, their bodies sapped of any heat that their black cloaks could provide them.
The group was made up of two men, one woman and a small young child; desperate circumstances had thrown them together. At the head of the group was the tallest; a broad shouldered and bear of a man with a thick red beard. He was barrelled chested with large muscular arms that held up a storm lantern in his left, his right kept ready at his hip, a powder pistol clutched in it. He was the groups guide through the tangled growth of ferns and branches, his bulky body easily brushing aside any obstacle.
Behind him was a woman, with a mane of wild red hair and as powerfully built as the man before her, it wouldn’t be surprising to guess them as twins. But where the man was stocky and bearish, the woman could be seen as more like a mountain lion; lither and with a look of cunning pride. She held in her hands a long rifle, a bandolier of shots and powder haphazardly thrown over her shoulder.
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Post by Injin on Jun 18, 2012 20:01:53 GMT -5
Not far behind the woman, was the other man, who unlike those who lead him to this dark and balmy forest, had platinum blonde hair, and a dreary frown that belied what he had gone through to get here. The machete on his back looked rarely used, and the blunderbuss he kept in his left hand as he walked seemed the opposite, almost to the point of rusting. His left ear was missing, severed and gone. He kept looking back at the child to his side, with a worried look that spoke paragraphs about his relationship with the child. The child on the other hand, looked with an odd smile ahead at the duo in front of the blonde man, watching his step as he stepped over roots. His hair was a dirtier, mixed blonde, which would darken as he aged, as many mixed blonde’s do. That is, if they could get to safety before the storm hit. The child, despite his bright disposition, had scars all over his face, a testament to his past as a slave.
The group powered over a large hill, keeping closer together now that the storm began brewing. The first drops on rain began to pitter and patter onto the ground as they continued to look for shelter. The cold was already worsening as they found a rock outcropping, with an old, but well maintained fire pit that lay dormant, awaiting the fire that once brought it life to return to it once more.
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Post by James on Jun 20, 2012 6:04:26 GMT -5
“Boy,” the red-haired man barked, gesturing with a long, thick finger at the child. “Get underneath that overhanging rock; it should keep you dry enough if the winds stay true.”
The child scurried up the wet, muddy ground, climbing over several smaller rocks before crouching in the spot that the man had pointed to. His legs moved as quickly as possible, wanting to prove that he wasn’t dead weight. And if that meant following orders to stay out of the way that would have to do for now. He could show the adults his skills at another time. A far drier time, he thought ruefully as he watched the rain drops splash against the puddles, which were already forming.
“Keeping him dry isn’t enough, Rowe,” the woman said, turning to face her brother.
“What have I said before, Cate? We can’t risk a fire, they’ll spot us from a mile away,” Rowe replied, shoving his pistol into her hand as he lowered the lantern onto ground; its light was protected by the stony face of another rock. “Go. Get under the outcropping with the boy. The last thing we need is for both of us to come down with an illness. Make sure the damned weapons stay as dry as possible. I don’t want it jamming on me tomorrow.”
Cate opened her mouth for a moment, her tongue moving upwards, before her lips slammed shut. There was no point arguing with her brother once he had his mind made up.
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Woeful
Scribe
Nothing witty here
Posts: 206
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Post by Woeful on Jun 21, 2012 15:13:30 GMT -5
Cate instead went about making the camp more survivable. She knew the cold ground was the true enemy this night. The ground could sap her dead while slept. Her cloak couldn't provide enough protection, she needed a hand's width of tree limbs to ensure another night. Fortunately a storm had knocked down a few pine limbs close by and a pile of partially dry pine needles were not far to the left. Careful to escape the close scrutiny of her brother, she left to relieve herself and brought back the limbs and as many of the pine needles has her tunic could carry.
“You always were soft, woman.” Rowe grunted. “You’re lucky you weren’t spotted." Rowe dried off his powder pistol. “I’m going to scout around see if I can find us anything to eat. Cate, keep tending to the boy. Joaquin, slip down the hill and see if you find us a few more of those limbs.”
Cate shook her head slightly as she arranged a sleeping mat. “Come here boy, lay upon me. Git your feet and hands dry before a bite takes hold.” When the boy’s hands moved higher to find dryer and warmer spots, she warned, “keep your hands where they be if you know what’s good. I ain’t anyone’s woman.”
“Joaquin, keep the first watch.” Rowe growled as he returned. “Eyes on that dark spot yonder.” Rowe nodded. “It’s where the road to the south ought to be.”
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