The Creation game !

[Timemaster]

As the name says players will need to create story. How? Easy. A person (me right now) will give a setting(a space ship,an Inn etc), an genre (romance, thriller etc) and the person bellow him will have to write a minimum of a paragraph with the specified conditions. After he writes he has to give the conditions to the person bellow and he/she/zir has to continue the story. To not create chaos, I'll write the first conditions and the first paragraph.

Example : Setting- A crowded inn, Genre-medieval horror

The inn was full of the usual patrons. A barwench was giving beers to them when a scream was heard. Everyone started looking around to see what happened when a robed man entered the inn with a scrowl on his face.

The person bellow will have to continue the example. Good luck and have fun.

[Kalleth]

The inn was full of the usual patrons. A barwench was giving beers to them when a scream was heard. Everyone started looking around to see what happened when a robed man entered the inn with a scrowl on his face.

The beast, a thing from a world unknown to you or I, was given the name scrowl due to its uncommonly similar appearance to the native Scampering Owl of the [/i]Fotestae Uller[/i] genus. The scream came from a woman who had spotted the scrowl on this robed man first, and for good reason, as it appeared that the scrowl had bound itself to this robed man's face!

A flash of lightning followed by a boom of thunder echoed his entrance into the crowded tavern, and the tension rose as the robed man drew himself up into a proud, almost superior stance, his half-scrowl, half-human face peered from person to person, before catching the eye of the bartender who had been vigorously scrubbing bloodied battleaxes up to this point. The two locked eyes, and the scrowl-plagued man stalked up to the bar, took a fellow patron's drink, hooted softly, and then set the drink back down on the bar. In a deep, booming, squawk, he proclaimed,

"I... am SCROWL-MAN!"

*Cue Scrowlman's Theme-song*

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Setting; The City of Motham, beginning in the Lie-Down Larvae Inn and Tavern

Genre; Dark edgy comic from the 90's

[ArenaSnow]

Man, this has too much brains. Come on, dumb it down a lot little.

I'm here to wayhuewr6syhioe5ay3eaoiy634okt5eraglkeranhgsrewatgrsgvlxzfcnbvsteatwkegsGjbwsmreszrihbgksMRFjsdkkv sxgjverbate, not play yo inn gaem.

[TwelveOf8]

Motham, a city of a thousand stories. Hardly any of em have happy endings. The ones that do though, always end with the protagonist riding off into the sunset. Leaving this sinkhole of humanity in the dust. the stories of Motham city usually end with the protagonist disappearing into the grimy urban decay of the city, losing oneself to the amoral meat grinder it's streets. As for myself, let's just say that there ain't no happy ending comin my way. For you see, like many of the poor saps that call this putrid cesspit home, I'm stuck here. Nobody goes to Motham city on their own accord. Make enough bad decisions in life and you'll just plumb wash up here, like an unwanted piece of flotsam. Crime and drugs run rampant in this city, and we've seen more than out fair share of wannabe super villains tryin to make a name for themselves. But who can blame em, what else is there to do in a city like this? Work? Be an honest hard working citizen? Yeah, that'll be the day.

The Lie-Down Larvae Inn and Tavern was as ugly and as uncharismatic as the name suggested. Whenever you got a room at this rundown joint, you always had to share it with some slimy and unwanted guests. I ain't talkin about the various drug dealers and meth addicted hookers that frequented the establishment but those of the insect variety. But who gave a damn anyway? People only stayed here to get high on meth. It was basically a crack den. No money to be had in the upkeep of the place if it was gonna be trashed anyway. Truly it was a reflection of heart and soul or Motham city. But truth be told, I've slept in worse places.

The tavern wasn't much better but not somthin to write home about neither. Just a typical dive bar in a rough part of town. Cheesy neon lights and country music blared over loud random shouts of vulgarity usually coupled with the smashing of a bottle followed by dull thuds and shouts of pain. It was exactly how you would imagine a dive bar to be. Such a charming ambiance for the truly discerning of people. But it was here that I, The Scrowler, awaited a private investigator to give me the info I payed good money for. The info on the douchebag who was out to steal my identity.

Who the fuck was the Scrowl-Man guy anyway? Only I was allowed to have the word scrowl be a part of my vigilante identity. If this motherfucker is gonna act the fool and mess with my rep then imma go mess with his teeth. But first things first, this apple margarita ain't gonna finish itself.

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Setting; On board the international space station.

Genre; Slapstick comedy