Anyway, welcome to the ROBLOX Bookwriters club! This is essentially the site for the ROBLOX group, bookwriters club. Since we all know that ROBLOX's filter can be fairly strict, to the point where you have to use fancy wording to tell your readers the age of your characters, we made this to free our bookwriting capabilities. Message me, and I can run through your book for filtered words, then post it on the forums!
Roblox Destruction; Roblox is getting destoryed,Roblox will stand in the way to save roblox!
Tweet Topic Started: Jun 14 2012, 12:42 AM (203 Views)
This is part of the compettion if it's still on,If not,I wanna do this still :3 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 1:Roblox HQ
"Look at the IP's so we know who's hacking!" Shouted ROBLOX to the whole team. Everyone got on there desk and started searching.Everyone was mad and choas was happening in the mean time.They all can blame hackers,they already know some people who did it,well groups.First they thought it was 1x1x1x1... ---------------------------------------------- Sorry I have to go and I will add more.
Current Books: Roblox Destruction,Infection,The Demon Child,⌂Grondus⌂ Main Book:"Academy Curzio" Which is Dedicated to "Ouran High School Host Club"
like the idea, add more, im not quite sure yet, but i do love dystopian and post apoctalyptic books sao if you steer twords there ill vote 4 u!! ( well, unless i enter.....)
There's a great book, but you should also have the "true" not what the admins say story of 1x1x1x1 who really was a admin who was hacked.
Spoiler: click to toggle
I see the player you mean. Knightmare? Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts. That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game. I like this player. It played well. It did not give up. It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen. That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game. Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen. They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons. What did this player dream? This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed, it created. And it dreamed, it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter. Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen? It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled]. It cannot read that thought. No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game. Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind? Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes. But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality. To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere. Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear. It reads our thoughts. Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream. And yet they play the game. But it would be so easy to tell them... Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living. I will not tell the player how to live. The player is growing restless. I will tell the player a story. But not the truth. No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance. Give it a body, again. Yes. Player... Use its name. Knightmare. Player of games. Good. Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things. Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change. We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a player. The player was you, Knightmare. Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away. Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience. Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story. Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third. Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen. Let's go back. The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body. And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream. And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love. You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love. Let's go further back. The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by... Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons". Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars". Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen. You are the player, reading words... Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive You. You. You are alive. and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream and the universe said I love you and the universe said you have played the game well and the universe said everything you need is within you and the universe said you are stronger than you know and the universe said you are the daylight and the universe said you are the night and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you and the universe said the light you seek is within you and the universe said you are not alone and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code and the universe said I love you because you are love. And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love. You are the player. Wake up
Thanks for all the good replies! I will add more later on today!Contuining, Part 2/2 page 1 ------------------------------------------------ "Shedletsky,go set the team that are going to the war,I will give reinforcements. " Roblox Shouted. Roblox was thinking of story writer's because they make stuff and they might hack it to be true.He also thought a writer's group has the best imagination and they are the best searchers.He went on his computer to write "Book" he saw Bookwriters so he pmed cyberzodai.He asked for help and for some investigatory's. MEAN WHILE.... ------------------------------------------------------------------ I was on a mission of solving who killed Mario.I got a pm appear all of a sudden,I knew it would be another case.I was writing how to change who killed Mario into a story and stuff.I read the message and it was a message for help.I ran to my car and drove to ROBLOX HQ.I was wondering what I would be doing in ROBLOX HQ.I saw roblox ordering the admins to do this and that.Sooner or later,I saw other BookWriter member's come.I helicopters all over the air.I knew it,hacker's are ruining roblox!This is a Robloxain Destruction!I remember when I was at Who killed Mario!I saw this person,acting strangely and my hacking device beeped.I thought it was lying since it was glitched for a long time.I realised I whoozed off and paid more attention. "I want some of your man going to fight some of the creatures the hackers have made." ROBLOX told Cyberzodai.I was a great swordsmen but I would like to give them a taste of my sword...I was part of a superhero squad as well. "zZThunderStorm,go with them." Cyberzodai instructed me. This was great,going all great and perfectly.
Page 1 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hoped you enjoyed!I just so freaked out in mid way while watching this scary movie which gave me the scares XD CyberZodai continued calling people to join the war.I was in the armoury getting all the scrolls ready and connecting them to my big katana.I called my katana Ubalish,it can never break and if it does,it will multiply.It was big and blue and it also sucks energy from the enemy.CyberZodai finished calling out the war people's name.Not all were like ready as I was,I walked and went to see the people looking who's the hacker.I was trying to remember that person's name because he could of been the hacker.I couldn't remember sadly..I told one of the admins to check all of the hackers if they are all ip banned or if they managed to hack out..I was shocked,all of the hacker's weren't IP banned any more! "Ummm,ROBLOX I suggested one thing to know who's the hacker..Seems like all the hackers ROBLOX IP banned are un-banned."I said. "WHAT!!!!THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!"ROBLOX shouted loudly. "The will hack all the ROBLOXain's in ROBLOXai!"Roblox shouted again but louder. "I want you to be a sqaud captain,you hold the great Ubalish,now go and tell them to hurry up."ROBLOX said. "Yes ROBLOX" I said calmly. I was upset..The hacker's just have to kill a robloxain while they are defenceless.I went to the armoury room seeing them half packed.This is impossible..Half packed in a matter of a hour?I was waiting there,until they would finish packing.
Can I be in the story as toticool a new story writer with lots of skills to change story's?
Spoiler: click to toggle
I see the player you mean. Knightmare? Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts. That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game. I like this player. It played well. It did not give up. It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen. That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game. Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen. They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons. What did this player dream? This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed, it created. And it dreamed, it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter. Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen? It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled]. It cannot read that thought. No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game. Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind? Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes. But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality. To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere. Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear. It reads our thoughts. Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream. And yet they play the game. But it would be so easy to tell them... Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living. I will not tell the player how to live. The player is growing restless. I will tell the player a story. But not the truth. No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance. Give it a body, again. Yes. Player... Use its name. Knightmare. Player of games. Good. Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things. Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change. We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a player. The player was you, Knightmare. Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away. Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience. Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story. Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third. Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen. Let's go back. The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body. And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream. And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love. You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love. Let's go further back. The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by... Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons". Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars". Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen. You are the player, reading words... Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive You. You. You are alive. and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream and the universe said I love you and the universe said you have played the game well and the universe said everything you need is within you and the universe said you are stronger than you know and the universe said you are the daylight and the universe said you are the night and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you and the universe said the light you seek is within you and the universe said you are not alone and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code and the universe said I love you because you are love. And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love. You are the player. Wake up
I'll make you someone who can summon monsters and stuff ----------------------------------------------------------------- I was sitting on a brown chair,I don't understand why they made it so rough? It felt like spikes going up your back. I stood up and looked at the chair. I wrote in my note book,"ROBLOX HQ has brown rough chair's that feel like spikes"I walked down the armoury seeing dark black machine gun's filled with bullets,next I saw Uzi's with a lighter black this time. I saw someone with ginger hair with dark blue eye's and a white shirt. I saw him packing some scrolls,but no weapons.What can scrolls do to help?Just to make a paper bomb or what?Should I talk to him? ____________________________________________________________________________ Gtg sorry DX
I like the story and all, But i think that you maybe should not have it as roblox, instead some other computer game that you made up, and dont use admins names. Make it your own.
I am Snipe15..... First admin for BookWriters..... I have been writing books for about 5 years of my life and am very accomplished. I am a controller of most things on this website (Just to let you know, I dont mess around) You don't break the rules on the forum, you don't get in trouble... SO DON'T MESS WITH ME, and you will love me! My current books are I am writing right now are Dissipate(Book 1 in a trilogy called The Outbreakers), Ice wing, and The Accent. I am working on getting all of them published and am very close with Dissipate and Ice Wing.
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)