The Miner Entry 1:July 9th 2012
Dear Journal,
My team and I have been hired to do some mining work for Mr.Kindling in town. That old coot is a little too mysterious for my taste, but work is work and he pays well. Secret sort of job, he ain't givin' us much information about what we're looking for; he wants us to excavate an old abandoned mine a few miles away from the outskirts of town. Sounds simple enough, wonder what he needs more ore for. That old bat is richer than the creator of Minebook. I'm not questioning him though, he's promised us our weight in diamonds if we find what he's looking for, whatever it is. Notch forbid we mess this up! I'm afraid I have to end my entry here, the sun is going down and I need to secure the house. Ain't no creepers gettin' in tonight!
-Graham Smith
Graham shut his journal and tucked it, hiding it in plain sight, in his bookshelf, drew back his desk chair and closed his front door. His brown hair was messy and unevenly cut and his chin was covered with unshaven stubble, he was wearing a wrinkled white t-shirt, a pair of grass-stained baggy jeans, a worn brown leather jacket, and a pair of laced up heavy duty work boots. After he made sure the windows and front and back doors were closed and locked, he walked into the kitchen and cooked a chicken over the fireplace. He ate slowly and went to bed soon after.
Graham woke up early, at about 6 AM, he took a quick shower and shaved the stubble he'd been harboring for days as he looked for work. After he splashed some water on his face he combed back his hair and pulled on a clean pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, his worn brown jacket, and his old pair of work boots. Spending a moment to gobble down a chunk of bread and grab his chipped and overused iron pick he hurried out the door. Today he would begin his work for Mr.Kindling and you don't keep men like him waiting.
Herobrine Entry 1: January 16 1985
I am aware I am changing, that lightning strike it did something to me. It was just a week ago, but it's the only thing I can think about. That and hunger and unending hunger, it is consuming me, controlling me. I-I woke up last night, with my sword in my hand- stained with blood- I don't know what I did, and I don't want to , all I know is that the accident is changing me, turning me into something no longer human. That night was unusually calm and I was returning up the tracks from my mine, I had hit gold ore but no diamond, as I grew closer to the surface I could hear the steady pounding of rain on the ground. I exited the mine, holding my pick over my head to block the rain a little, but know I think of how ignorant I was. My iron pick was an excellent conductor for the lightning. I saw a blinding light, then felt a burning, searing, never ending pain before I blacked out. I must go, it is becoming dark and I have decided it is best if I lock myself in my room during the night, so not to endanger anyone.
-Johnson Green
Johnson tucked his journal into a hidden pocket under his floor, no one must find it and no one must know what he was becoming, what he was. He nervously walked into his bedroom and shut himself in, locking the door and sliding the key under the door. He brushed his black hair away from his forehead and laid down on his bed, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Johnson stood up, his vision a red haze, yet he wasn't himself. His normally green eyes turned white, glowing, unnatural, white. He stood off the bed slowly, as if unsure, before rushing at the door, pure strength breaking it into thousands of tiny pieces. Yet the man walked ran out the door as if he had normally just opened it. He grabbed a sword off of a counter and broke through the front door, running into town. Johnson woke up in the morning with his sword in his hand, blood stained and the handle warm from his hands. He was laying on his bed, the journal on his chest, open to a page. The page from last night was gone, replaced with a scrawling writing in red ink, at least he thought it was ink, with the words.
Do not write of me, us, again. You are no longer in control I am the master and you will obey. I know you, I am you, I know all you know if you hide this or any other writing of this, us, I will not be so forgiving. -Herobrine
The Author Entry 1: June 13 2012
Dear Journal,
I write in haste, for time waits for no man and I am no exception. I have research to do and I must not tarry if I want to get some serious work done. I am researching the creation and the legend of Herobrine. The topic interests me, there are so many rumors that the truth has become buried in lies. But I am determined to find out the real answer about how he was created, or if he even exists, and I am sure I will find out the truth, I have always had a talent for sniffing it out. I am afraid that this entry is going to be cut a tad shorter than average, I am not going to put of my work any longer, if I do I'm afraid I will never get anywhere.
-Amethyst Roberts
I shut my journal quickly and set it on my desk, in my expansive library. I know I have some Herobrine legend books somewhere in here, if I can find it, I decide I better check the log but I don't know if I would have put it on there, I'm positive I have only logged an eighth of the books in total. I brush my long blond hair behind my ear and pull out a long scroll of parchment, moving down the list I sigh when I come to the end and still haven't found any mention of the name Herobrine. I tuck it away in a side drawer and stand up, positive I saw something move on the edge of my vision.
"Hello?" I call out loudly, only to look around and realize no one is there. "That's odd." I mutter but I shrug it off and head for the tall rolling ladder on the other side of the room, the only way to get to the higher shelves. Climbing up I slide along the shelves, checking titles as I slid by, when I found it halfway up the third shelf from the right. The Story of Herobrine I smile, perfect, then climb down with the book and walk over to a table to read. Sitting down I lay the book flat on the table and open to a picture of Herobrine, and I swear his white eyes flash red for just a second.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Miner Entry 2:July 10th, 2012
Dear Journal,
I'm back from my first day of work and my hands are raw and blistering, you ain't got any idea how much it hurts to write this. The morning went as planned, I met my team on Main Street and we walked to Mr.Kindling's house, 'cuse me, mansion, where he lent us a few beat up trucks he said he borrowed from a friend in town. Odd, didn't know men like him had friends. We drove using his map to the old mine and dug through the collapsed gravel at the entrance, I had Jim leave torches in a path so we could get back and we headed down into the darkness. The mine was what I would have expected at first, with a few caved in or flooded tunnels and some iron and coal near the surface. That's when it got strange, I was headin' first into a large looking cavern that cut through the tunnel, when our torches went out.
I looked back to Jim, when I realized, my team was gone. Now those men might be cheap lying weasels, but they're not ones to leave when there's money involved. I turned on my old headlamp, and I swear I saw a flash of white before the torches suddenly lit again. I turned around, looking for my team who must have relit them....no one. Now that was it I may not have gone to school but I ain't no idiot, and that's mines as haunted as...well I ain't never seen anything haunted.... But if I did it'd be haunted as that! 'Less it was a haunted hamburger.... bet I could handle that... Anyway I'm getting off topic. I got myself out of there fast as...well something fast! And there, at the mine entrance was my team. Looked dazed, the lot of them, askin' me how they got there, told 'em didn't have a bloody idea, more or less the truth. I have my own ideas 'bout what's going on, but there's no time for that now. I'm off to get rest, didn't want to go back but my team insisted, sayin' it was just gases in the mines and that we'd just avoid that cavern, told ya they might be spineless little quick talking thieves, but they ain't ones to leave from more or less easy money.
-Graham Smith
Graham closed his journal, took a deep breath and hid his journal in it's normal spot, before taking off his work boots and jacket and just going to bed in his clothes. His sleep was fitful, haunted with images of the sudden blackness and how now matter how much he raked his thoughts, he couldn't figure out what had happened in the time while he was walking back to the surface, he was sure he had walked there, but he could remember no details other than that. He had no memories of his walk back or wether he saw anything else mysterious on his way. This scared him more than he would care to admit, but Graham Smith wasn't one to show weakness.Graham woke up, started to put on a clean black t-shirt, and screamed.
Graham slowed his breathing and looked down at his chest, down from the top left of his chest almost to the belt of his pants was a long diagonal cut, it wasn't deep luckily, or Graham would have died in his sleep. If Graham had been a bit smarter he would have noticed the HB smeared in his dried blood under the cut, but since Graham had never been the sharpest tool in the shed he washed off all the blood, hastily bandaged the cut and pulled on another black shirt before hurrying off to the mine, to find his team already waiting impatiently, ready to begin another day's work.
Herobrine Entry 2: January 17 1985
I write again, though I fear my for my safety, and my life even, I fear worse my head will explode if I keep this all to myself. I have figured out that if I concentrate, I can push that other little voice in my head that's certainly not mine to a back part of my thoughts where I can't hear it anymore, and hopefully it won't be able to hear my thoughts and know about this journal...I worry what will happen if it finds out. I'm going to hide this well in hopes that if it can't see it it might not notice that I am still writing. Today I lost consciousness in the middle of the day, and woke up once again with my bloody sword in my hand. These black outs are getting more frequent and I'm losing control during the day instead of only at night when I fall asleep. I'm afraid to find out what I'm doing, even though I'm certain I'm not in control when whatever I've been doing happens. The hunger I feel threatens to swallow me up, and I'm even more terrified to find out what would happen if it did. I must cut off here, I fear that if I hold back that voice in my head for much longer I'll pass out from the effort and it'll take over again, Notch knows what would happen then.
-Johnson Green
Johnson used a hammer to pull the nails from one side of a loose floorboard mostly under his bed and shove the journal under it before using the hammer to nail it shut again, making sure there was no proof it'd been moved before locking his newly replaced door and collapsing into his bed, falling asleep and letting the little voice in his head take over once again, though it was doubtful Johnson would be in control at all for much longer.
His eyes snapped open, turning to unnatural white, and he rammed through the window this time, the shards of glass in his shoulder seeming not to bother him in the slightest. Pain was something for lesser things was what he had always thought, so he felt no pain. The man that was formerly Johnson walked down Main Street, wisps of light fog drifted through the air, muting the light from the lamp posts, and causing an altogether eery changing blue light down on the street, and the few people walking down it. His hand was hidden under his heavy coat, but as a man passed him by it darted out, and a scream pierced the quiet night.
He watched the man crumple, a diamond sword sticking out of his ribs, he bent down and for good measure twisted it a few times, when this brought no further sounds of pain from the man he nodded in apparent satisfaction, this man was nothing but prey, the first of a long night of hunting, perhaps for once the predator would quench his unending hunger.
The Author Entry 1: June 14 2012
Dear Journal,
I'm afraid that after scouring the three books on Herobrine in my library that I've found nothing but three different stories. I've not yet given up but I must admit I'm extremely discouraged. After comparing all three of the stories the only details that were the same is he was a miner, and a murderer but everyone
should know that, you don't get a reputation like his without a few murders tossed in for good measure. I've checked the library in town but the only books on Herobrine I found were picture books meant to scare little kids into behaving. I stayed up late last night rereading and comparing all of the books, I heard some rustling in the back room, I'm planning to check for mice after I write this. Maybe in the back room I'll find some other Herobrine texts, the books back there are older than me, though at my age of 20 most of the books in my library are, them being my father's before mine. I figure those old books would have the most accurate information on Herobrine since he hasn't been active for a thousand years, atleast that's what I've heard. I must cut off here, more rustling in the back room, I fear there are mice chewing the old books.
-Amethyst Roberts
I shut my journal and tuck it away in its normal locked drawer before pushing away from my desk and standing up, yawning as I push in my chair. Another loud rustling comes form the direction of the back room as I stretch before turning to walk towards the back room, not excited by the prospect of mice and open the heavy wooden door, coughing as dust flies up. Shooing the dust away I step inside, and gasp. What happened?!
On the floor a large leather book cover is splayed, the front and back of the cover still attached, but the pages were gone. Crouching down I brush some dust of the cover and read the faded letters, A complete Encyclopedia to Minecraftia's Legends and Myths. I let out a sigh, guessing I could have found useful information in it, standing up I look at the rest of the floor not taken up by crates and books, small pieces of paper with neat precise writing litter the floor, I'm guessing from the book who's empty cover is on the floor. I sigh again and turn around, letting out another gasp, on the floor arranged in various fonts, are letters cut out from books. I read it slowly, wondering how I didn't notice it on my way into the back room. "You best not be sticking your nose where it doesn't belong." the letters spell out, but it's the picture underneath that scares me. It's an extremely detailed drawing of Herobrine, glowing white eyes and all, a diamond sword clutched in his hand. I pick up the whole mess, the thought not even crossing my mind to wonder who put it there.
Nice storywriting there, do you want it on Minefic? I'll ask my Pre-Readers to judge if your story's great, though I'll need your permission to put it there. Oh, and you gotta use the format. PM me the format and then we'll decide if it's good, though I think it's nice.
Nice storywriting there, do you want it on Minefic? I'll ask my Pre-Readers to judge if your story's great, though I'll need your permission to put it there. Oh, and you gotta use the format. PM me the format and then we'll decide if it's good, though I think it's nice.
Thanks!And sure! (question on the format what does it mean by status?xD I'm kind of new to this.)
anyone think I should email this to my friend? xD I'm not sure because she's super critical of everything I do xD except for poetry which for some reason she thinks I'm epic at O_o
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
The Doctor + Rose = <3 I'm a Whovian to the end <3
sorry I've been at camp and I'm going to a new school so I've been in a lot of confusion and kind of forgot about this...I promise it won't fall under disrepair again I'll be posting new entries every week at least maybe more. Thanks for reading!
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
The Doctor + Rose = <3 I'm a Whovian to the end <3
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Dear Journal,
My team and I have been hired to do some mining work for Mr.Kindling in town. That old coot is a little too mysterious for my taste, but work is work and he pays well. Secret sort of job, he ain't givin' us much information about what we're looking for; he wants us to excavate an old abandoned mine a few miles away from the outskirts of town. Sounds simple enough, wonder what he needs more ore for. That old bat is richer than the creator of Minebook. I'm not questioning him though, he's promised us our weight in diamonds if we find what he's looking for, whatever it is. Notch forbid we mess this up! I'm afraid I have to end my entry here, the sun is going down and I need to secure the house. Ain't no creepers gettin' in tonight!
-Graham Smith
Graham shut his journal and tucked it, hiding it in plain sight, in his bookshelf, drew back his desk chair and closed his front door. His brown hair was messy and unevenly cut and his chin was covered with unshaven stubble, he was wearing a wrinkled white t-shirt, a pair of grass-stained baggy jeans, a worn brown leather jacket, and a pair of laced up heavy duty work boots. After he made sure the windows and front and back doors were closed and locked, he walked into the kitchen and cooked a chicken over the fireplace. He ate slowly and went to bed soon after.
Graham woke up early, at about 6 AM, he took a quick shower and shaved the stubble he'd been harboring for days as he looked for work. After he splashed some water on his face he combed back his hair and pulled on a clean pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, his worn brown jacket, and his old pair of work boots. Spending a moment to gobble down a chunk of bread and grab his chipped and overused iron pick he hurried out the door. Today he would begin his work for Mr.Kindling and you don't keep men like him waiting.
Herobrine Entry 1: January 16 1985
I am aware I am changing, that lightning strike it did something to me. It was just a week ago, but it's the only thing I can think about. That and hunger and unending hunger, it is consuming me, controlling me. I-I woke up last night, with my sword in my hand- stained with blood- I don't know what I did, and I don't want to , all I know is that the accident is changing me, turning me into something no longer human. That night was unusually calm and I was returning up the tracks from my mine, I had hit gold ore but no diamond, as I grew closer to the surface I could hear the steady pounding of rain on the ground. I exited the mine, holding my pick over my head to block the rain a little, but know I think of how ignorant I was. My iron pick was an excellent conductor for the lightning. I saw a blinding light, then felt a burning, searing, never ending pain before I blacked out. I must go, it is becoming dark and I have decided it is best if I lock myself in my room during the night, so not to endanger anyone.
-Johnson Green
Johnson tucked his journal into a hidden pocket under his floor, no one must find it and no one must know what he was becoming, what he was. He nervously walked into his bedroom and shut himself in, locking the door and sliding the key under the door. He brushed his black hair away from his forehead and laid down on his bed, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Johnson stood up, his vision a red haze, yet he wasn't himself. His normally green eyes turned white, glowing, unnatural, white. He stood off the bed slowly, as if unsure, before rushing at the door, pure strength breaking it into thousands of tiny pieces. Yet the man walked ran out the door as if he had normally just opened it. He grabbed a sword off of a counter and broke through the front door, running into town. Johnson woke up in the morning with his sword in his hand, blood stained and the handle warm from his hands. He was laying on his bed, the journal on his chest, open to a page. The page from last night was gone, replaced with a scrawling writing in red ink, at least he thought it was ink, with the words.
Do not write of me, us, again. You are no longer in control I am the master and you will obey. I know you, I am you, I know all you know if you hide this or any other writing of this, us, I will not be so forgiving.
-Herobrine
The Author Entry 1: June 13 2012
Dear Journal,
I write in haste, for time waits for no man and I am no exception. I have research to do and I must not tarry if I want to get some serious work done. I am researching the creation and the legend of Herobrine. The topic interests me, there are so many rumors that the truth has become buried in lies. But I am determined to find out the real answer about how he was created, or if he even exists, and I am sure I will find out the truth, I have always had a talent for sniffing it out. I am afraid that this entry is going to be cut a tad shorter than average, I am not going to put of my work any longer, if I do I'm afraid I will never get anywhere.
-Amethyst Roberts
I shut my journal quickly and set it on my desk, in my expansive library. I know I have some Herobrine legend books somewhere in here, if I can find it, I decide I better check the log but I don't know if I would have put it on there, I'm positive I have only logged an eighth of the books in total. I brush my long blond hair behind my ear and pull out a long scroll of parchment, moving down the list I sigh when I come to the end and still haven't found any mention of the name Herobrine. I tuck it away in a side drawer and stand up, positive I saw something move on the edge of my vision.
"Hello?" I call out loudly, only to look around and realize no one is there. "That's odd." I mutter but I shrug it off and head for the tall rolling ladder on the other side of the room, the only way to get to the higher shelves. Climbing up I slide along the shelves, checking titles as I slid by, when I found it halfway up the third shelf from the right. The Story of Herobrine I smile, perfect, then climb down with the book and walk over to a table to read. Sitting down I lay the book flat on the table and open to a picture of Herobrine, and I swear his white eyes flash red for just a second.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Miner Entry 2:July 10th, 2012
Dear Journal,
I'm back from my first day of work and my hands are raw and blistering, you ain't got any idea how much it hurts to write this. The morning went as planned, I met my team on Main Street and we walked to Mr.Kindling's house, 'cuse me, mansion, where he lent us a few beat up trucks he said he borrowed from a friend in town. Odd, didn't know men like him had friends. We drove using his map to the old mine and dug through the collapsed gravel at the entrance, I had Jim leave torches in a path so we could get back and we headed down into the darkness. The mine was what I would have expected at first, with a few caved in or flooded tunnels and some iron and coal near the surface. That's when it got strange, I was headin' first into a large looking cavern that cut through the tunnel, when our torches went out.
I looked back to Jim, when I realized, my team was gone. Now those men might be cheap lying weasels, but they're not ones to leave when there's money involved. I turned on my old headlamp, and I swear I saw a flash of white before the torches suddenly lit again. I turned around, looking for my team who must have relit them....no one. Now that was it I may not have gone to school but I ain't no idiot, and that's mines as haunted as...well I ain't never seen anything haunted.... But if I did it'd be haunted as that! 'Less it was a haunted hamburger.... bet I could handle that... Anyway I'm getting off topic. I got myself out of there fast as...well something fast! And there, at the mine entrance was my team. Looked dazed, the lot of them, askin' me how they got there, told 'em didn't have a bloody idea, more or less the truth. I have my own ideas 'bout what's going on, but there's no time for that now. I'm off to get rest, didn't want to go back but my team insisted, sayin' it was just gases in the mines and that we'd just avoid that cavern, told ya they might be spineless little quick talking thieves, but they ain't ones to leave from more or less easy money.
-Graham Smith
Graham closed his journal, took a deep breath and hid his journal in it's normal spot, before taking off his work boots and jacket and just going to bed in his clothes. His sleep was fitful, haunted with images of the sudden blackness and how now matter how much he raked his thoughts, he couldn't figure out what had happened in the time while he was walking back to the surface, he was sure he had walked there, but he could remember no details other than that. He had no memories of his walk back or wether he saw anything else mysterious on his way. This scared him more than he would care to admit, but Graham Smith wasn't one to show weakness.Graham woke up, started to put on a clean black t-shirt, and screamed.
Graham slowed his breathing and looked down at his chest, down from the top left of his chest almost to the belt of his pants was a long diagonal cut, it wasn't deep luckily, or Graham would have died in his sleep. If Graham had been a bit smarter he would have noticed the HB smeared in his dried blood under the cut, but since Graham had never been the sharpest tool in the shed he washed off all the blood, hastily bandaged the cut and pulled on another black shirt before hurrying off to the mine, to find his team already waiting impatiently, ready to begin another day's work.
Herobrine Entry 2: January 17 1985
I write again, though I fear my for my safety, and my life even, I fear worse my head will explode if I keep this all to myself. I have figured out that if I concentrate, I can push that other little voice in my head that's certainly not mine to a back part of my thoughts where I can't hear it anymore, and hopefully it won't be able to hear my thoughts and know about this journal...I worry what will happen if it finds out. I'm going to hide this well in hopes that if it can't see it it might not notice that I am still writing. Today I lost consciousness in the middle of the day, and woke up once again with my bloody sword in my hand. These black outs are getting more frequent and I'm losing control during the day instead of only at night when I fall asleep. I'm afraid to find out what I'm doing, even though I'm certain I'm not in control when whatever I've been doing happens. The hunger I feel threatens to swallow me up, and I'm even more terrified to find out what would happen if it did. I must cut off here, I fear that if I hold back that voice in my head for much longer I'll pass out from the effort and it'll take over again, Notch knows what would happen then.
-Johnson Green
Johnson used a hammer to pull the nails from one side of a loose floorboard mostly under his bed and shove the journal under it before using the hammer to nail it shut again, making sure there was no proof it'd been moved before locking his newly replaced door and collapsing into his bed, falling asleep and letting the little voice in his head take over once again, though it was doubtful Johnson would be in control at all for much longer.
His eyes snapped open, turning to unnatural white, and he rammed through the window this time, the shards of glass in his shoulder seeming not to bother him in the slightest. Pain was something for lesser things was what he had always thought, so he felt no pain. The man that was formerly Johnson walked down Main Street, wisps of light fog drifted through the air, muting the light from the lamp posts, and causing an altogether eery changing blue light down on the street, and the few people walking down it. His hand was hidden under his heavy coat, but as a man passed him by it darted out, and a scream pierced the quiet night.
He watched the man crumple, a diamond sword sticking out of his ribs, he bent down and for good measure twisted it a few times, when this brought no further sounds of pain from the man he nodded in apparent satisfaction, this man was nothing but prey, the first of a long night of hunting, perhaps for once the predator would quench his unending hunger.
The Author Entry 1: June 14 2012
Dear Journal,
I'm afraid that after scouring the three books on Herobrine in my library that I've found nothing but three different stories. I've not yet given up but I must admit I'm extremely discouraged. After comparing all three of the stories the only details that were the same is he was a miner, and a murderer but everyone
should know that, you don't get a reputation like his without a few murders tossed in for good measure. I've checked the library in town but the only books on Herobrine I found were picture books meant to scare little kids into behaving. I stayed up late last night rereading and comparing all of the books, I heard some rustling in the back room, I'm planning to check for mice after I write this. Maybe in the back room I'll find some other Herobrine texts, the books back there are older than me, though at my age of 20 most of the books in my library are, them being my father's before mine. I figure those old books would have the most accurate information on Herobrine since he hasn't been active for a thousand years, atleast that's what I've heard. I must cut off here, more rustling in the back room, I fear there are mice chewing the old books.
-Amethyst Roberts
I shut my journal and tuck it away in its normal locked drawer before pushing away from my desk and standing up, yawning as I push in my chair. Another loud rustling comes form the direction of the back room as I stretch before turning to walk towards the back room, not excited by the prospect of mice and open the heavy wooden door, coughing as dust flies up. Shooing the dust away I step inside, and gasp. What happened?!
On the floor a large leather book cover is splayed, the front and back of the cover still attached, but the pages were gone. Crouching down I brush some dust of the cover and read the faded letters, A complete Encyclopedia to Minecraftia's Legends and Myths. I let out a sigh, guessing I could have found useful information in it, standing up I look at the rest of the floor not taken up by crates and books, small pieces of paper with neat precise writing litter the floor, I'm guessing from the book who's empty cover is on the floor. I sigh again and turn around, letting out another gasp, on the floor arranged in various fonts, are letters cut out from books. I read it slowly, wondering how I didn't notice it on my way into the back room. "You best not be sticking your nose where it doesn't belong." the letters spell out, but it's the picture underneath that scares me. It's an extremely detailed drawing of Herobrine, glowing white eyes and all, a diamond sword clutched in his hand. I pick up the whole mess, the thought not even crossing my mind to wonder who put it there.
Thanks!And sure! (question on the format what does it mean by status?xD I'm kind of new to this.)
xD
Story Name, Author, Description and Status. Yeah, just PM me with all that (Story Name and Author must have their respective links).
Ok got it!I know the format but what's status? xD
If it's In Progress, Complete, On Hold or Unfinished. I'm guessing it's In Progress?
Yeah, definitely in progress xD and thanks for telling me.