The "No E" Challenge

@OuF4 said in #82:

A bright, warm morning unfolds as sunlight spills across a sprawling mountain plain. Birds soar on lofty drafts, calling in rhythmic chirps that stir a tranquil soul. A path of soft soil winds through tall grass, parting as a solitary man walks with calm, thoughtful rhythm. His boots tap soft on ground still moist from a night's passing mist. In his grasp, a walking stick taps occasionally on rocks, marking a slow but firm patrol. Hills roll far into a horizon, all lit in gold and shadow, with no sign of a town, road, or loud intrusion. Amid this isolation, his mind roams far, drifting into old thoughts — kin, goals, songs long sung by campfires. No rush, no alarm, only calm and bright stillness.

A brook flows to his right, its rhythm matching his own, gurgling with soft music born of rocks and roots. This land, full of flora, brims with harmony and clarity, lacking any harsh clangs or industrial sounds. A fox darts by, vanishing into brambly thickets. Wild blooms dot his path in a riot of vivid colors: bold lilac, soft pink, rich maroon. His nostrils catch a whiff of wood and wild mint, a natural balm for his spirit. Clouds form slow mosaics in a lofty sky, drifting without aim, forming shapes that morph with no warning.

Though solitary, this man finds no lack of company — for this land, in its raw and unshaped form, talks in ways that towns cannot. With this vast domain as his companion, his footfalls carry him on. No clocks, no maps, no strain. Just a walk, a world, and a soul at tranquil harmony.
BRO @OUF4 AND @yChessNotNow this made by chatgpt

I-I-I got this filling ya you know

@yChessNotNow said in #88:

bruh i did more
u us3d the forbidden letter though lol

@Army_Girl_2010 said in #93:

u us3d the forbidden letter though lol
howw? oh wait nvm

@PatzerPawn2016 said in #91:

nah

A boy, just past his 12, found his town oddly calm. Not a bird in flight. Not a car on a road. Dogs barked at nothing. A hum — low, strong, constant — rang out. It wasn’t from this world. It wasn’t from man.

With a stick in hand and his dog, a lanky mutt with a limp tail, trotting by, this boy ran to high ground: a hilltop past a barn, past corn rows long dry. Up top, sky was wrong. Not dark with cloud, but glowing. A vast ring spun, drifting low. A ship, black and round. Vast. Too vast for this land to hold.

No wind. No sound but that droning hum. Townfolk stood in yards, mouths ajar. Lamps flicking. Radios static. TV glass dark. Nothing ran, nothing buzzed. It was as if clocks had quit.

From that sky-giant, a flash. Bright, hot, and blinding. All folk ran. All but him. With a will built of wild thought and childish boldness, that boy stood his ground. His dog barked, but didn’t budg. A bolt of light shot from that ring. A pod, hurling to soil, trailing smoke, flaming air.

Crash.

Soil split. A gust blew back corn stalks. Loud. Hot. Final.

Boy ran — not away, but toward. Dog at his boot, tail high now. With arms up, with a grin not of joy, but of wild thrill, this boy found his way to that pit. Dirt still hot. Pods still hissing.

It was not just a ship. Not just a craft. It was a thing of light, of thought. Not born of atoms and bolts, but of logic, math, and dark magic. From it, forms slid out. Tall. Thin. Shifting. A torso, arms, no known limbs, no facial form. Not walking — drifting. Not talking — thinking loud.

In his mind, a sound: “You. Child. Born of soil. You walk paths most avoid.”

Boy stood still. His pup growled, low, cautious. That form’s glow brightened. A visor of light tilted down. A thought: “Your kind is young. Raw. But you saw our call.”

Boy said not a word. But his mind buzzed.

From afar, humans ran. With arms. With loud things. Trucks. Flashing rods. A call to war. Sirens. A roar from town’s south. Guards, with masks, with suits. Barking commands.

Boy put up his hand. “No,” his first word. “No war.”

Form spoke again, not with sound, but mind: “Your kind brings chaos. You bring calm.”

From that pod, tools sprang. Rods. Maps. Charts of stars. A scroll of paths long lost. Glowing dots, shifting symbols. In a flash, a map of worlds not known. A cosmic grid. A call to join.

Boy knelt. His dog sat. That form knelt too. A bond, a tryst, was born. Not of law. Not of flag. But of soul and truth.

Humans, now circling, found it odd. This boy, no gun, no suit, just calm. And that form — not attacking. Just standing, just pointing.

A loud man, in black, with a tool in hand, barked: “Kid, back off! Now!”

Boy stood. “It’s not war. It’s not harm. It’s a call.”

A flash. A glow. All humans froze. Not pain. A thought. A truth: this was not an invasion. It was a trial. A visit. A scan of a world full of growth and ruin.

From afar, loud sky-craft roared in. Hawks with wings of iron. Lasers warm. Guns cocking. But all lost in that glow. Tools shorted. Radios blank. A form said: “You trust tools. Not thought.”

Boy took a stand. “Talk. Don’t fight.”

That form stood tall. Pointing to sky. A rift was forming. Not a crack, but a door. A way out. A way far. A path to stars, to moons, to things no man saw.

Form: “Join us. Not for war. For truth. For knowing.”

Boy’s dog stood. Barking high. A nod from boy.

A man in black ran in. “This is a kid! You can’t!” But too late.

That glow took hold. Boy and dog lit up. Not burning. Not torn. Just light.

In town, a flash. A gasp. No boy. No dog.

Sky calm. Ring gone.

All tools ran again. Clocks ticked. Cars buzzed. Birds sang.

But that boy? Now a scout of stars. A soul in orbit. A mind in contact.

From that day, myths told of a kid who didn’t run. A kid who saw what was coming and stood tall. Not with arms, but with thought. A boy, now born again in light.

And far, past moons and gas clouds, a boy and his pup walk on stars. Asking, always asking: “What is truth?”
:) done!

@yChessNotNow said in #96:

A boy, just past his 12, found his town oddly calm. Not a bird in flight. Not a car on a road. Dogs barked at nothing. A hum — low, strong, constant — rang out. It wasn’t from this world. It wasn’t from man.

With a stick in hand and his dog, a lanky mutt with a limp tail, trotting by, this boy ran to high ground: a hilltop past a barn, past corn rows long dry. Up top, sky was wrong. Not dark with cloud, but glowing. A vast ring spun, drifting low. A ship, black and round. Vast. Too vast for this land to hold.

No wind. No sound but that droning hum. Townfolk stood in yards, mouths ajar. Lamps flicking. Radios static. TV glass dark. Nothing ran, nothing buzzed. It was as if clocks had quit.

From that sky-giant, a flash. Bright, hot, and blinding. All folk ran. All but him. With a will built of wild thought and childish boldness, that boy stood his ground. His dog barked, but didn’t budg. A bolt of light shot from that ring. A pod, hurling to soil, trailing smoke, flaming air.

Crash.

Soil split. A gust blew back corn stalks. Loud. Hot. Final.

Boy ran — not away, but toward. Dog at his boot, tail high now. With arms up, with a grin not of joy, but of wild thrill, this boy found his way to that pit. Dirt still hot. Pods still hissing.

It was not just a ship. Not just a craft. It was a thing of light, of thought. Not born of atoms and bolts, but of logic, math, and dark magic. From it, forms slid out. Tall. Thin. Shifting. A torso, arms, no known limbs, no facial form. Not walking — drifting. Not talking — thinking loud.

In his mind, a sound: “You. Child. Born of soil. You walk paths most avoid.”

Boy stood still. His pup growled, low, cautious. That form’s glow brightened. A visor of light tilted down. A thought: “Your kind is young. Raw. But you saw our call.”

Boy said not a word. But his mind buzzed.

From afar, humans ran. With arms. With loud things. Trucks. Flashing rods. A call to war. Sirens. A roar from town’s south. Guards, with masks, with suits. Barking commands.

Boy put up his hand. “No,” his first word. “No war.”

Form spoke again, not with sound, but mind: “Your kind brings chaos. You bring calm.”

From that pod, tools sprang. Rods. Maps. Charts of stars. A scroll of paths long lost. Glowing dots, shifting symbols. In a flash, a map of worlds not known. A cosmic grid. A call to join.

Boy knelt. His dog sat. That form knelt too. A bond, a tryst, was born. Not of law. Not of flag. But of soul and truth.

Humans, now circling, found it odd. This boy, no gun, no suit, just calm. And that form — not attacking. Just standing, just pointing.

A loud man, in black, with a tool in hand, barked: “Kid, back off! Now!”

Boy stood. “It’s not war. It’s not harm. It’s a call.”

A flash. A glow. All humans froze. Not pain. A thought. A truth: this was not an invasion. It was a trial. A visit. A scan of a world full of growth and ruin.

From afar, loud sky-craft roared in. Hawks with wings of iron. Lasers warm. Guns cocking. But all lost in that glow. Tools shorted. Radios blank. A form said: “You trust tools. Not thought.”

Boy took a stand. “Talk. Don’t fight.”

That form stood tall. Pointing to sky. A rift was forming. Not a crack, but a door. A way out. A way far. A path to stars, to moons, to things no man saw.

Form: “Join us. Not for war. For truth. For knowing.”

Boy’s dog stood. Barking high. A nod from boy.

A man in black ran in. “This is a kid! You can’t!” But too late.

That glow took hold. Boy and dog lit up. Not burning. Not torn. Just light.

In town, a flash. A gasp. No boy. No dog.

Sky calm. Ring gone.

All tools ran again. Clocks ticked. Cars buzzed. Birds sang.

But that boy? Now a scout of stars. A soul in orbit. A mind in contact.

From that day, myths told of a kid who didn’t run. A kid who saw what was coming and stood tall. Not with arms, but with thought. A boy, now born again in light.

And far, past moons and gas clouds, a boy and his pup walk on stars. Asking, always asking: “What is truth?”
:) done!
it's coming in bark*d

3v3ry ch3ss play3r lov3s Pin3apple.

Bro, all of da long posts I look at contain da l3tt3r in prohibition... only my fictional war story is void of da l3tt3r of prohibition

@Prayagraj-2013 said in #98:

3v3ry ch3ss play3r lov3s Pin3apple.
nah! I dislike it