Chapter 1: Mound Of Hostages
This thread has become the Twilight Zone in and of itself!
I'm a little reticent to begin a new thread, because I am new here, but since this is post 25 for me, and I can now send/receive visitor messages and insert a signature . . . maybe I can step out a little now?
What if I was to start a new story . . . everyone bounces the story in different directions, based on what just happened.
I have been wandering around many threads here, but not speaking on too many of them. The Who Cares About Northern Ireland thread, the Who Were The Celts thread, the 2000 Year Old Coins Being Dug Up thread, and finally, the Migration from Specific Parts Of Ireland thread, all point me in one direction . . . Unity, Druids, Celts, Magic, and 10,000 BC to 10,000 AD.
One thing I will do is ask a lot of questions to myself while the story is moving along. People take the cues and chime in with more questions, answers or guiding talk, and the story moves along. In other words . . . we . . . are me . . . Oh, and anyone who wants to become a character and add to the story is quite welcome.
There is one caveat: I like to include at least 6 senses in my writing, so expect a lot of sight and sound; there will be a healthy smattering of music, video, links to other sites . . . a plethora . . . no . . . a myriad of links and embeds!
pickerooney, Old Goat, Gordon, Jeff Lebowski and Insect Overlord need to give me the OK for this project, as MegaLinking sets off alarms, it seems. I wouldn't want to be a gimp, create a scene, and start something that wasn't allowed!
The story begins as I stand on top of The Mound Of The Hostages in Tara, wondering whether The Father Of Ireland, Donn, will give me back my Aston Martin Rapide, as I need it to go to see my friend Steve, in Canada. This is where Donn originally stole it from me. It's really foggy out, and I really can't see much, so I begin wandering around a little. I can hear the hum of the M3 in the distance. My feet are getting a little bogged down, so I'm getting quite the booter right now, making me feel a little icky. Out of the fog wanders a man. No way . . . not _____ . . . he's dead!
TZ's dead, baby, TZed's Ded. Long live TZ!
Is anyone into it?