Although her dress was not fitted, it caressed her delicate frame as she walked towards the small party. A drunkard interupted her path. Her dark blonde tresses lept over her face at this abrupt stop. From behind the curtain of tangles an amused grin was evident.

The elf, more specifically, Baelvar, decided that this behaviour was inherent to ill-raised humans... a particularly small human, at that. Despite this misleading feature, he could conclude that she was NOT elven. She was far too tall for that. His mind eased at the conclusion that he was not aligned with this silly creature.

The fastidious elf put his glass down squarely in front of him, and turned to survey the room. Indeed, every table was empty, and the only patron was one old man, making his way to the door.

"You! Sir, stop please." The command in Elhored's voice worked, the old man stopped and slowly turned to face the elf.

And here it is: the Interactive Story section, where you can participate in the writing and help guide the story along. All short stories here are begun by one person, but any registered user can participate in the process once it has started. Feel free to add a page or start your own!

Read, enjo

The following day Dante was ready to leave the medical aide and begin his torturious venture to find Dark Shie. He wasn't sure the first place to look but knew he would find her and when he did, her death would be more than a wink away. The first stop Dante makes is at the tavern, he enters the tavern and takes a glance around, looking over towards the bar tender, he approaches him. "Good day sir, last night, do you remember anything out of the ordinary happening?" Dante squinted with the pain he still felt, he could not ignore it but tried his best.

Dante took in a deep breathe of the sulfurous air and coughed as he did so. The young elf's lungs burned and screamed for air, but he could not allow it at the moment. The burning creature before him barred his way through the door that would allow him out and to freedom. Were it not defeated it would surely hunt him down. The thin blonde haired man unsheathed his long sword and glared at the mass of burning flames and hatred. He had never before come across such a thing, but he couldn't let fear stop him this time, not when he was so close. Bursting into a run, Dante Solidarus pushed himself forward into a burst of speed, feinting left and then stabbing his sword deep into the creatures chest, praying that it would meet its mark and destroy the evil before him.

The night was clear; the Moon was full and high overhead. On the shores of the sea, the comforting smells of drying kelp and salt filled the cooling night air. A perfect time for Shaughna and her friends to gather together, shed their seal skins and enjoy the feel of human legs as they spun and twirled in the warm sand. Unfortunately, none of them paid much attention to the unknown ship that was laid to anchor several miles away…

Forward: This is not a "fan-fic" per se. It's set in the "Matrix" setting, but it involves only original characters and mentions only original characters; This is a repost of a thread posted in the "Coppertops" forum at Into the Matrix
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Chapter 1: An uneventful Day

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Sarah Miler is a coppertop. Unbeknownst to her, especially in her still grim state after the death (or apparent death) of her older brother. She's about to see her older brother once again. She lives in Chicago Illinois, the Windy city. Crime, poverty, riches and commerce. She works for a hospital, her training as a nurse just ended two months ago. Sarah Miler works third shift and it's mid-morning.

Chapter 1

A lone figure sits on the rocky side of a small hill overlooking a wooded valley. It is the middle of the night, that darkest hour when spirits are said to be about; the full moon gives only feeble, murky illumination though heavy clouds.

Looking up, he wonders, perhaps for the first time, "Who am I? How did I get here?" His clothing registers a battle; he is dwarven, of the hill clans. Nothing more is forthcoming.

A party of adventurers walks into a bar.

Cass yanked a chair from the nearest empty table and straddled it, gazing around the room in disdain. "Not the classiest place you could have brought us, El," she sneered. One leg, clad in black leather not designed to hide its shapeliness, began to jiggle impatiently as she looked for someone from whom she could order ale. Her appearance screamed 'Look at me!', from the black curls that hung halfway down her back, to the cleavage she thrust out before her, to the gleaming sword slung casually from her hip - everything proclaimed she was something to be reckoned with.