# ENW Short Story Smackdown Summer 07 (Winner Announced)



## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 5, 2007)

*ENWorld Short Story Smackdown (formerly known as Ceramic DM) Summer 07*

*Round 1 Matchups*
1. awayfarer vs tadk _awayfarer advances_
2. yangnome vs Toras _yangnome advances_
3. FickleGM vs Cevalic _FickleGM advances_
4. questing gm vs freeXenon _FreeXenon advances_
5. Hellefire vs Trench _Trench advances_
6. EP vs Avatar V  _Avatar V advances_

*Round 2 Matchups*
1.  awayfarer vs Avatar V - Avatar V advances, 2-1
2.  yangnome vs Hellefire - yangnome advances by default
3.  FickleGM vs FreeXenon - FickleGM advances, 2-0
4.  Trench vs Cevalic -- Trench advances by default

*Round 3 Matchups - *

1.  yangnome vs. Trench _Trench advances_
2.  FickleGM vs Avatar V _Avatar V advances_

*Final*

Trench vs Avatar V -- _Judgement Posted_

If you have a change request, speak up. We try to be accomodating of time zone differences, etc.

Just to summarize the rules:

* First round is 3 pictures, no word limit. Take it easy on the judges though and try not to write the Great (insert country here) Novel.

* Stories are due 72 hours from the actual post time. Don't cut it too close. If the boards are unavailable, you can email the story to jckline at gmail dot com. The time I receive the email is the official time of submission.

* Absolutely no editing of your story once it is posted in this thread. There are ways to test post outside of this thread if you want to check formatting. Formatting, BTW, doesn't count, so long as its readable. Please indicate picture use by putting (Picture 3) or something in the relevant paragraph. It helps the judges be certain of intent.

* Creativity, grammar, spelling and picture use all count, although different judges may weigh them differently. The only real no-no is using a picture as a picture (eg, Dave was startled when he saw the picture of the monster on the wall). 

* No reading your opponent's story until after you post yours. Honor system, people.

* For this round, the winner of each matchup advances. The best two of the losing entries (as determined by the judges) will also advance.

*Hints from Herremann:*

*Picture as a Picture.*
This is the classic no-no. For example, when you have a painting, and one of the characters steps into the room and "sees a painting of several fairies", then you have not really dealt with the topic of the picture. In short you've lost a whole stack of opportunities to take your story in some fantastic direction. Don't be nervous about taking a risk.

*Picture as a Waypoint*
This is normally considered suitable use but personally, it is one of the uses that I find annoying. This is where the interaction with the picture lasts little more than a sentence before the action moves on to something more interesting. Almost like the picture was included and referred to because you "had to include it". Sometimes, you'll get a picture that is impossible to deal with any other way and that's cool, just as long as the other picture's are doing something.

*Picture Element Interpreted as a Theme*
This is where you focus on a particular aspect of the picture (for example if you had two creatures enslaved in a jar being tormented by a kid). You might take the dominion theme and have it mean something important in your story - perhaps never referring to the exact picture. This use is a very difficult one to pull off but it is accepted. Sometimes, for a picture to fit, it cannot be interpreted literally. You have been warned though, when somebody tries this and it fails, it looks REALLY bad (as if you had not used the picture at all).

*Picture an Intrinsic Part of the Story*
This is what we hope you will do with all the images in some fantastic way that nobody would have thought of. This generally happens when you take certain elements of a picture and lead up to them, way before the picture is actually used; or when a character in one of these images is the dominant character and the image is the pivotal moment in the story. Or perhaps, somebody sees something in the picture and extends upon it in the most dramatic way, giving added meaning to both the image and the story. To me, this is the holy grail of picture use.


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## Hellefire (Jul 5, 2007)

*Hellefire's Comment Section/Pseudo-judgements*

As I have done in the past, I am going to do my best to comment on all stories (though obviously this will have to wait until I get my story in for rounds I am in). I do this because I think comments and critiques help writers, and that different perspectives let them see how others view their stories. I also post my own thoughts on how I think judgement would go based on my personal impressions. As history shows, I am about 50-50 on these, so my thoughts don't necessarily reflect the judges opinions.

May the creation begin.

Aaron

My choice and feedback posted for Round 1, all Matches. Note this has nothing to do with actual judging, just my thoughts and critiques.

For competitors and Spectators only! Judges, please don't read until you finish judging each round!

Forgot to add, for public consumption - 

Hellefire's Path of Destruction:
Victim 1: Hellefire (near death experience)
Victim 2: yangnome
Victim 3: Waiting to be announced
Victim 4: Waiting to be announced

[sblock]Results:

Round 1:

Hellefire's Insight: 4/7 (5/8 if you count the given match, but I wont) (57.14%)

Competitors(Scores/25): My Judgement/Judges Judgement:
awayfarer(18) vs takd(16.2): awayfarer(3-0)/*awayfarer(2-1)*
yangnome(16.3) vs. Toras(16.3): Toras(2-1)/*yangnome(3-0)*
FickleGM(19.8) vs. Cevalic(21): Cevalic(2-1)/*FickleGM(2-1)*
questinggm(0) vs. freeXenox(16): freeXenox(3-0)/*freeXenox(3-0)*
Hellefire(20.8) vs. Trench(20.5): Hellefire(2-1)/*Trench(2-1)*
EP (20.2) vs. Avatar V (22.5): Avatar V(2-1)/*Avatar V(3-0)*

My pics for Second Chance for Round 2/Judges pics:
Cevalic/*Cevalic*
Hellefire/*Hellefire*

My favorite story/ies for round 1: Avatar V, closely followed by Cevalic, Trench and EP

Round 2:

Hellefire's Insight: 0/0 (100%!)

Competitors(Scores/25): My Judgement/Judges Judgement:
awayfarer vs AvatarV: awaiting stories
yangnome vs. Hellefire: awaiting stories
FickleGM vs. freeXenox: awaiting stories
Trench vs. Cevalic: awaiting stories

My favorite story/ies for round 2: awaiting stories

Comments:

Round 2:

awayfarer vs AvatarV - my pic: awaiting stories

yangnome vs. Hellefire - my pic: awaiting stories

FickleGM vs. freeXenox - my pic: awaiting stories

Trench vs. Cevalic - my pic: awaiting stories

Round 1:

awayfarer vs. tadk - my pic: awayfarer (3-0)

Comments - awayfarer:
Technical Writing(8/10):
No obvious spelling or punctuation mistakes jumped out at me. In the first paragraph the tense jumped from past to present (where it stayed through the rest of the story). Most stories are told in the past tense - I have no problems with using the present tense, but switching without obvious reason is bad.
Creative Writing(7/10):
The elements of the story were tied together, and I did find myself drawn into the story and anticipating events. Good adjective use. The angel hanging up her wings when she uses the bathroom was great. On the downside, some parts seemed forced (such as the unbeatable case suddenly worth nothing, then just as suddenly made invincible again by a couple of minor corrections) and some parts seemed incomplete. Agnes is mentioned a couple times but doesn't play much of a role. I would have liked more explanation of Jim's telepathy, and a bit more about the 'magic 8-ball box'. It seemed a bit unbelievable to me that a judge would be using the same restroom as the lawyers, or that he would be so openly biased, so directly to them. I could picture a good vs. evil scenario, which I think you were getting at, but a few more details would have been nice. The ending was great - I like evil winning stories, and I like 'use your imagination' endings, and that was a great combination of both. I was a little (pleasantly) surprised at the end, and that pumps up your score a point .
Picture Use(7/10):
Courtroom (7/10) - Pivotal location in story, and beginning scene. It is used well for that, though it would have been nice to have a more active use of the picture, or using more elements of it. Good description of the key figures.
The Box (6/10) - Central character in the story, and a decently imaginative one. There was a lot more about the picture that struck me, though it may or may not have fit into the story well - the dropped ball, the ball on top, the buttons and dials on front. Again, I would have liked a bit more about the Box.
Angel (8/10) - Central character in the story, and well written. I especially liked how you descibed her with the same look she has in the drawing. Her actions and purpose all lead up to that look, and that is excellent. I like the rainbow socks too .
Total: 1/2(8) + 7 + 7 = 4 + 7 + 7 = 18/25

Comments - tadk:
Technical Writing(7/10):
There are a couple typos, and 'nestle' used in two adjacent sentences (one active, one passive). The style of the writing makes rating technicality difficult - it took a couple readings to get used to it. I decided I like it, but there are some places where different tenses and punctuation would have been not only grammatically correct, but also easier to read.
Creative Writing(6/10):
The central idea I liked a lot, and the ending was superb. Part of the reason I was surprised at the use of the box was that not much led up to it. The idea of the angel being where she was, and her purpose, were well described. While I liked the basic idea a lot, I would have liked it filled out more - the story seems a bit, skeletal, I guess.
Picture Use(6.7/10):
Courtroom (6/10) - Story led to this location, and it was certainly an important location to the story, but it was not used more than as a reference.
Box (6/10) - As with the courtroom, this was a major part of the story, but was only used for a reference.
Angel (8/10) - Central character in the story. The picture is very good, but only of one subject, and this subject was covered as well as could be expected (nice description of the wings).
Total: 1/2(7) + 6 + 6.7 = 3.5 + 6 + 6.7 = 16.2/25

Comments - Combined:
It was hard to compare the two stories because they were vastly different styles. I liked both of them for what they were - great ideas and both endings. I would have liked more detail for both, especially tadk's. i think tadk had a great base, but needed to flesh it out more. I think awayfarer had some interesting ideas, but some seemed forced. In the end, I go with awayfarer for more detail and (a bit) more readability.

yangnome vs. Toras - my pic: Toras (2-1)

Comments - yangnome:
Technical Writing(6/10):
Only one typo jumped out at me, though there were other grammatical mistakes. For example, the wings of angels are a metaphor, or are metaphorical, not 'are a methaphorical'. The major problem I had though was jumping back and forth from the past tense to the present tense. It would make sense if the story started in the past then went to the present at a given moment and stayed there, and/or if there was past tense added later during moments of memory, but there did not seem to be any order to how the tenses were working.
Creative Writing(6/10):
The story hooked me in the beginning, and that was great. It was interesting and funny. It lost a lot in the middle and the end because there were references to certain culture/works (the Bible) that I didn't 'get.' I have read some of and know some of the stories from the Bible, but not most of the story of Lot. Some of your references may have been great if I knew that story, but I don't so I was lost a lot. What is an S&G mission by the way? (Save & Grab? Sht's n Grins? Just this second figured that one out - Sadom and Gammora (sp?)) Repeated comments about being raped/not being raped were a bit uncomfortable for me, partly because I didn't know if you were being figurative or literal (again, this may have to do with the background story I don't know). I have a large problem with people writing stories based on other people's stories. I let this one slide because the Bible can be considered part of popular culture, but I still don't like it much (same for refering to other people's poetry, films, or other creative work).
Picture Use(7.3/10):
Being/Castle(9/10): Opening scene and main character. Many elements of the picture were used and some played a part in the story. The sea of gold looks blue in the picture, but a liberal interpretation is ok.
Woman/Pet(6/10): Central character in the story (woman), but picture has many other elements (pet/horse/location) which are not used or just 'dropped'. Picture was only used as a reference but nothing specific.
Dog(7/10): Central character. Picture was led up to, and there was a reason for him wearing sunglasses. Seemed a little forced, though honestly I don't know what more you could do with that picture.
Total: 1/2(6) + 6 + 7.3 = 3 + 6 + 7.3 = 16.3/25

Comments - Toras:
Technical Writing(4/10):
I'm just going to stick to the technical details here, which are not your strong suit. Besides jumping from present to past tense and back through-out the story in no apparent pattern, you also jump from first to third person. Some words should be hyphenated and aren't (white-eyed, for example). There are also places where word-use is, well, off (white-eyed stare, not stair; pull off, not pull of; flowing pirate shirt, not following pirate shirt; servant daemons, not servant daemon's). They distract from the story, but not enough to make it unreadable. Spelling is ok.
Creative Writing(7/10):
I enjoyed the premise of the story a great deal. It was a little difficult to follow in spots, but this was partly due to technical errors (see above). I like stories/adventures in a pseudo-ShadowRun/Matrix type of world, though I consider stories based on such a world a little bit opportunistic (meaning that anything can be made in the graphics of the net, which makes picture use easier than if you were trying to model 'reality'.) I feel the same way about stories using dreams ('the dragon on the Harley was all just a dream'). I don't deduct points for it, but it doesn't present as much of a challenge. As for the story itself, I found it interesting, and liked the ending. It seemed a bit rushed near the end.
Picture Use(7.3/10):
Woman/Pet(8/10): Supporting character and first interaction scene. This pic is not how I envision the Matrix/Net to look, though who knows. I think this picture does not lend itself to the scenario. On the other hand, you did a good job of describing different elements of the picture and that helped a lot.
Dog(7/10): Supporting character. Not much you can do with this picture. Was led up to, though only briefly.
Being/Castle(7/10): Central character and ending scene. Character not used at all, only refered to at the end. Story led to this place and this characer, but not much was used, descriptively, to lead to this, or used afterwards. There were a couple decent descriptions of the picture itself, and I can imagine the Matrix/Net looking like this, so it lends itself to the genre.
Total: 1/2(4) + 7 + 7.3 = 2 + 7 + 7.3 = 16.3/25

Comments - Combined:
There were many up and down sides of both stories. I liked both stories a lot, for their central ideas, and humor (from Yangnome) and descriptiveness (from Toras). Toras' story was hard to read because of technical errors. Yangnome's story was hard to read because it referred to another story I did not know well. Yangnome's story was more appealing at the beginning, with its interest and humor, but unfortunately it lost me so much at the end with its outside references that I completely lost connection with the story. I think both stories could use some fleshing out, and this is a very close call, but I'm going to have to go with Toras by a hair.

FickleGM vs. Cevalic - my pic: Cevalic (2-1)

Comments - FickleGM:
Technical Writing(9/10):
I only saw one spelling mistake (thing instead of think) and a couple of dropped words (for example, 'a grin formed', not 'grin formed'). Spelling, punctuation, tenses and grammar were all good.
Creative Writing(8/10):
The story drew me in, and flowed very well. There were a couple parts that seemed a bit unrealistic. The girls were best friends, but Jo didn't seem overly worried by Sarah's condition, and then accepted what she said about somebody in the mirror talking to her fairly easily. When one guy was hit by the truck, the other guy grabbed a fork and came over to the truck. These parts were a bit hard to swallow at face value. The two guys at the beginning were working doing construction - but why? Besides tying into the picture, the beginning part doesn't seem to have anything to do with the rest of the story. I liked the ending, but who Granny Elsa is besides an old woman in a picture with cats is a bit thin also. All-in-all, a very nice story. I especially liked that the girl who was freaked out in the beginning (due to spectral women talking to her from mirrors) took more charge and was more useful when things got wierd (guys killing their boyfriends and hunting them). That made a lot of sense to me.
Picture Use(7.3/10):
Construction Workers(7/10): Central characters, near opening scene. Well explained, but the story up to the picture and after the picture are only related by the picture.
Spectral Reflection(9/10): Central characters of the story. The explanation of this picture, including what it was and who the people were, was very detailed and flowed with the story. I particularly like that the picture wasn't used until the (third?) time the girl saw the spectre in the mirror, which explains why she isn't freaked out in the picture. Great job!
Lady with Cats(6/10): Central character, ending scene. Scene, though not necessarily picture itself, was led up to. Some elements of the picture not used, as well as more description/explanation.
Total: 1/2(9) + 8 + 7.3 = 4.5 + 8 + 7.3 = 19.8/25

Comments - Cevalic:
Technical Writing(8/10):
Spelling, puncuation, tenses and grammar were all good. A couple sentences were a bit strained in their structure. Minus a full point for no mention of where the pictures were intended, though it was fairly obvious in two cases.
Creative Writing(9/10):
Superb story. Good explanations of characters, background, and mannerisms ('The six only know'). Intriguing story that covered all important details of itself, leaving me wanting more. My only minor complaints are the vagueness between Returning and Risen, and I would have liked more details about demons (types, effects, etc). With the two men, things revealed themselves as the main character got closer, then it says 'I knew the signs at once,' which was a bit contradictory. Excellent job!
Picture Use(8/10):
Spectral Reflection(9/10): Opening scene. Well described and explained. Led into the full story. Very nice!
Lady with Cats(8/10): Pivotal scene. Well described. Not led up to much, but used very effectively, with a central character.
Garbage Men(7/10): Ending scene. Led up to fairly well, and makes sense in the context of the story. Was a little bit akward.
Total: 1/2(8) + 9 + 8 = 4 + 9 + 8 = 21/25 Outstanding!

Comments - Combined:
FickleGM's story was intriguing and mostly believable. I liked it, a lot, with a couple minor questions. Cevalic's story was gripping and encompassing. I had minor issues near the end, and there wasn't specific locations of picture use. Both stories were spectacular, but I am going to go with Cevalic for being more complete and plausible.

questinggm vs. freeXenox - my pic: freeXenox (3-0)

Comments - questinggm:
No Story

Comments - freeXenox:
Technical Writing(4/10):
You jump continually between past and present tense, sometimes even in the same sentence. You miss some words, and misuse some phrases (as ... as, etc). You also use the wrong words in places (their turn, not there turn).
Creative Writing(6/10):
The story had an interesting premise - I liked some of the central ideas. I was left with some questions, though. More info about the young lady and uncle Sarris would have been nice. The community was established pretty well. The ending confused me a bit. The visitors were...actually yaks? Sent by whom? And who made them look like people and able to talk? And why?
Picture Use(8/10):
Young lady(8/10): Central character and opening scene. Well done - good description and led into the story. Could have used the crown of flowers or dress more, but good job.
Temple(9/10): Central location and scene. Good description, lead-in and use. Great job!
Painted Face(7/10): Supporting character. Nice description, though a bit more about the face-paint and design would have helped I think.
Total: 1/2(4) + 6 + 8 = 2 + 6 + 8 = 16/25

Comments - Combined:
freeXenox's story had interesting ideas, but was a bit difficult to read due to grammatical errors, and left a lot of questions and holes. Great picture use! I don't think the story was too long, but some parts were drawn out (the discussion between the girl and uncle) without much point, and some parts needed more flshing out. Round goes to freeXenox by default.

Hellefire vs. Trench - my pic: Hellefire (2-1)

Comments - Hellefire:
Technical Writing(9/10):
As far as I can tell, spelling, grammar, punctuation and tenses are ok. A couple sentences are a little awkward.
Creative Writing(9/10):
Well, I liked my story. I think I covered all of the major angles. I wish I had more descriptive terms in some places. There were a couple minor inconsistencies - like why the girl in the picture was so clean after crawling through an underground maze. Also, where did her brother learn black magic?
Picture Use(7.3):
Dove Parade(7/10): Pivotal scene. The first place when the main character realizes something is amiss. Led up to well, but nothing really happens except something not being there.
Other World(7/10): Led up to well, decently described. An area where something major has taken place, though not used much afterwards.
Girl Screaming(8/10): Final scene. Led up to well, climax.
Total: 1/2(9) + 9 + 7.7 = 4.5 + 9 + 7.3 = 20.8

Comments - Trench:
Technical Writing(9/10):
Spelling, tenses, grammar and punctuation were great. I noticed a few dropped words and at least one word that was moved but the original not moved, also one in the wrong tense (chop not chopping). Great job besides.
Creative Writing(8/10):
I liked the story a ton! I am from a hippy family (my name was originally Sunshine) and I related to about 99% of it. I liked the ending a lot too, though it was kind of an awkward stretch from dream to realization. It was a little rough to follow who was doing what and which were dream sequences - I think a little more development/addition to the story would help a lot.
Picture Use(8/10):
Girl Screaming(8/10): Pivotal scene. About as much as you can do with that picture. Used well, led up to some but not a whole lot.
Other World(8/10): I generally dislike using a dream for a picture. I gave an extra point or two here because it was used extensively in the story and blended into the plot very well.
Dove Parade(8/10): Final scene. Led up to, and integral part of the story. I can see this as a hippy protest parade. Well done.
Total: 1/2(9) + 8 + 8 = 4.5 + 8 + 8 = 20.5 Excellent!

Comments - Combined:
I thought these were both really good stories that had very interesting interpretations of the pictures. This was very close - I am going with mine, by a hair, because I like the story a bit more and it flows a bit better for me. Though, I suck at judging myself.

EP vs. Avatar V - my pic: Avatar V (2-1)

Comments - EP:
Technical Writing(9/10):
Superb technical writing. I noticed no errors in spelling, punctuation, tense or grammar. Minus a full point for not specifying where the pictures were meant to be, though it was fairly obvious. Except for that point, this would have been a rare 10.
Creative Writing(9/10):
Truly excellent story. The mixture of modern religion and references, western theme, and magic/DnD worked extremely well. Descriptions and feelings were there. I was completely drawn into the story, and related to the characters. I would have liked a little more interplay between characters (it was hinted at near the beginning but then went almost entirely to action). I had a minor problem with the demon giving up the girl but not the magician at the end - why follow half an ultimatum? I'm nit-picking a bit, because I cannot find any major flaws in this story. Spectacular!
Picture Use(6.7/10):
Animal Skull(7/10): Beginning scene. Used as scenery, and well done at that. Not expanded on much or meaning much though. Also, it is referred to as a bull-like creature, though the horns clearly look like some type of deer. I'm not going to take any points off for that - picture use can be figurative as opposed to literal, and maybe the character has never seen a deer, but it's something I noticed.
Girls Riding(6/10): Used as an illusion. I tend not to like pure illusions without much meaning in the same way I don't like 'dream' use or 'computer generated (matrix/network)' use of pictures. The picture was used in a scene, but clearly the picture created the scene, as opposed to the scene being there naturally and the picture part of it.
Yarn Woman(7/10): The use fit the story, and I can see that as a demon in disguise. I still don't like 'illusion' use of pictures much, but it is blended into the story ok.
Total: 1/2(9) + 9 + 6.7 = 4.5 + 9 + 6.7 = 20.2/25 Excellent!

Comments - Avatar V:
Technical Writing(9/10):
I only saw one obvious mistake (meddling, not medaling), though there were a couple places I thought you meant to use 'see' instead of 'say'. Not sure about that, but almost perfect anyway. Easy to read and almost entirely correct.
Creative Writing(9/10):
The story was gripping. Enough action and great emotional content. I was glued to it until it was done. The conclusion with Avari was appropriate. The gluing pictures in the photo album bit was outstanding. The discussion with the Time-spinner was funny and the surrounding emotions genuine. So, the Timespinner must have known that her daughter would die soon? I was a little confused if she just created time itself, and watched it for what would happen, or created the actual events as well. The bus part was a little vague and didn't fit well into my 'sensibility' list. As I do sometimes, the explanations were a bit rushed, but flowed really well. There was one thread left dangling - what is to stop the man from making another time-space machine? Besides a couple minor questions, this is one of the best CDM stories I've ever read.
Picture Use(9/10):
Girls Riding(9/10): Near beginning scene with main characters. Established parts of personalities and relationship, which is used later. Well explained.
Yarn Woman(10/10!): Main characters in pivotal scene. Despite not liking 'illusion'-type references to pictures, the shape-shifting was well built into the plot. The scene was extensively used and tied the beginning part of the story into the end part. Perfectly integrated, excellent extrapolation, fine details. Groovy!
Animal Skull(8/10): Ending/(Beginning) scene. Used to tie the end to the beginning, which I like. Led up to and explained in the story. The yellow part look like steel girders to me, as opposed to a building, and one of the few little things I didn't like was her tying the skull up at some guys place instead of near her home.
Total: 1/2(9) + 9 + 9 = 4.5 + 9 + 9 = 22.5/25 Outstanding!

Comments - Combined:
EP's story was one of the best I read this round. It was full of action, included a standard group of adventurers, combined multiple themes without losing its primary genre (western) and was interesting besides. There were a few loose ends and a couple minor issues with picture use, but all-in-all, a great story to read and enjoy. Avatar V's story was simply outstanding. A bit less adventure, but the characters were realistic and compelling, the emotions were heartfelt and raw, picture use was what I look for in CDM, and the story really came to life. I cannot find much fault wth EP's, but I give my vote to Avatar V for the all-round excellence.
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## yangnome (Jul 5, 2007)

Looking forward to laying the smackdown.


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## Toras (Jul 5, 2007)

In the words of many a smart mouthed rookie, Bring it Old Man.


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## Hellefire (Jul 5, 2007)

Ah, if yangnome's pen were only as large as his dreams, we would shake the very foundations...


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## FickleGM (Jul 5, 2007)

Uh...looking forward to being smacked down...wait, that isn't right.  Hmmm...looking forward to getting down on smack...no, that's not it, either.  Looking forward to smacking myself down.


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## EP (Jul 5, 2007)

Oooooh, the anticipation is just killing me.  It's almost unbearable to find out how this first round plays out.

...

What is this for again?


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 5, 2007)

*Round 1 Match 1 -- Awayfarer vs tadk*

Pictures posted at 2202 GMT.  Picture 3 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox.  You have 72 hours, no word limit.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 5, 2007)

*Round 1 Match 2 -- yangnome vs Toras*

Pictures posted at 2205 GMT.  Picture 3 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox.  You have 72 hours, no word limit.


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## Herremann the Wise (Jul 5, 2007)

Hmmm... evil judges with their evil pictures. Good luck to our competitors/victims.

Rodrigo,
Perhaps in the interim, post up a draw anyway with all the linkage goodness.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise

PS: Go the foxy one with those pics!


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## yangnome (Jul 5, 2007)

Thanks for the pics.  No immediate inspiration, which is a bit unusual.  i wouldn't call them evil, if anything, I think I'd call them tame .  I'll write up a story for you sometime in the next 71.5 hours and post it.  Knowing me, I'll procrastinate until an hour or two before, then hammer it out.


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## Herremann the Wise (Jul 5, 2007)

yangnome said:
			
		

> ... i wouldn't call them evil, if anything, I think I'd call them tame .



Now there's a comment from someone way too smug for their boots!
Just because you tormented the previous CDM's contestants worse than in living memory with your diabolical images doesn't give you the right to "ho hum" the current selection.
I look forward to judging your... efforts. 

Tame... sheesh.   

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 6, 2007)

Herremann the Wise said:
			
		

> Tame... sheesh.
> 
> Best Regards
> Herremann the Wise




He's just upset because they're aren't any pictures of cross-dressing babies.


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## awayfarer (Jul 6, 2007)

In order, I'd like to say
1: Okay
2: Holy crap
3: Nipple


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## Herremann the Wise (Jul 6, 2007)

awayfarer said:
			
		

> In order, I'd like to say
> 1: Okay
> 2: Holy crap
> 3: Nipple



You see guys, this is what this competition is all about.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 6, 2007)

Ceramic DM:   Now with 33% more nudity.


----------



## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 6, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Ceramic DM:   Now with 33% more nudity.




I do what I can...


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## Berandor (Jul 6, 2007)

Cool pics. As usual in rounds I don't write in, I have a story idea for both  Good Luck!


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## Hellefire (Jul 6, 2007)

Nice pics - glad I looked at the enlarged version...at first I thought the animal with the glasses on was a cow 

Thanks for posting the GMT time of posting! Should take care of the issue I was having.

Since we arent getting a merged thread, maybe update the first post of this thread to list matches, etc?

Again, I must breathe a sigh of relief and happiness with the no word limit rule. That was a problem for me, in varying degrees, in all 3 cmd's I have competed in. Go new rules, it's your birthday!

Good luck all! At least, until you're my oponent .

Aaron


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 6, 2007)

*FickleGM vs Cevalic*

Round 1, Match 3 -- FickleGM vs Cevalic

Pictures posted at 1557 GMT.  Three pictures, 72 hours, no word limit.  Picture 3 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox.


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## FickleGM (Jul 6, 2007)

Cool...I think that I have something.  I just have to let it simmer for a bit and see how it turns out.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 6, 2007)

*Match 4 - questing gm vs freeXenon*

Match 4 - questing gm vs freeXenon

Pictures posted at 2200 GMT. Three pictures, 72 hours, no word limit. Picture 3 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox.


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## orchid blossom (Jul 7, 2007)

How did I miss this starting up?  Good luck to all involved.  

I might decide to write again come fall...


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## awayfarer (Jul 7, 2007)

*Courtroom Drama*

I made a mistake…

…”Right there on page three.” Jim said. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Prosecuting this guy should have been a cinch. Here I had a middle-aged, cross-dressing janitor with a room temperature IQ and a knife collection. The guy is an ex-con too, there’s no way I could lose. A second ago I had a case that could link this guy to seven homicides, now I’ve got nothing. I freeze. The hammer-headed judge is staring at me as I stammer. He’s one of those stereotypical, stern southern judges that would send someone to the chair for jaywalking if they could. I can imagine him forgoing the gavel and just bashing his head on the stand. Holy god it is hot in here.

Ever notice how difficult it is to concentrate on a major disaster? The mind suddenly becomes alert and picks up everything about everything. Frantic, that’s the way to describe it, frantic. I straighten my tie and cough. I call for a thirty-minute recess and Hammerhead makes some snide remark but allows it. I hear Jim's voice in my head. “You know what to do.” I nod at him and he gives me a bit of a funny look, as does Agnes.

We leave the courtroom. Agnes doesn’t know about the telepathy. Jim started speaking directly into my mind a few months ago, right around the time I found the box. Oh, he stares at me funny when I nod or agree with the things he communicates mentally but that’s just for show of course. We don't want people knowing about the telepathy. I usually can’t hear what he’s thinking; I guess he’s good at keeping people out. As we walk out, Agnes asks me if I’m all right in her grandmotherly sort of way. I nod. Hell it’s hot in here. I need cold water. I need cold water and the box. The box will know.

I enter the men’s room. It’s that sort of weird pale green that you always see in hospitals and government buildings and is supposed to keep people calm. Good luck with that. I enter a stall with my briefcase and pull my pants around my ankles for the look of the thing. I open my briefcase and stand the box up.

I bought this briefcase years ago but didn’t notice the little secret compartment until a this March; around the same time that Jim started talking to me telepathically. The compartment was pretty cleverly hidden. It lined up with edges of the walls seamlessly such that you’d need to know where it was to find it. Except for Jim, he knew where it was. “What’s that, a Milton Slimline?” He said and he pointed just where I would need to dig with my fingernail. Agnes still didn’t know and she was a bit religious. It was probably best not to let her know.

I have 23 minutes left when it finally clicks on and start speaking. “Hi Dave! Oh hell, I don’t know why you’ve got your pants down but I think you’re going to be disappointed!” It laughs and starts tossing its balls around. It reminds me of that little hourglass icon you get when a computer is loading something. At this point, I’m fairly certain that this is how the box thinks. It needs to juggle.

“What’s on your mind Dave?” It practically shouts this a in a highly mirthful tone. The door to the men’s room squeaks on its hinges and I yelp as someone walks in. From the look of the shoes I gather that it’s one of the defense attorneys. I shush the box but speak in a whisper when I begin to hear a steady stream of urine. Mr. Defense drinks a lot of coffee. It’ll be a while.

“I made a mistake.” I say quietly and a few strands of hair fall out of place and cover my eyes as I lean closer to the box. “It’s all wrong. How do I get this right again? How do I put this guy away?”

“Ooh, that’s a tough one Dave. Let me think about it a moment.” The box says as it begins to toss its balls around. Mr. Defense is still peeing somehow. Who’d have thought the man had so much piss in him? It’s practically another minute and by now I’m absolutely astonished at how long this guy must have been holding it. He looked sort of bloated too. He finishes just as the box stops juggling to speak. “Gonna be a bit longer Dave, this is a real poser.” I just nod and make a weak effort to straighten my hair. Mr. Defense washes up and leaves. My vision of him is blocked but of course I can still hear him.

I hear the mens room door open and in short order the stall door on my left is opened and shut. I see a pair of black boots. I see a length of black cloth dangling in the next stall and I realize that it's the honorable Judge Hammerhead, having left the bench to take up the throne. The box quietly juggles away while I simply stare at hammerheads boots. Who wears black cowboy boots?

Or for that matter, who wears rainbow colored argyle socks? For the first time I notice that the stall on my right is occupied by someone with small feet and no shoes. There's something white and feathery dangling from the stall door. Some sort of childish curiosity gets the better of me and I lean forward to see if I can get a slightly better view of the shoe-less bathroom-goer but it's tough with the box on my lap. From what little I can tell, it's... no that can't be right. Those are some pretty feminine looking ankles. At least I think they are. They're small and of course my vision is a bit obscured by the socks.

I'm a bit startled when I hear a whisper and I let out a yelp that's stifled by a loud fart from Hammerhead. The whisper starts again from the stall next to me. "Psst, David... are you sure this is right?" It's definitely a female voice. What is a shoe-less woman doing in the mens room? Between Judge Hammerhead and his black cowboy boots and this shoe less woman, I feel like I'm surrounded by nutcases.

"David, are you doing the right thing? What do you think David? Do you think that man is guilty?" the woman says. "Shut up!" I shoot back in a hoarse whisper. "Thats not important here!"

"Prosecutor, is that you?" I hear in a slow southern drawl punctuated by a tiny bit of gas.

"You don't think he's guilty do you David? Why do this to him? You know what the judge is going to sentence him to don't you?" she says. She's whispering pretty quietly but I'd still be surprised if his honor didn't hear her. It's quiet in here. It's quiet and lord it's warm in here. I can feel the box heat up as it juggles a bit faster. I wish I could somehow buy a heat sink for the thing.

"Thats not up to me. Look, all this evidence I have points...pointed to the guy, and it will point to him again when I'm done here."

"Mr. Prosecutor, are you all right in there?

"Um, yes, yes your honor! Just...thinking. Just had to do some thinking!"

"Well, I guess you picked the right spot for it." He stands up and starts to make liberal use of the toilet paper. "Just pull yourself together and send this bastard my way all right?" The way he says it makes it sound like I'm handing him a birthday present; one he knows about already but that he still has to wait for me to finish wrapping. He finishes with the paper, dropping a little use half-square on the ground as if I needed any more excuse to stop looking in that direction. I hear him wash his hands of the mess and stride easily out of the room.

The box comes back out of it's juggling trance. "Got it Dave. Here, write this down." He dictates a few things to me and I make a few corrections to my notes. Great, no jury in the world would fail to convict this guy now. "Nice workin' with ya Dave. Be sure to flush for that added bit of realism." it chuckles as I seal it back away in the briefcase. I notice now that the socked feet are missing from the other stall. I walk out and see the woman for what she is now. I can only assume that she's an angel as she slides her wings back into place after removing them from the peg on the stall door. I didn't know they could do that but I guess they would make going to the bathroom difficult. Furthermore, I hadn't realized that angels were generally nude, well, except for the argyle socks.

She's beautiful but with a sort of pensive mournful look in those big eyes. I tell myself that thats what I notice first because of course, nobody wants to admit to ogling the divine or supernatural. "David" she says quietly and with incredible calm "You're going to do it aren't you? You're going to win the case now? But you don't think he did any of it, you just think he's an easy target. Why should you continue like this?" she asks coolly.

I breathe deeply and stop for a moment to gather my thoughts. "Angel" I say "Does it matter if he did it or not? The man's already been convicted of a number of crimes in the past. He's just a drain on society. He lives his life with his weird fetishes and bizarre behavior. He upsets people. He doesn't fit in. It's bad enough to be a man with such problems, but to not even try to work past them is his biggest crime. Who cares if he killed them or not? He has other things to atone for and he's had years to do so. We don't need people like that. I am not going to allow lunatics and nutcases to walks the streets out there. It'll be safer for all of us if he's dead."

I stand straight and smooth back my hair. The angle shakes her head, sighs, straightens my tie and pats me on the shoulder. To my surprise she walks out the door. I expected some kind of ascending through the ceiling or something.

Moments later I open the door and stride out into the cool, empty hall. My footsteps ring out like gunshots in the large chamber as I stride purposefully to the courtroom, grip the heavy door in one hand and swing it wide open.


----------



## Dog Moon (Jul 7, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Ceramic DM:   Now with 33% more nudity.




Wait, if none of the pictures before had nudity, then 0% of the pictures had nudity.  You can't say 33% more because ANY percent more would still be 0% nudity.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 7, 2007)

Dog Moon said:
			
		

> Wait, if none of the pictures before had nudity, then 0% of the pictures had nudity.  You can't say 33% more because ANY percent more would still be 0% nudity.




I was wondering when someone would make the mistake of asking that.  

Piratecat does the 'Pantsless Dance of Victory', Herremann's Lady Death is something of an exhibitionist, and I write 'commando'.


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## Dog Moon (Jul 7, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> I was wondering when someone would make the mistake of asking that.
> 
> Piratecat does the 'Pantsless Dance of Victory', Herremann's Lady Death is something of an exhibitionist, and I write 'commando'.




Hehe.  Well, since this is the first time I maybe might be doing this, I was unaware of those previous acts of, um, stuff.


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## yangnome (Jul 8, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> I was wondering when someone would make the mistake of asking that.
> 
> Piratecat does the 'Pantsless Dance of Victory', Herremann's Lady Death is something of an exhibitionist, and I write 'commando'.



 not to mention the creepy blurred nudity I posted the last time around.  


More than 48 hours into this thing, I don't have an idea and haven't started yet....


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 8, 2007)

yangnome said:
			
		

> not to mention the creepy blurred nudity I posted the last time around.
> 
> 
> More than 48 hours into this thing, I don't have an idea and haven't started yet....




Yeah, that creeped me out. To quote someone (maybe Orchid Blossom) "Dang, Skippy!" Sorry you're not finding inspiration in the "tame" pictures.  Karma. It's what's for dinner.


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## Avatar_V (Jul 8, 2007)

I'm still in (in response to the 'if confirmed' by my name above   ). I'm going to be out of town until about noon on 7/10, but that should still give me time to get something in.

Also, apologies for the slow response here - my in-laws are visiting so I haven't had as much internet-browsing time as usual


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## Herremann the Wise (Jul 8, 2007)

yangnome said:
			
		

> not to mention the creepy blurred nudity I posted the last time around.



Having seen the original version, I think the blurred/photoshopped version was more pornographic than the original. I mean it was just a little... package...

As for this "summer's" competition (why can't you guys up there actually realise that it's really winter?), I may just push for another image that may take that 33% up to 50%. It's fun choosing picture's.



			
				orchid blossom said:
			
		

> How did I miss this starting up? Good luck to all involved.
> 
> I might decide to write again come fall...



I'd look very forward to it. Perhaps a comment or two this time around too? Your judgment's last competition were very insightful.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Dog Moon (Jul 8, 2007)

Aw, guess I'm out then.  Well, have fun everyone.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 8, 2007)

Herremann the Wise said:
			
		

> Having seen the original version, I think the blurred/photoshopped version was more pornographic than the original. I mean it was just a little... package...
> 
> As for this "summer's" competition (why can't you guys up there actually realise that it's really winter?), I may just push for another image that may take that 33% up to 50%. It's fun choosing picture's.
> 
> ...




I exhibited restraint in choosing the artwork that I sent for this competition... I have done much naughtier pieces than the one with the perky little angel breasts. 

There are several more rounds, maybe this could go down in history as the nekkid CDM?  Although I wouldn't want to offend any grandmas.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 8, 2007)

maxfieldjadenfox said:
			
		

> I exhibited restraint in choosing the artwork that I sent for this competition... I have done much naughtier pieces than the one with the perky little angel breasts.
> 
> There are several more rounds, maybe this could go down in history as the nekkid CDM?  Although I wouldn't want to offend any grandmas.




I'm gonna be in my bunk.


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## tadk (Jul 8, 2007)

*CDM Story by TadK*

Across the worlds, turning a tune
 © 2007 CW Kelson III



Down along the city streets
Down in the trash laden corridors between abandoned businesses
Down into the empty city sewers
Far away from light, life, love and devotion
Far into the earth, where the dark creatures lurk in their realms of silence


Andra took her time, moving, drinking her wine, watching the television playing the same old drivel it always did.
The dark red, something left over from past dinners, slid down her throat cooling the fires burning down in the pit. 
The television sitting there tuned to the dead air channel, just waiting for a signal to interrupt the static. 

The soft movement of the air in the subterranean space she lived in rustled her wisps of clothing.

Otherwise nothing moved, nothing happenexd down there deep under the earth

Far above her, the fate of a life was in the deciding phase, a single mistake leading to criminal proceedings. 

A man pulled a trigger, cascading a series of events leading to a loss of life and limb for another, and his incarceration and subsequent trial. 
Far and wide were those watching the proceedings with concern, as it would carry over into their lives either way it went, the victim on trial being convicted, or set free, either way it would affect the balance of power between two rival organizations. 

The shadows and the dark ones, cheesy euphemisms both, vying for control of destinies of worlds far and wide, scattered apart from one and another by intangible barriers of energy and vibration.

Instead of a single life, single line of choices made and decisions come to, there are a myriad of worlds, an infinite selection of lives lived all in each tick of the clock.

As time passes, the worlds draw closer or farther away based on the actions that occur in them, sometimes they even come back together when they had not drifted very far apart, For some in the countless choices, they are aware of these, and live in the spaces between the stories told in each world.

In-between all of this, lies stories, tales, lies, the fantastic and the mundane and less than mundane folk that live in the spaces that are there. Andra is one of these people and here is one of her stories.

Andra takes her time, dressing is not high on her list of priorities, but it is something that others seem to think is important. Where she comes from, where her life and people lived at, back when the world was less formed, fewer changes and options existed, they did not have the concept of modesty, of clothing, of personal property. Then again, back then it was fangs and rocks for the height of technology as well. 

But that was many years ago, and her people had developed in other directions, slipping farther away from the worlds of the mainstream of humanity. Instead leaning on the aid of their wings, soft gossamer wings delicate like flower petals, able to lift them up and away from predators, keeping them safe to develop and grow into a single state. 

But now here on this more mainstream world, her instincts work against her. Make it difficult to remain hidden, forcing her underground out of light. So instead she hides in the darkness, her devices and accouterments being used to track the reason she is here, a mere step that is infinitely far away from her home.

A man is led to the long table in front of the judge, from a vantage point up close to the ceiling, a small spy device was nestled 

The tones sound across time and nestle into the small television like device that Andra had put together to monitor her progress, the hands of time and distance reaching out across all her potentials and allowing her rights to edit and delete what she can to forestall the deaths foretold in the convictions.



--------------
since my pics were posted
256$ my car
1200$ wifes car tomorrow
repainted bathroom
2 trips to home depot trying to get the plumbing fixed for the new bathroom vanity

Have a great round 2 everyone


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## orchid blossom (Jul 8, 2007)

Herremann the Wise said:
			
		

> I'd look very forward to it. Perhaps a comment or two this time around too? Your judgment's last competition were very insightful.
> 
> Best Regards
> Herremann the Wise




Thank you, sir.  Nice to know those creative writing classes came in handy somewhere.  

I'm getting ready to move but I'll be reading along.  Hopefully I'll be able to make a few comments here and there.


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## yangnome (Jul 8, 2007)

“I fold, Lord” I toss my cards on the table and look up at God. “You got me again.  For the life of me, I can’t tell if you’re bluffing or not.”

I tell you, its not easy playing poker with God.  Face it, He’s the creator of the universe-- he knows everything.  Sure, He says He won’t cheat and look at your cards, but is He really telling the truth?  He’s got one hell of a poker face.

Why do I keep coming back, you ask?  To be honest, you can’t beat the snacks.  He’s always got some beef or lamb on the grill, and choice cuts too.  Some skimp on their offerings to him, but God only serves us up the very best.  I’m sure you also remember that water to wine trick his Son could pull too.  Well, it’s a nice party trick.  The entertainment ain’t too bad either.

You see, I’ve been coming over and playing poker with God every Saturday since the end of that first week you heard about.  He had put in a lot of work creating the universe and everything and was looking to relax a bit.  The Bible talks about most of what he created, though it is a bit humanocentric—it doesn’t go into all the other life he created on the other planets.  Of course, he did.  All on the same day he created the earth, he created other planets with other creatures as well, some of them sentient, some of them not.

Anyway, I digress.  Today, I’m playing poker with God, and Zarthoot.  We’ve been getting together like this since the dawn of time, every Saturday night.  It’s just me, Zarthoot and God.  In the beginning, Lucy joined us too.  That was back before man was created.  They got in a bit of an argument over one of our games though and things turned sour.  She accused God of marking the cards with slobber, which of course wasn’t true—He’s a dog, He can’t help it.

‘God is a dog,’ you ask?  Yep.  Truth be told, God is a dog.  He always likes to say that human perspective is all backwards…I think that’s why He called Himself God—an inside joke with Himself.

I need to focus. God has won the last three hands.

“I’m in.” I say, tossing my chips into the center of the table. Ace and Jack of Hearts…not a bad hand.  I don’t want to push it though. God has a way of reading me.

Zarthoot tosses his chips in too, he used one of his back tentacles though, I think he’s got something good.

“Lord?”

“What the hell, it can’t hurt.  I call.”

We play through the hand, and God won.  Again.  I swear he is cheating.  

I shrug.  “Don’t look at me like that Lord.  You’ve won the last three hands.”

Zarthoot wriggled his tentacles—I guess he thought it funny too.

“A couple more hands like this, and we’ll have to end the night early.” I said.

“I could always lend you some more if you like.” said God.

 “Oh, no.  Last time I did that, I had to Go down into Egypt and kill the first born sons to pay you back.  You aren’t going to get me owing you any favors again.” I said.

Zarthoot laughed again.

As god was dealing the next hand, an angel enter5ed the room and whispered something in God’s ear.  

“You guys mind if we take a break for a minute or two?” He asked.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Luci’s at it again.”

“Man, she’s always trying to interrupt our games.  What is is this time?” I say, stubbing out my cigar in the ashtray.

“She’s off on Planet XJ-9, getting ready to lay into a town called Bottomsville.”

“What’s she got planned?”

“I don’t know.  I want you to go down and check it out.  We’ve got a person in place there in the town.  I’d like you to meet up with him, and he can help you get information for me.” God said.

“Is there anything in particular you are looking for?”  

“I think it’s just a general corruption attempt.  She’s been in and out of that town a lot recently.”

“You sure this isn’t just an attempt to keep me from kicking your ass in poker?”

“Get going already, will you?  If you hurry, you might be able to make it back before the end of the game.”
---

I head out away from God’s castle and get ready to travel to XJ-9.  Most people think us angels have wings and can fly around wherever we want to go.  That isn’t exactly the truth.  The wings talked about in the Bible are more of a metaphorical.  Angels come in a variety of types, all of which descend from dragons.  All of us have varying degrees of draconic features.  Some do have actual wings, but even those rarely work for transportation, especially to other planets.

I left God’s castle and headed out to the transport area, a cliff that overlooked a sea of gold.  It is really a beautiful place, somewhere I like to hang out a lot.  I always like returning to here from long voyages too. It makes me realize how much we have going for us here in Heaven.





I step into the transport circle and after saying where I want to go, I am pulled through space and time and a few moments later, I arrive on XJ-9.  Now there is an interesting thing about all these different worlds that exist, somehow they are all tied together with a common history.  Things vary between them, but there are many patterns that repeat from planet to planet.  Given a few minutes to think about this since leaving the poker game, I’ve grown a bit concerned.  The situation that’s come up today reminds me of something, but I can’t really put my finger on it.

I touch down on XJ-9, in a forest outside of Bottomsville.  The city is a bit of a walk, but that’s normal.  People probably wouldn’t react well to people popping up in the middle of a busy street.

I head through the trail in the forest until I come into a clearing. I hear a noise and look ahead of me.  Luci is there, sitting on a horse, one of her demons with her.





“You aren’t going to get away with this.” I tell her

“I already have.  This town is mine.  I control practically everyone here.  I’m surprised you accepted this mission again.” She laughed at me. She actually had the nerve to laugh at me.

It was at that point, that I put two and two together.  I’m really pissed at God for sending me down here.  This is an S&G run, and I don’t really want to be a part of it. Last time this happened, two of our kind got raped before the Big Dog stepped in and resolved things.  It wasn’t looking pretty this time around either.  I can’t believe he sent me in alone.

I didn’t have anything to attack Luci with.  Her powers were always stronger than mine, and truth be told, God had given her dominion over the free-thinking planets.  The best we could do is fight her propaganda and help those who stood against her.

“The least you could have done was hold off until after our poker game.”

“Don’t you have a believer to save?  Clock’s ticking.”

She was right.

I head into town and follow the directions God gave me.  I didn’t have time to get ready for this trip, or do much research.  There isn’t much I can do about the frill on top of my head.  Usually, when I head to Earth, I’ll put some gel in it and slick it back, so I don’t attract too much attention.  Other plants are much more accepting of different features and don’t require a disguise.  This is my first time visiting XJ-9 though, so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

As I walk through the streets, people are taking notice of me.  Of course, I didn’t think to wear a cloak with a hood today. The crowds don’t seem to be repulsed, but rather intrigued by my presence. All I need, a fan club while trying to get my job done.

I make way to my contact’s place.  By that time though, I have a large crowd following me.  Some are just looking, but others are making propositions that make me rather uncomfortable.  Fortunately though, the contact opens the door and is able to shoo them back enough to close the door behind me.

Even after he got the door closed, people were pounding and shouting, wanting to get a closer look at me—or worse.


“What’s your name?” I ask the informant 

“Lot.” 

Damn it, I knew it.  I had to figure out a way to get out of town. If god is listening to me, he’s gonna owe me big once I make it back.

“God said you might have some info for me?”

“Not really info.  I’ve been trying to convince him to spare this city.  My uncle asked him if he’d spare the place if there were any good people here and he said yes.”

“Listen, Lot.  We’ve got to get you and your family out of here.  Get them together and get their stuff packed.  We’ve got to head out of town. This isn’t going to end good.”

I’m pissed at God. This wasn’t a fact gathering mission, this was a rescue mission before the balloon goes up.  ’s about to hit the fan and I’m on the wrong side of the room.  I’ll be damned if I’m going to get raped though.

“Don’t just stand there, hurry up.” I tell him.

“What if I just give them my daughters?  That’ll make them go away.”

“No it won’t.  Oh, and once we successfully escape, don’t go drinking any wine your daughters give you either.”

I know I shouldn’t go interfering with things like that, but that part of this story has always disgusted me.  I’m sure God can forgive that, and if it truly was his will, then it’ll happen anyway.

---

30 minutes later, Lot had his family packed and we were ready to head out.  

“Listen, if anything happens and we get separated, just head for the hills.  I can find my own way out.  Is there a back door or window we can use?  That crowd is still working at the front door.”

Lot led me through his house to a window on the side.  We crawled out the window and headed down the street.

“Whatever you guys do, don’t look back at the city.” I told them.

I knew it was no use, but it was worth a try.

As we started to make our way through the streets, the crowd in front of the house saw us leaving and started chasing after us. F-ck. This isn’t what I wanted to have happen today.

The crowd caught up and grabbed hold of me, pulling me down. Last thing I saw, Lot was crossing the bridge over the river headed out of town with his family.  That’s when the sky opened up.  

Next thing I knew, I was standing back in front of God in heaven.  





He was staring out at the sky.  He handed me a pair of glasses and told me to have a look at the fireworks.

Zarthoot was laughing


----------



## Toras (Jul 8, 2007)

Twilight Skye – Silicon Dreams

Malcolm shuddered as his reality melts away, the sharp acid edged kick from the information spike slamming home into his central nervous system. For a moment there is darkness, as the Net is loaded around him.  Selecting his form from a list of constructs, he is loaded into the world were he spends much of his time.

He had received a job offer, through the anonymous message server.  A rather unique and valuable set of blue prints had gone missing from Fujistu servers, and the buyer wished to find it before their security forces could do so.  A sizable retainer was paid to gain his services, so he didn’t waste any time getting started.   He was confident that he would find this out without any problem.  

But it had been two weeks, and his regular contacts had come up dry. There was only one more person he could have asked, but he had hopped to avoid that this time.  Finding a sewer grate on one of the lower streets, he dropped into the tunnels.  Representing the underlying backbones and conduits, anything that passes quietly would have to travel here.  Hopefully the Lady of Down Bellow would be feeling cooperative.  

He found her at one of the major gates, an unearthly beauty upon her gaunt dark horse.  Green skin and a white eyed stair seem to indicate a darker origin, akin to her cape that she managed to pull of just slightly.  Flanked by a helper daemon, crafted to look like a hideous man-fish hybrid which was monitoring the information passing through the roots and vines along the walls. She always did like her creepy.  

(http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=29762)

“Lady of the Under Realms, I seek a boon. “ Malcolm said with a half bow, trying to play to her ego and sense of drama.

She looks up from her task, monitoring the days take of information.  “My dear Malcolm Skye, it has been a long time since you have troubled my realm.  I take it you have business.  State it quickly, I have no time for your foolishness.“

“I’d be deeply hurt if I wasn’t in such a hurry.  I’ve been looking for the guy who pulled the Fujistu job, and if anyone would know who would the where’s and why’s, its you. “

Malcolm watched her consider his request, knowing that this could get ugly if she decided to play power games with him.  But his worry was for naught, as she smiles back at him and replies.  “I do not know who it is or why, I do know of someone who does.  For all the good that it will do you.  Seek out Peabody, he can tell you what you wish. “

I cursed under my breadth as I left her sight, a haunting laughter seemed to follow me around like an irate echo.  Peabody was one of the unpleasant realities of the Net, a free range information broker of the highest order.  A laughing black lab with a pair of sun glasses, he wasn’t hard to find. (http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=29763)  But Malcolm couldn’t pay his fees, so that was a problem. Sliding into the house that Peabody used as his meet and greet area, he dragged down the guard covering the window before slipping in through a spoofed port.  Peabody was sitting in his courtyard, being fed bits of fruit by a serving daemon.  They were fake in all the ways that really mattered, but real enough to be enjoyed. Sliding down in the courtyard, Malcolm slips behind the chair and presses the gun into the back of the creatures head.  

“I have a few questions, and you are going to answer quietly and quickly, or die slack jawed in your chair.  Who pulled the Fujistu job and where are they?“

A slightly twinge in his voice, was all that betrayed the panic that was rapidly rising into focus.   “No need to be hasty.  It was Maxwell of Drake Hill, his manor is on the water front.  “

Malcolm gets the information far more easily than he had been expecting, and relaxed just a moment. Unfortunately that was exactly the wrong thing to do.  Who could have guessed that his servant daemon’s had Hunter Killer subroutines?  Malcolm ducks seconds before defensive rips through the chair he had been hiding behind.  Leaping up through the open port, he dashes out and away from pursuit.  Knowing that he has only a few moments before Peabody warns his quarry, he calls up his cycle and watches for pursuit as it assembles in the back alley he had taken refugee in.

Flying through the streets, he speeds through the streets with abandon.  Sliding to the stop, at the bottom of the cliffs that protects Maxwell’s palace, he can see the smiling fool standing at the top.  Technocolor moehawk and following pirate shirt, he waits unafraid.  (3)


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## yangnome (Jul 8, 2007)

[sblock]
OK, I'm pretty displeased with my story.  I'm not a big fan of fantasy, and so I wasn't too inspired by the pics.  I don't think they were all that evil, but usually it is the evil pictures that inspire me the most.  

I didn't want to take a direct fantasy approach, since it seemed too obvious to me.  I also wanted to avoid the CDM PI story cliche--I don't know how many dog PIs, or at least animal PIs we've had here.  

Anyway, there it is for what it is worth.  Hopefully I make it to round two and get to write something I feel better about.[/sblock]


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## Toras (Jul 8, 2007)

Spoiler



I tried to run from a slightly more sf aspect.  It was either that or have  it be  part of a Dreaming, but I'm not super happy with some of the rough edges.


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## FickleGM (Jul 9, 2007)

*On The Lamb*

ENW Short Story Smackdown Summer '07
Round 1, Match 3 -- FickleGM vs Cevalic


On The Lamb


The sounds of construction permeated the air for almost a mile around the small town of Aurora, as a road crew worked to repair the nearby highway.  Hard working men and women shivered under jackets as they toiled on a surprisingly cold June morning.  Two of the supervisors suddenly stopped what they were doing, turned to the other, nodded blankly and walked toward one of the company trucks.

"Hey, Max! Ryan!  Where the hell are you going?  It ain't break-time, yet," hollered out one of the men, already covered in dirt from breaking up the old road.

Max, dressed in dark blue slacks and the requisite yellow visibility vest over a zipped blue jacket, climbed in the truck on the driver's side.  Ryan, in brown slacks with his vest and jacket unzipped over a white dress shirt, climbed in the passenger's seat.  The foreman and head engineer, respectively, had never before left the site during work hours.  Many of the other workers stopped what they were doing and stared as the truck sped off toward town.

Wiping her brow, one of the two female workers quipped, "Maybe they're going to warm themselves with some nice hot coffee."

The first man shook his head, "They better get back here soon, or I'm reporting their asses.  And they better bring back enough for everyone."

"You're not still bitter about being passed up for the foreman spot, are you?" she replied.

"Just get back to work," he bit back. "Come on everyone, we got a lot to do today!"

As the men and women returned to their tasks, the recently departed truck sped out of sight and into the sleepy town.  Near the center of town, the truck pulled over and came to a stop.  The street was practically abandoned, as most of the residents worked in the nearby city, leaving the town all but empty during the week.

"Let's do this," Max announced as he got out of the truck.

Ryan also exited the vehicle and the two made their way to the back.  Each man pulled a slender pipe from the bed of the truck and walked into the middle of the street.  Once there, they pulled utility knives from their pockets and cut the palms of their hands, letting the blood drip into the pipe.  Then, they placed one end to their ears as they set the other end on the road, forming a large X with the pipes (*Picture 2*).  They did not have to wait long before the ground started rumbling.  An inhuman voice rose through the pipes and spoke to the men in a language not of the Earth.  As they listened, smiles appeared on their faces.

The streets were quiet once again, as Max and Ryan returned the pipes to the bed of the truck.  Ryan nodded to Max, a gleam in his eye as he opened the passenger door and started to get in the truck.

"This looks to be an easy job...for once."

Max pondered a moment, as he climbed back in the truck, "It makes you wonder, though."

Ryan raised an eyebrow, "What's that?"

"How did one with so little experience escape?  They don't let folk just stroll on out, you know."

Ryan shook his head, "That ain't our concern.  We just bring them back and they can worry about keeping them there."

"I suppose," Max shrugged his shoulders and he started the truck.  "Let's go get her."

Leaving rubber on the pavement, the truck sped south out of town.


***


As the sun rose over the lake, the door to the cabin opened and a beautiful blond walked out onto the deck.  She stood next to a young athletic man with short-spiked blond hair and looked over the railing at the dark-haired guy doing sit-ups on the beach ten feet below.

The man standing next to her turned and asked impatiently, “Is she up yet?”

The blond bombshell glared back, “No, Brad.  She isn’t feeling well.”

“Damn it.  It’s our first day at the cabin and she’s already screwing things up.”

“Real nice, jerk, she sure is lucky to have you for a boyfriend.”

Brad yelled down to the guy on the beach, “Hey Tim, you might want to keep your woman in line.”

Tim rolled his eyes and shouted back, “Jo, go check on Sarah and leave Brad alone.   It’s not his fault that he was born without emotions.”

Tim watched as his girlfriend flipped-off Brad and walked back toward the cabin.  As the door closed, he turned to Brad and grin formed on his tanned, course face.

“You do realize that you’re an ass, right?”

“Yeah, but you still love me.  Want a beer?”  Brad tossed a can to Tim without waiting for an answer.

Tim nodded as he caught the beer, “You should probably check on her.”

“I will…in due time.”

Inside the cabin, Jo entered Sarah's room and found her curled in a ball, sobbing on her bed.

"Sarah, are you all right?"

"She talked to me," came the reply from Sarah.

"What?  Who talked to you?" Jo asked as she sat on the bed next to Sarah.

"I...I don't know.  She said her name is Maggie and that she needed to see Granny Elsa, but I don't know anyone named Maggie or Granny Elsa," Sarah looked up 

at Jo, tears streaming down her cheeks as she shivered.  "It's so cold in here."

"It's cold outside, too.  It should warm up, though.  Now, who is this Maggie and more importantly, where is she?" Jo stroked Sarah's dark hair and tried to comfort her.

"You're not going to believe me, but I saw her in the mirror," Sarah pointed toward the bathroom.

Jo stood up from the bed and walked into the bathroom.  She looked in the mirror and after seeing nothing strange, searched around the bathroom.  Finally satisfied, she returned to the bedroom.

"There's nobody in the bathroom.  Are you sure it wasn't a dream?"

"It didn't feel like a dream."

"Come on, let's get you some fresh air and check on the guys."

"Okay," Sarah said as she took Jo's hand and let herself be led outside.


***


"So, after I find out if Sarah is okay, we'll hit the lake for..." Brad was unable to finish his statement, as he noticed a truck speeding toward the cabin.

Tim looked back over his shoulder in the direction of Brad's stare, "I wonder what he wants.  He's driving awefully fast."

"Who knows, but he better stop before he kills someone."

Tim nodded to his friend and jumped out of his lawn chair, "Hey, slow down!"

As he yelled at the oncoming truck, he realized that the driver was purposely steering in his direction.  Caught like a deer in the headlights, Tim's legs refused to react.

"Get out the way!" came Brad's plea as he ran back onto the deck.

As Jo opened the door, Sarah caught her reflection in the window.

The horrifying visage in the glass screamed at her, "Not that way, you must go out the back.  They're here."

Feeling Sarah stop, Jo turned back to her as the sound of a truck could be heard outside.

"Let's g...no Tim!" She turned back just in time to see her boyfriend get plowed into by the oncoming truck.

The truck came skidding to a stop as Brad started back down the steps, "You mother..."

Jo yelled at Brad, "What are you doing?"

Brad grabbed a meat fork off the grill as he approached the truck, "I'm going to teach these bastards a lesson."

"We have to get out of here," Sarah pulled back on Jo's arm.

"They just killed Tim," Jo said back in disbelief.

Jo reluctantly moved back into the cabin, unable to take her eyes off Brad as gestured to the men in the truck.

Ryan opened the passenger door of the truck and stepped out, smiling maniacally at Brad.

Brad just glared back, "I don't know who you thing you are, but..."

He didn't get another sound out as Ryan closed the distance with inhuman speed and grabbed Brad by the throat.  With the fork stuck in his side, Ryan squeezed the life out of Brad.

Jo screamed and ran back through the cabin with Sarah.  As they reached the back door, they could here the truck coming around.  They ran out the back and made for the ATV that was parked in the yard.

Ryan dropped Brad's lifeless body and pulled the fork out of side, then jumped onto the deck in one leap.  He tore the door off the hinges as he entered the cabin.

Max drove the truck around the cabin, noticing the two women running toward an ATV, he gunned the engine.  He noticed that the ATV's engine started running before they got to it.

"Seems like the little minx knows a trick," he whispered under his breath as he slowed down for Ryan, who came sprinting out the back door and jumped into the truck.

Startled by the ATV, but too afraid to change their course, the girls jumped on it and started toward a nearby wooded area.  The slight head start assisted them as they were able to make it to the tighter confines of the trees before the truck could reach them.  They looked back over their shoulder and watched as the truck speed off along the tree line.

"We have to find someone to help us." Jo said as they picked their way through the small forest.


***


Jo and Sarah rode out of the forested area near a highway.  They spotted a truck stop and started toward it.

"We should be able to get help there."

They made their way around the building and stopped suddenly as the saw the boarded up windows.

"No. No. No.  This can't be happening," Jo slammed her fist on the ATV's handles.

In the distance, the engine of a truck could be heard.  The girls pulled the ATV behind the closed truck stop and hid it in the woods.  They went to the back door and finding it unlocked, went in.

"They're going to find us in here and they're going to kill us," Jo sobbed uncontrollably.

"We can't give up, Jo, we've got to find a way," Sarah comforted her friend. "Go look in the kitchen and see if you can find anything that we can use as weapons."

Jo hesitated for a moment and then headed off down the hall toward where the kitchen should be.  The sound of the truck could be heard passing by, giving the girls a little hope.

Sarah turned the other direction and made her way toward the bathrooms.  She pushed the door open and approached the mirror, bracing herself for the ghastly visage.  Even though she knew what to expect, the face in the mirror still filled her with terror.

The face that stared back was similar to her own, but very different.  The hair was disheveled and wild, the face grey and dead, but it was the eyes that filled Sarah with the most dread, for they were black as tar.  In the mirror, her shirt was splattered with blood, as was the wall (*Picture 1*).

"You have to find Granny Elsa or all will be lost," Maggie begged.  "Leave your friend or she will die."

"I don't know a Granny Elsa.  Where does she live?  How can I find her?"  Sarah wanted to help, but did not know what to do.

"She lives in a farmhouse, up the road from here.  You must hurry."

The familiar sound of their pursuers' truck was suddenly heard coming from the front of the abandoned building.  Sarah composed herself and darted out of the bathroom, down the hall and out the back door.  She jumped on the ATV and drove it around toward the front of the building, where Ryan and Max were approaching the boarded door.

"Hey! I'm over here you murdering bastards," Sarah hollered as she gunned the throttle and sped up the road away from the truck stop and away from her best friend.

Max and Ryan rushed back to the truck and spun it around to get back on the road.  She had a head start, but the truck was faster than the ATV and they started closing the distance.

Sarah looked over her shoulder repeatedly at the truck as it rapidly gained ground on her.  Due to her lack of concentration, she hit a large tree limb, which caused the ATV to flip and toss her into the ditch.  She pulled herself to her knees and noticed a farmhouse less than a quarter of a mile away.

As she started crawling toward the farmhouse, she felt a tingling that reminded her of when the ATV started itself.  She looked back as the truck barreled toward her, but just as it passed by the ATV, the small vehicle exploded.  The force of the blow tore the passenger door off and took Ryan's head with it.  

The truck was knocked on its side, sliding down the road, sending sparks everywhere.  It finally skidded to a stop about fifty feet away from the injured woman.

Sarah pulled herself to her feet and started loping toward the farmhouse, half dragging her injured left leg.  A feeling of relief washed over her as she got closer to the farmhouse.  She could see an old lady stepping out the front door, surrounded by cats.  Just then, something grabbed her by the back of the neck.

"So close, yet so far away," a voice whispered in her ear.

The snap of her own neck was the last thing that she heard.

Max grinned as he held her lifeless body, but the grin quickly turned to horror as dozens of cats attacked him.  He was unable to get free as the life ebbed from his host's body.  He knew that he was headed back home where his partner was already waiting for him, but at least he had accomplished his mission.


***


Granny Elsa walked over to the body of the dead girl.

"Poor poor child, this was terribly tragic."

She bent over the dead body and touched it on the forehead.

"May your soul find peace."

As she walked back toward her house, the body was drawn into the earth.

Returning to her parlor, Granny Elsa sat on her sofa, surrounded by her pet cats (*Picture 3*).  She looked up at the mirror on the wall and smiled at the face staring back at her.

"You needn't fear, dear Maggie, for you never have to go back there again.  Granny Elsa will keep you safe."


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## FickleGM (Jul 9, 2007)

[sblock]Within ten seconds of hitting submit, I noticed a formatting error half way through "chapter 2," where Sarah starts out "I...I don't know..."

I had some rogue hard returns in there, breaking up the line, mid-sentence.  Oh well.

Also, I had a better feeling about my idea when I started, but I'm not sure that I liked the way that it developed.  After reading it, you should not be surprised to find out that I waste too many Saturdays watching B-Horrors on the Sci-Fi channel. 

Anyway, good luck to my opponent.

EDIT:  I just realized that I forgot to include the required b-horror sex scene. [/sblock]


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 9, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> I'm gonna be in my bunk.




Shiny!


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## Cevalic (Jul 9, 2007)

*Sweet Release*

Round 1, Match 3


Sweet Release



“You are Past, aren’t you?”

She didn’t respond.  She merely stood drooling, her eyes fixed upon the mirror.  In a strange, twisted way, she was beautiful as she stood there, her mind completely separated from her body.  She was innocent once more, free of the sins that burdened her mind and heart.  That was a freedom I could envy.

Then again, she was drooling on herself.

“Well, if we’re going to get this over with, I’m going to have to look through your eyes.”
I knew she couldn’t hear me.  It just made these types of Returns easier.  They definitely weren’t my favorite thing to do.  Then again, I’m not sure that I had a favorite thing to do.  As a wizard of Demmun, I was obliged to deal with some issues that lesser mages wouldn’t dare to touch.   Most of the moral decisions that I had to make went against my faith, a fact that caused me much sorrow.

“The Six only know,” I muttered, a half-hearted curse at the heads of my order that had chosen me for this work.

I was born with the Mind of a wizard, and the Reason of a priest.  Fortunately when my parents gave me to the Six, they thought me more suitable as a wizard.  All of the work I did paled in comparison to the dark arts that the priests were required to practice.  Knowing how different my life could have gone made my burden that much easier to bear.

I stepped in the bathroom behind the woman, and placed my hands upon both sides of her head.  My eyes closed as I took a deep breath.  I spoke a few sharp words of Sorcery, and suddenly I was inside of what was once her mind, looking through her eyes.

In the mirror, a warped version of reality glared back.  The walls were covered with blood, though no clue was offered from where it had come.  The beautiful woman that I held was replaced by a gaunt image of herself.  A ghostly pale feminine face was obscured by wild, black hair blowing around violently in that alternate realm.  The eyes were white and fixed upon mine, pulling me towards them, a mystical attack that I brushed aside with ease.   The image’s thin, tight lips, devoid of color, gave me the final clue as to what type of creature I was gazing upon. 

“Ek’Aclin,” I said, pulling my hands off of her head.  The image in the mirror vanished. “A demon of Vanity.”

I heard the girl’s mother gasp, and collapse in her husband’s arms. I stepped out of the bathroom, and looked into the father’s teary eyes.  He was searching for some hope, some sign from me.

None was coming.

“It is hopeless.  There is no Return when a creature like that is involved.”  I said it in a neutral tone, but I knew that the words came out harsh.  It was the only way they could come out.  “The demon has devoured what was your daughter, and if I don’t have a Knight drain the blood from the body of your daughter, it will enter our world and possess her body.”

I was worried he would object, or as most do, get violent.  He did neither, just merely held his fainted wife tighter and sobbed.  It was a blessing; things generally didn’t go that well, especially after such awful news.  I walked to the door.

“I will send for a Knight of Orgul.  They are more proficient at the rest of this process than I,” I said before turning to leave.  “They will arrive within the hour, as time is crucial.  You should say your goodbyes before he arrives.  There will be no time after.”

With that, I turned to walk down the long hallway that led out of the building, this home that would never again be called a home by the family who lived there.  I was nearly to the outer door when the call came.

“Used to be a time when Wizards did Returns.”

I stopped, puzzled by the voice from the door to my side.

“They used to stop souls from being condemned to the Nine.  I guess things just aren’t what they used to be.”

The door to the room where the voice came from was part way open.  I nudged it open enough to peer in, and held my breath.

The most colorful room I’d ever beheld wrapped around me.  It was a surreal look, with the paint on the wall seeming to come alive as I gazed around.  Immediately I found the cause.
At the far end of the room, an elderly woman sat in a chair, the drapes from the closed window behind her blowing on some unfelt breeze.  I counted eleven cats on or around her.  They purred and languished around the woman and the three neat stacks of books at her feet.  It was the woman who was the source of the pastel colors of the room.

Though old, the woman had the look of a person who had stepped out of an artists’ landscape.  Her age was timeless, a beauty that never withered.  The clothes, a knit sweater over a blue dress, fit perfectly, even if the woman sat in a chair cushioned chair that dwarfed her.   She was a grandmother of Grace Eternal.  She gave off a comforting presence as she sat there, eyes closed, petting a cat.

She was, in her very essence, otherworldly.

“That’s right.  I Rose.”  Her voice was soft, musical.  Another side effect of coming back.

“You weren’t only Returned, but Risen?”  I asked.  “No one ever Rises.”

“They used to.  When I was a child the Wizards of all the Six were able to perform the Rites, and very few failed when they attempted a Rite.”  She sighed.  “That’s the way of the world.  Everything changes.  Back then I could walk around, and people wouldn’t think twice.  Now, I only dare to think what would happen if I were to step outside.  With all of the nonsense of the God-King, and the Faith Denouncement, I worry I’d be viewed as a monster.  Best for me to stay inside, like I have for countless years, hidden and taken care of by the ones that love me.”

I was speechless.  I had never expected to see a Risen, much less converse with one.  The few that were rumored to exist were notoriously secretive, so much that the very existence of the Risen was questioned as fact of history or just some legend that had made its way into the history books.

“You should go Mage,” she said.  “You have done all you can here and no one in the house holds any anger towards you.  It’s not your fault of the failing powers of the Six, and although I know you have many questions, I have very few answers.  Go.  There are dark things around this night.  Some I am sure you can help with.”

I left, without words.  Too much had come to my mind, too many questions, and for some reason I felt the urge to obey her command to leave.  Perhaps the Risen gained some type of mystical powers when they came back.  I didn’t have long to ponder the thought though.

As I walked outside the dusk sky gave just enough light for me to see two men dressed in yellow jackets leaning towards each other; their bodies at an odd angle especially considering that they weren’t touching.  Both were holding something up to their  heads, in the hand nearest to each other.  Neither moved.

As I walked closer I noted that the uniforms the men wore marked them as garbage men, probably just starting their shift.  Neither was remarkable, just two out of shape middle aged men.  I was close enough then to notice the steel rods were what the men were holding against their heads, braced up from the ground.

Out of the ground, I corrected myself.  And the rods stretched, and punctured, into each of their heads through the ears.  They weren’t holding them there; they had tried to remove them, as it happened.

I knew the signs at once.  Some Geomancer had unleashed a Gaia demon, whether by choice or accident was to be decided.  These two probably weren’t his only victims, and the demon couldn’t be too far away.  This attack had been fresh.  I would have no problem Returning them before I set out in search of the Gaia.

I paused momentarily to think of the Risen, and wondered if such a thing would have been possible with these men had it happened in her time.  The thought passed quickly, as the need to find and stop the demon grew.  There were dark things out that night, and I was needed.


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## Cevalic (Jul 9, 2007)

Just wanted to say good luck to FickleGM.  Tried to send a Private Message but the system wouldn't let me.  Not sure why.  Still trying to figure that out.


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## FickleGM (Jul 9, 2007)

Cevalic said:
			
		

> Just wanted to say good luck to FickleGM.  Tried to send a Private Message but the system wouldn't let me.  Not sure why.  Still trying to figure that out.



 Hey, thanks Cevalic.  Good luck to you, as well.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 9, 2007)

*Round 1 Match 6 (Yes, I know it's out of order)*

Round 1 Match 6 - EP vs Avatar V

Pictures posted at 1603 GMT. Picture 3 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox. You have 72 hours, no word limit.


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## yangnome (Jul 9, 2007)

Are you guys rotating some classic pictures in?  I recognize a couple of these.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 9, 2007)

Herremann said you'd probably seen some of the ones he's contributing, but he promised original evil-ness for you.  The ones I'm using should be new (unless by pure randomness I stumbled across the same ones someone else used), and Max's are all-original.


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## questing gm (Jul 9, 2007)

I would like to apologise and annouce my forfeit in this competition due to unforseen circumstances and urgent matters that i had to attend to which hasn't allowed me to continue on.

I hate doing this so early in this competition and feel most ashamed to my fellow competitors and judges. I would like to personally apologise to my opponent, freeXenon for abstaining him from a fair win. 

If you would like, i can post what i've written so far but it is possibly only half-way and these urgent business has caused me to abandon this piece of work. 

I sincerely apologise once again for my failures.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 9, 2007)

Post what you got.  If nothing else, a half-finished story beats a non-posted story, and we've had double-defaults before.


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## yangnome (Jul 9, 2007)

yeah, I agree.  Post what you've got.


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## yangnome (Jul 9, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Herremann said you'd probably seen some of the ones he's contributing, but he promised original evil-ness for you.  The ones I'm using should be new (unless by pure randomness I stumbled across the same ones someone else used), and Max's are all-original.



 I could have sworn I've seen that dog before, too, though it might not have been on CDM.


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## FreeXenon (Jul 9, 2007)

*Children of the Henge*

I am prepared to be crushed....   I think I got all of the coloring and stuff done. 
This is way too long. Thank you all!   

[sblock]*Children of the Henge*

*Prologue*
The time has far past when pixies, dwarves, elves, and dragons dwelt upon the lands. Everything magical has passed from the world for long last leaving but humans, and the animals, and the plants. Magical things that were a part of the very fabric of life are no longer, and relegated to parts of bedtime stories read to children before they go to sleep. Magic _was_ a spell that brought flames, or allowed one to travel great distances in a mere thought, to cause the one person to fall in love with another, or bring a kingdom to its knees. Now magic is but silly slight of hand. True Magic has left the world.

The gods had come to pass as well in these times. There were but a few that remember the influence and worship of the gods, and even they do not speak of them for fear of being labeled a witch or demon speaker. These are godless and fearful times, yet innocence and purity can still be found. There is still the spark of good to be found in humanity, yet one must still be careful.

The power and strength of the sword is what rules humanity now. Kingdoms and fiefdoms are conquered and controlled by the trickery or those with a hefty sword arm. We will now set our story outside of the small agrarian village of Dunmare.

*The Henge*

*Sleeping*
She slept there in a small clearing in the middle of a haunted wood - alone and serene. The grass was soft and full. There was a break in the canopy of the forest's trees here where the twinkling stars far above could be seen in the clear night sky.  The air was cool, but not too much so as to be uncomfortable or to chill the skin. The fresh scent of roses and a fresh dew was in the air and is a idyllic setting for a summer night.

The young lady, barely of 16 winters, slept. Her long, golden hair was splayed out above her, and her pink courtly dress seemed rather out of place with the dirt on her face and leaves in her hair. To those who knew not better might think that by the way the roses and the plants have come to embrace her that she has been sleeping there for many years.  A crown of roses grows carefully about her head. A few roses and vines have grown about her as if they wish to caress her or watch over her. The soft pink of the delicate rose petals accents her dress and the slight blush of her cheeks.

This little clearing was surrounded by large rough stone pillars 5 men high by 2 wide - and there were 6 of these pillars arranged in a perfect circle.  The stones were old - far older than any living creature may remember, and far older that any historian may have written about. Know one remembers for what they would have been placed here for even if they could find it. This was a holy place to some, and a place of evil and fear to others.

She begins to rouse from a deep sleep as the plants, crown and all, move slowly away from her and back to where they belong, as if they were never there about her. The roses went back to climbing the stone pillars and the vines as well. The young lady's head moved to the other side and then her arms moved closer together to rest on her stomach. She slowly opened her bright green eyes to look into the stars above. She smiles happily and contentedly while breathing in fresh air.

*Uncle Sarris*

The young lady looks about the stone pillars and her eyes search about as if she is looking for something. She carefully stands up so as to not stain her dress and then she brushes the what grass and dirt remained. "So, why is it that only my Uncle Sarris can find me here and no one else?" she questions seemingly to no one in particular as a darkly clothed man walks from behind one of the stone pillars.  

His cloak and clothes were black as the night and the silvery hilt of a sword poked out like a single star against the dark night of his clothes. He had short dark brown hair and piercing icy blue eyes. His strong jaw and muscular frame gave him and air of authority and presence that few would question. He had the strength and prowess of warrior and the wisdom of a priest.

He smiles affectionately to her as he walks forward to her and says "Perhaps a better question is 'Why can you and I find this place at all and no one else can?'."

"Now I know that you are not my real uncle and those people that I call family are not my real family, so why do they insist on calling me their daughter?" she continued.

"Why do you insist on remembering that they are not your blood-kin?" he stated as he smiles wryly enjoying this game.

She was rather use to this process, but has always hoped that he would relent and actually answer a question with something of meaning and substance instead of his fancy question-answers. "Why do people not like us and treat us differently, _Uncle_?"

He smiled remembering the path that she will walk in a few hours. "People fear us because they do not understand us. We are different. We see the world differently than they. We know things that they do not know."

"Why are we different and what is there to not understand? Do we not bleed and breathe as they do? Do we not need food and water? Do we not think and feel as they also do?" she countered knowing full well that she may as well have been speaking to herself.

"Why can we find the this place as no others can?" was the circular answer that told her that there were to be no more questions and that he was definitely not going to entertain the idea of pseudo-answers anymore. Sarris was more like a father to her. He helped her to understand and put into words that which her 'family' could not.

Sarris sighed. "We are the same, Delia, You and I. We are but one in a couple of generations. We see and understand things that others do not and that is our place in life - to be misunderstood and to know that which they cannot. To act in moments that none can see the right action. We are here to work the gods' will amongst the mortals even though they are no longer"

"The gods have long since past but there are places where their energies linger and hold on to very fabric of existence. We are their children and this is their place. Do you not feel at home here?"

Delia frowned in frustration as she does not really understand. "I know that is what you keep telling me but it does not make sense. No one worships the gods anymore. They do not exist. No one even remembers them. They do not matter to people."

"The gods of auld may not matter to them, but you matter to _them_."  He walked over and embraced her. Delia hugged him back but she was still no closer to understanding her place in all of this.

"My dear Delia, you need to go back to town now. Your village needs you."

"Uh-huh" she says sarcastically. He smiled enjoying her attitude.

*Dunmare*
Dunmare was a fell miles away from the henge and Delia walked quietly and nonchalantly through the forest towards home with her thoughts lost into her uncle's 'answers' to her questions. The path to the henge was not worn or even bore a hint of passage no matter how many times in her life that she has traveled it. Uncle Sarris has been here countless times and no one at the village can remember a time without him. He was always been there in one form or another. Since he showed her how to find the path to it she has been traveling there herself as she desired. She would go there when she needed time to think or a place to win at hide-and-go seek.

Dunmare was a small agrarian village of about 60 people. Most farmed and few hunted, but everyone had there place in the village's survival.  Everyone, that is, except for Sarris and her. Sarris was only about when he chose to be and no one questioned him and pretty much no one even talked to him unless he spoke to them first. The people seemed somewhat flighty and frightened around him.

She came and went as she pleased. She helped with farming or hunting as she pleased and no one said anything to her about earning her keep. She had two 'brothers' and a 'sister' who were always busy doing something around their little farm and the parents were quite insistent about them doing their chores and schooling and such. The raising of Delia was left to Sarris and the rest of the time filled in by them. He was definitely more gone then around but he handed out lessons as needed to keep her on the straight path, so they hoped that is what their infrequent time together was. She was a well behaved young girl, but odd - very odd and blessed, but they knew not by who or what.

As she approached the village center she found the village meeting building (which no one remembers was a former temple dedicated to the gods) with lights ablaze on the inside and she heard plenty of murmuring and shouting coming from inside. Many a saddled horse is tethered outside which was a rare occurrence as most horses are draft horses and used for wagons or plowing and not so much for riding. It appears that the town has gathered to discuss something and there are visitors involved.

*The Temple*

The temple is a tall stone building with murals on all the walls above where any man's extended arm could touch. The walls were probably 3 men in height and the murals were of natural scenes and of divine beings lost to time. Deep blue skies, crisp green trees and bright white sheep as well as others were found in this mural. As she has been taught the creatures and beings depicted represent the natural cycle and the ascendance of the divine and her guardians. The history and story of this mural is complex and long and they have not gotten far into it yet.

She approached the temple door and allowed her eyes adjust to the light and the sound of the people talking. There was a throng of people here many of which she knew and many that she did not on the far side raised podium and a small raised dais that were the only dominate item typically present here. On the near side there were many of the young ladies of the village all dressed up in their finest dresses sitting down and preening themselves.

*The Neereman*
Delia listened a little bit and it appears as though they village is attempting to marry off their daughters to wealthy noblemen that is passing through. A Neereman noble - dark skinned and of a painted face of blue, purple, white and black markings. The higher status a Neereman the more painted his face was and this man's face was full and bore feline qualities. Neereman were very uncommon about these parts and she has never see one herself. 

They were a tribal and cast people. They had nobles who ruled there tribes and the tribes swore fealty to a a king who ruled them all. They had peoples that were serfs and destined to not be more than that, and the those that were destined for all of the finest things in life. Breaking through the cast system was not impossible, but very rare. Neereman nobles lived well and usually had a lot of land and serfs. They were a kind but stern people.  Neereman Criminals, no matter what there previous status, were generally reduced to serfs and left to a serfs life. In rare cases the offender was made a slave to the offended party. Non-Neereman were sometimes made serfs or many times they were exiled without anything to survive on. Most died within a day or two of exile.

The villagers were all about as the women went up there one by one and there family members went up with them to tell and display of the virtues of their daughters. This was a moment for these families that meant that their daughter might be given a life of splendor and riches the likes of which that they, themselves, will never see. The Neereman brought gold, furs and other sundry items to pay for the daughters hand. They were a generous people when they had it. Generous with their dowries and generous to their serfs.

The noble man was surrounded by 6 other Neereman warriors who kept the villagers at bay as they hawked their daughters on the dais. The warriors were strong and significantly less painted. The sides of their faces were covered bore paint and that is it. They wielded spears and had longs swords by their sides, and chaimail for armor.

Delia entered the room and the villagers after a few moments quieted down a little and they looked at her. She looked at everyone else not sure what she was doing exactly. She walked into the room, passing daughters that were waiting there turn, and right up onto the dais with a father who was previously testifying to the virtuous qualities that his daughter had.

She looked hard at the noble man for a few long moments and he looked back to her - never moving or responding in any way. She reached down deep into herself and brought out ancient words "Erigthiena Thslisthan". The power of the elder words filled the room and everything was dead silent. Now, before her, in place of the dark skinned Neeremen were bipedal Yak men. Dark furred, broad horned, dark eyed, strong men whose furred faces are painted. She saw this and no one else did for the ancient words worked only for those who utter it.

She smiled at the Neereman noble knowing that he knew that she knew the truth, and for the first time, the Neereman smiled. He then said matter-of-factly "I will take her." The whole crowd of villagers gasped and started to murmur. None of them were quite sure what to do.

"If that is what you and your family will, they so let it be done." were the words that were emitted from him even though his yak lips could not actually mouth the words. His ensorcelled disguise could not fool the power that she could channel, yet it was very competently woven about him and his minions.[/sblock]


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## Herremann the Wise (Jul 10, 2007)

yangnome said:
			
		

> I could have sworn I've seen that dog before, too, though it might not have been on CDM.



Nah, that wasn't one of mine. Sometimes, certain pictures are too good not to use though. Anyway, I'll get back to stirring my judging pot.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Cevalic (Jul 10, 2007)

I'd at least post what you have Questing GM.  Since this is my first contest, Im really intrested in what everyone has to write, even if its not completely finished.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 10, 2007)

*Round 1 Match 5 - Hellefire vs Trench*

*Round 1 Match 5 - Hellefire vs Trench*

Pictures posted at 1602 GMT. Picture 2 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox. You have 72 hours, no word limit.


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## Hellefire (Jul 10, 2007)

*And away we go...*

Off to work on my story now. I'll get back to reviews, etc after I get mine posted. Good luck to Trench!

Aaron


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## Trench (Jul 10, 2007)

Great pictures guys.

Good Luck Hellefire. I'll read the other stories when I get mine done.


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## awayfarer (Jul 10, 2007)

I just wanted to say thanks to hellefire for the commentary. It's nice having an idea of what I need to improve if I advance.


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## yangnome (Jul 10, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> *Round 1 Match 5 - Hellefire vs Trench*
> 
> Pictures posted at 1602 GMT. Picture 2 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox. You have 72 hours, no word limit.



 This, IMO is one of the strongest sets of pictuers I've seen in a CDM/ESSS competition.  They are intriguing.  They don't seem to pigeonhole the type of story or genre either.  Well selected.  I am anxious to see what comes of these.


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## AvatarV (Jul 10, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Round 1 Match 6 - EP vs Avatar V
> 
> Pictures posted at 1603 GMT. Picture 3 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox. You have 72 hours, no word limit.




Wow; I think I have my work cut out for me  We'll see what happens.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 10, 2007)

I love max's mural.  I want her to become my live-in painter like Eldon on Murphy Brown.  I just need to get a house first.  And a butt-load of money.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 11, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> I love max's mural.  I want her to become my live-in painter like Eldon on Murphy Brown.  I just need to get a house first.  And a butt-load of money.




I am flattered! And hey, a trip out there isn't out of the question... I have friends that just moved to DC who are bugging me to come and visit. Hurry up and get that house!

PS The mural doesn't exist any more- it was in BirdSong bookstore and when they moved to a different location because the new landlords were jerks, the jerks made them paint over it. One of my favorite memories is watching a little boy try to go through that doorway and down those stairs...


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## carpedavid (Jul 11, 2007)

Curses! I'm sorry I missed signing up for the contest. It'll be fun to read through the stories, though. I like the picture selection so far!


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## EP (Jul 11, 2007)

*Gunfight on the Plains of the Abyss*
*By Todd Crapper*

The sound of creaking metal overcame the wind as MaryAnn rounded the corner, passing the wreckage of an immense, wheeled vehicle.  Her heels stepped over pebble and bone, her hair blown wildly in the gust of dust and ash consuming the world around her.  Her dress, once bright red and aglow with energy, was now covered over in the brown sand of the wasteland she found herself in, but she never cursed her luck until her heel broke.

	“Dagnabbit, Richard!” she hollered, trying to be heard over the wind.  “Why in the name of all Hells did you have to bring us here?!”

	The throbbing glow of Richard’s walking stick came into view before the gentleman spellcaster did.  Adorned in the full suit of a man known to wealth, complete with a pocketwatch in his breast pocket, the man stood out amongst the decay on this desolate plain.  Projecting an aura of protection around the finely dressed Englishman, the walking stick was carved in the form of a jackal’s head grasping a diamond in its mouth.  While the spell shielded Richard from the elements, he still kept his free hand atop his bowled hat.

	“We arrive where the spell takes us, my dear,” the gentleman retorted.  “Particularly when traversing into the Abyss…”

	“Shut it,” Duke called out, his tone evident in his words.  The dark figure passed Richard, his black duster flapping behind his sleek form.  Unlike the spellcaster, the gunslinger’s hat remained firmly on his heat without any additional support, for he used both hands to hold onto the double-barreled shotgun.  “Been listenin’ to yer bitchin’ and whinin’ fer six miles now.”

	“_Si_, and it feels like sixty.”  The final voice of the party trailed only a few steps behind Duke; indicative of the many years the priest had traveled with the gunslinger.  Held firmly in his hand was a cross, while a censure of white smoke swung from the other.  Father Ramirez’s white clerical collar was the only piece of clothing left intact from the dirt and debris blowing around him, a beacon of white hope in this vast and hopeless desert.  “Are we there yet?”  The priest coughed out the last words.

	Duke squinted through the sandstorm before them and saw the yellow beam of the fallen girder in the distance, just barely cutting through the swath of dust slicing through the air.  He nodded his head – as always, barely taking the time to speak when he could just nod – and lead his fellows towards the rubble.  MaryAnn tossed her heels away and stumbled forward barefoot, giving up on holding her wide-bottomed gown off the ground either.  She did wish that she had her fan, at least to block the wind from her face and protect the mascara she was certain was ruined now.

	The gunslinger arrived first, his shotgun at the ready, and quickly surveyed the scene. Suspended from the fallen i-beam was the skull of a bull-like creature, swaying heavily and teetering to one side.  The tiny particles of sand bounced against the metal of this fallen structure and added to the cacophony of noise already encompassing this realm.  While these structures were no longer intact, they did not seem to be of the time he knew of.  Metal bars jutted out of broken stone in huge piles too massive to have been erected by man, and the scattered remains of the horseless carriages in the far lot told him that this realm was meant to have been from a far-off time. While he could barely make it out, Duke was certain the remains of a city were off in the distance.

	Waving the party forward, Duke raised the shotgun up to his shoulder level and proceeded ahead of the others.  Father Ramirez stepped around Richard and MaryAnn to fall behind the gunslinger, a consistent prayer whispered in Spanish.  The priest heard the sound just before Duke suddenly crouched down, and held the cross forward above his head.  MaryAnn also ducked to the ground, while Richard remained standing as he was, well aware of the unannounced noise that came from so dangerous a place.  It was like the flapping of gigantic wings, loud and reverberating, coming from behind a pile of concrete up ahead.  When the noise continued on without any motion from behind the pile, Duke turned to MaryAnn and tilted his head towards the direction of the sound.  The young woman sighed, rolled her eyes, and backtracked from where they came to move around the yellow girders and work her way around the pile of concrete rubble to see what was on the other side.

	“I am not dressed for this,” she mumbled to herself as she hurried.  There was no activity to meet her as she worked through the wreckage, but knew that the shifting sand at her feet would simply blow over and mask any previous tracks if there were “hosts” waiting for them.  All the same, she knew better and drew the derringer from the holster around her thigh.

	Finding a drop in the massive pile of debris, MaryAnn peered through and saw what had caused the noise.  A large sign, jarred loose from the wind that seemed eternal in this place, flapped back and forth.  Its centre was still attached to the frame, but the sides were loose and created the sound of wings.  Breathing a sigh of relief, MaryAnn lowered her pistol and turned back towards the others… when a new sound caught her keen ears.  Hissing laughter.

	For a moment, her body did not move.  Her lungs did not take in air.  She was already leaned against the concrete and the sandy gust offered her plenty of concealment from the figures winding around the corner towards her.  Their silhouettes were small, but with elongated limbs and pointed extremities.  They had tiny wings, but they didn’t look strong enough to support their own weight to fly them away.  They were demons of some kind and they coming straight towards her.

	In the split second of time she had, MaryAnn knew the derringer was risky.  There was likely more of these creatures and the sound of gunfire would only draw them out.  While she held it in her hand, she slowly reached up with the other and withdrew the needle slung through the bun of her hair, grasping it firmly as the demon pair walked right past her, thinking her as nothing more than the rubble she knelt next to.

	Spinning around, she dug the needle through the small of the first demon’s back and clubbed the back of its head with the derringer.  While it fell to the ground face first, the second demon turned to face her, too surprised to be prepared for her next attack.  Snapping the pistol into its nose, she heard cartilage break and crack into the demon’s brain, killing it instantly.  She didn’t wait, however, and high kicked it onto its back, striking the same place as her first blow.  In a fighting stance, the blood-soaked needle and splattered derringer in hand, she looked at her victims and relaxed when none of them made a sound again.

	Duke spat on the ground, having seen the whole thing.  At the front of the party, and with the blowing sand around them, no one could see the grin slip over his face.  Graceful as always, he thought, there was something more to her than just being a whore when they first met.  Hell, he’d be dead if it wasn’t for her.  Tied up in a lasso of holding, he had no way to defend himself from the four rustlers who had come to collect the bounty on him, but none of them had thought anything of the prostitute in the far corner of the room.  Not only was she impressive to watch, killing four armed professionals with her bare hands, but she was naked when she did it too.  Duke grinned again, adjusted his hat, and waved the party forward.

	“Nice work,” he said, meeting up with MaryAnn.  “What cha got?”

	“Just a sign,” she answered, shrugging her shoulders.  “Seems empty.”

	“Oh, yes,” a new, yet familiar, voice replied.  “It does seem that way, doesn’t it?”

	As the party stepped back and formed a defensive circle, their backs turned to each other, they watched as the wind suddenly dissipated and the sand melted into the ground.  The wreckage was gone and in its place stood the original structures, intact and clean.  The barrage of wind was now replaced with children laughing, whistles chiming, and balloons popping.  The pile of concrete was now a two-storey building with a large sign suspended above it: Funington’s.

	“It’s an amusement park,” Father Ramirez narrated.  His disbelief was the same as the others, but it was Richard’s that quickly turned to focused attention.

	“Dick?” the gunslinger hissed at the spellcaster.

	“An illusion, not to worry.”  No sooner had he spoken did two young girls race past him in a slide that wound down the hill behind Richard, screaming with glee, but causing such a fright in the spellcaster that he shrieked out himself.  Turning back to his comrades, he tried to hide the blushed look on his face by holding the walking stick upright to push up the rim on his bowler.

	“Aren’t they a delight?” the voice spoke again, now to their left.  Sliding on their heels, the party formed a line to face the creature and dreaded to see what they already suspected.

	Seated atop a huge ball of multi-colored yarn, a single Cheshire cat asleep at its base, was an elderly woman.  Her long nose and beady eyes glanced up from her knitting, her elbows raised high to shoulder length, they could see the four arms busy at work on the long green scarf forming a trail far into the background.  The commotion of the park continued on around her, none of the families seemingly aware of the adventurers or the old woman who created this world for them.

	“Azraeil,” Duke said, breaking the silence after a long pause.  

	“Hello, dearie,” the old woman waved with one of her hands.  “Oh my, you’re all dirty from the trip.  Shall I make you a cup of tea?”

	“We shall take nothing from you, you demon bitch!” Father Ramirez cursed.  “Except for the girl.  Return her to us or else.”

	The old woman shook her head slowly and tisked aloud.  “Oh, my, my, my.  You’re quite upset about this, aren’t you?  Seems like you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to come all the way here to my home and now you’ve got to use all those nasty weapons you brought with you.”

	Before the old woman could barely finish her sentence, a thunderous blast rocked the park and the old woman was thrown back from her seat of yarn.  The cat awoke and hissed, running off into the bushes nearby.  When the echo of the blast faded away, Duke stood with the shotgun at his side, thin wisps of smoke rising from the twin barrels.

	“Yup,” he replied.

	A hand grabbed hold of a thread of pink yarn at the top of the ball and the old woman slowly pulled herself back up, hooting and grunting like the image she portrayed herself to be.  As she propped herself back to her original position, the double burst of the shotgun was spread across, and through, her chest.  Blood and flesh dripped and hung from the orifice, and her pastel blue sweater was completely ruined.  Looking down at the mess caused by the dreadful weapon, she shook her head once more and chuckled.

	“Oh, dear, and my favorite sweater too.”  When she looked back up the party, her eyes had changed.  Gone were the pleasant beads of dark brown.  Globes of hot red anger stared back at them from the darkness of her soul.  “Now you’ve made me angry.”

	The giant ball of yarn she sat upon was torn away to unleash a horde of mixed demons – large, small, fanged, winged, horned, clawed, bipedal, serpentine, and more combinations than could be captured in the brief second the adventurers had to gaze the scene and defend themselves as the demons poured over them.

	Dropping the shotgun to the ground, Duke reached to his hips and unleashed the twin six shooters, complete with blessed bullets.  Pulling back the hammer and squeezing the trigger with such ease that could only come with years of experience, the gunslinger downed six demons himself before having to pull back behind Richard to reload, already with the cylinder of new bullets in hand.

	Richard raised his walking stick to the air and summoned the runes of protection around him and his troupe.  As the demon horde rushed forward, their limbs burned as they passed over the Latin words etched into the soil.  Pulling back, the demons hissed and scratched in the air, searching for a way past the invisible barrier.

	Holding the cross in the air, Father Ramirez called out in a bellowing voice: “The power of Christ compels you!!”  Repeating this over and over, the padre extradited the holy power of God across the park, pushing the demons back even further.  The white light radiating from the priest burned their eyes, and they were further made helpless as the additional horde that continued to pour from the ball of yarn began to push them forward.

	Seeing the mob of demons pushing those at the front of the formation closer to the ruins and the incantations of the priest, MaryAnn reached into the pockets concealed under her dress and tossed out three glass balls of holy water, given to her by Father Ramirez before they left.  Smashing on their forearms and heads, the acidic touch of the water to the spawn of Evil burned deep and splashed over enough demons to expose them to further harm.

	Now reloaded, Duke continued to fire a volley of sanctified bullets into the demon horde, who were unable to drive themselves any further against the double blockade of magic and prayer before them. Taking quick aim, the gunslinger blew holes in their heads and dropped them quickly.  With the magic endowed into the pistols themselves, many of the gunslinger’s shots passed into another demon after exploding through the first. To complete the attack, Richard fired a volley of searing white-hot missiles at the demons, the skill of his spell striking each demon he took aim at.

	Lashing out from an unexpected corner, a green scarf whipped over the circle of protection and grabbed Richard by the throat.  Wrapping itself tight, the tail yanked Richard away from the circle and dragged him across the green grass of the park, his screams fading out of earshot.  The markings etched in the grass poofed out of the sight.  Professional to the second, Duke continued firing at the demons and stood himself in front of Father Ramirez, ready to guard the priest should the scarf return.  The priest continued his prayers, holding the demons at bay, when the scarf came back.

	Another shot rang out and the single shell of the derringer’s bullet pierced the threading.  Pulling back, the scarf slithered back to its master and molted back to the giant ball of yarn made by the elderly woman, her face scorned with anger.

	“ENOUGH!!” she screeched, waving her four arms in the air, and the demons halted their pathetic assault.  Cowering behind the ball of yarn, they allowed their master to be visible before the remaining party.  Duke had finished reloading his right pistol, cocked the hammer back, and took aim at the woman herself.

	“Give us what we came fer and we’re gone,” he commanded.  “Nice and slow.”

	“And Richard too,” MaryAnn corrected.

	“Yeah.  What the hell.”  Duke spat.

	She seemed to ponder her options at the moment until the elderly woman finally smiled and shrugged her shoulders.  “Oh well then.  Win some, lose some, I guess.”  With that, two of her arms parted to the side and the ball of yarn opened vertically like a gaping maw.

	Meanwhile, tucked behind Duke’s body, Father Ramirez reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the stick of dynamite and a matchbook.  This was the time, he knew, for them to make their escape plan.

	The yarn lay open for an eternity before Duke called out the girl’s name.  When there was no answer, he opted for another tactic instead.  Pulling the trigger, he grazed the elderly woman’s shoulder and pulled back the hammer before she could retaliate with one of her many abilities.

	‘Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” he snarled and made a clear motion of pointing the barrel of the pistol at her head.

	“Papa…” a meek voice called out from inside the yarn and a pair of thin, pale arms grabbed the edges of the gaping maw.  Without taking his aim away from the target, Duke watched as his daughter crawled out, weak and tired.

	“Isabelle?” the gunslinger called out.  “C’mere, girl.  Quick.”

	Running into her father, the young girl embraced Duke with enough force to choke him, but he retained his aim on the old woman.  MaryAnn took hold of Isabelle and wrapped her arms around the girl, pulling her away from her father.

	“And now that you have her,” the old woman began, her voice suddenly taking on a whole new meaning of menace, “how do you plan to leave?”  As if by mental direction, the remaining demons began to advance once more, drooling at the prospects of the free meal.

	“Padre,” was all Duke said and Father Ramirez tossed the lit stick of dynamite over the gunslinger’s shoulder and straight into the open pit of the ball of yarn.  Leaping away from the old woman, the adventurers just hit the ground when the dynamite exploded and the screams of the old woman tore through the air.

	As the powder inside the stick ignited, the form of the old woman suddenly changed and the bits of colored yarn became singed pieces of demon flesh.  The ball of yarn became a bulbous torso attached to the clawed, four-armed form of the true master of this Abyssal plain, Azraeil.  What was once the impossibly long green scarf was now the impossibly long scaled tail, drooping lifelessly to the ground with a choking Richard yanking it off his neck.  Collapsing to the ground, her demon minions scattered and thrown across the park by the force of the explosion, Azraeil was motionless.  Only her top half remained when the smoke cleared and the pleasant illusion of the park faded back into the windy debris of the future world they had arrived to.

	Picking themselves off the ground, once again covered in red sand, Duke spat on the ground and flicked a chunk of Azraeil’s guts off his shoulder.

	“Now that’s what I call ugly…”


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## EP (Jul 11, 2007)

I just disqualified myself.  I entered all the code for formatting in the Word file, but didn't account for tabs to not appear.  So I simply edited my post and changed it so that it was more legible... then remembered that editing posts are forbidden as soon as it was done.

While I could always hope for leniency, rules are rules.

...

Crap.


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## Trench (Jul 12, 2007)

*They Will Circle the Sky*

Round 1, Match 5

*THEY WILL CIRCLE THE SKY*

Rain whipped the windows as Ophelia dipped the last strip of newspaper into the sticky plaster and set it gently onto the bridge of what would, eventually, make the nose of the woman. She looked into her project's closed eyes and wondered if she should have them be open, but soon realized she couldn't have painted realistic sad eyes. The Moslem woman would look like one of Victoria's anime and that would just be silly. Ophelia brushed a wet strand of red hair out of her face and smeared some plaster on her nose. She grimaced.

"Oh that looks nice sweetie!" Ophelia looked back to see her mother, decked out in a blue dress with green embroidered pheasants- some present from her womyn's circle no doubt. Ophelia shrugged. "It's okay, I guess. I just have to let it dry before painting it and it should be ready for next weekend."

Her mother kissed her on the forehead, rustling her hair enough to make more strands stick to each other. "My little druid."

Inside, Ophelia felt her insides curdle from the spoonful of sugar. "Mooooom," she moaned.

Her mother smirked and hugged her from behind, rubbing her nose against her daughter's cheek until it burned. "Would you rather I call you Moonbeam again? Raindrop? Rainbow?" How about-"

"Oh my GOD, stop!" Ophelia gasped, pushing her mother away. Ophelia's mother laughed. "Could you get Vicky for dinner?" 

Ophelia nodded and excused herself to throw on a clean shirt. She picked her way past the piles of magazines and clothes and dug through the cloth midden heap to pick out one her dad gave her for her last birthday. It was a red shirt that he had printed with a crude picture of himself holding out a textbook with the word BIOMETRY! She took off her stained and plaster covered David Bowie shirt, grimaced as she looked at her breasts in the mirror, and put the new one on.

The house was bubbling with sense memory; peace signs prompted stories, even from those unborn during their creation, the smell of cumin and coriander prompted a reminiscence of old travels to India, and Sufjan Stevens on the stereo prompted comparisons to Dylan (which prompted arguments or agreements.) It was typical for a week before a festival or march or whatever event her mom was planning or arranging, and there were always many. Boards were being painted with slogans and symbols and the ever-present sound of political discussion and ranting danced through the hallways like a radio being tuned in and out. Ophelia looked over one of her many, many aunts' shoulders and saw stretch of white bed sheet being bundled up to form a ghost-like head. Branches sat next to the project and her aunt smiled back at her. Ophelia heard the doorbell ring and ran to answer it. 

A skinny man with a septum piercing and green dreadlocks gave a slight nod to Ophelia as he shook out an umbrella with a giant anarchy symbol painted on top. "Hey kid," he said as he ushered his pregnant girlfriend inside, her belly distending the skull tattoo over her belly button to monstrous Giger-like proportions. "Hey Coyote," she said. "Mom's in the kitchen. I think Victoria's in the garage."

"Cool, cool," Coyote nodded, his hair jangling like rain forest vines. "Should be a good one. The rest of the country is finally waking up to this fascist."

Ophelia shrugged. "Yeah, guess so." Ophelia liked Coyote well enough, but he regularly pulled together a "Black Bloc" of fellow anarchists and ended up causing more trouble than most at protests. Ophelia liked the drum circles and carnival atmosphere of the marches her mom took her to well enough, with their giant paper mache heads of presidents and skeleton marching bands, but the more extreme anarchists in their black clothing and ski masks creeped her out a bit.

A peal of laughter came out of the room and her mom rushed up to hug Coyote and coo over the ink-marked swollen belly. Ophelia walked outside was almost pushed back by the torrential rain. She grabbed a trench coat off the coat hanger and wrapped it around herself as she ran outside and made her way to the garage. The coat flapped so incredulously at its use as a tarp that it afforded little protection. She darted inside the garage and saw Victoria working on her bike. A giant American flag was air brushed on the side, with a bumper sticker on the back that said "DYKES ON BIKES". Grease stained her other mother's hands as she wiped her hands on an already filthy rag.

"Dinner's almost ready," Ophelia said.

"Potluck again?" Victoria asked, as she shrugged on a semi-clean workshirt.

"The whole clan is here, so yeah."

Victoria grunted and rolled her eyes in response. Ophelia smirked as she could almost see her other mom gearing up for a raucous evening of discussion she had to feign interest in. She rushed outside and strode purposefully though the vicious horizontal rain and Ophelia followed soon after, not purposefully so much as flailing and shrieking in an effort to get a smile on Victoria's face. It worked. "Damn! The Earth is pissed at us!" Victoria laughed as she tossed her workshirt on the coat rack to dry. Ophelia went to help chop avocadoes for the salad and smirked as she heard her mother's squeal of protest as Victoria gave a grease-stained kiss on her mother's neck- eliciting an order for Vicky to take a shower before dinner.

The dinner was typical for pre-protest gatherings. Lots of laughter and pockets of conversations all at once that grew and shrank as other bubbles of interest percolated to the surface of the lively group. This was Ophelia's favorite part, when a group of associates and friends cackled to each other and talked about shallow, normal things- like how hot Starbuck was (or that Apollo was actually a dyke in boy drag). Eventually, the dinner always turned into more heady matters, as they railed against the government or heretofore unnoticed threatening policies. Ophelia excused herself early from the table, unnoticed by her mother as she was in deep discussion with a philosophy professor about Kant's Categorical Imperative. Ophelia heard her mother laugh at the professor's joke about "Ex-HUME-ing dead thinkers" as she made her way to the den. 

The house her mother had bought after the divorce was an old Victorian rehab, which still had many of the old fixtures. It occasionally flickered when a wire fritzed out giving the floral print wallpaper the illusion of growing on the wall. Ophelia started to dig her homework out from under the pile of her mother's ungraded papers and various fliers. 

It was then that the papers stared at her. She didn't know what it was at first, just a trick of the light against a few shiny binders perhaps. But the fliers and papers were arranged in such a way to form a crude pair of eyes. The red circle around a grade curved into the "G" of a Vagina Monologues flier that curved into the fiery hoop of an old Cirque De Soleil program when her mom and Victoria went to Vegas.  Ophelia stared back for a moment before laughing nervously.

And then the eyes blinked.

Ophelia screamed, a deep yelp that came out of her belly and built to a quick burst of a roar that somehow aborted itself into a mere whimper. She spread her hands out and scattered the papers in front of her.

(http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=29818)

There was a peal of laughter from down the hall that petered out just as Ophelia made a mess of the table. Her eyes wide open, her breathing heavy, she stood in front of the table and blinked- wondering what just happened.

"Ophelia?" came a voice from the hall. Coyote looked in and saw the young girl leaning over the table, still pale from shock. He looked to the table and stood very still. Ophelia looked back and saw that her scattering of papers had uncovered something. A blueprint of sorts, mechanical and with simple instructions with scribbled times and addresses. Before she had a chance to figure out exactly what it was, Coyote quickly walked to the table and grabbed the blueprint. He quietly folded it up and put it under his shoulder, watching Ophelia all the while.

"You should be more careful," he said simply before walking back out.

Ophelia stood there, blinking and wondering exactly what just happened. She cautiously looked back to the table and saw nothing but a chaos of disorganized files and essays.

***

As Ophelia drifts off to slumber, she sees swears she sees eyes staring at her. They are fuzzy and indistinct, yet full of a sadness that makes her knees tremble with vibrations that reach into her stomach to shake it. 

When she dreams, she sees her high school hallway. She's walking past faceless bodies drifting past as if blown by a stiff wind. Lockers merge together in a tapestry of yellow numbered metal that melts into brick walls. She feels that she is late for class and turns the corner only to stop short.

The hallway now suddenly ends in a stone window, fuzzier than the phantom school she walks through. Her math textbook lies open on the window, but with all the problems erased and only meaningless scribbles left. She sees the signpost and hedge maze beyond and carefully arranged blocks of stone on a hill far beyond, with a sky that spins impossibly fast, shifting from sunrise to a starry night in eye blinks. She stretches out a hand to touch the window.

"They're all going to die."

Ophelia turns to see the paper mache head of the Moslem woman staring at her. The protest bust opens her eyes.

"Everyone."

Ophelia wakes up with a gasp.

***

"So the water has been unbelievably rough, but we are getting some great data from the phytoplankton! It's like they're trying to get away from the ocean itself! I've got numbers coming out of my wazoo!"

"That's great dad," Ophelia says as she rubs her eyes and tries to uncrick her neck from holding the phone silently for the past half-hour. She's tired. "It sounds fun. Will you still be on the sub when I come to visit?"

"Well the project is about to wrap up but... I could pull some strings for... OOO!  Right, have to make sure I set that sonar to track... Right, sure."

"Dad?"

"What? Oh right! Well we'll see honey. How's your mother?"

Ophelia sighs. "Good."

"Great! And, uh, how's Vicky?"

"She's good too."

"Well great all around then! Heh heh. Yeah... Listen Ophie, we'll be going back under soon and reception underwater is, well... not there. Can I call you after the- Wait that number doesn't make sense..."

"Sure dad."

"Thanks! Love you sweetie!"

Ophelia hears the click and dial tone and hangs up the phone. She stands up and does some simple neck yoga, which she knew made her look silly but it stretched her out. Her mother walks by with a plate of cake in one hand and an unlit joint in the other. It's a night at the movies for mom tonight as Victoria is out with the bike club. 

"Mom," Ophelia calls out.  "You call me 'little druid' cause of our heritage right?"

Her mother looks back around the corner. "I do. The shaman I visited at the radical faerie gathering said we had it in our blood."

"Yeah, he was nice. I liked his dog. But... do you think he was right? I mean for real right and not just in that 'we all have the spirits in us' new agey kinda way?"

Her mother set her plate down and leaned against the wall. "Well I hung out with Isaac Bonewits when I met your father at Berkley and my maiden name was McLaughlin. So... well to be honest, everyone was a druid then. It was 1980. It was either that or listen to New Wave."

"huh. Thanks Mom."

"No problem honey."

***

She saw the window every night in her dreams. 

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=29819

Her mother had taught her lucid dreaming as a child, but once she hit puberty her skills had atrophied from disuse. Still, she was able to manage enough to step through the window the next night. The night after that she made it to the signpost and the grass around it tickled and laughed at her calves. The third night she walked partway into the maze, and the thorns formed mouths and noses that inhaled the sound of her footsteps and exhaled pop tunes (Seeing a hedge shake and sing "SexyBack" was definitely one of the odder moments ever seen in her dreamscape.) The fourth night she found a pond where water sprites played polo with a water bug while riding trained koy fish. The fifth night she came across an old man who breathed into a hole in the ground, and each time he took a breath cold, black flame enveloped his body. The sixth night a stream of rabbits ran toward her and exploded one by one like furry firecrackers. Each night, the dream was interrupted by the paper mache Moslem woman. She said the same thing and Ophelia woke each time.

And the seventh night, the day before the protest, Ophelia came to the summit of the hill staring up at Stonehenge. There, a dozen robed druids in black robes stood in a circle. Leaves and ivy crawled up their limbs and darted into their flesh like briar stitches holding them together. Their eyes were dark like oiled obsidian. The sky vibrated between time in a kaleidoscope of sunrise and sunset. As Ophelia walked up the hill, the druids looked to her. Slowly, sonorously, they began to sing a hymn to the power of the Earth.

_Dirty babe
You see the shackles
Baby I'm your slave_

Ophelia raised an eyebrow.

_I’ll let you whip me if I misbehave
It’s just that no one makes me feel this way_

"Why can't I get that song out of my head..." Ophelia mutters as the druids began to bob their hooded heads, leaves rustling in time.

"They're all going to die."

Ophelia doesn't turn around. Somehow she thinks that meeting the woman's eyes every time wakes her up. And this time, she is determined not to let it happen. Instead she watches the druids wave their arms and pelvic thrust as they drone somberly.

"Everyone."

"So how?" Ophelia asks, shutting her eyes (although in the dream she stills sees everything). "In a bomb? Is this real or just my subconscious trying to tell me something?"

"It will fly into buildings first. There will be explosions as the birds crash into their sides. It will be a herald of things to come. Destruction and death. Merciless and cold."

_Come here girl
Go ahead, be gone with it
Come to the back
Go ahead, be gone with it
VIP
Go ahead, be gone with it_

Ophelia tries to shake her head away from the content of her subconscious eliminating useless knowledge in the shape of robed, grinding dead monks. "What are you-? Oh my GOD is this a 9-11 dream? Oh come ON!"

Ophelia feels a rough, crinkled hand on her shoulder. "The cycle must be stopped. It begets itself. It must be stopped."

"So... so don't... Wait I think I get it. I get it!"

Ophelia turns around and looks into the woman's eyes. They are deep brown and drowning in misery. They hold a universe of sorrow in their paper lashes made up of news reports and war statistics. "I need to stop the fighting fire with fire. It has to start somewhere right?"

The paper mache bust simply stares. Leaning over, it kisses Ophelia on her forehead and it itches. "You will see."

***

Making the call was painful, but Ophelia felt the dreams gave her no choice. The FBI came to the house of course, which gave her mother a conniption. Ophelia wasn't too worried. She had already thrown out her mother's stash that morning, and she knew that her mother had been taught well by her friends and lawyers on how to handle police and an investigation. They asked everyone questions about Coyote (Whose real name was Barry Grubb, of all things...). Ophelia mentioned the bomb plans, but innocently, as if she didn't know what they were.

Which she apparently didn't.

The plans were for bombs, but small ones. Apparently, Coyote had planned to firebomb a few gas station trashcans during the march to protest oil consumption. He was charged, of course, and put in holding till his collective could scrounge up enough money to post his bail. There were already discussions about a Bowling for Anarchy fundraiser. 

Her mother was very quiet as they marched toward the capital building. Ophelia knew it wouldn't be a good idea to point out that she left her name out of any of the tips or reports.

Ophelia gave the paper mache woman to her mother and wandered up a few blocks. She was prepared to snap a few pictures of the parade, but instead watched. The weather had turned oddly cold for a spring month, and people wore jackets as they moved up the stairs toward the plaza. Ophelia smiled as she saw that the doves had turned out very nice. A stiff wind blew through the plaza, drowning any chanted slogans.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=29820

"Wind sure wants this to end, huh?"

Ophelia looked up to see Victoria in her leather jacket leaning against the metal railing. "For what its worth, I think you did right. Coyote's an idiot trying to make this into another war."

Ophelia sullenly nodded. The protestors struggled to keep the doves from flying away in the wind whipping it's way down the stairs. "I suppose," she glared at the Moslem woman bust as she passed. "Doesn't feel like it though."

Victoria nodded and lit a cigarette. "Yeah," she said. She offered the lit cigarette to Ophelia, who shook her head. Victoria nodded and blew a few rings.

"I know you mom can be a little... absorbed sometimes. Your dad ain't much better. Probably why they split. They were too much alike."

Victoria put a hand on Ophelia's shoulder. "But they have passion. Too much maybe, but I think that's better to have than too little. Usually whatever they want just blows you around. So even though you busted a friend... I'm kind of proud of you for doing something that you felt like doing for once."

They sat in silence after that and Victoria stubbed out her cigarette to join her lover. Ophelia remembered to snap a few photos for the album.

Ophelia watched the wind rustle through the white sheet wings of the doves. They almost looked as if they were flapping toward the capital building, monstrous winged rocs ready to avenge wrongs. Something in the back of Ophelia's mind made her neck itch.

The marchers were laughing and then a surprised cry went out as the wind blew one of the doves off its pole. It fell unceremoniously to the ground and sat there, branch half broken on the concrete. But as someone ran over to pick it up, a strong gust of wind blew the head up the stairs against all the claims of gravity. 

_"Damn! The Earth is pissed at us!"_

Ophelia felt lightheaded and cold. She watched the sheet dove sculpture bound up and sit for a moment as the protestor swore and tried to catch. Then it's wings rose around it as a great gale slammed into it and despite the weight of it's pillow head, it rose into the air- much to the shock of the protestor chasing it.

_"It's like they're trying to get away from the ocean itself!"_

One by one, the poles fell and the wind took the doves up into the air. Impossibly they twirled as if under their own volition, darting and weaving in the air and trailing fluttering sheets like witches' robes. The crowd cried out, but many oohed and ahhed. Quite a few clapped, assuming it was a brilliant act of protest.

_"Wind sure wants this to end, huh?"_

Ophelia looked back and saw that the paper mache Moslem woman had opened her eyes. Tears ran down them, unnoticed by all as the watched the dancing blanket doves in the sky.

It made sense to Ophelia then. The blood of druids would have no connection to man or their plots. Their silly wars or protests or meaningless squabbles. Only one thing could raise the blood.

The druids weren't there just to worship the earth or to commit bloody sacrifice to trees. They were also there as a warning system: To raise the alarm if the Earth was angry. But if centuries passed and there were no druids, no ability to tell the world what the Earth was thinking...

What if the earth woke up and realized what was being done to it?

Ophelia watched in horror as the doves dipped and dove toward the capital building. Everyone clapped and cheered. 

Thus was the sound of doves at war.


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## Trench (Jul 12, 2007)

Yeah, I posted a bit early, but I have friends that will be leaving town soon so much available time will be spent with them.

I'm semi-happy with all the picture usage except the second one... It feels more nebulous to me for some reason.

Nonetheless, there it is. Hope it is enjoyed.


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## Cevalic (Jul 12, 2007)

EP said:
			
		

> I just disqualified myself.  I entered all the code for formatting in the Word file, but didn't account for tabs to not appear.  So I simply edited my post and changed it so that it was more legible... then remembered that editing posts are forbidden as soon as it was done.
> 
> While I could always hope for leniency, rules are rules.
> 
> ...





I really enjoyed the story. I'd hate to see you tossed out this way, even if the those are the rules.


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## Avatar_V (Jul 12, 2007)

ENWorld Short Story Smackdown Summer 07

Round 1, Match 6

Best Friends
by Mike Rousos (Avatar_V)

I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve hung this stag’s skull here. Well, it’s something of a memorial. For a friend. You want the whole story? Well, it could take a while, but since you asked... 

It all began several years ago when I met Avari. No, too far back; let me pick up last year. Everyone has had a best friend at one point or another – this time last year is when my story began to become a little bit more unusual. 

The day began normally enough – Avari stopped by with the grin on her face that told me she had come up with another crazy plan for the day. As I saw her riding up our drive on her bike, I called up the stairs, “Mom, Avari’s here – can I go out?”

And the usual reply came back down the stairs, “Be sure you’re back for dinner. And wear your helmet.” I hollered a quick thanks back to my mom and headed out. Of course, I knew she would let me go – especially that morning. See, that evening Avari was boarding a plane to meet her biological parents for the first time (she was adopted) and this was my last chance to hang out with her for more than two weeks. As I suspected, Avari had indeed formed a plan for the day. As we rode, she explained that on a hill just outside of town, using surplus concrete chutes from recent city sewer work, people had constructed something like a race course that sleds or carts could be piloted down. And, of course, Avari had secured two small carts perfect for the occasion. I laughed when I heard it, it seemed such an absurd past time. But, when we arrived, it was just as promised. And, as with all of Avari’s plans, it was a lot of fun. We spent the whole morning running up the hill, our carts in tow, and then racing them back down to the bottom.







“Sarah,” Avari would call as she sped behind me, “try putting your hands up!” Naturally, Avari was careening down the hill without holding her cart. I continued to hold tightly to mine despite her urgings. I was always the more cautious of the two of us (my mom’s incessant reminders to wear my bike helmet were thoroughly unnecessary). In true Avari fashion, though, she mastered the ‘hands free’ method of running the course – not to mention the fact that she soon began putting her cart in front of mine so that she could pick up a lot more speed than I was willing to. Despite all the bravado, though, as I rested at the bottom of the hill before we left (as Avari made a few last runs), I could see that once or twice when she took a corner too quickly and nearly left the track that she got scared as well. It was always easy to tell when Avari was scared because she would squeeze her eyes tightly shut. In a way it was comforting to know that I wasn’t the only one of us that got scared.

Shortly after noon, we wrapped up the chute racing and got back on our bikes in search of food. It wasn’t a long morning, and not that unusual for us, really. But, it was the perfect way to say goodbye to Avari before she left for a couple of weeks because it was such a typical thing to do with her. It seemed whenever she was around (and it was a lot), we would find the craziest things to do – but we would have more fun than I suspect any other two friends have ever had together while we were doing them. It seemed that wherever we went and whatever we did, it was exciting to do it together. Avari was like me, even for all of our outward differences – she really understood me. And we really cared about each other. That’s why it was so hard to say goodbye to her that evening when she left for her plane, even though she was coming back in two weeks.

That’s why it was so hard when I learned her plane had crashed into the Atlantic Ocean and that she was never coming back.

*****

My life changed after that. For months, I was a wreck emotionally. I have a photo-album with pictures of me and my friends. Sometimes I re-arrange the pictures in it based on which friends I’m fondest of currently. It’s a silly thing to do, I know, but I do it all the same. After Avari’s accident, I took her pictures (already in the front) and glued them in place. It was my way of telling her that I would never forget her. Slowly, life returned to normal. School resumed, though it wasn’t the same without her. And, then the school year ended and I hung out with my other friends – though I couldn’t help but think of what things would be like without Avari around. 

Then, nearly a year after the plane crash, just as life was beginning to feel normal again, I received the letter. My mom handed me the envelope just before dinner, saying that it had come in the mail that day. I opened it immediately (I don’t get much mail) and read it. My mom grew worried for me as I looked at it – my face must have turned a ghostly white. She asked who it was from, concerned, but I didn’t answer. I just told her that my appetite was gone and that I thought I was going to be sick – and I rushed to my room. If you haven’t guessed by now, the letter was from Avari. It was in her handwriting and bore her signature. I had no idea what to think. Had she somehow survived? It didn’t seem possible – and yet, here was the letter. The contents were quite simple. It read: “Sarah, How have you been? I’ve missed you SO much this past year! I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to contact you sooner. Please come and meet me – I need a favor. Get on the bus that stops at the end of your road at midnight tonight. Ride it to the end of its route and meet me there. I can’t wait to see you! Love, Avari” Why was she only writing to me now if she was alive? What was the favor? Don’t the buses stop running at ten? How can she say tonight and be confident I’ll read it on the right day? Hundreds of questions like these raced through my mind. Large among them – was this some sort of cruel joke? Was it safe? But, I’d know Avari’s handwriting anywhere and for her – not for anyone else, but for her – I had enough trust to overlook the mountain of questions the letter raised. And so, that night, after riding out my mom’s dogged attempts to find out what was going on, I slipped quietly from my house and onto the bus that I never knew ran this late into the night. From then on, things only got weirder.

*****

I know that many of you are going to think the rest of this story is made up, but I can only promise as often as you like that it’s true and beg that you believe me. Or, disbelieve if you will – it doesn’t change the facts. I was not dreaming. Trust me, I pinched myself more than once, this is the truth. I rode the bus until the end of its route. I thought that this line only ran across town, but it seemed that we travelled far too long for that. In the darkness, I couldn’t say where we were going. I was alone on the bus, Avari’s letter clutched in my hand. What felt like hours rolled by as I sat, too petrified to ask the bus driver where we were going. Finally, when I could almost bear my fear no longer, the bus stopped and the doors opened. Nervously, I got up, and walked off of the bus. 

Though the night sky had been pitch black out of the bus windows, as I stepped from the bus, I was surrounded in a strange blue light. Behind me there was no bus only a door in – well, in nothingness. There, right in the air, was a door that looked back into the bus. The bus driver smiled and tipped his cap at me as I looked back. And then, the bus doors shut and I turned forward to face the strangest site I have ever seen.

Before me, there sat an old woman on an enormous ball of glittering blue and green yarn. The woman had four arms and was knitting. What she knit (for I could not say what it was) hung from her needles, wrapped around her skein of yarn, and looped in endless piles as far to her right and left as I could see. 






Then I heard a voice – it was Avari’s. “Sarah! You came!” I looked at the old woman and squinted. She looked nothing like Avari, though the voice was unmistakable to me. Then I heard a laugh, “No, down here!” And I looked down. There, at the base of the enormous skein of yarn sat a cat. And the cat was talking. “Oh, how foolish of me! I forgot that I look like a cat still. Of course you won’t recognize me like this!” Then, a moment later, the cat shimmered, vanished, and was replaced with Avari, just as I remembered her. For that moment, my joy overwhelmed whatever trepidation this foreign world had me under. I ran to Avari and embraced her.

Neglecting, for the moment, the four-armed woman, I asked the first thing that came to my mind, “I thought you were dead!”

Avari laughed. “No, of course I’m not.” She looked up at the old lady and continued, “I’m a daughter of the Time-Spinner. This is my home. I can travel to your world if I want, but to come back here, all I need to do is to squeeze my eyes really tightly, concentrate hard, think about it and, poof, I’m back here.” She squeezed her eyes shut to demonstrate. 

I smiled in recognition – “I know that face – that’s your worried face. So, all those times that I thought you were scared, you were actually getting ready to come here?”

Avari nodded, “Yep, you know, getting ready just in case I had to make an abrupt exit to keep from getting hurt. Luckily, I didn’t have to before I meant to – that would have really raised some questions!”

I laughed, “I suppose so.” Then, I thought about what she had just said. “’Before you had to,’ you said. That means that you left the plane before it crashed – which is why you’re alive – and that you were planning on doing it beforehand?” I was a bit perplexed.

Avari nodded. “That was the plan, yes. My mother,” Avari gestured at the woman again, “she creates time.” Seeing my baffled expression, she explained further, “What, you didn’t think it just magically appeared, did you? Does wood just magically appear? No, it comes from trees. Do animals just appear? No, they come from other animals. Time doesn’t just appear, either. Before there can be another second, or minute, or anything like that, my mother has to knit it.”

“Then, what’s happening right now…” I interrupted.

“Yep,” Avari saw where my question was going, “we’re experiencing time, so that means my mother made it. I think she knitted these moments a few weeks ago.” My head was spinning, but Avari continued, “So, as you can see, to keep up she knits a bit ahead. That’s how she knew the plane would crash and she agreed that it would be the perfect opportunity for me to get back here without raising any unwanted questions. I just had to take the plane (with a pretext of ‘going to see my family’) and then, before it crashed, teleport back here. Couldn’t be simpler. That’s how I’m alive.”

Somehow I didn’t think more questions about that were going to make it any simpler for me to understand, so I moved on, “Then you wanted to come back. But, why?”

“Oh, because my mission was done.”

“Mission? What was your mission?”

Avari smiled, “I’ve been wanting to tell you for years, but I haven’t been able to! My mission was to investigate a human that my mother thought could someday be our ally. You see, there are places where we can’t go and there are things that our race can’t do. For that, we need humans to help us. But, we can’t choose just anyone. Most people would freak out just coming here! So, I was sent to earn the trust of a promising human so that, later, if we needed help, we could ask them and they would already be familiar with me.”

I took a moment to process this answer and, as I did, my heart sank. For the first time since entering this alien world I felt out of place and a bit ill. It must have shown on my face because Avari moved towards me. I held up a hand of protest and voiced the emotion that was filling my eyes with tears. “Avari, do you understand what you’re saying?” I paused to compose myself; I could see that Avari was confused. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. Ever. I loved you. I would have done anything for you – even get on a mysterious bus at midnight with no explanation. But, now you’re telling me that the only reason you were my friend at all was because it was your mission? I thought that you loved me, but it was just a job. All of our laughter and jokes – they feel so empty all of a sudden; they were just a chore to get me here.”

Avari’s eyes grew wide and she answered quickly, “No, Sarah, that’s not at all what I’m saying! You are my best friend.” 

“And you can take any form you want, can’t you?” I interrupted her. “You just chose to look like a girl my age so that I would like you.” I motioned at the girl in front of me, “This isn’t really you, is it?”

Avari slowly shook her head, “It’s true I only look like this around you. My mother prefers that I look like a cat so that she can pet me. I’ve taken many different forms at different times. But, you must believe me, Sarah, that befriending you because it was my mission doesn’t mean you didn’t really become my friend.”

“Then why did you let me think you were dead for a year?”

Avari paused for a moment, searching for words. “We couldn’t tell you until the time was right. Please believe me that I wanted to. But, my mother said that I mustn’t.”

I shook my head not sure what to think. Instead, I wandered away from Avari, wondering if there was a place around here to clear my head. Of course, there wasn’t. So, I just stood some distance from them, thinking. Finally, Avari came to me. “I’m sorry that you never knew the truth about me – I would have told you if I was able.” I didn’t say anything, so she continued, “Will you come and speak to my mother now? We still need your help.”

“Right, the real reason for our reunion.” I frowned. “Actually, I think I’d rather just go home.”

“I’m afraid my mother won’t like that much. She probably won’t call the bus for you until you’ve talked with her – she still believes that you will help us.”

I sighed. “I suppose I don’t have much choice then, do I? I’ll talk to her. But for the sake of the old Avari I knew – the human one, even if she never really existed.”

*****

And so, I was escorted back to the enormous ball of yarn and before the four-armed woman. Not sure how to begin such a conversation I said quietly, “Hello, madam.”

The woman looked up abruptly from her work and studied me. “Yes, girl, but what do you say to the proposal?”

I had no idea how to answer. Avari turned back into a cat and leapt onto her mother’s lap. I could hear her voice, “Mother, you haven’t asked her yet. You’re getting ahead of yourself. You’ve only just met for the first time.”

The woman looked perplexed for a moment and then looked down at the scarf-like product hanging from her needles. “Oh,” she said after studying it a moment, “you mean we’re here and not here!” I began to think that this place was getting weirder by the moment. Satisfied that she knew what was going on, the woman looked back up. “Greetings, child.” She looked down at the scarf to check herself and smiled.

I curtsied, not sure what else to do. Then I waited.

Finally, she continued. “As my daughter has told you, we need your help. There is a man. He lives in the western part of your country. And he has discovered that time is made. Worse, he has discovered the existence of beings like us and has captured one of our kin! He is a scholar – a scientist as you call them nowadays – and he has found ways to manipulate time as we do. With his rudimentary knowledge, he has created a device that prevents poor Nel (for that is who is entrapped) from teleporting home. His contraption distorts space-time such that none of us can leave your world within several miles of it. More devious still, his device is protected with a warped time field around it that would be most fatal for any of us to stand in. So, we cannot disable the machine. Therefore, he has successfully kept Nel imprisoned in a small cage (she had the form of a bird when he found her). If someone like you does not help us, she will surely be killed and dissected for study. A human like yourself could safely go close enough to the machine to disable it. That is the favor we must ask.”

I thought about it for a moment. It was all so bizarre. “Can Nel not just change her shape into something small enough to escape the cage or something large enough to break it?”

“Thank you, child,” the old woman beamed at me, “I knew that we could count on you!”

Again, I looked bewildered and, again, Avari corrected her, “Mother, we’re here, not there!” A furry paw pointed at the scarf. “She hasn’t agreed to help yet!”

“Oh, goodness, you are right,” The woman gasped. “My, I am scatter-minded today. To answer your question, dear, we can only change shape when we are in this world. Once we enter your world we must maintain our shape until we leave.”

I nodded. And then I thought for a good long time. At length I looked up at the woman and commented, “A week ago, a world like this would never have entered my imagination.”

She answered thoughtfully, “Greetings, child.” Avari nudged her and she quickly corrected herself, “I mean to say – yes, girl, but what do you say to the proposal?”

I sighed and said, “As you clearly already know, I will try to help you.”

“Thank you, child,” the old woman beamed at me, “I knew that we could count on you!”

*****

The bus ride was at least as long on the way back as it had been on the way there, but I didn’t notice. I had far too much on my mind. The old Time-Spinner had explained to me that there was no time to lose (the scientist was not at his laboratory, but would be returning by mid-morning) and so I would be taken directly to the outskirts of the medaling man’s lands. So, after a long and bumpy bus ride through darkness, I found myself deposited in the middle of a sparse forest – I did not know precisely where. The sky was still dark, for it was not quite dawn yet. The bus driver tipped his cap at me once more and explained that I was only two miles south of the scientist’s laboratory and that, if I walked north, I could be in and out with ease before he returned. With that, the bus door vanished and I was left alone in the dark forest.

Every sound made me jump. I’m sure that it’s perfectly normal for a forest to be lively at night, but all the same, I moved forward as quickly as the light of the moon would allow. In time, I came to a fence and I knew that I was getting close. Signs posted on the chain fence read ‘Keep Out’ and warned that entering would be trespassing. Quickly, and as quietly as I could, I scaled the fence. I found myself wishing Avari was there since she was always the better climber of the two of us. And then, of course, I found myself remembering, once more, my recent encounter with her. I wanted to believe her that she only stayed away at her mother’s command and that she really did care for me the way I cared for her, but that she allowed me to grieve as I had without telling me she was all right was hard to deal with and on a night like that one, it was hard to know what to believe. Pushing the thought behind me, I climbed down the opposite side of the fence.

Once on the other side, I moved swiftly towards the buildings in the distance. I could not make them out clearly yet, but I had been told that the one I wanted was the middle one – an old yellow structure; all of metal, with much of the lab’s area being underground. As the sun began to crest the horizon, I could see it clearly.

The courtyard was large, though, and I had only made it halfway across when I heard the sound of the dogs. Panic-stricken, I looked up. There, coming directly towards me, I saw a pack of guard dogs. They were large, too, nearly wolves. I began to run for the shelter of the buildings, but they were closing in quickly. Alone in these woods, at the break of day, there was no one to help me. Adrenaline fueled my legs and I had nearly made it to the buildings before the dogs were upon me. One leapt and, though its jaws only caught the sleeve of my sweatshirt, it pulled me roughly to the ground. The others were on its heels. 

Then, just as I abandoned hope, as I felt the dogs’ hot breath on my throat, another creature charged out from the dawning sky behind them – a great stag deer. The stag raised its huge hooves and kicked at the dogs nearest to it. Then, lowering its head, it charged at the dogs on top of me and threw them from me with its powerful antlers. Bending down, the deer allowed me to climb upon its back. Then, the big dogs chasing after it, and me bouncing upon its back, the deer raced into the yellow structure and down the wide stairs inside, past a birdcage that I’m sure must have been Nel’s and into a large complex of workshops in the basement. Battering down more than one locked door on its way, it finally stopped next to a large metallic dome, replete with wires and levers of all sorts protruding from it. The time-space disruptor, I was sure. Dismounting, I looked up at the stag and, suddenly, the truth of what he was dawned upon me. There, before me, the stag shook and quivered. Its hair began to fall out first, and then its flesh began peeling – the great beast was falling apart before my very eyes. I looked at the stag and I watched as it squeezed its large eyes tightly shut. Again and again it closed its eyes, but to no avail. I knew, then, who the stag was. And I knew that she had come too far. 

“Avari,” I said, “you came to help me.”

The stag nodded and I heard Avari’s voice softly, “We’re not supposed to talk to humans when we’re animals, but I think it doesn’t matter now.”

I hugged the great snout before me. “Thank you for saving my life, Avari.”

“I am your friend, Sarah,” she said, “I want you to know that.”

I nodded. “I know, Avari.”

A howl of dogs behind her ended the exchange, however. “Quickly,” she said, “disable the machine. There is not much time before the dogs are upon you!”

Turning, I surveyed the amazing contraption. I had no notion of how a man could build such a thing. But, I was confident that I could destroy it. I grabbed the nearest set of wires with both hands and pulled. With a spark and a shock, they tore free. I raced around the machine, looking for exposed sections of its innards. I pulled and kicked every loose piece I could find. At last, I was rewarded with a plume of smoke coming from the device. Just as the dogs entered the room with me, the air shimmered and all manner of creatures appeared around me – elephants, lions, eagles, monkeys, snakes. The dogs turned and ran. Then, the creatures around me finished the dismantling of the time disruptor and, squinting, they vanished. When the smoke cleared and the clamor had ended, I looked for Avari. All that was left of the great stag was a skeleton. Overcome with grief, and not knowing what else to do, I picked up the skull. 

Outside of the building, I tied the skull up, a salute to my friend. Perhaps it’s a silly thing to do – maybe like gluing pictures into a photo album, but you asked, and that is the answer. That’s why there is a stag’s skull hanging on this unusual yellow building.


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## Avatar_V (Jul 12, 2007)

Well, there's my first ever EN Short Story Smackdown post  I had a lot of fun writing it! I just hope it's not too full of typos since I pounded it out tonight and haven't had much proof-reading time.

Also, for what it's worth, I have no objection to EP's contribution standing despite the infraction of the 'rules as written'. If the judges ok it, I'm willing to give him whatever advantage there is to be gained by editing one's post four minutes after first submitting it


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## EP (Jul 12, 2007)

Thanks, but I'm assuming the odds are slim.  I haven't read your post yet (just woke up and thought I'd go BEYOND the rules and wait until I get home tonight after the deadline to read it), but best of luck to you regardless.


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## Hellefire (Jul 12, 2007)

*Round 1 - Match 5*

Ceramic DM - ENWorld Short Story Smackdown - Summer 07
Round 1 - Match 5 - Hellefire vs. Trench

Pure Heart
By Aaron Blair/Hellefire

“Peace, Love and Serenity!” purred a soft voice through the phone, invoking the good will of the White Priestess.

Erin rolled her eyes. “Mmph,” she replied indignantly, “coffee.” Why would anyone call her before she had had her coffee?

“Good morning, Sunshine!” the voice continued pleasantly, “And Happy Anniversary!”

Erin sighed. “You too, Katie. Peace and all that. After coffee.” Role-playing was fun and all, but you have to have your priorities. “Call you back in ten.”

Staggering slowly from bed, Erin stumbled into her family’s kitchen and turned on the coffee pot. After throwing some cold water on her face and stretching like a cat, she poured a cup and thought about the coming day.

The International Day of Peace didn’t mean a lot to her because of Peace, but she had met Katie on that day four years ago. It was such a strange meeting, too. 

The White Priestesses joined with the local Baha’is every year to stage a peace parade. As accepting as the Baha’is were, the White Priestesses never told them of their actual beliefs – that a Mother Goddess existed and whom they worshipped, that they could heal all manners of illness, that there is another world, named Shangri-La, which they hope to open a doorway to. They simply helped with the decorations and marched in the parade, wishing peace and happiness to all.

Erin wasn’t particularly impressed with the theories of the White Priestesses, or of the other role-players for that matter. Some were fanciful, some were strange, and some were downright demented. As far as Erin could tell, they all just wanted to believe in something more interesting than politics, law and dentistry. At least the White Priestesses were pleasant with their ideas.

The phone rang, blaringly cutting the silence surrounding Erin’s musings. She jumped, and then reached over to pick up the receiver. “Hi!”

“Ten, twenty, what’s the difference?” asked the same voice, never losing a touch of its gentleness. “Sounds like you’ve gotten some caffeine. What time are you coming over?”

“I’m going to a thing at the Java Shoppe before the parade, so I need to make myself pretty. I’ll just meet you there.”

“Okay. We still on for flowering at the club tonight?”

Erin thought handing out white flowers at a rave was one of the most insane things they had ever done, but it was their anniversary after all. She tried to suppress a giggle, failed miserably, and nodded to the phone. “Absolutely! I’ll change into my initiation gown after the poetry.” She knew that the gown was only to be used for initiation into the White Priestesses, but loved to tease Katie about it.

“You’re almost as sweet as your brother, Erin! Speaking of which, is Mighty Mouse coming today?”

Erin’s younger brother, Konrad, was a Gray Wizard. He was also rather short, so Katie had come up with a fitting nickname for him. Most of the White Priestesses looked down on the Grays as being one step from evil. Grays considered themselves to be open to everything. 

Erin thought about her brother. Konrad had been getting more and more moody lately. He had introduced her to this whole role-playing thing in the first place. He had been so excited and curious about it when he was younger. He had always talked to Erin about it because their parents would not have understood. Erin had accompanied Konrad to the peace parade four years ago so their parents would let him go, and met her best friend. She had actually been hoping to meet boys.

“Erin?” Katie’s voice prompted, ever-patiently, from the phone in her hand.

“Sorry, was just thinking about the little gray goober. I don’t know; I haven’t talked to him much lately.”

Katie’s voice sounded suddenly concerned. “You should try to talk to him. He might be slipping to, well, the other side.”

Erin laughed. “Or maybe he’s just a normal teenager, or there’s a girl or something. I’m going to get ready. See you on the hill.”

“OK sweetie. I have to go too, somebody’s at the door. Peace!”

Erin took a slow, hot shower and considered her wardrobe for the day. She was going to the Java Shoppe later, and decided her red ‘Beer & Poetry!’ shirt clashed nicely with her bright orange hair and went well with her tight jeans. Erin laughed, wondering how the White Priestesses ever accepted someone like her; she was never calm on the inside or the out.

‘Maybe I’ll try that spell again,’ Erin thought as she reached inside her secret cubby-hole for her spell book. She flipped it open to page three. One spell for each full year she had known Katie, with another coming today. In one more year, if she decided to take initiation, she would be taught more spells, and how to research her own. Katie’s mother was a White Priestess as well, so Katie had been learning her entire life. Her spell book was almost full, and Erin was a bit fascinated with it.

Erin studied the spell for a few minutes, remembering the exact pronunciations, intonations and gestures to accomplish it. It was similar to her first spell, which was just a poem really, but it was more intricate and had more of an effect. While her first spell simply helped her focus, and her second helped with hangovers, her third made her feel tingly and strangely calm. Erin had never really accepted this as magic, more like guided meditation. But it did work.

Closing her eyes, Erin moved her body in the required ways and allowed the words to swell in her throat then burst out of her mouth. In the middle of the spell, her body started feeling warm; a soothing warmth that started around her stomach and spread to her limbs and head. As the last syllable faded, tingles encompassed her as well, and her senses and mind cleared. It felt like being in Love, or eating a Swiss chocolate, combined with a perfect night of rest. It wasn’t coffee, but it sure came close.

Erin closed her spell book and put it back in its cubby. Better not to carry it to the poetry reading. Besides, she lived 10 minutes walk from campus and could pick it up afterwards. She wondered what new spell Katie would teach her today.

Choosing matching necklace and bracelet to complete her attire, Erin quietly closed her door and headed down the hall. She paused as she came to Konrad’s door. Where was the little squirt anyway? He had been hanging out with her less and less recently. 

Erin knocked lightly on the door. No answer. Well, maybe he would meet them later. The Gray bunch attended events when they felt like it. She wondered briefly about Konrad’s spell book. How full was it, and what types of cantrips might it contain? She had never seen it, and assumed it was hidden somewhere near his Playboy collection.

The poetry reading at the Java Shoppe was rather predictable that day. Much about peace, and a few sarcastic pieces about war. A couple poems were rather insightful, but most were simply following the theme of the day. ‘At least they are trying,’ Erin thought benevolently as she slipped out the door.

Erin headed to campus, to the central quad where the parade would be gathered and starting any minute. She walked slowly to the top of the hill overlooking the quad. Katie traditionally met her at the top. She looked around, but Katie was nowhere in sight. Well, she was a couple minutes late – Katie probably didn’t want to keep everyone else waiting.

Erin went to the far side of the hill and looked down over the parade. It was just beginning to move, with Baha’is in the front surrounding their floats and symbols. The motif was always the same – white doves holding olive branches in their beaks. Other figures were decorated and carried to depict various historical personages who dealt in peace – Mother Teresa, Gandhi, the Dalai Lama, and so on. ((Picture_3.jpg – parade)) Behind the Baha’is would come the White Priestesses, smiling and wishing well to all. Erin looked, but the White Priestesses weren’t there. None of them.

Erin felt a twinge of uncertainty. The White Priestesses always took part in this parade. Surely Katie would have called her if something had happened. Erin felt strangely disconnected. Of all the things she felt confident in, the regularity of the White Priestesses, and Katie in particular, ranked highest. The sun might not come up this morning, but they would definitely be here. But they weren’t.

Erin ran down the hill and approached a Baha’i she had met last year. “Hey Barb,” she called, “have you seen Katie?”

Barbara smiled at her pleasantly. “Hey Erin! Nice to see one of you girls showed up. We were wondering if you all caught chicken pox or something. We haven’t seen any of you. Your help and presence is always so nice.”

Erin mumbled a quick “Thanks Barb” and ran toward Katie’s dorm. Where the hell was she? 

Erin tried to calm herself on the way. What kind of White Priestess loses her composure at the first sign of something out of place? It did no good, and she didn’t have her spell book with her. She wasn’t nearly practiced enough to know the spell by heart.

Bounding up the stairs three at a time, Erin raced to Katie’s door and began pounding on it. “Katie, are you there? Katie! Open the door! What’s going on?”

The door to Katie’s room opened, showing a mass of White Priestesses. The head of the order, Katie’s mother, quietly asked Erin to come in and closed the door behind her.

“What’s going on?” Erin asked, feeling more scared by the second. 

Katie’s mother, Vanessa, smiled at Erin gently. “Calm yourself, child. We think a matter of great importance has happened today, and you may well be a part of it. Well, your brother anyway.”

Konrad? What did he have to do with this?

“I haven’t seen my brother all day. Where is he? Is he ok? Where’s Katie? What great importance?”

“Be at ease. This is a Blessed day. You know of Shangri-La from our meetings and studies. You also know that our greatest hope is to open a gateway to that land. I have been researching the Way for most of my life, and have been teaching Katie to do likewise. I believe that my daughter has finally found the way.”

“Katie found the way to Shangri-La? Whoa. That’s great! So, um, is she there now? Is she coming back?”

“She called me this morning and told me she had found the Door. She said that the key had been brought to her by your brother. She mentioned his redemption, and that she would come home before the parade. If she did not, she said that she would be in Shangri-La, and that we should find her. She left her notes so that we could follow. We are almost done, we believe.”

Vanessa guided Erin to a chair and handed her some papers. “You are not yet initiated, but you are intrinsically tied to this through Katie and Konrad. And we may need that. You are welcome to come with us if you wish.”

Erin nodded, still feeling lost in all of this. Hands touched her shoulders as White Priestesses murmured words of support and cast various spells of peace. Erin felt herself calming, but still wondered if life would ever be normal again.

Vanessa leaned over Erin and showed her two sheets of old, dry paper. “These were written by Gray Wizards many years ago. One refers to the location of the Doors. Each order has their own outer plane they are trying to reach. We have always assumed that they were separate Doors to separate planes. However, if we cross-reference the Gray information your brother found, here, with the White information Katie was working on, here, you see…”

Erin looked at the newer piece of paper Vanessa was holding. Vanessa held the papers together, and then put a candle behind them. Erin watched the lines from the maps drawn on the papers match perfectly, leading from one to the other.

“We had never considered information sharing, “Vanessa laughed wryly, “for each of the orders sticks to their own. Of course, we still have one missing piece to the puzzle.” Vanessa placed her fingertip on the combined maps, showing that just as the White map the ended, where the Gray map began, the Gray map also ended.

“What piece is that,” Erin asked.

“There is but one more order,” Vanessa answered. She gave Erin a few seconds to absorb this information.

“But, Katie told me that the White Priestesses would have nothing to do with the Black. They are corrupt and twisted, and cannot be saved.”

“So we thought,” Vanessa said softly. “We may have been wrong.” Vanessa handed Erin the other sheet of dried paper.

Erin read slowly. “The same Doorways may be used by each order to reach their particular outer plane. The spells are even the same; it is simply the mind and heart of the caster that decides which plane opens. After the Door is open, only followers of the correct order may enter, using an order-specific spell. Of course, the mind and heart of the caster must be as one with the spell for entering as well, thus are separate orders kept from other’s planes even if they know other’s spells. There is but one exception. While the Whites accept the freedom of the Grays, they continue in their attempts to ‘Save’ the Blacks. It is written in the Chronicles of the White that ‘While normally only the Cleansed may enter Shangri-La, it is possible for a Diseased to enter and be saved. To do so, the Pure Heart must enter as one with the Corrupt Mind.’ These theories have been composed by myself and one of our order who chose to become White and has been trying to convert me as well. We cannot test these theories without the aid of a Black, and that is problematic. Signed: Stephan the Gray. 1814.”

Erin thought for a moment, trying to understand all that she had read. “What are the Chronicles of the White?” she asked.

Vanessa sighed. “The White order kept their combined knowledge recorded in a great text for hundreds of years. It was kept and protected for many generations, but in the Second World War it was lost or destroyed. We have been trying to piece together the lost information ever since. This is one of the few direct quotes we have found.”

“Bleh. That sucks. So why are you here instead of following Katie?”

“It took us a couple hours to put the pieces together. Now, we are at a loss. Notice the map ends? Well, as I said, there is only one other order.”

“So you have to find a Black to help you? You don’t have any records of their information?”

“The Blacks don’t keep records. While we kept a single great chronicle, the Grays keep individual notes, and the Blacks have rituals. They pass information along through formalized sessions. At least, that’s the theory.”

“So how could Katie find the Door without the help of a Black?” Erin asked.

“She couldn’t.”

“Um. Wow. So, Katie, Konrad, and a Black? This gets even more twisted.”

“Actually,” Vanessa said slowly, “Katie only mentioned herself and your brother. How well do you know your brother?”

Erin was mortified. “Konrad? We, we, well we used to be really close. He’s been, well, distant lately, but that’s normal. He’s a good kid! There’s no chance that he, that he could, no!” Erin was stammering, defensive and at the same time deeply worried by the implied accusation.

“Calm down,” Vanessa soothed, “if he is still Gray all is well. If he has turned to Black, Katie was surely seeking to Save him. Perhaps he merely learned something from a Black trying to convert him. Either way, things will be ok.”

Erin took several minutes to compose herself. Konrad was clever; maybe he did learn something Black, but he surely couldn’t have become Black.

“Actually,” Vanessa continued,” I was hoping you could help with the final part of the map. However Konrad came by the last bit of information, I thought maybe your connection to him may help you recreate the last steps.”

“How?” Erin asked.

Vanessa sighed. “I don’t know, but I’m at a loss where else to go with this.”

Erin nodded. “If I can help, I will.”

The White Priestesses followed their map to its end, which showed the area of the city where the Door was located. As luck would have it, this was within the university campus. From there, the Gray map showed the direction to follow, to the entrance of the subterranean maze where the Door was hidden. They found the entrance to the underground at the bottom level of the university library, through an old hinged trapdoor under piles of uncatalogued books and crates. After wrestling the door open, two White Priestesses stepped into the darkness, and found several torches stacked in a pile. They continued to the end of the Gray map, and stood in front of a shadowy underground maze.

Vanessa looked at Erin. “Here we are lost, for I am sure finding our way to the end will take more than luck.”

Erin closed her eyes and tried to feel for Konrad. After a couple of minutes she opened her eyes, feeling foolish. “I’m not sure what I can do. I suck at mazes. The last time we had a maze in the game Konrad was running, I spent 2 hours getting lost and coming back to the beginning until I found that rhyme with directions through…”

Erin looked at Vanessa. “It can’t be that simple. But. Let me see if I can remember it.” She began muttering to herself. ‘Three to the right, straight to the light, left around the bend, then do it again. Right, left, right, left, straight, straight, straight, straight, straight. Go straight up, through the cup, be sure to watch your weight. Half-way down, grab the line, swing on through, check the time. Hard left, soft right, quick stop, jump tight.’ “OK, got it. I had to memorize that damn thing to complete the dungeon. I thought it was kind of dumb. So, that’s Black magic??”

Vanessa handed Erin a torch. “Slowly,” she warned. “I have a feeling this is dangerous.”

Erin kept repeating the simple steps to herself as she led the White Priestesses down the first three turns to the right, then continued straight past other turns. They came to four unlit torches placed in sconces on the walls. At the next intersection, she took them left, through a curving tunnel. At the next turn, she went right and repeated the pattern. Again, the three right turns. Again, the torches set in the wall. Again, the curving left tunnel. All the time, the floor was sloping steadily downward.

Erin went through the next verse in her head as she came to more intersecting passageways. She turned right, then left, then right again, then left again. She carefully counted the next five crossings, and then looked for a staircase. They came to a dead end, and milled around trying to figure out what went wrong.

“Are you sure you counted right?” Vanessa asked.

“Yes,” Erin answered, “I was very careful. And I remember the staircase in Konrad’s maze.”

“But,” Vanessa said, “the rhyme doesn’t say anything about the layout of the maze other than directions. Are we sure we are looking for stairs?”

The White Priestesses examined the area for a few minutes until one found a hole in the wall, about eight feet off the floor. After helping each other up, they continued. The hole opened into a tunnel, which led into and out of a cup-shaped depression. On the other side was a rope bridge. Heeding the instructions, they crossed one at a time. On the other side of the bridge they found a ladder going down.

Erin handed her torch to a Priestess and started climbing down the ladder. After a moment, she cried out. “The ladder ends! I stepped into space!”

Again repeating the rhyme, Erin looked for a line, and found a rope hanging from the bottom rung of the ladder. “Found it,” she yelled, “watch your step.” She slowly put her weight on the rope, and then tried swinging. Slowly at first, then harder, she found an opening in the wall and swung through.

Erin waited for the White Priestesses to join her. She couldn’t help but smile to herself. She was having fun with this. It was like actually hunting treasure!

The procession continued through the passage. There was suddenly a loud ‘Whoosh’ sound directly in front of Erin, and her torch was knocked from her hand by a swinging blade! She jumped back in fear, directly into Vanessa.

Vanessa held Erin and comforted her. “Shhh. It’s ok. All is as it should be.” Exactly a minute later, the blade swung through the wall and across the passage again.

“Ah!” Vanessa proclaimed, “Now I see. We must time this.”

To be safe, the White Priestesses only used 30 seconds of the 60 available between each deadly swing, and safely crossed the trap. They continued, very slowly.

The next intersection was composed of seven different tunnels. Erin carefully recited the rhyme in her head, and chose the one 90 degrees to the left. The next intersection was the same, and she chose the one 45 degrees to the right. Then she screamed.

Vanessa and another Priestess grabbed Erin just as she began falling into the open pit in the floor, and dragged her back above the lip. Erin scrambled back, then curled into a ball on the floor and cried. Vanessa held her head and cast five soothing and mental/emotional healing spells. Erin slowly composed herself.

“That sucked,” she said, as she wiped her tear-streaked face and laughed humorlessly. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“We should be almost there,” Vanessa said, “only one more part. ‘Jump tight.’ What can that mean? What did it mean in Konrad’s dungeon?”

“I had to take short hops to avoid swords sticking up from the ground,” Erin answered. “I don’t see any swords here though.”

Vanessa pondered for a moment. “Maybe we can avoid more unpleasant surprises.” She took a torch and threw it past the pit. It skidded along the floor, and then disappeared into a second pit. “Ah hah!”

The White Priestesses and Erin took turns jumping over the pit, helping each other to avoid any falls. They repeated the torch-throwing process, and found a third pit. After the third pit, the floor was solid for about 20 feet, and the passage turned right. They followed it, and when they turned the corner they stopped and stared in awe.

The rough floor and walls of the tunnel became smooth, almost to the point of polished. At the end of the passage was a wall made of close-fitted stone blocks. In the wall was an open door, topped by the Infinity sign of the Three, showing them what could only be Shangri-La. Past a pleasant hedge maze stood an imitation of Stonehenge. Or perhaps the original. Past the monument a huge, blazing sun was setting. Above the setting sun was a beautiful night sky, with amazingly-brilliant stars, new constellations, and a crescent moon. A sign just past the doorway said, simply, ‘Elsewhere.’ Sitting on the foot of the doorway laid Katie’s open spell book. ((Picture_2.jpg – Door))

The White Priestesses all started talking and chanting. Vanessa turned to Erin and hugged her tightly. “You did it! Great job!” She then ran over a scooped up Katie’s spell book, and then started dancing.

“Look! Here it is! The spell! To travel to Shangri-La!” Tears were streaming down Vanessa’s face. She turned to Erin. “Child. Go get your initiation gown, if you want to continue farther. Only the Cleansed may enter. It will take me an hour or two to decipher and learn this spell. Also, bring your spell book.”

Erin left the White Priestesses to their chanting and ran back the way she had come. This was suddenly exciting again! She caught herself before she plunged into the first pit in the floor, and carefully made her way back out of the maze. Less than an hour later, she climbed back into the library, left through the front door, and ran home.

Erin’s parents were out of town for the weekend, so there was no need to slow down upon entering the house. She ran through the hallway towards her room, and then came to a dead stop.

Konrad’s door was open. Konrad’s door was never open. Ever since his parents allowed him to start locking it when he was ten, he had kept it carefully closed and locked at all times. He never even opened the door when someone else was in the hallway. Erin had always thought it was pre-teen hormones or some privacy issue, but had never given it much thought. The sight of his door, now open, somehow made Erin feel apprehensive.

Erin slowly reached out and opened the door further. Inside, the room was meticulously clean. There were a couple of paintings and a mirror on the wall, and everything was in place. Everything except a disheveled stack of papers on the desk. Drawn to the desk, Erin sat down and started leafing through the papers. There were notes on Gray magic, on spells and spell research, and on the freedom of the Gray Way. Deeper into the pile she found notes about Black magic, on how the Gray Wizards believed the Blacks to operate. Even further down she found notes regarding Grays turning to White or Black. She stopped when she came to a bound notebook, entitled ‘Konrad’s Treatise on Darkening and Control.’

Hands trembling, Erin picked up the manuscript. The beginning pages were something of an autobiography, telling of Konrad’s childhood and search for freedom, and power. Erin’s body was shaking badly as she read ever-darker ideas about life that had lived in her brother’s mind and come to light in this text. She turned to a page near the back, and gasped in shock as she saw a picture of Katie, bound and fearful-eyed. Underneath the picture were diagrams including bondage, mutilation and dissection. 

On the next page was glued a clipping from ‘Haiku Monthly.’ It read ‘A bird let free and flying. Gilded cage no more. Is yet a bird in meaning.’ Underneath the clipping, in Konrad’s messy scrawl, was written ‘And so too a heart.’

With horror, Erin turned to the last page in the journal and glanced down at the picture. And screamed before her mind closed off the world. ((Picture_1.jpg – Girl)) The Pure Heart had indeed gone to open the Door.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 12, 2007)

Avatar_V said:
			
		

> Well, there's my first ever EN Short Story Smackdown post  I had a lot of fun writing it! I just hope it's not too full of typos since I pounded it out tonight and haven't had much proof-reading time.
> 
> Also, for what it's worth, I have no objection to EP's contribution standing despite the infraction of the 'rules as written'. If the judges ok it, I'm willing to give him whatever advantage there is to be gained by editing one's post four minutes after first submitting it




Well.I have never been a huge "play by the rules" girl (chaotic good). I prefer to go on a case by case basis. I'm going to bow to my cohort's superior experience in this matter. 

I should have judgements written by Saturday.


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## Hellefire (Jul 12, 2007)

*Round 1*

And so, a round is finished.

6 matches, 11 stories, one withdrawal.

Judges, be gentle 

Off to read and comment on last two matches of round 1 now.

Good luck all!

Aaron


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## Hellefire (Jul 12, 2007)

I have finished my own comments for Round 1. Please don't take offense at criticisms, they are meant to be constructive. Also, I am not as thorough as some of the judges (or as I would be if I were judging) - I post my basic thoughts. And, jsut to re-emphasize the fact, I'm about 50-50 on these, so don't feel bad if I picked your competitor (or too confident if I picked you ). These are meant to help - I know I certainly need more feedback on my stories to improve my style and technique.

Grats on getting round 1 done, good luck to all competitors, and I'll hopefully see whoever survives the neck-slicing of the judges in round 2 .

Aaron

p.s. And in case I didn't mention it, you're all going down before the might of my pen (ok word processor) anyway!


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## Hellefire (Jul 12, 2007)

Regarding the editing of posts - I am not a judge, nor am I in that particular match. Simply my thoughts on the subject:

The rule has always been stated clearly and firmly, and for good reason. That being said, I have had problems with formatting in the past as well, and we all want our stories to look good. I think the rule should stand in spirit, but maybe t\wit ha provision that editing within 5 or 10 minutes might be ok. I think there should be a line, and dire consequences for crossing that line so that it not get out of hand, but maybe we can change the rule to reflect that, in the future. For this instance, well, *I* don't think it was violating the spirit of the rule. But, again, I am not a judge, would not think to tell them how to rule on anything, and respect however they decide to handle it.

On that note, let me thank the judges (without a hint of brown-nosing mind you) for volunteering their time and efforts for this. CDM would not be possible without their fair, impartial and timely decisions and insightful feedback. (And if any of you come to Poland, the beer's on me! j/k).

Aaron


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## FreeXenon (Jul 12, 2007)

Hellefire said:
			
		

> I have finished my own comments for Round 1. Please don't take offense at criticisms, they are meant to be constructive. Also, I am not as thorough as some of the judges (or as I would be if I were judging) - I post my basic thoughts.



Are your comments posted somewhere or will we have to wait until all judges have completed their evaluation?


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## Hellefire (Jul 12, 2007)

And, in case I haven't sucked enough of the spaces on this post, I want to say hi to all the old faces I haven't seen in a while, especially those not  competing at the moment:

Orchid Blossom
carpedavid
Berandor
PC
Goldmoon

And a ton of others that I'm missing. Problems with my lifestyle and my memory .

Miss you guys/girls.

Aaron


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## Hellefire (Jul 12, 2007)

To see my comments and ratings, go to the first page of the thread, second post, and click on the Show button.

Aaron


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## FreeXenon (Jul 12, 2007)

Thank you for your comments. They will be very helpful for me.


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## Avatar_V (Jul 12, 2007)

Hellefire said:
			
		

> To see my comments and ratings, go to the first page of the thread, second post, and click on the Show button.




Thanks for the comments! I really appreciate you taking the time to write all that out. I think that your comments on my story are right on target. Some of the critiques are of things I was aware of (you'll have that when you run right up against a deadline  :\ ), others, though, I hadn't previously noticed but I agree with - thanks for those insights. All in all, very useful feedback.


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## Cevalic (Jul 12, 2007)

Thanks for the feedback.  Have to agree with most of it.   Completely forgot to reference the pictures at the end of the paragraphs.

Thanks again.


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## FickleGM (Jul 12, 2007)

Hellefire said:
			
		

> To see my comments and ratings, go to the first page of the thread, second post, and click on the Show button.
> 
> Aaron



 Wow, nice detailed analysis of all the stories.

[sblock=not for judges]You also rated my story much higher than I did.  I would like to say that I planned on a b-horror story (complete with implausible character behaviors), but it wasn't until it was almost complete that I really noticed them.  I decided to go ahead and put it out as an homage to the rubbish that I watch on the Sci-Fi channel during boring Saturday afternoons as a result of time constraints, laziness and lack of better inspiration.

In the end, I wasn't terribly displeased with it, but I wasn't real happy with it either.  I think that I will have a difficult time beating Cevalic.  On the other hand, I'm not a very patient person and writing isn't something that I have a lot of practice doing (this is my second CDM), so it's all good practice.  Especially when I can get good feedback from the other writers and the judges.[/sblock]


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## Hellefire (Jul 12, 2007)

You're welcome, all. This is my fourth CDM, and I have found that feedback is extremely important (especially when waiting for results). It helps a lot with improving writing skills. On that note, anybody who wants to critique my story is more than welcome to (hint, hint ). I don't care if its a professional criticism, a fellow writer, or just someone saying what they think of the story. I like the thoughts in my head for creating stories, and the process, but just as important is sharing those thoughts with others. Feedback is good 

Aaron


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## Hellefire (Jul 12, 2007)

Of course, smack-talk is just as important. Though, it is just talk for everyone else, since I will soundly beat all my competition. With a stick. In their sleep if necessary 

Aaron


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## EP (Jul 12, 2007)

Hellefire said:
			
		

> To see my comments and ratings, go to the first page of the thread, second post, and click on the Show button.
> 
> Aaron




Thanks for the comments.  Considering the type of story I was going for, I figured a literal approach to the pictures was best, but I do have to agree with your thoughts on Avatar's use of the pictures.

If nothing else comes of this, I just might want to continue on with Duke and the gang.  It was cool to come up with a Firefly/D&D mix... perhaps even a supplement or two should come of this.


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## Hellefire (Jul 12, 2007)

EP, I would absolutely Love to read more about Duke and the gang. A couple things you had in your favor - your story was more adventurous, and certainly has the returnability factor going for it. It was like reading a good graphic novel, or comic book, or about an ongoing group of adventurers. That was a hard choice, I simply had to go with Avatar V's excellence in every thing I was rating. To be honest, I relate more to Avatar's story (in real life) but yours is much more RPG-related. I would be surprised if you don't move to the next round with that story. And I might stick an element or two of it into my next game 

Aaron


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## EP (Jul 12, 2007)

We have a PDF out there called Treasure Hunter that uses d20 Modern rules for D&D style adventures... and I just sent off an email to the author about expanding it to include other non-medieval timelines.  There are rules for incorporating magic to a modern world scenario and the like, so the ball's rolling on a possible supplement.  Not that there isn't something like that out there already, I'm sure, but I did get a kick out of writing that.  Especially when the idea of rogue being a whore.  So western.

I'll be reading everyone else's this weekend and posting comments myself, for what they're worth.

Also, would everyone here be interested in a little keepsake of the contest?  I was thinking that a nice little PDF containing all of the stories, designed and put together in a neat little package for just the contestants and judges, could be in order.  My treat.  

(Hmmm, should probably hold off on comments that look like bribery until after the final verdict on Round 1 and my lawbreaking, huh?)


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## Hellefire (Jul 12, 2007)

That would be great . The pdf that is. I keep files with the pics and notepad files of all the stories for the CDMs I am in, but haven't gotten a licensed/make pdf version of acrobat yet. As far as bribery...well, I offered to buy the beer, but only if they spring for the ticket to Poland. One of the quirks of being where most gamers arent, I can relatively safely make offers without it being construed as actual bribery. Random tangent - I read about a soccer team in Europe that sent champagne to another team that had defeated a third, rival team. They had to send it back, because the (soccer organization) rules prohibit anything remotely like bribery, even i its all in good-natured fun. 

Anyway. Yeah, let me know if you turn that into a supplement . Though I think we used to have a rule that anyone published that year couldn't participate in CDM. Not sure if its still a rule, or if I'm remmebering it wrong. My memory sucks .

Aaron


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## EP (Jul 12, 2007)

Hellefire said:
			
		

> \Though I think we used to have a rule that anyone published that year couldn't participate in CDM. Not sure if its still a rule, or if I'm remmebering it wrong. My memory sucks .




Even if it is the case, it's been a couple of years since I put anything out.  The juices have only just begun to flow anew!


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## Hellefire (Jul 12, 2007)

Ah, I didn't mean for this competition anyway. I was just mentioning it, in case you do publish a supplement 

Aaron


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## Toras (Jul 12, 2007)

Thanks for the comments, it will help though I suspect that part of it is the time frame.  (Usually write something, leave it for a few days and the go back with corrections.)


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## Hellefire (Jul 14, 2007)

*doom and destruction*

So, are all of you just waiting for death??

Works for me 

Aaron


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## awayfarer (Jul 14, 2007)

Hellefire said:
			
		

> So, are all of you just waiting for death??
> 
> Works for me
> 
> Aaron




I can't help but notice that everyone else has a longer story. But, it's not the size, it's how you use it right?


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 14, 2007)

awayfarer said:
			
		

> I can't help but notice that everyone else has a longer story. But, it's not the size, it's how you use it right?




Um, I think that's a myth... We'll see.


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## Gulla (Jul 14, 2007)

Hey!

You started a week early on me.  I simply cannot comment on stories on a laptop when I'm hollidaying (is that even a word?) with the family, so all comments will come next weekend (I hope) when I'm back to a proper keyboard and connection again.

Håkon
hoping for slow judges


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## Hellefire (Jul 14, 2007)

I, on the other hand, am hoping for quick judges 

Aaron


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## awayfarer (Jul 15, 2007)

Hellefire said:
			
		

> I, on the other hand, am hoping for quick judges
> 
> Aaron




I'm worried about premature judging.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 15, 2007)

awayfarer said:
			
		

> I'm worried about premature judging.




Aren't there some kind of tricks to avoid that?


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## EP (Jul 15, 2007)

awayfarer said:
			
		

> I'm worried about premature judging.




I'm sure it's actually quite natural, especially for first-time judges.  If a judge should happen to fire off their verdict before we're ready, we should encourage him to try again for the next round and take his time.  Type slower if he feels that he's coming to the end of the paragraph too quickly and we should praise what he did accomplish so that he doesn't feel so awkward for the next round.  Cause if he ride him for it, it'll just take him that much longer to get started on the next round.

If we're lucky, by the final round, he'll be so good that we'll ask him to come back time and time again to judge us.  And, if not, we'll just have to tell him that it didn't work out and we found an older, more experienced judge who can give us what we need.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 15, 2007)

EP said:
			
		

> I'm sure it's actually quite natural, especially for first-time judges.  If a judge should happen to fire off their verdict before we're ready, we should encourage him to try again for the next round and take his time.  Type slower if he feels that he's coming to the end of the paragraph too quickly and we should praise what he did accomplish so that he doesn't feel so awkward for the next round.  Cause if he ride him for it, it'll just take him that much longer to get started on the next round.
> 
> If we're lucky, by the final round, he'll be so good that we'll ask him to come back time and time again to judge us.  And, if not, we'll just have to tell him that it didn't work out and we found an older, more experienced judge who can give us what we need.





LOL!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 15, 2007)

*R1M1 Judgement*

Awayfarer vs. Tadk

*Rodrigo Istalindir*

Awayfarer - "Courtroom Drama"

This story had a nice little setup.  The situation is fairly mundane, and just as the reader gets settled in, things take a nice step to the wierd.  The opening sentence -- "I made a mistake" -- jumpstarts things nicely.  There is some really good writing here, with some good use of detail.  The reference to the color of the men's room and the mental state of the narrator fits perfectly, true and appropriate and consistent.  The bits of color with the other inhabitants of the bathroom is also very well done, with the right note of humor, skirting the edge of gross but not crossing the line.  The inner monologue hits the right blend of banal and panicked.  The line "The mind suddenly becomes alert and picks up everything about everything." is more than just a casual observation, it informs the protagonist's voice throughout the story.  Very well done.  "Leaving the bench to take up the throne' got a nice laugh, as well.

The old canard is that 'drama is easy; comedy is hard'.  In Ceramic DM, 'setup is easy, payoff is hard'.  We see that here.  There are sorts of things alluded to that never get realized.  What was the mistake?  The courtroom drama has its own set of expectations; the surprise reveal is not only expected but almost mandatory.  Instead, it gets glossed over.  The box as oracle has little meaning without it as well.

Is the 'hidden truth' is that Dave is really crazy, and that Jim and the box and the angel are just delusions? Jim the devil on the one shoulder, the angel on the right?  Were that the case, it would really need the setup to include that Dave knew the guy was innocent to play fair, I think.  Coming at the end seems rushed and capricious.  

The writing style was pretty good, and consistent throughout.  Very nice attention to detail, and a good job of drawing characters that seem real without a lot of exposition or interaction, which is hard.  My only real criticism is the pacing within the text.  The paragraphs should have been broken up a little more.  The ebb and flow of the text is important, and while they do convey some sense of Dave's panic, it would have been more effective with some strategic breaks.

Picture use:  

The courtroom picture is a hard one, in that it ties at least one element of the story to a specific location.  Here, it sets the stage for the entire story, even though it appears only briefly.  The juggling box is enigmatic, clever but disposable in that almost any oddball object could have served the same purpose.  The angel is better, in that it's unexpected and gives the story another potential interpretation.  Also, the added details (argyle socks and detachable wings) is clever -- nothing that is included in the picture itself, but nothing the picture explicitly refutes, either.  Overall, a decent job with what I thought was a hard set of pictures.

tadk -- "Across the worlds, turning a tune"

Here we have the musings of an otherwordly creature, one with the ability to spin the fates of men.  The mood is surreal, dreamy, capturing the emotional and spiritual distance and ennui that Andra must feel after being so long away from her own.  I appreciated taking the road less traveled -- the story is not about guilt or innocence, but about the ripple effect of justice.

I don't often 'get' tadk's stuff.  I appreciate the wonderful use of language, the moods he sets, the way he teases with such wonderful phrases and images, but often I'm left at the end feeling like I didn't know what I'd just read.  This time, I think, things were a little more concrete, but the story lacked the polish and flow that I expected.  There were some awkward phrasings that jarred, especially in contrast.  Compare "Instead of a single life, single line of choices made and decisions come to, there are a myriad of worlds, an infinite selection of lives lived all in each tick of the clock." to "Where she comes from, where her life and people lived at", for example.  

Picture use is pretty good.  The box as a tool of fate (Fate?) makes good use of the 'hands' portion, and is enhanced by the inclusion of the television and the contrast of active and passive.  Like with Awayfarer's story, the courtroom carries a weight beyond the scene, making more of the picture than it provided.  The angel as protagonist is a good choice, as it cements it as integral to the story.

This is a close one.  In the end, though, tadk's story had a deeper resonance with me.  Had Awayfarer 'sold' his resolution a little better, things would have swung the other way, but my decision for this match goes to tadk.

*maxfieldjadenfox*

You'll have to forgive me, I didn't sleep well. OK, that's not strictly true. From midnight to 3:30AM I slept just fine. But then my elderly golden retriever/great pyrenees, Samwise, began to whimper. Then he started to bark and finally to howl. The kind of howl he usually saves for an ambulance siren. I staggered, bleary eyed and cranky, out of my bedroom and down the hall, pulling on my robe as I went. Sam, bred to guard sheep from wolves (and chase sticks, though we rarely speak of that) was in the corner of the living room, wedged between the horse skull and the cd towers. He was quivering. 
"Dude, what is your damage? It's like, three o'clock in the morning," I scolded, but then I heard it.
It started off as a low moan, ramping up to a cry and then a full blown shriek. It was the most horrifying sound I've ever heard, so of course I threw the door open to see what it was. (You know those horror movies, well, all of them, really, where the girl runs out into the forest/down into the basement/away from any possible help alone in the dark in high heels? It was sort of like that.)
On my doorstep was a dwarf. He was probably about four feet tall and maybe five feet wide. His beard was done up in two thick braids and his hair in one more. He was balancing something in a plain brown wrapper against his thigh while simultaneously trying to plug his ears with his fingers. The noise coming from the package was deafening. I saw the dwarfs lips moving, but I couldn't hear a word he was saying. I motioned for him to come in. Sam shot me a look of incredulity and then took off for my bedroom, tail between his legs.
The dwarf hefted the package over his shoulder and came in, grimacing. The sound was even worse inside, bouncing off the walls, burrowing into my brain. "Stop it!" I shouted. Suddenly it went silent.
"Guess I have the right house." the dwarf said, placing the package on the floor, which sagged dangerously under its weight. He ripped off the wrapping and I saw the most magnificent hammer! I remembered my late night foray onto Craig's list, looking for something to do Lady Death's job in the competition. 
"Wow." I said.
The dwarf looked impatient.
"That'll be 300 gold."
Uh oh. "Um, will you take a check?" 
 So. Here is the first judgement with my screaming war hammer.  I dragged it to the corner of my art studio since Sam can't bear to be anywhere near it. Think I ruptured something doing it. I have no idea how I'm going to lift it, guess I'll have to trust to the magicks. When I walk by it, it says something in dwarvish. I think it may be crush. Or squish. Anyway, I'm interested to see what it will do. 

Awayfarer has written an interesting story that takes place in a courtroom and a public restroom. I think the picture use is pretty original. The box and the angel play pretty much the same role in the story, albeit on opposite sides. I’d like to have had the sense that the box was more evil. I know that’s what Awayfarer is driving at, but I wanted more of an indication of just how black this thing’s heart really is. The tone was strong and I loved the homage to MacBeth “Who’d have thought the man would have so much piss in him?” The bathroom scene went on a little long for me though, and while I’m not offended by potty humor, I don’t know that setting this in the restroom stall with the accompanying judge relieving himself scene actually did much to enhance the story. I was a bit underwhelmed by the ending, which felt rushed and didn’t quite work for me, but all in all I think this is a good piece with decent picture use. 

Tadk’s style always appeals to me. I think he consistently sets up a dreamlike mood and this piece is no exception. Even in the few paragraphs he wrote, he managed to refer to the pictures in a way that suggests that they would have been used in a meaningful way later in the story. Sadly, he was unable to complete the piece and the strong start isn’t enough to carry him through to the next round. 

The war hammer begins to scream as I finish Tadk’s entry. I hadn’t thought about the reality attached to the act of using the thing. I’m a pacifist. Hell, I was a vegan for years and I still won’t eat mammals. How can I justify... Jeez, the noise is deafening. In amongst the screaming is that word again. Squish, crunch, whatever… I can't stand the noise any more. Just have to stop it somehow. I reach for the hammer and it flies into my hand. It feels light as a feather, even though I know it probably weighs several hundred pounds… Crunch. 
Taddy, we hardly knew ye.

*Herremann the Wise*

There are a lot of good things to say about both of these entries in my opinion. There are also several issues to raise. Bereft of my usual judging scythe, I have but a keyboard in front of me to do the job.

awayfarer has really punched out a good start with lots of questions to be answered. The momentum built in the first half of this story was quite impressive in fact. The casual observations being bounced around had me in the pocket… until our angel appears (in the next cubicle). This is where the story bogged itself in a one-sided moral dilemma. Unfortunately, I was not convinced. Not about the appearance of the angel (this is CDM after all), but the fact that her rebuttal to the main character’s diatribe was missing. The expected clash and conflict were missing. As such, the story that started out so well sort of petered out at the end. The resolution was one-sided.

I think the hardest thing to do as a short story writer is to be disciplined with your ending. A three day limit dramatically exacerbates this situation meaning that such discipline is doubly important. I think it is fair to say that most stories will be judged on how well they finish rather than how well they start. A real punchy ending be it expected or unexpected is the hallmark of a tight entry. If you write your story allowing the ebb and flow to take you to an unknown destination, you can end up relying on serendipity to make the ending have enough impact.

In awayfarer’s case, I think the finish is more a closing rather than an ending. There’s enough there to get a nod of the head, but I think you can understand where I’m coming from. With 20/20 hindsight, I think that conflict between the box and the angel would have been fascinating (and would have also scored real well in terms of picture-use). Something that would have left us hanging as to which way the prosecutor was going to go. Leave his decision announced, unannounced or perhaps just hinted at. Or maybe play out the final scene in court rather than in the men’s room. As difficult as it is, these are the things you need to think about and deal with before you start writing.

However, much easier said than done.

In terms of picture use, I thought what you did was great. That damn box had me stuffed when I saw this image collection together. To turn it into an “eight ball” like device was brilliant. Even the juggling like a tumbling windows/mac hourglass was spot on! The court room scene framed the entire story (double points for strong use) while the angel... as previously stated was OK but could have been much better.

Congratulations at the very least for a solid first round effort that started excellently.

tadk as usual gives me his usual headache when writing in EN World’s short story competition. The phrasing, diction and feel are fantastic. In this case, I would not use the word sublime but still, I was impressed. I could start to see where you were taking this, and all I can say is I wish you had have finished it to your satisafaction. Unfortunately, it sounds like several curve balls have been thrown your way..

In terms of picture use, I found the use of the angel picture very interesting although once again, I struggled for the driving theme. How was she connected to the shadows and dark ones or was she alien to their game? I could sense her frustration, cramped into her dank “living” quarters and in this, I’ll reiterate my appreciation of your poetic prose. You capture the ever so slightly downtrodden look in her eyes very well.

As for the other images… well, the courtroom could obviously have been expanded and the juggling box… struggled to make an appearance. Perhaps the jumbling between moments of so many destinies entwined is possible but realistically, I don’t think this picture was dealt with.

As such, I will award my nomination for awayfarer to continue in the competition, but with a note of appreciation to tadk. I always enjoy reading your stuff.


*Awayfarer advances 2-1.  *


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## awayfarer (Jul 15, 2007)

*Woo-hoo!*

Is it okay for me to say boo-yah? I'll refrain from it if thats the sort of thing that can get a fella disqualified.

I wanted to save my comments until after the judging. For the most part it seems like the upsides/downsides mentioned reflect a few things I thought of after it was finished.

*Overall:* I think "Courtroom Drama" feels a bit short and rushed. The reason for this is that it _is_ a bit short and it _was_ rushed. I think I went to bed at around 8:00 pm the Thursday the pics were posted and I didn't get a chance to see them until probably a little after 7:00 pm. Friday wasn't much better. I started it but managed half a paragraph at best before Merkuri and I went to Connecticut for the weekend. I banged out the story on Saturday, which was good because we spent all day Sunday either at my grandfathers 80th birthday party or traveling back home. In short, I effectively only had one day to write.

*Potty Humor:* I don't normally go in for dirty jokes or potty-oriented comedy and thats one reason why I added some here. The bathroom just felt like the right setting for this. There are connotations of helplessness and shame associated with dropping one's drawers and letting nature take its course and to me, that fit Dave's mindset when he headed in there.

*Good & Evil:* Admittedly, this could have been done better. The box doesn't seem quite evil enough and the angel drops the issue at hand a little too quickly. I blame the time crunch.

*Pictures:* I would have thought that the box would be the biggest problem but strangely enough, the angel proved to be the fly in the ointment. I felt pigeonholed into using a courtroom as the setting, but that's clearly my own fault as Tad didn't have the same problem.


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## awayfarer (Jul 15, 2007)

*Schedule for next round?*

When is the next round going to start? The upcoming weekend would be tough for me as I'll be in Vermont from 07/20-07/22 to attend a wedding.


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## tadk (Jul 15, 2007)

*wow*

wow
I did a lot better in the judging than I expected to
I completely did not finish my story and I garnered that many good comments
Thank you to all judges and commentators for the kind responses
I as always take each comment serious and to the heart

To my competitor I wish you the utter best in the next round

Again thanks to all
Good Luck
Have Fun
Enjoy
Tad


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 16, 2007)

I must say I was disappointed that the angel nipple did not figure more prominently in the stories.  If this keeps up, we will be forced to return to a no-nudity competition.


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## awayfarer (Jul 17, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> I must say I was disappointed that the angel nipple did not figure more prominently in the stories.  If this keeps up, we will be forced to return to a no-nudity competition.




If it'll help, the next story will have nipples akimbo.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 17, 2007)

That'd be an awesome name for a Bond girl.

"My name is Bond, James Bond.  And you are?"

"They call me 'Nipples Akimbo'"

"Yes, I'm sure they do."


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## FickleGM (Jul 17, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> That'd be an awesome name for a Bond girl.
> 
> "My name is Bond, James Bond.  And you are?"
> 
> ...



 Man, I wish I would have thought of that...nice.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 17, 2007)

*Round 1 Match 2 -- yangome vs Toras*

Round 1 Match 2 -- yangnome vs Toras

*Rodrigo*
yangnome -- Excellent, excellent start here.  You start with something already 'out there' and then slap the reader upside the head with the surprise -- God as dog.  Very well done, too, the way you messed with Christian dogma (heh - I made a funny) and turned things inside-out a bit.  The tone is spot on, and the writing and pacing perfect throughout the setup.

Unfortunately, cracks start to show in the meat of the story.  You were careful to use 'Lucy' in the opening, but slip and change to 'Luci', ruining what surprise their remained in the revelation.  The jargon-y reference to an 'S&G' run was clever, especially so since you left the reader to puzzle it out instead of ruining it with exposition.  But if the protagonist is supposed to be God's hot-shot troubleshooter, that doesn't come through.  He seems like a fish out of water, rather than someone experienced in dealing with these things.  I was expecting at least a heavenly A-Team type thing and was disapointed.  I was also a bit puzzled by the ending.  Moving the 'dog' revelation to the conclusion would have helped, I think -- given the reader something more memorable hang on at the end at least.

Picture use was ok but no more.  God as dog was central to the story, although the sunglasses seem a bit tacked on.  Referring to God 'cheating' by wearing shades to prevent any tells would have been stronger, especially if you left the reveal till the end.  Punk on a ledge was a bit weak, I thought.  The dragon reference seemed backward, to me, and the 'angels as dragonspawn' made it worse rather than better.  Lucifer and the demon were merely average, as they popped into and out of the story so quick, the elements of the picture serve as window=dressing instead of something more significant.

Toras -- I'm starting to think we should warn contestants away from cyberspace themed stories.  They are very, very hard to pull off in this competition -- I can think of only one that really worked.  The mplexity of Ceramic DM is supposed to be the integration of the truly wierd disparate elements, but anything can represent anything in cyberspace.  The picture use almost invariably suffers, as it becomes too easy to just plop something in without the other tendrils of the story supporting and 'selling' it.  This seems more like a small piece of a bigger tale.  Elements are introduced and resolved too quickly, with little suspense.  

There is something about the tone that is appealing, though.  A mix of noir-detective with cyberpunk, it shows a great deal of promise.  A somewhat longer story that gave those a chance to mature would be welcome.  Let the reader bask  in the dissonance of the high- and low-tech.  

Picture use is overall pretty weak.  The best is the lady of the underworld, as you captured some of the dark and twisted elements of the picture well.  Peabody gets a laugh at least for the name, but there is only a passing reference to his being a dog, and no reason given as to why.  The punk on the ledge seems perfunctory, as the story stops before it can be more than a placeholder.

Decision for yangnome.

*Herremann the Wise*

This second match-up seems to me to have one underlying theme; both our competitors have in their own way felt the time pressure of writing. The question is who has dealt with this the best?

Toras’s entry has taken the cyber route and on the whole, I was satisfied with the thematic treatment although less so with the actual story and development. There was a good sense of rambling, going to this place and then that place that moved the story along, but for all the positives this movement had, it covered up a significant lack of 
tension. Everyone has the answers without any sense of difficulty. There’s no twist, with the ending almost missing. It was like having the final confrontation and then the film projector stopped working.  As I said, I think time constraints told more so than anything here and being the first round, I’ll tip my hat to anyone who competes. I liked what this entry was trying to do but unfortunately, some important structural elements were missing.

As for picture use, everything gets a nod but nothing stands out as ingenious or superb. This was a solid first round use of images but nothing to get too excited about. I will certainly commend you though for coherently using such a diverse rambling of image genres in the one short piece.

Yangnome is fresh out of winning and judging and now he returns to the hot seat with a really solid entry. About the only thing that stood out to me as slightly askew was the rescue mission. It felt slightly clipped, a fraction too simple. The initial premise is fantastic and I thought we were in for a really strong entry. In the end, it was “only” strong (but still obviously highly enjoyable). While the religious references skirt the EN World fine line, the premise behind them was very well done. There were so many mild chuckle moments throughout the story that I cannot help but say I was impressed. 

In truth, the picture use for me was ok... good even but certainly not great. The black Labrador “dog/god” was clever and the standout of the series. The witch and draconic lead were OK but not the strongest.
On the whole I really enjoyed this and aside from the simplified rescue I thought it excellent. I’ll give the match to Yangnome here but with a note of commendation to Toras for the effort.

*maxfieldjadenfox*

Yangnome has given us a story of a capricious God who sends his draconic angels to earth on suicide missions.  God as dog appealed to me on many levels. The devil as a woman... not so much.  Card game, nice metaphor. And Sodom and Gomorra happening over and over on different planets with pretty much the same result every time is pretty sinister. I felt like the ending was a little abrupt, and I was confused by it. Were the fireworks what was happening on earth, Lot's wife becoming a pillar of salt and all? You say the sky opened up, and then God/dog is looking at the sky, is it the same sky? There were some tasty bits in this story, and I thought the picture use was pretty strong. Zarthoot deserves a picture. If I can ever wrap my head around what he looks like, I might just produce one.

Toras has given us a kind of cyber cloak and dagger adventure, with a decent set up and some nice ideas, but it feels more like an outline than a story. There just isn't enough "there" there. The picture use feels a bit forced, and the answers feel a little simple and pat.  

Toras, you did the thing that makes me craziest in your story, you kept changing tenses. Is the action happening now, or did it happen then? There are a lot of typos and misspellings as well. While these aren't fatal in a good tale, they are really distracting and take me out of the story. It seems as if you know the world you're writing in well, I'd just like to see a little more of it, and while I know how challenging it is to write one of these in 72 hours, (been there, done that, got the ugly t-shirt) I think it's imperative that you check the spelling and read the piece over a couple of times for typos and to make sure you're not leaving out words, being repetitive in your phrases, and such. 

My warhammer is ramping up the noise again. I worry what will happen in the round that only has one competitor. Will it just keep screaming til it gets blood? I wonder if somebody has some sort of resurrection spell in case one of the squashed competitors needs to come back for another round. I wonder if the headache from this noise will ever completely go away. I reach out my hand, and the hammer flies into it once again. It's like it can read my mind. Yangnome gets my vote to advance.  Sorry, Toras, this time you were edged out, but keep writing, there was some good stuff in there.  Crunch.

*yangnome advances, 3-0*


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## yangnome (Jul 17, 2007)

Thanks to the judges for the critique.  Thanks also to Toras for the competition.

As I said in my sblock, I really felt I left this story lacking.  I wanted to stray from a straight up fantasy story, feeling that would be too easy.  I had the idea for the first scene come about Friday night, but decided to let it simmer rather than sit down and write it.  I thought about retelling a biblical story, originally thinking about doing a Cain & Able, but I coulnd't get that story to mesh in my head.  The Sodom & Gomorrah story seemed like it might make for an interesting story.  I didn't start writing though until a couple hours before the story weas due.  As I was writing, I changed my mind about how things would progress.  

In the end, I felt that the bulk of the story was pretty weak.  I finished the story 2 minutes before it was due, so didn't have a chance to go back and edit or tighten things up.  I was left with what felt like my weakest CDM entry to date.


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## FickleGM (Jul 17, 2007)

yangnome said:
			
		

> I was left with what felt like my weakest CDM entry to date.




And that's why we want to punch you...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
...in the shoulder and say, "Nice job."


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## Toras (Jul 17, 2007)

The tense thing has always been a problem of mine.  If I could tell you why, I'd know.  The thing that will probably bother me, is that this was the one I went with rather than the Dreaming narrative that first occured to me.  

I suspect that the format does take some getting used to.  And I will remember not to do it during the weekend if possible. 

Still Yang, well played.  Best of luck and do try to win.

Edit:  Now that I've developed the world and the character, I may revisit him at another time.  I really think their might be some potential there for some longer stories.  (Maybe next CM, or my own)


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## FickleGM (Jul 17, 2007)

One thing that you may want to do, when editing your story (if you have time to edit it, unlike some people), is to do it in phases.

Some suggested phases are:

*Spelling
*Grammar & Puncuation <-- (EDIT: I just edited my post and found the I misspelled punctuation...funny, I'll leave it)
*Tense
*Continuity

The more you reread it, the more things that you will catch.  Alas, you will be hard-pressed to catch all of your errors if you are the only one editing it (especially true with self-editing).


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## Trench (Jul 19, 2007)

Just to let people know, I'm going to Comic Con come July 25 and won't be back till July 30th. 

We'll see how far we are come August, what with that whole wedding thing and all.


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## Hellefire (Jul 19, 2007)

Speaking of scheduling, an old friend of mine is coming to visit from Alaska. Don't get a whole lo tof people flying 1/2-way around the world to see me . I should be around a computer enough to continue participation, except for July 27-30, when I will be taking my friend to Polish Woodstock.

Aaron


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 19, 2007)

*Round 1 Match 3 FickleGM vs Cevalic*

FickleGM Vs Cevalic

*maxfieldjadenfox *
FickleGM has presented us with the dark tale of an escapee from Hell. I find it intriguing that I have much more sympathy for her than I have for the supposed good guys chasing her ... that's probably because they killed everything in their paths getting to her. I thought the picture use was strong here. None of the images felt like they were in there just because it was CDM and they had to be. Maybe it's because I'm the artist, but I was particularly pleased that the window was a mirror in this story. I kind of like the non-literal interpretation, and the repeating theme of the mirror tied things together nicely. There were a couple of places that were genuinely suspenseful, which is hard to do in a short story written in 72 hours. In the first paragraph, it would have worked better if it had read, "...stopped what they were doing, turned to each other, nodded blankly..." There were a couple of places like that that would have benefited from one last read aloud, but all in all a good effort. 

Cevalic's piece feels like part of a larger world, and I like how the rules seem to be well thought out and in place. I liked the picture use for the girl in the mirror and was pleased with the grandma picture use. That scene had a lovely dreamlike quality that I appreciate. I think it would have had more impact if the last line exactly repeated the grandmother's line, "There are dark things around this night." I felt like the men with the pipes picture was the weakest, like it was in there because it had to be. It was still linked to the demon theme though, and a Gaia demon, using the earth itself to attack was a neat idea, although if the picture hadn't been requisite, roots or something would make more sense. You might have had the two guys be sewer workers and indicate that the pipes had come up out of the ground to attack them? Anyway, it was an enjoyable piece to read.

This was the hardest match-up for me to judge so far in this competition. Both entries have things to recommend them, but while Cevalic's entry is more appealing to me themewise, FickleGM's entry is slightly stronger in picture use. 

It's been hard to think with the warhammer screaming in the background, and I need to get hold of a Dwarvish dictionary so I can find out what the hell it's saying! Sadly, crush or squish, it's aiming at Cevalic... Squish.

*Herremann the Wise*
It’s a match-up like this that really puts a judge through the ringer.
Sweet Release in a magical economy of words takes us into a different world where the story feels like it is part of something much bigger. That classic word verisimilitude comes to mind immediately. To do this in such a short smattering of sentences was highly impressive and the work of someone who instinctively knows how and when to use their words. 

However, in terms of story, I felt the “workmen” image pushed what was an incredibly tight and well-crafted piece into a puddle. After the almost derisive challenge from the ‘risen’, I felt that our wizard-priest should have headed back in to do what he could to return the girl, spurred on by the risen’s words. Alas, we must accept his meek nodding of the head in acknowledgement that the job was too tough – and as he finishes chasing after a different demon entirely.

My question: why have the risen appear? What was her purpose? I think if you could have put that workmen image at the start, building up to the vanity demon, then you could have finished a lot stronger. As it was, I thought the submission of quality although it has obviously left me with a few too many “if only the writer could have done this...” moments.

In terms of image use, I felt the “cat lady” the best and could have even been stronger thematically speaking. The mirror image was the one underpinning the entire story while the workmen image was a classic waypoint for me. Image use was on the whole quite good. 

Overall, I was very impressed.

FickleGM has provided a story that holds a really good sense of tension as it culminates in the defeat of... well to be honest I’m not too sure. I needed a little more direction here to work out who was who. Who were the good guys, who were the bad guys? The creatively good sense of weird schlock horror smoothed over too many questions getting in the way during my numerous readings, but always at the end, I was left trying to work out exactly who was who.

I took Sarah as an escaped demon (trying to escape or repent?) and the workmen the one’s sent to chase her down and bring her back. Granny Elsa was perhaps the only one who could save “Sarah’s” soul from the denizens of hell and Maggie seemed to be a former success for the old woman. But there again, I believe several other interpretations are possible given the lack of significant cues and an over-diversity of the ones that were there. This is a shame because if I could have been a little surer of my interpretation, I would have enjoyed your efforts even more.

Image use was well done with each image featuring quite strongly. The workmen one was a little strange but all to the good if you ask me. It fitted the schlock genre rather well.

Now, I feel like I should mention something that could add a little polish to the piece. The one thing that can really move a story along is dialogue. Your dialogue however was just a little too clanky (tapping into that schlock horror mentality perhaps). I think sometimes you just have to let the words flow without interrupting it with all the superfluous “he said, she replied” business as well as the over-abundance of interspersed dialogue ‘actions’. Over-crafting dialogue can be a classic mistake, particularly in a short story where you feel you have to make every word count. Once you have your characters set though, it should be obvious who is talking and who is replying. Save the actions that go with the dialogue for the real breaks that naturally occur rather than dispersed between almost every change in speaker. You will be amazed how this can make your dialogue really come alive.

You have not done this too badly but it was just a noticeable difference in pacing between your action and your dialogue that made it stand out. Actually as a side note, sometimes you seem to bundle a few too many words in to your non-essential descriptions. On these occasions, look at what you can take out of a sentence rather than what extra words you can put in.

On the whole a fine effort.

Now, while I had issues with both our competitors, I am going to give the match to Cevalic because with everything told, I think certain key elements were just a little tighter. There was a split hair between the two of you in my most difficult decision of CDM/ESSS so far. 

Congratulations to both our competitors.

*Rodrigo*
FickleGM – The strongest element of this story is the pacing.  It hits the ground running, and stays consistent throughout.  There is a good mix of action with enough interludes to keep the level of excitement high without feeling strident.  Overall, the picture use was very good.  The demon-hunters communicating with the underworld was especially clever with what I thought was one of the hardest pictures in the first round.  The girl in the mirror was also well done, and you did an excellent job of referencing the reflections it in several places.  This is a fantastic way to reinforce the significance of a picture.  

There are some issues with the writing.  The point of view shifts too many times, I think.  We start with the co-workers, shift to the hunters, to the guys, to the girls, to the old lady.   One of the mistakes (IMO) of modern horror movies (and the story feels like a movie), is that it forgets what makes for true horror.  Something bad happening to you is scary – something bad happening to someone you care about is terrifying.  In this case, the guys are so disposable that there’s no emotional impact.   I think a  couple structural changes would elevate the story from average to excellent. If it were to start with a strong one-on-one scene with Sarah and her boyfriend, establish them both as three-dimensional, then shift to the ritual, then the hunt, then the epilogue, you’d not only eliminate some of the POV shifting, it would make the deaths more resonant.  Ditch the other couple, and it would tighten things up even more.

Cevalic – I’ll confess this story hits one of my buttons (in a good way).  I really like stories that drop me in the middle of something bigger and slowly lift the curtains.  You do an excellent job of dropping phrases here and there that frame a world larger than the events of the story, and it is very intriguing.  It’s a little too sparse to be entirely satisfying.  Seeing how central the possession is to the story, I’d like to know more about it and the Vanity demon, for example.  And you overdo the Capitalized Words – once or twice lends import to the mundane, but too often and it becomes distracting and reduces the impact.

The ending was kind of weak, I thought.  There was no conflict, no resolution, just sort of a segue from one scene to another.  You’ve sketched out a cool little world, and then don’t do much with it.   

The picture use is mixed.  The girl in the mirror is excellent, and the use of the Vanity demon is a wonderful way of combining the text and the picture to create something stronger than either alone.   The scene with the Risen, though, doesn’t really exploit the other elements of the picture.  The dead workmen at the end didn’t work for me – it felt tacked on, and really didn’t seem to integrate with the rest of the story.

I’ve hemmed and hawed over this one relentlessly.  In the end, my decision is for FickleGM, who had, overall, an ever-so-slightly more complete package.

*Decision is for FickleGM, 2-1.*  Or more like 1.5001 to 1.4999.  This was a close one.


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## FickleGM (Jul 19, 2007)

Wow, I'm speechless...

Okay, I have my speech back.  Thank you for your judgments and your advice.

I'll admit that I was very nervous when I decided to shoot for B-Horror (the type you might see on the Sci-Fi channel on Saturdays).  I was into the planning of the story and I hit some blocks, so I started composing.  After I got a into the story a bit, I went back and read what I had and thought that it felt very cheesy.  So, instead of scrapping it, I embraced the cheese (I live in Wisconsin) and decided to see where it led me.  It is cool that you all picked up on that...

When it was done, I wasn't terribly pleased with it, but it did make me chuckle so I wasn't entirely displeased (I watch a lot of bad horror on Sci-Fi).

Cevalic - you had a nice story and a good showing.  I wish that I could give you better feedback, but people with more skill in that department than me have already done so (and done so well).  I hope to face you again someday...


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## Cevalic (Jul 20, 2007)

Congrats to FickleGM.  Best of luck in the next round.

Thanks to the judges for the critiques, and for their time that they have volunteered for this competition.

A couple answers to some questions I've noticed.  The difference between the Risen and Returning is something that I did an awful job of clarrifying in the story.  As I wrote it, I had Returning to be where a wizard of Demmun could take the soul of a possessed person back from a demon and replace it in the body.  At that point the person who was returned would die, but their soul would at least go to heaven.  In the ancient times, the wizards could actually bring the soul back, and then cause the body to Rise, giving them life (although in an otherworldy form).  The point of having her in the story would be to show the wizard of the story that the legends are true.  That the gods servants are losing their powers.  The demon of Vanity is also a symbol of this, as he (the wizard) can defeat the physical demon (Gaia) which he goes after in the end of the story), but showing that the certain demons have powers that are just beyond him.  This didn't used to be the case in ancient times, but I realize that I did a very poor job at showing that.  All in all, I agree with most of the critiques and see where I could have done better.  To me, it seems that the story just seems to set up a larger one, almost like a prologue.  Obviously that can't make for a great short story which needs to be contained.

Congrats again to FickleGM and the other winners.  I'm looking forward to reading the rest of the stories in the final rounds.


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## Hellefire (Jul 20, 2007)

Cevalic,

Most of what you say I agree with. I personally don't mind the 'prologue' feel - that the story is part of a larger story. But that's me. Also, wait and see what happens with the two 'second chance' slots. I think you have a decent chance of capturing one of those, though considering my general 50-50 agreement record with the judges, maybe make that a 50% chance .

Aaron


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## Cevalic (Jul 20, 2007)

Hellefire,

Sent you an email with my notes on your story.  Sorry it took so long.

Brian


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## Hellefire (Jul 20, 2007)

Cevalic,

Thanks a ton for the thoughts! They certainly help, and I'll try to integrate some of your advice into my next story/ies. Who knows, maybe we'll face each other in a later round .

Aaron


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## Hellefire (Jul 22, 2007)

In 1814 we took a little trip


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 22, 2007)

K, all of my judgements have been sent and now it's up to Rodrigo and Herremann... Then on to the next round. Fear the hammer.


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## Hellefire (Jul 22, 2007)

Cool, thanks for the update Max-a-million!

Aaron


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## yangnome (Jul 23, 2007)

Any idea what target date we're looking at for starting the next round?  Don't want to pressure the judges--I just don't come around here as often as I used to, so it's easy to forget to check in.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 23, 2007)

*Match 5 Round 1 -- Hellefire vs Trench*

*Herremann the Wise*

I have to say right from the outset, I don’t like having to judge two entries that I really liked and enjoyed. It means you have to go looking for things you don’t like, comparing one entry specifically against another and generally being all too nit-picky. That damn scythe used to get herself all juiced up over such judgments but bereft from her capricious opinions and influence, I’ll have to really dig deep to decide upon a winner for this round.

Trench has given us a well wrought and thought cautionary tale while Hellefire has delivered a solidly structured and engaging story. In this respect, whilst I enjoyed Hellefire’s twist, I thought Trench delivered the deeper message more successfully – a difficult thing to do in this format. However, you cannot help but admire Hellefire’s patience and planning. I really appreciated how his story unfolded, with a well written tempo, seemingly untouched by the pressures of a three day deadline. There was much to admire here from both competitors so in general terms, I cannot split between them on such a general basis.

In terms of writing, I found Trench’s style slightly more developed than Hellefire’s. There was immediacy to the description that I enjoyed although in truth, and on a first reading, I found the myriad of “nostalgia” references difficult to assimilate. Dylan, Bowie, Giger, anime and “sexyback” traverse almost half a century. This overabundance of potent references made it slightly difficult for me to find my groove with the story the first time around. I was a little uncertain where I was and even when. After further readings (and Trench’s story is most certainly rewarded by further readings), the distraction lessens and the true message of nature versus humanity is firmly delivered. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that while these references are colourful, it helps to have a theme and stick to it, particularly when you are trying to sell an underlying message. [The use of sexyback while utterly strange was inspired!]
Hellefire’s style while somewhat simplified in comparison benefits overall due to its accessibility. 

The key characters are well developed for a short story. Hellefire has taken the time to colour in the elements he sketches and this assists greatly in keeping the reader non-distracted and exactly where he wants the reader to be. In all honesty, I picked the twist early, which initially made me think that the style was too direct. On further thought, the direct style is an asset. What perhaps was needed was a better red herring, equally well developed and “telegraphed” as Konrad’s possible fall to darkness. The struggle between whether the grey wizard would turn to the white or black was a little too one-sided. Erin’s confidence in her brother’s status was not enough to balance out the two sides. As such the twist didn’t scream “gotcha” quite as loudly as it could have. Still, as I said before, this is being particularly nit-picky. I have to say I enjoyed this piece thoroughly never-the-less.

And so, I am still left undecided how to award this match. I suppose I’ll have to rely on good ol’ faithful: picture use to sort out the contestants.

The first image of a young woman’s face in absolute horror was an easy image to hang one’s story on. Trench allows us to see further into a strange world, where the mystical and the magical can happen. Ophelia’s awakening in seeing the eyes allows her in this moment to see into a new world, which she had seemingly denied as fancy or make believe. In terms of story development this was very neatly placed. Hellefire has gone one better though. With the story’s twist fully revealed, this image provides the very moment of Erin’s absolute horror, punctuating the story’s closing effectively. As such, the chocolates are so far heading in Hellefire’s direction.

The second image is perhaps one of the finest images laid down for CDM/ESSS. There are so many abstract themes that one could pick up on with this picture and both our competitors have grabbed it with both hands. Hellefire’s on this occasion is perhaps the most direct interpretation with the open book, the maze, the henge and the overall sense of discovery. This solid literal use scores highly. However, Trench has used the window and maze most ingeniously. The connection between ones repeating dream, as one delves further and further into it, and the maze is sublime. The eventual message of the druids and the henge IS what the story is all about. As such, I have to say that Trench wins out with this image (but only just).

And then third, I come to the final image (and my last attempt to try and split our writers). The depiction of a march of peace is used well by both our competitors. Hellefire uses this as the ball to get the story rolling. The non-appearance of the White Priestesses at the march tips Erin into action. For Trench though, I believe slightly more has been taken from this image. The papier-mâché head is developed throughout the story and the notion that the wars of men as presented by the march were inconsequential to the druids who cared for the earth mother alone is very well signified.

I am so tempted to award a tie, but in the end, the duty of judge is to make a decision without suffering the pain of splinters in one’s arse from fence-sitting. I will thus award the match to Trench but by the slimmest of margins. All I shall say at this point is that I hope to read more from both of these writers in this competition. Thank you both for presenting me with such a fantastic judging dilemma. Excellent stuff!

*maxfieldjadenfox*

Whoa. Hellefire has given us a dark tale of three ancient orders, each searching for a way to Shangri La. I really liked the surprise twist at the end, still caught me a bit off guard even though it was telegraphed subtly that Konrad may have gone to the dark side. Picture use was strong. The doorway was used well as the object of the quest, and I liked the way the spellbook showed up. The horrified girl summed up Erin's horror at Katie's demise perfectly, and the parade, while not essential, was still well used. Good descriptions and character development and compelling story. I thought the suspenseful build up to the climax was impressive. Kept me interested, and nice reversal. Since this is a gaming site, I also enjoyed the references to D&D. I do have a question about one bit,  “She called me this morning and told me she had found the Door. She said that the key had been brought to her by your brother..." Was Katie a willing sacrifice to open the door? The description of mutilation and dissection leads me to believe not, but then I'm left wondering about the crime scene. No sign of anything at Katie's. And was the picture of Katie a drawing or a photograph? Just a little wonder. If it was a photograph, and if the last page of Konrad's journal also contained a photograph, it would have been clearer to use that word than picture.

Trench has given us an eco-magic story about Gaia fighting back. I really enjoyed the use of the door picture, which included the land Elsewhere and not just the door. This story also has a reversal, you think Ophelia has averted disaster by dealing with Coyote's bomb, but not so fast. The earth is awake to what's happening now and she's not happy. Using the song "Bringing Sexy Back" just cracked me up. I thought this was an incredible piece up until the last line. "Everyone clapped and cheered. Thus was the sound of doves at war." just fell flat for me, and I can't tell you why. I know what you were shooting for, the dove as a peace symbol now used by the earth as an instrument of destruction, but it's really the earth that's at war with humanity, with the doves as its agents. The picture use was really good overall. Each picture advanced the story and was integral to it. 

I think this match-up was the hardest for me to judge. When I read Trench's entry, I thought, no way is anyone going to beat this, but then I read Hellfire's entry and thought, well, maybe not. I guess it would be a total cop out to call this a tie, even though that's what I really want to do. I think in this case Hellefire's offering is just the teeniest bit tighter, so he advances. 

The war hammer is strangely silent.    

*Rodrigo Istalindir*

So, once again it falls to me to make the hard choices.  Herremann seems to have gotten weak without Lady Death to prop him up, and maxfieldjadenfox is illing to step up to the plate and take a solid swing.   Fair enough, I can be cruel when the situation demands it.

Hmmm.

Ok, maybe they have a point.

Both of these stories are very, very good.  This is one of the best pairings I've seen.  I have some minor quibbles, but I concur with my judging brethren that this was a hard call.  I have little to add to their comments, so I will be brief.

Trench's story was simply superb.  I think he's created a remarkably rich and detailed setting in a short space, with deep characters, a variety of motivations, and a genuine sense of the complex relationships that bind them all together.  This is quite an achievement in such a short space.  My only real beef is that the ending is really just a prelude, and after such a wonderful setup, I wanted more pyrotechnics.  Still, the last line is sufficiently spooky to satisfy.

Hellefire puts together an excellent modern-day magic story, with a little dungeon romp thrown in for good measure.  The pacing here is very good, although the dungeon exploration could have been tightened up a little.  I think by that point there was little doubt in my mind that the maze wasn't going to play a decisive role, and so the traps didn't really ratchet up the tension level the way you intended.

Two minor weaknesses, I think.  First, of the three major players (Erin, Katie, Konrad) we only meet one.  This robs the story of the emotional impact at the end, when it's revealed that Konrad has fallen to the dark side and sacrificed Katie.  More interaction between the trio, and less with the coven, would have eleveated this story from the 'very good' to the 'would someone publish this please?'.  Second, the timing seems off (although it really only bugged me on a second reading).  The phone conversation with Katie in the morning seems too innocuous given the events that had to have been playing out shortly thereafter, for example.

The picture use was a wash.  Both make excellent use of the 'shocked look',. A slight edge to Hellefire, for having the doorway be real instead of a dream.  Trench's use of the doves as an integral part of the story throws that picture his way.

I'm going to tip the scales in favor of Trench, but don't go anywhere. Hellefire.  I think we'll be seeing more from you in the immediate future.

*Trench advances, 2-1.*


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 23, 2007)

yangnome said:
			
		

> Any idea what target date we're looking at for starting the next round?  Don't want to pressure the judges--I just don't come around here as often as I used to, so it's easy to forget to check in.




I'm awaiting the last judgment from Herremann.  Hopefully we can start soon, although given peoples schedules this is going to drag out some.  The perils of Ceramic DM during vacation season.


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## Hellefire (Jul 23, 2007)

Congrats to Trench! I cannot disagree with the judges on this one - it was close . I really enjoyed your story!

In case it helps to clear up thoughts in anybody's mind, I meant photograph when I said picture (I though about saying Kodak or something, but ended up leaving it as it was). Also, Konrad didn't sacrifice Katie at her dorm room - he came to her with what he learned and she was so excited she left with him. I had a dilemma over where to have the sacrifice take place, and in the end left it out rather than complicate things.

And, in possibly a new record for CDM/ESSS - I have participated in 4 competitions, and lost 4 times, all in the first round, all in close 2-1 votes .

I will wait and watch and see if I make that final curtain closing as we head into round 2.

Thanks all for your insights and attention!

Aaron


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 23, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> I'm awaiting the last judgment from Herremann.  Hopefully we can start soon, although given peoples schedules this is going to drag out some.  The perils of Ceramic DM during vacation season.




I will be in LA from the 1st to the 11th for my son's graduation from film school... We're taking a road trip up the coast too, to see my brother. While I probably won't have much computer time, I will have access to a lap top, so maybe I'll be able to do some long-distance judging... Just so ya'll know.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 23, 2007)

FWIW, I'm at GenCon from the 15th to the 20th, and I most definitely will not be taking my laptop   Although if yangnome is stil lin this thing, I'll be tempted to accost him in the dealer hall and demand 3000 words on the spot.  Just because he pooh-pooh'd the picture selection the first time around


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 23, 2007)

Hellefire said:
			
		

> And, in possibly a new record for CDM/ESSS - I have participated in 4 competitions, and lost 4 times, all in the first round, all in close 2-1 votes .




Hopefully you're not discouraged, because you are definitely getting better.  Sometimes it's just the luck of the draw.


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## Hellefire (Jul 23, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Hopefully you're not discouraged, because you are definitely getting better.  Sometimes it's just the luck of the draw.




I appreciate that, especially from one who has seen my writing before and can make that call. And the draw this round was very good actually - these are pretty much all calls 'by a hair'. Discouraged? Sometimes. But I like the process, I like writing and reading the stories, and giving up doesn't do any good anyway . Whether or not I advance in this competition, fall I will be on a viking ship (see my sig), but in winter or spring you can count on me dragging up ghosts from the past again and hounding people into donating time they don't have to judge and organize .

Thanks for the comments 
Aaron


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 23, 2007)

Hellefire said:
			
		

> Whether or not I advance in this competition, fall I will be on a viking ship (see my sig),




Geez, Hellefire, you're a braver man than I am.  That's a heck of a trip.


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## Hellefire (Jul 23, 2007)

Well, we do not get may chances in life to take truly amazing trips, or to help surviving children the way we do. Help where you can, live where yoou can, Love where you can. 

Aaron


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## Herremann the Wise (Jul 24, 2007)

Final judgment submitted. A top 8 should soon be forthcoming.

Congratulations to our first round competitors for providing the judges with such wonderful material!

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 24, 2007)

Hellefire said:
			
		

> Well, we do not get may chances in life to take truly amazing trips, or to help surviving children the way we do. Help where you can, live where yoou can, Love where you can.
> 
> Aaron




So in what way does the sailing help the kids (besides being inspiring)? I'd like to know more about the program.


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## Hellefire (Jul 24, 2007)

maxfieldjadenfox said:
			
		

> So in what way does the sailing help the kids (besides being inspiring)? I'd like to know more about the program.




Well, inspiration is the main thing . The kids helped build the ship, and have been involved in the process all along. But also, at the end of the trip, the boat will be auctioned and proceeds will go to international childrens foundations. 

I assume you took a look at the project page, but I'll post the link again here for posterity: http://www.obvikingship.com - there is a lot of information there regarding the boat and trip, and you can also email the captain at captainrob@planet.nl for more information.

I'll be starting a thread in the off-topic forum soon to discuss the boat and trip.
edit: started - http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=202137

Aaron


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 24, 2007)

*Round 1 Match 6 -- EP vs Avatar V*

*Herremann the Wise*

I suppose the first thing to deal with here is the issue of editing after posting. This has been a rule since the beginning and is one that should not be allowed to be transgressed in my opinion. EN World has a preview post page allowing editing before posting and this is the method I suggest competitors use. Call me hard arsed and ol’ fashioned (lawful neutral even) but after careful consideration, this is my final opinion on the matter. However, there are two other judges whose opinions may differ and besides which, there would be nothing that sucks more than my Dyson other than putting in the hard slog only to be denied by fixing up a few tabs. As such, we shall see how this turns out.

EP has done a lot of good things here that I think are worth noting. Many competitors shy away from character stereotypes but “Gunfight on the Plains of the Abyss” is a stellar example of how to use them and use them well. It is almost like giving your reader an express connection to your piece, giving them the opportunity to soak up so much in an economy of words. You allow the reader to fill in the inevitable gaps in the writing. This does two things. It allows you to squeeze more information into your story with the expectation that your reader is going to pick most of it up, and secondly, because they are joining the dots up, they are helping you create your world in their head giving them a degree of ownership over the product.

For me, I loved the characterisation in EP’s story. What was particularly effective was when he started making the interconnections between the characters (Duke and Mary Ann). With more time, I think this could have been expanded to include Richard and Father Ramirez to wonderful effect, adding a further layer of depth. However, while the characterisation was established so well, other elements could have been tweaked to match. Unfortunately, these other important elements lagged in comparison. While the action was there (and delightfully delivered), the eventual tension that would make or break this piece was lacking.

About halfway through, the tension that was nicely developing was extinguished by the sheer ability of the crew. It looked like they could take down anything... and they did, with barely a scratch. If the power and terror of Azraeil could have been emphasized, if the fear that she could take the crew down was in my mind, then the ending would have been magnificent. Still, I did enjoy the action.

I will give one more comment as well. If the mission details had have been transferred to the reader in the first half of the story, rather than in the second half, I think the story would have been framed more purposefully, adding to the overall strength of delivery. I get the feeling that this piece was written more by a ‘seat of the pants’ style rather than with careful planning (and the energy from this writing style is definitely well received). This means though that the looseness of important story elements can come back to bite you and unfortunately, I think this detracts ever so slightly from what was otherwise a good ride.

And finally, picture use aside from the ‘building with skull attached’ was definitely of the so-so variety. You were able to incorporate the images into a single whole which is always an achievement, but the cart picture was a classic “throwaway” while the four armed “demon” was only OK/suitable. More could have been developed but the genre of the story ran roughshod over these. If the story elements were all spot on, I would have ignored this but as they weren’t, picture use becomes a slight issue.

On the whole though, well done.

Now Avatar_V almost gave me a ‘top three CDM of all time’ story. Almost. I wanted it. One page from the finish and the smile on my face made me believe I was going to get it. It was... almost there. If the simplicity of the ending had have been beefed up to match the rest of the story, if I could have just got a few more tense moments of action from a finish that felt slightly rushed, then I would have handed you the medal on the spot. As it was however, it was ‘only’ mere brilliance.

The tempo of the piece was excellent, carrying the reader on a wonderful wave of questions, thoughts and ideas. The story tapped into so many emotions, delicately exploring the very fabric of friendship in a way I did not see coming. The picture use was pretty much the best I’ve seen (qualified by the fact that only three images needed to be incorporated). It was like every nuance out of such a diverse series of pictures was nurtured to the page. The deer’s skull framed the entire story (at the very start and at the very end), the silly cart scene was given impact and extended into the underlying theme of friendship. And then the four armed knitting grandma was given importance and place in such a fantastical way. Please good people reading this judgment, read this story once more to see what I mean in terms of stellar image use.

Everything was there except a truly plausible finish. I don’t know, perhaps it is just me wanting Avari’s sacrifice to be even more poignant. Unfortunately, the tension of possible failure was all too quickly erased, the moment of will she or will she not succeed was answered too quickly. Again, maybe it is just me. This story deserves to stand on its own without me derailing it too much. As such, I shall simply say that Avatar_V takes this match, (despite a sterling effort from EP) and in my opinion is confidently the best story of the first round. Congratulations!

*maxfieldjadenfox*

EP, I'm not sure what to do about you going back in and editing your post. I don't feel like I'm the one to decide whether your entry should be accepted after the edit. I'll approach it like it is though, and talk a bit about it. 

You have written a western style D&D adventure. While the tone is spot on, I felt like your picture use was sub-par, with the exception of the old lady knitting. That knocked my socks off. Using her as a demon was really unexpected, and the picture was integral to the whole story. Sadly, the deer skull and the amusement park really felt shoe horned in, only part of the story because you had to use them. They did add to the atmosphere though, and your description of the pictures themselves was well done. 
There is a lot of good descriptive stuff here. The atmosphere is great, post apocalyptic and gritty. I like the idea of western characters, but outside of Mary Ann, I really didn't have much of a sense of who they were. A little generic, but granted it's difficult to get much character development in a short short story, especially with multiple characters.

Avatar V, great first effort. I really dug this story. The characters were well thought out, and I cared about them, no mean feat with the time and length constraints. There was a clear progression, a beginning, middle and end that made the story feel complete.  Avari's sacrifice was really moving, and the Time-Spinner is pretty much what I was thinking of when I painted the old lady. I do love how she becomes unstuck in time, confused about what's happened when.  It gave the character and the piece some humor. The relationship between the girls was nicely done. I had a clear sense of personality from all of the characters. I thought the picture use was strong, the pipe was used with good effect to set up the relationship between the girls, and as I said, I loved the use of the old lady knitting. The deer's skull was probably the weakest link here, but it still tied well enough to Avari's sacrifice for me to count it as above average use.
I had a few issues with the reason behind the plane crash, why Avari couldn't talk to Sarah in the year after her death, were Avari's adoptive parents in on the deal or were they just pawns, which begs the question would they have died in the plane crash without Avari? Or were they not with her? I think if Avari could have come up with a clear answer as to why she couldn't tell her secrets, it would have been easier for Sarah to decide to help, but as it was, I felt like Sarah helped because she had no choice, not because she wanted to. With more time, I'm sure you could remedy these small problems. It did feel a little rushed at the end, but overall, this is a great little piece. 

My war hammer has been quiet for a few days, maybe because it's hunger was slaked by Tad K, Toras and Cevalic? As I began to write though, it began to hum, something that sounded like a dwarven marching song. AsI reached the end of my judgement, it started its familiar wail and scream.

EP, I'm sorry, but even without the editing question, for me this round goes to Avatar V, who wrote me a story with heart. Crunch. 

*Rodrigo Istalindir*

EP --

This story just oozes cool.  I was instantly transported into a world I wanted to read about, and more than just a short story.  The characters are drawn economically but well, with a little bit of flashback to flesh them out.  More would have been welcome, but I appreciate the constraints of the contest and will content myself with what was there.   The dialogue is spot-on, and the action scene is effective, just the right length, and exciting.  This is a story that demands a longer treatment, with the backstories of the companions and their journey to the Abyss.

It's hard to fault someone for not writing a full-length novel in 72 hours.  But the strength of the story, for me, lay in what was implied more than in what was written (good as it was).  By limiting the scope to the climax, it feels like an excerpt instead of a stand-alone work.  Still, if the worst thing someone can say is that it was too short,  I think that's pretty impressive.

There were some minor editing and grammatical errors, consistent with the hurried pace that the endeavor requires, but nothing major.  

Picture use was pretty good.  The post-apoc feel of the cattle skull on the rusted girder was brilliant -- it immediately set the mood and established part of the backstory.  It had significance beyond its simple appearance.  The amusement park ride, not so much.  It needed something else to tie it into the events.  The old lady and the ball of yarn was clever, if a little too abstract.  

Avatar V

This is a very good, almost definitive, Ceramic DM story.  It's clear that the pciture inspired the tale, rather than being shoe-horned into a preconceived story.  The writing is tight, the pacing good, and there is a beginning, a middle, and an end. It takes the time to make you care aboyt the characters so that when bad things happen, it hurts.   It hits all the right notes.

A couple minor criticisms.  I found the text to be a little dry in the parts before and after the meeting with the Fate -- your dialogue was stronger than the narrative portions.  Also, any story involving the manipulation of time invites nit-picking at the details -- if you were going to befriend someone and earn their trust, why not a Navy SEAL or something, for example.  Still, that's a peril of the genre and not a failure of the story.

Picture use was exceptional.  Every piece had a role to play in the story, and the supporting text was exceptional in how it accomodated the little details.  Nothing was in a vaccuum.  The skull picture would have been rather weak, but you took the time to set up its appearance and when it did show up, it was poignant instead of jarring.  The old woman as a psuedo-Fate was a little obvious, but again the story took it for inspiration and ran with it.

I like EPs story better in a visceral way, but Avatar V's story is the stronger in terms of this contest.  Despite a commendable effort by EP, I think Avatar V takes this match.  

*Avatar V advances, 3-0, in a match closer than the final tally would indicate.  Great job, both of you.*


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 24, 2007)

*Also advancing...*

I hope to have the two second-chance contestants and the second-round bracket posted this afternoon.  Also, FreeXenon, I have some comments on your story I need to post as soon as I remember which computer I saved them on.


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## EP (Jul 24, 2007)

Wow, got the judgement by email and scrolled right down to the bottom where it looked like I was trounced.  But after reading the individual judgements themselves, it does feel a bit vindicating.  And yes, Avatar's story was quite something given the limited time frame and ethereal concept he was going for.  Well played and congrats.

And thanks to the judges for offering their verdicts without just tossing the story out based on the editing faux-pas.  Much appreciated.


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## Trench (Jul 24, 2007)

*blink blink*

Well wow. I actually wasn't entirely expecting that. Cool.

Thanks to the judges for the kind comments and thanks to Hellefire for being supernaturally gracious. I feel rather guilty for being the fourth writer to force you out in these contests. But I must admit I am eager to start the next one (and hey, more stories to send off to Strange Horizons and all that...)

I also want to apologize to pretty much every writer here for not being able to comment and (if I am totally honest) even read some of their stories. I'm getting married August 11th and things are getting busy in Trench-Land. This is compounded by the girl and I heading to Comic Con as of tomorrow.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 24, 2007)

*Just when you think you're out...*

Apparently Hellefire and Cevalic were only mostly-dead, and will have a chance to redeem themselves in the second round.  Matchups are as follows:

*Round 2 Matchups*
1.  awayfarer vs Avatar V
2.  yangnome vs Hellefire
3.  FickleGM vs FreeXenon
4.  Trench vs Cevalic

Let me know about your preferences re: scheduling.


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## Trench (Jul 24, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Let me know about your preferences re: scheduling.




Cool! Go Hellefire! I'm glad I (sorta) broke your streak.

Anyway, I'm gone to Comic Con from the 25th till the 30th. Getting on the plane tomorrow. Come August, I'm getting married on the 11th, so to be honest, the entire fricking week  leading up to the 11th MIGHT be a wash. Depends on the cooperation of family. And then honeymoon kills the week after that.

And the there's the bachelor party on the 4th, which will most likely make the 5th... a non-starter shall we say. Yikes, I've got too much crap going on.

So yeah, first week of August, early is preferable. I think things may not get busy busy (I hope) until a few days before the wedding (I hope) so maybe the very beginning of that week is feasible as well...


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## FickleGM (Jul 24, 2007)

A Saturday start would be awesome.  I am hanging out with friends on Friday, but other than that, I'm free...aside from work...


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## Cevalic (Jul 25, 2007)

I'm really busy all the time right now (two jobs, trying to save for an engagement ring), so I'll just have to fit this in whenever you guys want to have the next round.  I work six days a week, so it doesn't really matter when.  Whatever works best for Trench is fine with me.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 25, 2007)

Trench, Cevalic, how about a 1 Aug start?  That'll give Trench a day back and as much time as possible before the wedding.

You know, I hope participating in Ceramic DM doesn't lead to marriage.  I'm going to need one of those dosimeter badges or something...


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## Trench (Jul 25, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Trench, Cevalic, how about a 1 Aug start?  That'll give Trench a day back and as much time as possible before the wedding.




August 1 sounds about as good as possible for me. If it's cool with Cevalic it's fine with me.


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## Cevalic (Jul 25, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Trench, Cevalic, how about a 1 Aug start?  That'll give Trench a day back and as much time as possible before the wedding.
> 
> You know, I hope participating in Ceramic DM doesn't lead to marriage.  I'm going to need one of those dosimeter badges or something...




August 1 sounds fine with me.

Hope the badges offer some type of warning.


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## Hellefire (Jul 25, 2007)

I will be at Polish Woodstock this coming weekend, but any day starting monday is ok with me. Not working at the moment (the benefits/curses of being a teacher in the summertime), just getting ready for the boat trip, so any day/time on or after monday, July 30, is ok with me.

Aaron


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## yangnome (Jul 25, 2007)

Hmm...anytime after this weekend is going to be busy for me.  I guess I'd prefer it to be early on Monday since that'd be my only day off.  My daughter also come back in country on 8/2, so it'd be good to have the story out of the way.  Post whenever though, and I'll give you a story.


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## Avatar_V (Jul 25, 2007)

Yay! Thanks to the judges for the kind words (and for advancing me to round 2   ) The comments about the ending feeling rushed were right on target. I was pretty hurried with the ending. Also, I agree with MaxfieldJadenFox that more about why Avari's secret was secret and so forth would have been good. Anyhow, this has been a blast so far and I look forward to the next round. 

Also, I must tip my hat to EP - I very much enjoyed the story.

Regarding round 2 start, I'm fairly flexible through August, so just make as many other people happy as possible. Looking forward to seeing the new pictures.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 25, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> ...
> You know, I hope participating in Ceramic DM doesn't lead to marriage.  I'm going to need one of those dosimeter badges or something...





Well, I got divorced a couple of months ago, but I don't think there was a CDM connection.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 25, 2007)

Ok, Hellefire and yangnome start Monday.  I'll try to post the pictures around 9am my time.


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## Avatar_V (Jul 25, 2007)

Here's a sort of off topic question: 

I'm having a lot of fun with this competition and would love to find a place online with more stuff like it. Do any of you know of any forums (friendly ones like ENWorld  ) with a creative writing focus?


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## awayfarer (Jul 25, 2007)

I should be able to start the second round this weekend. Most weekdays in August should be fine as well. I have plans the weekends of August 3rd-5th and (I believe) the 11th-12th.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 25, 2007)

Avatar_V said:
			
		

> Here's a sort of off topic question:
> 
> I'm having a lot of fun with this competition and would love to find a place online with more stuff like it. Do any of you know of any forums (friendly ones like ENWorld  ) with a creative writing focus?




The NaNoWriMo  forum was pretty friendly.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 25, 2007)

Avatar V vs awayfarer will start Sunday morning then.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 27, 2007)

OK. Where's the smack talk? (taps foot impatiently).


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 27, 2007)

*ATTN: FreeXenon*

FreeXenon, are you Ok with a Saturday start?


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## FreeXenon (Jul 27, 2007)

A weekday start is better for me. My weekends are pretty packed.


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## FickleGM (Jul 27, 2007)

FreeXenon said:
			
		

> A weekday start is better for me. My weekends are pretty packed.



 That's fine with me.


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## Avatar_V (Jul 27, 2007)

Haha - sorry, Maxfieldjadenfox. Reading your request for more trash talking and then the utterly civil conversation that followed made me laugh; I'm afraid this group is just too tame for your tastes.


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## FickleGM (Jul 27, 2007)

I lack confidence in my writing skills, which makes it difficult to talk smack.  As I get more comfortable, perhaps I'll start...I'm just not sure that it will be in this competition.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 27, 2007)

Dude, *everyone* lacks confidence in their writing skills.  Except maybe Tom Clancy, Pat Cornwall, and JK Rowling, and frankly, they should.


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## FickleGM (Jul 27, 2007)

Oh, don't get me wrong, I don't need to be a pro to talk trash.  When I'm on the basketball court or sparring someone or whatnot, I'm nonstop trash talking...even when getting my ass handed to me.

In this case, it's a lack of comfort, brought on by my lack of confidence.  When I become a little more confident in my writing, I'll also feel more comfortable, which will then manifest itself in some smack talk.  Being as this is only my second time doing this (I was ousted in the first round last time) and only the second short story that I've written in over 20 years (CDM spring '07 being the first one), I feel funny talking much trash.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 28, 2007)

Oh come now. What harm can come from, oh say, "Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries" ?


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## FickleGM (Jul 28, 2007)

Your mother may bite me...I've been bitten by a hamster and those suckers bite hard (the bleeding...oh, the bleeding).


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 28, 2007)

FickleGM said:
			
		

> Your mother may bite me...I've been bitten by a hamster and those suckers bite hard (the bleeding...oh, the bleeding).




Ummm, no. But thanks for making an attempt.
You need to pick a person to talk to, number one. Number two, you need to set yourself up as mightier and cooler than that person. You have presented yourself as weaker than a small rodent. This is the antithesis of smack talk. 

Read and learn, people!


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## FickleGM (Jul 28, 2007)

Wow, I have failed miserably.  I'm not good at this smack-talking thing...


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 28, 2007)

FickleGM said:
			
		

> Wow, I have failed miserably.  I'm not good at this smack-talking thing...




You just need practice. Attached is the last CDM I judged. Before I was a judge though, I was a contestant. I live to serve.

http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=173099

Then there was the amazing Winter competition, which I lost in round one... Some smack talk from the masters in that one.

http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=3291400#post3291400


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 29, 2007)

*Round 2 Match 1 - Awayfarer vs Avatar V*

Awayfarer vs Avatar V -- 72 hours, 4 pictures, no word limit.  Picture 4 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox. 

Pictures posted at 1348 GMT.


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## Avatar_V (Jul 30, 2007)

Well. That's certainly a diverse bunch of pictures! Seems that Awayfarer's bathroom will be reprising its role as a CDM setting.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 30, 2007)

*Round 2 Match 2 - yangnome vs Hellefire*

72 hours, 4 pictures no word limit.  Picture 3 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox.  Pictures posted at 1317 GMT.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 30, 2007)

FickleGM and FreeXenon, your pics will go up tomorrow morning.


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## FreeXenon (Jul 30, 2007)

Excellent!  
Thanx!


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## Hellefire (Jul 30, 2007)

*recurring themes*

Hm, wonder if we should call this the Bathroom CDM/ESSS 

Aaron


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 30, 2007)

Don't blame me -- this is all Herremann's doing.


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## awayfarer (Jul 30, 2007)

Avatar_V said:
			
		

> Well. That's certainly a diverse bunch of pictures! Seems that Awayfarer's bathroom will be reprising its role as a CDM setting.




I've got a sneaking suspicion that I'm going to be writing two more stories with a lavatorial bent to them.


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## yangnome (Jul 31, 2007)

good pictures.  I don't have a story idea yet, but a few things circling around my brain after seeing them.  I'm interested in seeing what I do to put them together.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jul 31, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Awayfarer vs Avatar V -- 72 hours, 4 pictures, no word limit.  Picture 4 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox.
> 
> Pictures posted at 1348 GMT.




Wow. I did the tree picture all the way back in 1986... nice that it's seeing the light of day.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 31, 2007)

*Round 2 Match 3 - FickleGM vs FreeXenon*

72 hours, 4 pictures, no word limit.  Picture 3 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox.  Pictures posted at 1240 GMT.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 31, 2007)

D'oh.  Just realized I posted the thumbnail version of max's picture.  Here's the full size version.  It deserves the special treatment!


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## awayfarer (Aug 1, 2007)

Waugh. This one keeps stretching out further and further in front of me. I'm not likely to get much sleep tonight.  :\


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## awayfarer (Aug 1, 2007)

*Mooks and Magic*

Once upon a time in a forest a long ways away from here, there was a small cozy cottage carved into a wizened old tree. The tree was the tallest in the entirety of the Fairyland Woods and from its gnarled boughs and thick roots; one might get the impression that something old and magical lived there. This would not be so unusual in these woods, where so many odd and mythical creatures could be found.​Which is why it was so strange that this particular cottage was actually the home of three fairly stereotypical hit men. It hadn’t always been so. The place had been the home of a gnarled old wizard only a few years ago, but it is the habit of city-folk to try and get away from it all, and the four hit men who purchased it (The wizard retired to Florida) had found it to be a great change of pace from their usual surroundings. They’d made a few changes to the place; the tiled bathroom wasn’t a part of the original cottage for instance. They had found that the magical, self-emptying chamber pots tended to be a bit sloppy, and decided to eliminate these. The Jacuzzi, pool room and home theater system were also additions, albeit the latter functioned through a rather large crystal ball that the four had found to give better reception than the satellite dish they’d had installed. All in all, it was a very comfortable place to live.​Furthermore, there was a surprisingly large amount of work to be had in the Fairyland woods. The hit men made their living whacking werewolves, goblins and the occasional elf that caused a problem. Mythical monsters often prove to be a bit difficult to handle; in fact, one of the four didn’t survive their first month in the forest, but the remaining three adjusted quite well to the new challenges and thrived.​ It was on a day, many years ago that their lives in Fairyland took an unusual turn. It was an ordinary morning, at least as ordinary as a morning could be in the forest.  The three hit men had just woken up and were performing their morning ablutions in the cozy cottages tiled bathroom. Vinny da’ Grey looked over to his left and felt a little forlorn at the empty urinal beside him. It was a sad to not see the toilet in use by a fourth member. Vinny missed Louie Red-tie, the groups fourth. Sure, they’d gotten along well enough without him, but Louie was a stand up guy and someone you could always rely on in a pinch. Unfortunately, Louie hadn’t taken the charging unicorn seriously enough.​ The middle hit man Toni Big-heels was looking over at the last, Johnny Serious. Toni was a cross-dresser, making him a bit unusual among them, but the rest were forward-thinking enough to ignore this behavior. Even had they not been fine with it, the fact that Toni could throw a knife accurately enough to cut a fly in half from across the room tended to discourage negative commentary.​ “Sheesh Johnny, you oughta get that looked at. I mean, plaid? You been screwing that dryad haven’t ya?” Toni commented while looking over at Johnny.​ “Knock it off Toni, everyone’s been screwing tha’ dryad. Ain’t like I’m the only one.”​ “Yah, s’kinda my point Johnny, you don’t know where she’s been. Ain’t right slippin the wood to some wood. You don’t know what sorta magical mystical std’s that broad’s got. You really need to get that checked. Tell him Vinnie, shouldn’t he get that checked?”​ Vinny didn’t want to have any part in it. “Look, Toni, just quit lookin’ at it alright? Sup ta him if he wants a plaid pecker. What do I care?”​ The three flushed, in unison and left to go have breakfast and discuss the day’s business.​ Johnny serious split a grapefruit in half. “Whadda we got today Vinny? Something a bit easier’n last week I hope. That exploding manticore wasn’t exactly a fun job.”​ “Shouldn’t be too tough.” Said Vinnie the grey as he poured out a bowl of Grape Nuts, “Some lady called Gramma wants a werewolf whacked. We still got plenty a’ silver bullets and if we can get to em’ by day it’ll be a piece a’ cake.”​ “Yeah, and you did clean the guns last night dincha Johnny?”​ “Sure thing Toni, they should be good to go. Yours was gummed up with lip-gloss ya nut. How’dja manage that anyhow? Y’know what nevermind, I’m sure I don’t wanna know. In any case, the guns is all laid out nice and neat on as desk in the library.”
Vinny dropped the spoon halfway to his mouth. There are certain difficulties in moving into a wizard’s home. Chief among them is the tendency of wizards to accumulate large numbers of magical texts. Magic does not hold well in paper and as a result, any location with a massive number of magic tomes tends to get…leakage.​ “Johnny you mook! You left the guns in the library!?” Vinny immediately pushed away from the table and rushed down the hall to the large, solid oak doors that marked the entrance to the library. He pushed inwards and entered the cluttered room. Wizards are also notoriously untidy. Several attempts at cleaning up the library met with failure as books simply migrated wherever they pleased. Even the dust had achieved some modicum of sentience, and small herds of dust bunnies occasionally hopped across the well-worn floor.​ Directly across from the doors was a desk where apparently Johnny serious had been tuning up the guns. Vinny quickly grabbed the three weapons and hastily retreated back into the hall, slamming the door shut behind him.​ “Johnny could you be any more of a nitwit? You know what happened the last time we left a weapon in there.”​ The last weapon left in the library was a small but rather sharp knife that Toni Bigheels had used to carve his initials in the desk. The blade was in there for three weeks before Toni remembered and brought it back out, but by then the damage was done. Some might think that an intelligent, talking weapon would make for an interesting companion, but comments like, “Oh god, I’m in someone’s head! I’m in someone’s freaking head!” tended to be unnerving, and so Toni quite using the knife. It had subsequently disappeared.​ “Hey, c’mon Vinny, they wasn’t even in there for a whole day. What’s the worst that could happen eh? Besides, it’s not like we got a decent desk to work at anywhere else. Lets just take em’ out to the firing range and test em’ out. See that everything’s what it should be, you know what I’m saying?”​ This was readily agreed to and the three left the cozy cottage and walked just a short ways to the place they called the shooting range, which was in fact a duck pond. Vinny took out his piece and selected a likely target. A fat duck lazily swam past. There was a faint click as Vinny pulled the trigger. Nothing happened for approximately two and two thirds of a second.​ The duck exploded in a ball of flame. Vinny dropped the gun, which was glowing red-hot. “Dammit, this piece is too hot!”​ Toni reluctantly held his gun and closed his eyes as he pulled the trigger. As with Vinny’s gun, there was the quiet click of the trigger, followed by a short silence.​ The noise that followed was not an explosion; in fact, it was not related to the sound “bang” in any way. It was a strange tinkling, crinkling sound. Toni heard the sound only after his gun had already fallen in front of his high heels. “Dammit, this piece is too cold!” When Toni opened his eyes, the spot in the pond that he had taken aim at was a solid block of ice. Ducks honked angrily as they tried to extricate their feet from the frozen surface.​ Johnny Serious casually fired at a duck. It died in an unremarkable way. “I don’t know what happened to you’se guys. My piece is just right.”​ Vinny slapped Johnny in the back of the head. “Moron! How we gonna whack that wolf without our pieces!? Ain’t like you can do it all alone.”​ “Look Vinny, maybe if we just leave the guns out for a while they’ll go back to normal.” Toni said “Happened with that nail file I left in the library one morning. It stopped meowing after about three hours. Lets just put down the pieces and go for a walk. Only let me change into some more comfortable shoes.”​ The three hit men left their guns on the kitchen table like any responsible adult would. They decided among themselves to hit their mark in the afternoon, although doing so would be markedly more dangerous the later in the day they waited. Toni put on some sensible beige shoes with a short, wide heel and they strolled down Fairyland Lane.​ Elsewhere, magic was causing quite a different problem for one young girl. The girl was known to her tribe as “Burning Hair”, as much for her red locks as for her unfortunate tendency to set things on fire. Regrettably (to her tribe at least) she was born with a talent for magic and as was the custom of the tribe, she was to be exiled. The council was still working out precisely where she was meant to go.​ Burning Hair was a carefree sort, and while feeling somewhat melancholy about her predicament, she was comforted by her travel companion. Her shadow had a mind of its own since she was only a few years old, and while it couldn’t speak, its antics always cheered her up. She waited outside the tent for several hours while the old men passed the pipe and discussed the affairs of the tribe. Occasionally an exclamation of “Whoa, dude” or “Wait, what were we just talking about?” could be heard through the fabric. Burning Hair was not the brightest person around, but she occasionally wondered why the elders sought wisdom in plants, which never seemed very intelligent to her.​ The tent opened and it was the chief himself who delivered the news. Chief Heap Stereotype appeared in his feather headdress and face paint, looking stern. It occurred to Burning Hair that perhaps the tribes naming conventions should also not rely on clouds of plant ash. The effect of the chiefs stern face was somewhat ruined when he cracked up.​ “Okay, check it out. You like… what was it? Oh yea, you, Burning Hair cause big trouble for our tribe. We’ve decided to banish you to the” The chief began to crack up once again “Fairyland Woods.” He gave a big grin and that was that.​ All in all, Burning Hair thought that things could be worse. She set off down the interstate on foot while her shadow did cartwheels. It was a surprisingly short distance from the tribes land to the Fairyland Woods. “Magic.” Burning Hair thought to herself, completely willing to accept this as sufficient explanation. She stared up at the giant trees that rose up suddenly in the desert. She moved in among the trees, glad to be in the shade.​ It was early afternoon but already the young sorceress was tired, having spent the entire morning just walking to her destination. She searched for some time among the trees in the hopes of finding a quaint bistro or coffee shop. She found the latter, a small place owned, operated and largely patronized by raccoons. The acorn coffee served there didn’t refresh her terribly and unfortunately, the proprietor couldn’t recommend any good hotels in the area.​ Burning Hair wandered onwards for a little while longer when she encountered a most peculiar thing. Carved into an enormous tree was a simple wooden door. “This is probably as close to civilization as we’re going to get, don’t you agree shadow?” she said aloud. Her shadow nodded, and the pair agreed to give it a try. They were quite tired from so much walking, and when no one answered the door, they decided to enter anyway.​ The hit men’s cozy cottage appeared very inviting to Burning Hair. She found herself in the kitchen, noting that some careless person had left several guns on the table, when she heard a noise nearby. It sounded like someone, or something, pounding on a heavy door.​ Investigating, Burning Hair came to a set of large oak doors. The pounding had ceased the moment she began to walk down the hall. She threw open the doors and was astounded at the vast number of clearly magical books that greeted her. This was all the more astounding for the simple fact that it was not descriptive language.​ The books jumped up and down, clamoring for her attention and she was delighted to play with them all, as was her shadow. It was only a few minutes before the frolicking was cut short however, by the immensely loud sound of an enormous book slamming shut. The other folios leapt upon their shelves, trembling slightly.​ Burning Hair turned a corner. Upon a dusty and evil looking pedestal was a gigantic, black volume that looked absolutely ancient. Burning Hair was not shy (or all that bright either) and so she stepped forwards to greet the book like all the rest. As she stepped forth, a pair of yellow, cat-like eyes suddenly appeared upon the cover.​ “Why grimoire, what big eyes you have!” Burning Hair remarked as her shadow (having more substantial brains) desperately tried to get her attention. As the girl stepped forward, the large tome bared a set of teeth that took up nearly its entire cover. It emitted a low growl.​ “Why grimoire, what big teeth you ha…holy crap!”​ The book leapt from its pedestal with its moth wide open, ready to bite Burning Hairs head off. Thankfully, the girl’s reflexes were faster than the rest of her mind. She quickly grabbed the first weapon she saw (a small knife) and slammed it into the book, pinning the thing to the wall. From somewhere nearby she heard a muffled voice. “Oh god, I’m in a books brain! I’m in a books freaking brain!”​ This was quite enough for Burning Hair. She hastily exited the library.
There was a sound at the kitchen door. “Perhaps it’s the owners.” Burning Hair thought. She ran to the kitchen and threw open the door.​ Standing outside were three bald men wearing lame t-shirts and holding various plumbing implements threateningly. One of the men faced away from the door.​ “Is this the home of Vinny the Grey, Toni Bigheels and Johnny Serious?” one of the three men asked. “This is Mr. Adrian Wrongway and Associates. We got a message for them, courtesy of one disgruntled werewolf.”​ “Yeah,” said the man facing away from the door ”that message is…chaaaarge!” He ran away from the door. There was a short muttering, something along the lines of “Adrian, you idiot.” And the other two pushed their way into the kitchen. Burning hair stumbled backwards, banging into the kitchen table. Her arm was flung backwards where it struck the gun of Vinny the Grey. Nothing happened for two and two thirds seconds….​
BANG!

The gun went off with a roar; the bullet ricocheted off the wall, then the ceiling fan, then off of the trigger of Toni Bigheels gun before burying itself in one of the bald men, who exploded. Bits of burning thug plastered the kitchen, setting fire to nearly everything in sight, including Burning Hair’s hair. All of this happened within two seconds…​Two thirds of a second later, a loud, tinkle-tinkle noise occurred. The noise occurred again as the bullet ricocheted off the wall, and again as it hit the chandelier, and again as it struck the trigger of Johnny Serious’s gun. The second thug was frozen solid. The monkey wrench he had been carrying flew out of his hand and landed in the sink where it smashed the faucet, causing a spray of water to go everywhere. Some of the water froze in the air; some of it spread out and put out several small fires.​Two thirds of a second later came the bang of a gun that was tuned just right. It had a clear path through the kitchen door and it left the cozy cottage only to strike a man running away from it. Adrian Wrongway was hit in the back of the head and was sent, against all normal physics, back in the direction of the kitchen. He crashed into his frozen comrade as he fell, shattering most of the thug to pieces.​Burning Hair casually ran (A difficult thing to do) out of the kitchen and towards the nearest bathroom. She put out her scalp in the shower, a process she had gotten rather used to over the years. “Well, it’ll grow back…. again.” Her shadow heaved as if sobbing. It cared more about it’s hair than Burning Hair did.​The three hit men came back from their walk to a grisly cottage. Toni Bigheels was the first to notice something was amiss “Hey Vinny, you leave the door open…wait, you smell smoke?” the three rushed in and immediately noticed the flaming corpse of the first thug. Vinny’s gun had left a scorch mark on the table when it fired. “Hey, somebody’s been whacked with my gun!” he exclaimed.​Toni stepped in a puddle of slush and bits of semi-frozen goon. “Oh yuck, these are new shoes. I hope this comes out…wait a sec, somebody’s been whacked with my gun!”
Johnny serious was the last to enter. “Wait, I know this guy. Adrian Wrongway. He used to do jobs on the lower east side. Hey…looks like somebody whacked him with my gun…and here she is!”​Burning Hair leveled Johnny Serious’s gun at the trio. She thought it was rude to kill someone in their own home however, and so she put down the gun. “Er, look this has been a really weird day for me and I’m guessing it’s been one for you three also.” She explained her situation. The three hit men appeared to be quite happy to have a sorceress around to keep an eye on all the strange magical things in their cottage. They called her Bonnie Red-Hair and lived as happily together as an accident-prone magic user and three hit men can.​


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## Avatar_V (Aug 1, 2007)

ENWorld Short Story Smackdown Summer 07

Round 2, Match 1

Grikxzax Jr. and the Search for the Sacred Scroll
by Mike Rousos (Avatar_V)

The scout saucer hovered low over the vast Arizonan desert. Grikxzax Jr. looked ponderingly at the Earthling magazine in front of him. He licked a tentacle, turned the page, and sighed. “Choose a disguise,” his father had told him – but, how was he supposed to choose when all these Earthlings looked the same? And they were all so _ugly_.

The door behind him slid open, and Grikxzax’s father slid up next to him. “Well, son?”

Grikxzax Jr. frowned, “I don’t see why I even have to go down there.”

His father’s eye opened wide in surprise, “Don’t see why? Because our sacred scroll has been missing for far too long and we must recover it! That’s why!” 

His father slapped him with a tentacle. “It’s only been my lifelong quest to retrieve it. Grikxzax, you have never tasted the sweet, heavenly ambrosia. If you had even once experienced the rapture that the sacred scroll brings, the sheer ecstasy of the moment, the explosion of taste, the exhilaration of the senses…”

“Yea, Dad, I get the picture. All I’m saying is, I didn’t lose the stupid scroll. I believe that dubious honor belongs to one Grikxzax Sr.…”

Grikxzax’s father reared up, flailing all of his tentacles about in the traditional ‘don’t you talk back to me, youngster’ pose, “After all I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me? With insolence? Do you know how I treated my father when I was a boy? With respect, that’s how!” Grikxzax Jr. knew this spiel would go on for a while, so he returned to his magazine (assuming the traditional ‘I don’t care about your senile ravings’ pose). About the time his father started panting, he returned his attention to him, figuring the rant was more or less wrapping up. “…and I slithered uphill to school both ways. In the snow!”

“Dad, you grew up on a space ship…”

His father seemingly didn’t hear the interjection because he continued on, undeterred, to his big finale, “And I liked it!!!” Grikxzax Sr. caught his breath and then added, “Besides, the Overlord will have my tentacles on a platter if I don’t get that thing back soon – and you know I’m just too busy lately. What with taking your sisters to soccer practice, and piano lessons. Then there’s my chiropractor’s appointment on Thursday; I really can’t miss that. You know I’m a mess if I miss an adjustment.” 

Grikxzax Jr. rolled his eye and said, “Here, I’ll look like this Earthling.” He dropped a tentacle carelessly on the page of the magazine. It landed on a photograph of a short-haired dark-skinned Earthling in a dark skirt and suit jacket. The Earthling wore large hoop earrings and high heels.

Grikxzax Sr. looked at his son’s selection (glad that he had given up arguing about going on the mission at all) and said, “Very good – I’ll send for Hratnikc and Krixzx to make you your disguise.”

“You know,” Grikxzax Jr. observed, “I’m really amazed the humans don’t see through those disguises. They really look sort of phony.”

Grikxzax Sr. just shrugged, “Yea, beats me. But, look at old Xrinthus – he’s down there right now campaigning as a candidate for the presidency of America and they still haven’t figured it out. Go figure…”

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Raine had always known she was special. Her mother had told her that she was when she was a young girl. At first, she supposed that she was special because she had an extra ‘e’ in her name. But, later, she learned that, in fact, it was much more than that. She also had eleven toes. When she was seven, she learned that most girls only had ten toes. And that’s the sort of thing that makes a girl extra special. So, to Raine, it really wasn’t very surprising that she didn’t have a lot of friends. She liked to wear sandals, or go barefoot, to show off her specialness. It probably intimidated the other girls – especially in school when she would sit at her desk in such a way as to try and get her specialness as close to their face as possible, so that they were sure to notice it.

But, the lack of friends never bothered Raine. She had a secret friend – one that was always faithful: her shadow! Oh, sure, Shadow was on the quiet side, but she also had eleven toes. So, she wasn’t intimidated by Raine’s specialness. Raine’s favorite thing to do with Shadow was to dance. Shadow was the perfect dance partner. No matter how Raine moved, Shadow could always keep up. She never said anything, but the two of them could dance for hours (with extra stability provided by an extra toe, of course) and Shadow would never miss a step.

In fact, dancing is just what Raine and Shadow were doing the morning that she saw the saucer. Raine and Shadow had been dancing outside of the ‘Wigwam Motel’ that her family owned (just off of Route 66, Cable TV, Heat and AC, rooms start from just $48.00 (plus tax)!) when Raine heard a soft whirring noise behind her. 






Raine and Shadow turned to look, and there, not a hundred yards away, perhaps two hundred yards from the ground, floated a spinning silver saucer. And being lowered from the craft in a green beam of light was a professional looking black woman, dressed in a sharp business suit. Raine stood mesmerized. Her mother had seen UFOs, but until now Raine never had. This was guaranteed to make her even more special. She was glad that Shadow was there, too, so that there wouldn’t be any tension in their friendship from one of them being more special than the other.

The woman touched the ground, waved, shouted something about expecting an allowance increase for this (though, of course, Raine – special as she was – couldn’t understand the alien tongue), and the saucer sped away faster than Raine’s eyes could follow it. The woman brushed the desert dust from her suit with her hands and then, seeing Raine (and Shadow), walked towards them. “Greetings Earthling,” the woman said as she came near them. Raine stood, open mouthed, not sure what to say. Then the woman said, “Ah, crap, forget I said that. I meant to say ‘What’s up?’” 

Raine continued to stand motionless. 

The woman spoke again, “That’s current Earthling salutationary slang, is it not?” Raine slowly nodded.

For several minutes the two women stood looking at one another, neither quite sure what to say. Grikxzax was furiously thinking, ‘I hate my dad for sending me here – I ought to say something, but I have no idea what’, while Raine furiously thought, ‘Just say to her “It’s cool. I think I might be from outer space, too”’. Instead, neither spoke and the awkward silence continued for some time. Finally, unable to stand the tension any longer, Raine thrust her foot towards the woman and cried, “I have eleven toes!”

The awkward silence promptly resumed. After a bit, Grikxzax removed his high heels and looked at his own feet. “Ah, yes,” he said at last, “you are probably wondering why I, an ordinary Earthling like you, only have ten toes. You see,” his mind raced, silently cursing Krixzx for leaving off a toe, “I tragically lost my eleventh when I was but a child in a terrible, uh,” he nearly said ‘xenon laser mishap’ but he knew that would be unlikely for an Earthling. Just in time he revised his story, “in a terrible dental floss mishap.” He looked at Raine to try and determine if what he had said made any sense. Of course, her ugly Earthling mug told him nothing. So, for good measure, he added grimly, “I’ve not been the same since.”

“Dude,” Raine said at last. “This is far out.” Grikxzax breathed a sigh of relief. He had no idea what that meant, but it sounded like his story was a good one. Her courage plucked up, Raine continued, “So, can I, like, ride in your spaceship or something?”

Grikxzax swallowed nervously; she was on to him, “Of course, I don’t have a spaceship! I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he said. Perhaps she was making a joke? He hoped so and figured he’d better work on that assumption, “Haha,” he said, rather dryly, “haha. Of course, if you help me with my mission, I’d be more than happy to give you a ride in whatever vehicle I, as a normal Earthling, am likely to have.”

Raine considered this, “You’re on a mission?”

Grikxzax explained, “I’m looking for something of great power.”

Raine nodded, “What kind of power?”

Grikxzax wasn’t really sure. He’d seen pictures of the scroll in books, but he didn’t know how to describe it to an Earthling. “You know,” he said, “an exhilaration of the senses. A rapturous ecstasy.”

“Oh,” Raine said, “I understand now.” Raine winked at Grikxzax. “I think I know just the guy you need to talk to.”

Grikxzax couldn’t believe his luck! The first Earthling he talked to knew where to find the sacred scroll! “Please tell me where to find this Earthling. I am most interested in speaking with him!”

Raine nodded, “He lives in Flagstaff. You can wait at the bus stop there,” she pointed, “and take the number 64 bus west. His apartment is on the corner of 6th and Oak, unit number 3B. Ask for ‘Dylan’. Tell him Raine sent you.”

Grikxzax bowed and said “Thank you very much, Earthling.” And he hurried off towards the bus stop.

“You owe me a ride in your spaceship when you get back!” Raine called after him. Grikxzax hurried faster.

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Dylan was young at heart. At least, that’s what people said when they had to write a letter of recommendation for him. Naturally, it meant he was a man who thought he was eighteen despite all evidence to the contrary (for example, the fact that he was bald). It meant that at an age when he should have owned a mini-van and spent time discussing his stock portfolio, he owned a moped and spent time throwing parties for college students from Northern Arizona University (go lumberjacks!). It meant that he owned no suits, but that he owned two different t-shirts that read ‘I am a bomb technician; if you see me running, try to keep up’ just in case one was really dirty (and, to Dylan, there was an important difference between ‘sort of dirty’ and ‘really dirty’ when it came to clothing).

In fact, it was during just such a party, and while Dylan was wearing just such a t-shirt (college chicks really dig funny shirts), that a knock at the door came. 






Now, under most circumstances, someone knocking on the door during a party is not all that surprising. But, during one of Dylan’s parties, it was rather unusual because all of his friends just walked right in. Of course, the sense that something was awry was only reinforced when the caller said loudly through the door, “Please admit me. I must speak with the Earthling named Dylan immediately.”

Dylan looked at the door and motioned for a girl close to it to see who it was. The girl opened the door a crack and peeked out. She took one look at the official looking woman waiting impatiently on the other side, and she slammed it shut. She then yelled a word that Grikxzax had never heard before. “It’s the cops or something, Dylan! Or maybe someone from the university. You’d better hide all this stuff, man.”

Dylan yelled back, “Shut up! Don’t you think the cop can hear you from the other side of the door?”

Grikxzax waited as he heard a great commotion from inside the apartment. There was a lot of clatter as things were hastily rearranged and there was a lot of cursing, though Grikxzax wasn’t quite sure what it all meant. At length, the door was finally opened and a flustered looking man stood before him, his cheeks flushed with exertion. “Good evening, Ma’am,” the man said, “is there something I can help you with?”

Grikxzax echoed the greeting, “Good evening, Ma’am,” as he pushed his way into the room despite Dylan trying ever-so-strategically to block his entrance. “I’m looking for the Earthling named ‘Dylan’.” Grikxzax surveyed the room. About two dozen college-age Earthlings were crammed into the too-small apartment. Most sat on furniture or window-sills studiously laboring over books or calculators. One girl was passed out on the rug in the middle of the room. 

“I’m Dylan,” the man who had answered the door offered, as he tried to push Grikxzax out of his apartment.

Grikxzax ignored the man trying to remove him and, instead, commented off-handedly, “You certainly have a lot of roommates, Dylan.”

Dylan laughed nervously, “Hehe… Oh, you’re funny. Of course, I’m just helping these youngsters study. Finals are coming up, you know.” Grikxzax looked at the girl passed out in the middle of the floor. Dylan grabbed a blanket and through it over her as he explained, “Studying sure can wear a person out!” He began to sweat profusely.

“Yes, I see,” Grikxzax said, “I’m sorry to have interrupted. But, I’ve come here to see you for a particular reason. I’ve recently been talking to a girl by the name of Raine.”

Dylan turned bright red and said, “Yea…”

Grikxzax noticed his reaction. “Oh, good; you know the Earthling I speak of. In that case, you probably know why I’m here.”

Dylan’s flush persisted and he began to speak animatedly, “Look, she said she was eighteen – I swear she said she was eighteen!”

Grikxzax looked at him with a puzzled expression, “Yes, Dylan… I’m sure she did.” Grikxzax paused for a moment, completely baffled – these Earthlings usually made no sense whatsoever – and then he continued, “I’m afraid that doesn’t help me, though… I’m here because she told me you could help me locate something of great power.”

Dylan looked both relieved and perplexed. “Excuse me?”

Grikxzax sighed, “Raine said that you could tell me where to find something I’m looking for – it contains the power of the ambrosia of the gods. An explosion of the senses; a rapturous ecstasy.”

Dylan looked around at the other people in the room nervously as if he weren’t sure what to do. Grikxzax took the opportunity to reflect upon the fact that this was most definitely not worth going through to bail his dad out. He figured that when he got back to the ship, he had better be exempt from chores for at least two weeks.

Finally, Dylan turned back to Grikxzax, “Um, so, are you a cop or something?”

“A cop?” Grikxzax asked.

“A policewoman – are you a police officer?” Dylan was growing a bit exasperated.

Grikxzax looked surprised, “Of course not. What bizarre questions you ask. I’m not a police officer. I’m just an average Earthling like yourself – a friend of Raine’s. Now, are you going to help me or not?”

Dylan thought about it for a moment and then he drew a small plastic baggy from his pocket with some pills in it and offered it to Grikxzax. “I can sell you this, if you want it. Is this what you came for?”

Grikxzax took the bag and looked at it curiously. “No, I’m afraid that this is most certainly not what I came for.”

Dylan threw his hands up in frustration, “Then what do you want?”

Grikxzax tossed the pills to the side (two students left their textbooks to greedily gather them up as they spilled from the bag), “I’m looking for a document.” Dylan’s expression was blank, so Grikxzax tried again, “A recipe! I need the recipe!”

Dylan responded, “Oh… I can’t help you with that.”

“Do you know who can help me, Earthling?”

“Maybe,” Dylan shrugged, “I know a guy down in Phoenix – his name’s Vinny – who might be able to hook you up.”

Grikxzax raised an eyebrow questioningly, “Hook me up to what?” He wasn’t sure what that meant, but it sounded painful and, most certainly, not like something he wanted.

“Uh, he might be able to get you the recipe you want. If I give you his phone number, will you leave?”

Grikxzax nodded. Dylan scribbled down Vinny’s phone number, and, as promised, Grikxzax left. On the way out, he took one last look at Dylan and the students, shrugged his shoulders and offered, “Personally, I study better when I’m sober.” 

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

The bus ride south to Phoenix was much longer than the previous one and Grikxzax didn’t arrive until the following morning. The Earthling costume was cramping him and he was sincerely hoping that he would be in possession of the scroll soon. Hoping to wrap things up quickly, Grikxzax found the first phone booth he could when he arrived in Phoenix and called Vinny. In fact, he not only called him, but also woke Vinny up – in his excitement to get the scroll and go home, Grikxzax neglected to consider the fact that most people who deal in black-market recipes are not up and about at six in the morning. Considering that, the conversation was remarkably civil. Vinny managed to overlook the fact that the woman on the phone kept calling him ‘Earthling’, and Grikxzax managed to overlook the fact that, despite Vinny’s whining, he was also very tired himself (the bus ride was bumpy and he was still badly jet-lagged – intergalactic flight has a way of wreaking havoc with one’s internal clock). Vinny already knew what Grikxzax wanted (Dylan had called him the night before) and, since he was awake, agreed to meet for breakfast in an hour.

Passing the time until they were to meet, Grikxzax spent the morning watching the news in a shop window. Although he didn’t learn anything about sacred scrolls of power, he did learn of other important world events such as what color purse Paris Hilton carried most recently (periwinkle) and where Lindsay Lohan’s career is headed (nowhere). 

At seven sharp, he headed to the restaurant and found a table for himself and Vinny. The restaurant was fairly crowded with business people coming and going before work, but Vinny was able to find Grikxzax based on his description of himself – ‘a brown-skinned Earthling, with silver hoops dangling from my head, wearing a dark jacket and skirt, and having only ten toes thanks to a tragic childhood dental floss mishap’.

Besides the awkwardness of Grikxzax not actually being able to eat in his costume, and besides the awkwardness of neither party having any clue what the other was talking about, the conversation was going remarkably well. At least, that is, until Vinny got up and politely excused himself from the table. 

Figuring that according to some custom unknown to him, the conversation was moving to another room, Grikxzax got up and followed Vinny from a distance. Sure enough, Vinny disappeared into a private conference room (marked with a little stick-figure Earthling on the door). Briefly, Grikxzax wondered what the difference was between that room and the one next to it with a skirt-wearing Earthling drawn on the door, but he didn’t dwell on it – if this room worked for Vinny, it worked for him.

On the other side of the door, though, Grikxzax found a scene quite different from what he had expected. There were no tables – rather, just a row of sinks and, along the far wall, a row of bizarre looking, low sinks. Vinny stood at one of these low, unusual sinks. Another man stood at a sink a couple down from him in a similar pose – both men faced away from Grikxzax and he couldn’t tell what it was they were doing, though it was clearly something that required some level of concentration. 

Intrigued, and not wanting to offend, Grikxzax wandered up to the open sink between the two men and assumed their pose. Curious as to what they were doing there, Grikxzax took a glance at what Vinny was up to. 






Horror immediately grabbed at him – not only was he short a toe, those old fools Hratnikc and Krixzx had made his suit without an entire appendage! And now, thanks to this deficiency, he couldn’t partake in whatever custom it was these Earthlings were engaged in! Would it insult Vinny that he didn’t join them? Would it keep him from getting the scroll? Grikxzax’s mind raced and then a solution occurred to him. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would do. Trying to act as natural as possible, he pulled one of his green tentacles out of the top of his skirt and let it hang down like the other Earthlings. He looked at Vinny again and flashed a smug smile. Vinny looked at him.

“What are you doing in…” then Vinny glanced down and saw Grikxzax’s appendage. He screamed, zipped up a bit too hastily, screamed again, and practically ran from the room. “This meeting is over, you freak!” he called as the door shut behind him. 

The man on Grikxzax’s other side looked over to see what the fuss was about, saw the tentacle, and let out a long whistle, “Honey,” he told Grikxzax, “You really ought to have a doctor look at that – it don’t look healthy.” And with those words of wisdom, he, too, left the room.

Grikxzax was alone. He slumped to the floor depressed – his Earthling costume was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, he was quite hungry, and his best lead was gone; how was he supposed to find the sacred scroll now? 

It was then that the door swung open and another Earthling walked in – at least, it seemed at first glance to be an Earthling. But, when he looked closer, Grikxzax realized that it was clearly a phony Earthling costume. He stood up, studied the Earthling more carefully, and then cried, “Xrinthus, is that you?” 

The Earthling stopped, looked at him and then exclaimed, “Grikxzax! What a surprise!” 

Grikxzax made the traditional tentacle waving greeting salute (made possible by the fact that his tentacle was still hanging out of his skirt). Another Earthling entered, took one look at the salute in action and promptly left. Grikxzax laughed and asked, “What are you doing in Phoenix, Xrinthus?”

“Oh, you know, the usual stuff,” Grikxzax shrugged, “campaigning for the primaries. But, what about you – shouldn’t you be with your family on the mother-ship?”

“I wish,” Grikxzax sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m on a mission. I can’t go home until I find the sacred scroll that my dad lost all those years ago. The worst part is that I’ve got no leads.” Xrinthus grew strangely quiet when he heard this. Grikxzax squinted at him, “Why aren’t you saying anything, Xrinthus? Do you know something about the scroll?”

Xrinthus nodded sheepishly.

Grikxzax waved his arms in the closest thing he could get to the traditional ‘I can’t believe you knew where a cultural relic was for years and didn’t tell anyone’ pose considering the Earthling outfit that he wore. “Xrinthus, why wouldn’t you have told us what you knew long ago?”

Xrinthus spread his palms helplessly, “If I told you where it was, you would have taken it and then I would never have experienced that marvelous recipe here on Earth.”

“Xrinthus!” Grikxzax cried.

“I know, I know, it was a selfish thing to do. Look, I’ll take you to it now, if you want. It’s in Michigan, but we can take my jet.”

Grikxzax nodded, “I think that will be good,” tucked his tentacle back into his skirt, washed his hands, and left.

On the way out, Xrinthus asked him, “Dude, did you forget to flush?”

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

The plane ride was thoroughly miserable for Grikxzax. He found that Earthling air travel was inferior to riding in a saucer in nearly every way. His Earth instructor back home and told him that the only redeeming thing about flying in an Earth plane was that their airlines were still primitive enough that they fed you peanuts on the plane (of course, it is common knowledge that as airlines evolve, the food served decreases in amount and quality – for example, back at his first flight in Kitty Hawk, Orville Wright was served a full seven course dinner. Think of that the next time you’re on a plane and have to choose between pretzels and peanuts for dinner!). Unfortunately for Grikxzax, Xrinthus tried to be more civil on his jet than other Earthlings were and, therefore, he didn’t serve any food. Hence, Grikxzax’s involuntary fast continued.

After several grueling hours, the plane landed, and Grikxzax was able to happily get back onto solid ground (though, sadly, his luggage was somehow lost). 

The airplane ride was followed by a lengthy trip in one of Xrinthus’s cars. Finally, they left the car when the road ended, and finished the journey on foot through dense forests. 

The sun had nearly set when Grikxzax and Xrinthus at last entered a clearing. There, before them, stood a magnificent tree with a small door built into its base.






“Is this the place?” Grikxzax asked, “Is this where the scroll is kept.”

Before Xrinthus could answer, though, the door to the tree swung open and a veritable stream of miniature Earthlings with pointed ears and funny hats appeared. 

Grikxzax stood stunned for a moment, not sure what to say. At last he remembered his manners and said, “Greetings, Earthlings. I am Grikxzax. Who are you?”

The first small creature introduced himself as ‘Ernie’. The next was ‘Elwood’. They all, in turn, introduced themselves.

Grikxzax furrowed his brow and asked, “No Legolas?”

Ernie spit on the ground. “Pansy. We wouldn’t let him in our tree if he begged.” The other small Earthlings all laughed at this. “Come on,” Ernie said, “I’ll give you the tour.”

As if in a dream, Grikxzax followed Ernie into the tree. As he came into the large common room, he saw what was undeniably the sacred scroll proudly framed and displayed over the fireplace (yes, there was a fireplace in a tree. No, don’t ask me how). 

Grikxzax pointed at the scroll, “The sacred recipe,” he said.  “May I taste…”

Before he could even finish asking the question, though, Elwood appeared with a great tray of cookies (all, bizarrely, shaped like their makers). He brought it straight to Grikxzax and Xrinthus, who each took several.

As he bit the head from a small elf cookie, Grikxzax wondered if it was cannibalistic for Ernie and Elwood to eat things that looked just like them, but before he could ask, he suddenly understood the taste of the ambrosia and he was overwhelmed with what can only be described as an exhilaration of the senses; a rapturous ecstasy. 

In time, after having thoroughly gorged themselves on cookies and having come out of their rapturous stupors, Grikxzax and Xrinthus discussed buying the recipe back from the elves. And though they weren’t keen on giving up the business, Ernie and the others eventually agreed when Xrinthus offered them enough money that they could all retire to the Caribbean with enough left over that they could also afford to pay for the immigration of their relatives who were currently working in sweat shops at the North Pole. 

Grikxzax Jr. returned victoriously home but, sadly, was rewarded not with an allowance raise or an exemption from chores but, instead, with the traditional ‘my childhood was tough, so yours had darned well better be, also’ pose and a spiel about the ‘old days’. All the same, he was terribly happy to be back home.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 1, 2007)

*Round 2 Match 4 - Trench vs. Cevalic*

72 hours, 4 pictures, no word limit.  Picture 3 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox.  Pictures posted at 1304 GMT.


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## Avatar_V (Aug 1, 2007)

Whoa, I just read Awayfarer's story (very good, by the way - I've got tough competition!) and let me just say - [sblock] What the heck?! We both decided to make one of the guys at the urinal a shady character named 'Vinny'? And we both had the chick by the teepee converse with her shadow? Talk about a strange coincidence! Heh, I guess he really must look like a 'Vinny'   [/sblock]


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## awayfarer (Aug 1, 2007)

Avatar_V said:
			
		

> Whoa, I just read Awayfarer's story (very good, by the way - I've got tough competition!) and let me just say - [sblock] What the heck?! We both decided to make one of the guys at the urinal a shady character named 'Vinny'? And we both had the chick by the teepee converse with her shadow? Talk about a strange coincidence! Heh, I guess he really must look like a 'Vinny'   [/sblock]




I don't know that I would call it very good , but thanks.   

[sblock] Man, thats wierd about Vinny and the shadow. There must be something subliminal in those pics.

Without reading your story (just got back from work) I should mention that I think this round will go to you. I tried to do about a dozen different things with mine and had to ditch a slew of things to finish on time. I think mines suffering from a bit of Piers Anthony Syndrome, in that my story is basically a pile of wierd stuff without a lot of depth.

Gonna grab lunch and read through Avatar Vinny's now. [/sblock]


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## Avatar_V (Aug 1, 2007)

awayfarer said:
			
		

> I don't know that I would call it very good , but thanks.



My response, in the obligatory sblock to hide it from the judges  :

[sblock]I wouldn't write yourself off yet. You'll find that our stories are actually quite similar in many ways (even if not in subject - save for Vinny). Your story may not be deep, but neither is mine. 

I've never tried 'humor writing' before, but felt that the pictures really lent themselves to that style, so I gave it a go. The result is a story in which I focused a lot on the 'entertainment' and 'comedy' values, but the 'depth' suffered.

Honestly, with the types of stories we've come up with, the winner may be the one that elicits the most chuckles. I believe that my story has some strong points there (the middle is weak, sadly), but yours is a bit more consistent. We'll see what happens  Best of luck!
[/sblock]


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## FickleGM (Aug 1, 2007)

Arrgh!

That's all.


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## awayfarer (Aug 2, 2007)

I just took a look at the pics for the Trench/Cevalic matchup and I must say, I would not want to be either of them right now. I think I'd have a tough time with those, although mutant-baby gives me some ideas.



			
				Avatar_V said:
			
		

> My response, in the obligatory sblock to hide it from the judges  :
> 
> [sblock]I wouldn't write yourself off yet. You'll find that our stories are actually quite similar in many ways (even if not in subject - save for Vinny). Your story may not be deep, but neither is mine.
> 
> ...




[sblock] There was definitely a humorous bent to the pics this round. The exception might be the tree, but thats pretty heavily in the realm of fantasy and can easily be brought around to something nonsensical. I was sort of uncertain about trying a humorous story too, but I think it could have turned out worse.

Come to think of it, the short time span we're given doesn't really lend itself well to a really immersive story. I guess that's just one of the challenges to work with.[/sblock]

Y'know, I think we're being too supportive and polite. Maybe a little smack talk is in order.[1920's handlebar-mustachioed villain voice] _Let me be the first to say that your father was a hooligan, your mother was a ragamuffin and you have a problem with that, it will be fisticuffs ye vagabond!_ [/1920's handlebar-mustachioed villain voice]


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## yangnome (Aug 2, 2007)

They first made contact in the year 2016, a mere 5 years before they brought the end to life as we knew it.  No doubt there were some who knew, or at least suspected their existence prior to the contact.  Most though were unaware of the threat that lay before us.

Looking back, I do not know what protection these protections would have offered.  Policies could have been put in place to quarantine the new arrivals, but this likely would have had no affect on their spread.  Their species is a scavenger, a parasite.  Once they discovered that our planet was hospitable to their type, our fate was sealed.

Naturally, most people were excited to hear of the discovery.  Throughout the history of our kind, we had always wondered if there was something—someone—else out there.  

When we received the answer, naturally there were many different reactions.  There were many who were filled with joy and excitement.  I admit, I was one of them.  The notion that other species lived out beyond our stars fostered a certain feeling of hope—it opened the prospect of a new frontier with questions and answers waiting to be discovered.  If they were able to come and survive on our planet, surely there must be other planets out there that could support our kind.

Others were naturally filled with dread.  Over the course of history, many cultures had placed their beliefs in fictional beings of power. Each generation passed tales to the next generation cementing the notion of their deities within their offspring.  Many cultures revolved around these deities and the beliefs they shared.  While some of these legends could support the idea of life outside our own world, many of them could not.  There were many who found their belief systems shattered.  This caused many to lose hope—indeed, many killed themselves before the parasites drove underground.

Still, most, once they accepted the paradigm shift, looked toward the revelation with growing excitement.  The prospect that we would be able to share our cultures with those from another planet—a species that had evolved completely separate from us-- was certainly a thrilling idea to most, even if it was intimidating.  They seemed to be as curious about our cultures as we were of theirs.  It seemed to us that each group had a lot to learn from one another.

Initially, things were peaceful between the two races.  Though we were very different, we also had many things in common with one another.  It was obvious that their technology was far superior to ours.  We of course hadn’t even managed to travel outside our own solar system by the time they traveled to our galaxy.  Still, we were a proud people and we welcomed our new neighbors.

On the first anniversary of the first contact, we celebrated with our new friends.  A few more ships had arrived by this time, but their population was still relatively low.  These new guests would likely stake a life here as their life expectancy would not allow them time to return to their own planet.  Our united planet council in an effort of displaying our welcome of them erected a monument to their arrival. It was a large combination of religious symbols—some of theirs and some of ours, meant to represent the changes that had occurred to our beliefs when we found one another.   We held a planet-wide celebration that lasted for days.  We celebrated and shared our cultural histories with them with feast, song, dance and drink.  At the time, they seemed appreciative of our efforts.  A number of them spoke, along with our leaders about the cooperation that would exist between our people over the coming years.

There were some who were skeptical of the newcomers motivations.  Behind the scenes, various groups worked to convince our politicians that we needed to establish safeguards against the inflow of these new creatures.  Most though trusted what they had to say, and let their curiosity get the better of them.

Certainly during the first couple years, there was much to be learned.  While they came with a limited amount of resources, their technology was far superior to ours as I have mentioned.  Their scientists on their planet had engineered small microscopic machines that could perform amazing functions.  

It also didn’t take long before each side realized that the technology and culture weren’t the only things that spawned interest amongst our populations.  Anyone who has traveled knows the “foreign effect”—a person in a foreign land is at least 10 times as attractive as they would be at home.  The same held true with these newcomers.  Our evolutionary path was similar enough that we could mate with one another.  This of course opened up a whole new world of possibilities and may have been the cause of the downfall.

I remember the first time I saw one up close.  She was an attractive sort.  I think we both felt a mutual attraction, or at least curiosity as soon as our eyes met.  We met in a dumping station.  I was working on a big project, talking to my boss but my attention was on her.  He was railing on about something..I was just worried about dropping the call in front of her, but she seemed to be working on a pretty big download of her own.  Sitting there, our eyes met, and I have to say it was attraction at first site.  

Now, you probably wouldn’t think a dumping station would be the ideal place to meet up for a romantic interlude, but she was anxious to interface then and there once I dumped my connection.  It was a steamy scene, but in the excitement of the moment, I accidentally dropped some packets—hey, it was my first go with one of them.  She didn’t seem to mind though. 

We saw each other for about 18 months after that chance meeting.  After about two months, she moved in with me.  She didn’t really have any skills to offer, so I supported her, and her daughter.  During the day, I would work, while I thought she was home keeping the place together.

Of course, I wasn’t the only mixed couple.  Like I said, there was a lot of curiosity, which led to some casual flings—some more sordid than my waste station romance.  Some though did get together like us. This led to some strange reactions from others, and may have ultimately led to the problems that brought us to where we are now.  

Many, both our kind and theirs grew opposed to the mixed relations.  Of course we weren’t able to form fertile couples--which may have been a good or a bad thing, I’m not certain—but even still, many opposed such close relations between two species.  They felt it wasn’t natural and could lead to problems.  In some places, legislation was actually passed prohibiting inter-special marriage and other commitment contracts.

This movement gained more support as more of them arrived.  Instead of becoming more accepting of them, our people grew more suspicious as more and more ships landed and the xenophobic movement grew.  Many of our people felt that our culture was being eroded by the influx onto our planet.  Many were concerned that our birth rates would plummet if serious relations we re condoned.  

It wasn’t until Princess Gabriella, the daughter of the viceroy of the planet council fell in love with one of them.  No one knows exactly how long their relationship had actually spanned.  There had been rumors of various socialites dating the outsiders in various tabloids over the years. Those of us in similar relations of course paid close attention to this.  More than four years after the first encounter though, one of the rumors was substantiated.  If an heiress to a high politician like the vice chair were able to maintain a relationship, we felt a change might be in the works to allow all of us more freedom with our relations.

The Princess’ father though, instead of supporting her, threatened to disown her if she pursued her love affair.  He used the event to demonstrate how committed he was to the laws and the preservation of our society.  The Princess refused to bend to her father’s demands though, and used the press to try to sway public opinion in her favor.  The harder the Princess pushed her father, the harder he fought back.  

Society’s stance had turned away from the outsiders now as well.  Though their culture brought advanced technology and new sciences with them, they did not have enough resources to support themselves.  Some were able to do so through teaching their knowledge to us, but many o them had to use our resources to survive.  They began mining resources from our planet, and infringing on our markets.  This of course led to more backlash from our people.

Princess Gabriella made one more public demonstration of resistance to her father.  On the fifth anniversary of the first contact, she met with her love at the monument.  There, in front of the cameras and the crowds, they frolicked together in a public display of their love for one another.  Some grew angry at the scene and protested, others protested the protestors.  Most still are not certain how the event came to pass, but Gabriella climbed the monument, to the top.  She then hanged herself from the portion that looked like an earthen cross.  

The Viceroy witnessed his daughter’s death on streamed video.  He was so angered by what he saw that he ordered the immediate death of his daughter’s love.  The viceroy’s troops hung him from the monument not less than 30 minutes after the Princess’ death.  His troops also slaughtered more than 200 of them that were present at the event.  

Needless to say, events did not end here.  The Viceroy’s actions were enough to cause a war between our two species.  The humans retaliated against our people.  Though their numbers were fewer, their weapons overpowered ours.  After months of hard fighting, we were overpowered.  Our people were driven into slavery by the humans, forced to mine resources for them to ship back to their planet.  A few of us managed to escape underground.  I have lived underground for more than ten years now after my human lover tried to betray me. 

I use the computer I stole from her to broadcast this message to you, be assured I am one of you.  Look into my face, my eyes and see that I have the same fair skin, and same lack of pigment as you.  I appeal to my people, and any humans that might sympathize.  We need to stand together as one and rise up against our bonds.  Our culture has been destroyed and we must fight to rid our planet of these parasites.


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## yangnome (Aug 2, 2007)

[sblock]
OK, there is my story for what it is worth.  I was getting ready to go to bed at about 1030 and realized that I had completely forgotten about this story and that it is due in the morning.  So, here, two hours later, I have a story completed.  I haven't had time to reread the story yet, but I don't thik I'm entrirely disappointed with it.  It is by far not my best work, but I think there might be something interesting in it.  I do feel like it could have used a bit more development in the plot and a longer treatment.  I'm not certain that the end entirely gells with what I was thinking and trying to accomplish with the beginning of the story.  If I had more time, I could have probably tweaked this a bit and had a much stronger entry>  Then again, I guess I'll have to wait and see what the judges thing---they very well may say it is complete crap.

[/sblock]


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## Hellefire (Aug 2, 2007)

*my apologies*

Congrats to yangnome, and my apologies for not getting my story in on time. Things are happening that made it impossible - I'll elaborate and post my finished story tomorrow, for academic purposes. I know that it sucks to lose this way, its not so great to win this way, and it lessens the whole competition. Truly, I apologize. And grats to yangnome again!

Aaron


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## FickleGM (Aug 2, 2007)

My story is 1/4 of the way done...I'm not as worried as I was last night...

This isn't always fun, I'm learning.


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## FickleGM (Aug 2, 2007)

*Extinction*

ENW Short Story Smackdown Summer '07
Round 1, Match 3 -- FickleGM vs FreeXenon


Extinction


My name is Ogg, and I am not human.  Of course, my twin brother Igg isn't human, either.  Sure, we can pass as human...degenerate and inbred, perhaps, but human.  What we are is the last of our kind.  After we die, there will be no more.  We are known better by the names that our enemies call us – ogres, trolls, hobgoblins, ettins, and so on.  We don't actually have a name for ourselves, but we do have a goal.

Unfortunately, that goal is currently blocked by an army.  An army that is aware of our goal and is ready to die to prevent us from reaching it.  The army may pose a problem, especially with the guardian angels flying above it, encouraging its soldiers and preparing to bring their celestial power to bare against us.  Soon, we will find out, for the gate lies beyond.  The gate is our goal and our salvation.

Carved from stone and covered in mystic runes, the great arch will take us from this place of danger and bring us to a place where we will no longer be hunted as monsters.  For too long we have been on the run.  For too long we have witnessed our brethren put to death by fanatical humans.  Today, with courage, strength and luck, we will finally be out of their reach.

The sun has set and the new moon is hiding in the starless sky, so it's time for Igg and me to make our move.  Under the cover of darkness, we make our way to the edge of the army.  Necks snap, humans die, humans scream and the fight is upon us.  What the mortals appear to have forgotten is that we have not lived as long as we have by being easy to kill.  Their swords and spears can barely scratch us, let alone actually slay us.  Igg has just popped the head off one soldier and is using it as a flail against his assailants, which makes me laugh.

As we get close to the arch, we can see the religious humans praying their spells of protection.  Two angels fly above them, both of them carry a sword, but the one that I am interested in has a key in his other hand.  The key is the final piece required for our escape.  Igg's eyes meet mine and I nod to him that it is time for our surprise.  He discards the head and brings out the talisman from under his tunic.  Holding it up and chanting some mystic words, Igg snaps the talisman as I make my move.

A bright light fills the sky, as if the sun was rising on the horizon, and the sounds of a heavenly chorus ring across the battlefield.  In the distance, beyond the enemy's fort, fires erupt.  The army almost comes to a standstill, as the soldiers and clergy look to the lights as a sign from above.  Even the angels are taken by surprise, as they hover in front of the arch, pointing at Igg in the distance *(Picture 2)*.  Leaping high above the humans, I swat one angel out of the air with my right hand as I grab the key out of the other angel's hand with my left.

Fighting for my life, I wait for Igg to reach me before activating the archway.  These humans are tenacious, even if they have no chance against me.  The angels, on the other hand, are quite dangerous and their holy swords sting as they pierce my flesh.  Any time now, brother.  Suddenly, a horse flies over my head and crashes into the attacking angels.  Igg is showing off, again.

Turning to the archway, I raise the key and recite the sacred words, as Igg clears some space around me.  A shimmering light appears in the opening beneath the archway, signifying our success.  Turning to the angry masses, we bow and step back through the portal.

Looking around, it doesn't take long to figure out that we are indeed in a different place.  Actually, we were both in a different place and a different time.  Standing in the middle of a strange smooth road, the first thing we notice are the iron chariots moving rapidly past us.  No horses can be seen pulling the chariots, yet some strange beasts are obviously moving the contraptions from within, as they can be heard trumpeting warning cries toward us as they pass.

Humans walking by also seem to be taken back by our appearances, strange dress and perhaps where we are standing, seeing as they are all walking on a different smooth road.  I grab Igg and motion to the "walking road," and we move away from the large road and its iron chariots.  Igg suggests that we try to blend in, but in order to do that, we'll need some native clothing.  We decide to walk down a side alley and stay clear of the gawking public.  Eventually, we come across a group of humans huddled against a building.  They appear to be lower class, but two of them are large enough to accomodate our needs.  The screams do not appear to bring any support, which is surprising with the number of humans in the area.  Perhaps they don't take care about each other any more.

With our new clothing, we should be able to walk amongst the enemy without being recognized.  Of course, the humans of this time may not recognize us regardless of our attire, but it's better to be cautious.  We still have another task that must be completed before we will truly be safe.  We must find the mystic realm, which lies hidden behind the veil innocence.  Our only clue is the vision I've seen of a strange device or creature from this time, consisting of a red disk having four silver horns and red spiral tendrils or vines.  I have no idea what it is, so we may have to communicate with our enemy to get some answers.

The mortals of this time must be the most oblivious creatures that we have ever seen.  Walking past a large reflective wall, we can plainly see that we do not blend in as well as we first thought.  Our clothing, while similar, was obviously old and used compared to the clothes of the humans around us.  Igg, in particular, has a terrible stain on the front of his shirt that must stand out, yet they only walk around us.  The mechanical bracelet that I am wearing, must make me look more respectable.  Igg thinks that he should get one, too.  Our heads look human enough, but normally stand out so that humans have always reacted to us with fear.  Our large ears, in particular, have always been reacted to first *(Picture 1)*.  Not here.  Not now.  Perhaps this will not be as difficult as we first thought.

Well, it's been half a day and we still have no idea what the object is from my vision.  Humans are just as fragile as ever, if not moreso.  They can't understand descriptions and they don't respond well to torture.  I'm about to give up on this tactic.  There is a knock at the door of the rundown, abandoned building that we found.  An authority figure is demanding entrance and stating that he is an officer of the law.  Perhaps he can tell us what the object is.  Igg let's the human in and right away there is trouble.  The human sees blood and immediately takes a piece of iron from a scabbard on his belt.  He's pointing it at us, but it doesn't have a blade, so I tell Igg to hold him down.  A loud bang rings out and Igg knocks the human across the room.  Igg is now on the floor with blood flowing out of his chest.  The human is screaming into a device on his shoulder, saying that he needs backup.  Two large strides, a sidestep to avoid his loud weapon and a kick to the head ends his life.

I am alone and for the first time in my long life, I am afraid.  These mortals, oblivious and weak, possess weapons that can kill me with relative ease.  I am not safe and do not know how to complete my journey.  My limited magic is not divinitory in nature and I know of no seers or oracles from this period of time.  Lost, I wander from alley to alley, and avoid human contact.  Leaning against a metal container of refuse, I look up and see it.  Within a strange box containing a transparent side, the object sits.  A red disc-like object, with four silver horns and four red tendrils, just like in my vision *(Picture 4)*  The box sits in a clear sack, swinging from the hand of a human woman.  Not just any human woman, but the human woman that I must follow.  This can not be coincidence.

The woman walks up the steps to the door of a small house.  Using a key, she unlocks the door and steps inside.  I hide along the side of the house and peer into the windows.  The woman sets the bag on a table and turns, as if she hears something in another room.  As she blocks the bag from the view of anyone entering the room, a child runs in and hugs the woman.  The child, a red-headed girl of approximately twelve years, looks past the woman and directly at me, winking.  Her face is the epitome of innocence.  My journey is almost complete.

Later that night, I sneak into the house, using a simple incantation to open the lock.  Creeping from room to room, I eventually find the girl, sleeping in her bed.  As I slowly walk in the door, I notice that the girl is not alone.  On her bed lies a black cat and under the foot of the bed rests a dog.  I step in front of the bed and prepare to wake the girl when a sudden gust of wind flows through the room, blowing the curtains behind the girl's bed.  The girl suddenly sits up in bed and calls me by name.  Strange green tentacles erupt from under the bed, presumably coming from the dog, which is now a matching green color.  In addition, the dog now has three heads, each containing hypnotic spiraling eyes.  The front paws now resembling hands, the beast growls at me in warning.  The cat displays its magical nature by revealing antlers on its head, as it stares at me under sleepy eyelids *(Picture 3)*.

I ask the girl if she can take me to the mystic realm and she answers that she is indeed to doorway to the mystic realm.  I finally made it.  I am finally going to a place where I will be amongst others like me and away from hateful humans.  I look into her eyes as they begin to glow.  The glow surrounds me and I feel myself fade from this world...the last thing I see are two angels flying from her eyes, pointing celestial blades at me.  There is no hate in their expressions, only remorse.


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## Avatar_V (Aug 2, 2007)

FickleGM said:
			
		

> This isn't always fun, I'm learning.




Hehe... I've found that I usually enjoy myself while I'm writing, and I always look back on it as having been fun. For whatever reason, though, I seem to have trouble getting started a lot. And, of course, I often stay up too late with these sorts of things and then being tired at work the next day (and the anticipation of that) is no fun at all.


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## FickleGM (Aug 2, 2007)

Avatar_V said:
			
		

> Hehe... I've found that I usually enjoy myself while I'm writing, and I always look back on it as having been fun. For whatever reason, though, I seem to have trouble getting started a lot. And, of course, I often stay up too late with these sorts of things and then being tired at work the next day (and the anticipation of that) is no fun at all.



 [sblock]Yeah, I tried this out in the spring to see how well I'd do and I didn't enjoy myself very much, but I decided that I should give it at least one more try in order to see if I could find the same joy that others seem to find in writing.  Unfortunately, I haven't found that joy...I guess that writing just isn't my cup of tea.

I think that this will be my last competition, but I'll give it my all until I'm ousted (being as "raw" as I am, my all isn't all the great).  Last night my wife asked me why I didn't just quit.  I told her that my pride and competitive spirit will not allow me to roll over, so I am in no way throwing in the towel on this competition (just in case anyone thinks my story is bad, I want it known that it was not intentionally bad).

I'll spoiler block this, so as not to influence the judges.[/sblock]


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## FreeXenon (Aug 3, 2007)

*Ascension*

ENW Short Story Smackdown Summer '07
Round 1, Match 3 -- FickleGM vs FreeXenon

This is going to be painful.    Good Luck FickleGM!   

*Ascension*
[sblock]_'And the answer was right in front of me the whole time.'_ Anton thinks to himself as he looks at the mural in the lobby of his uncle's office building.  '_How could I have been so blind.  He is so arrogant._' as he continues his internal monologue. '_I am, now, not surprised that he has not removed this archaic art as most everyone else has - vying instead for holographic banners and art._'

The mural depicted the villagers of our great, great, great, great grandparent's hometown to meet the priest who came as _'angels'_ descended from the sky to supposedly consecrate the horrible burning of his great, great, great, great grandparents alive for crimes against the church which included witchcraft and heresy. That's what the history books say. Just below the mural were supposedly the last condemning words of the priest "By the flame of the righteous, I consecrate thee."

Our family history paints a slightly different image. The local priest desired Anton's great, great, great, great grandmother, Dorus', recipe for her spiced kelp balls and she would not acquiesce a treasured family secret. Her rebuffing naturally earned the priest's ire and then he condemned the pair to death for it. An annoying part of their family history, but that year marked the beginning of their family's success and rise to riches. Shortly after Anton's great, great, great, great grandparents' immolation the spiced kelp balls started to sell like wild-fire and the money started to rolling in. The family has been rolling-in-the-spiced-green ever since.

This building has been in Anton's family for a little over 2000 years and has had quite the history of violence, war, and disaster but yet it still remains standing in one form or another. Part of the building has been burned down to the ground in a freak candle fire. It has been bombarded by cannon fire during a civil war. It has been the home of human and halfling sacrificing religious sect that killed their members in a group pixie juice suicide. The family has kept this as their seat of power in spite of the many problems that it has had. Someone in the family has always owned it either personally or by a business that they controlled.

Anton is abruptly brought out of his thoughts as his shoulder is not so gently shoved forward. Behind him looms the _chimpanzee brothers_ who look like two very tall, strong, dark haired, West Virginia, back-hill, inbred hillbillies with large ears, slightly protruding forehead, large mouth, and wild eyes that scream '_I am my own Grandpa._'.  If you know what I mean? The not so bright and not so occasionally drooling half-ogre brothers that are errand boys for my uncle have bent sent to bring to Anton at his whim. His uncle is comforted in knowing that he receives a tax break for their full time employment.

The brothers shoved Anton from his thoughts about the mural and into the magic suppressing elevator a few feet away . Once they were inside the simian brothers looked at him and then at each other, furled their brows, and then grunted in unison. Brother number 1's big hands mashed the controls for the elevator and they started to ascend to the top floor. Brother number 2 snapped out his stun baton and played with it menacingly behind Anton. He could hear the its quiet hum as well as the smell the ozone in its wake. He felt very naked without the charge pistol that they confiscated from him during his impressment.

Anton tapped his left arm a few times trying readjust the servos back into place. His cybernetic arm has been recently damage in a '_misunderstanding_' and he need to have it adjusted. The arm suffers from occasional spasms or ticks that have caused him to break a few peoples noses. It is the strangest thing. The random ion pulses discharging has not helped his case either.

Anton's uncle is the current patriarch of the Seven Swords family and all of its estates. It is hard not to admire and loathe his rich and successful uncle. He has never met the man and as far as he has heard no one can remember seeing or meeting him either. As it is often said the rich are often eccentric, especially with our family. It is hard to argue when their leadership is so profitable.

The Elven Clan of the Seven Swords was very keen to keep their bloodline pure and looked unkindly upon the genetic stain that Anton was. The family was above having Anton killed or neglected outright as he is literally the red headed half-elven step child of this family. It is difficult to find a place in the various businesses that his family owns or is involved in so he am usually moved from place to place and business to business as problems occur due to his bastard origin.

As the elevator came to a stop and doors opened Anton looked quickly back trying to hide a smirk as he remembered that he broke brother number one's arm as he left an elevator once. Brother number one squinted his eyes, grunted, and shoved the half-elf from the elevator and into the foyer.

The foyer room's walls and ceiling was composed of a dark and shiny blue marble. It was an immaculately clean room that contained a small stand with the Xcentar 2000 Bionetic Verifier and *the* door. The X2BV appears more like a 4-person game controller because the manufacturer's original chassis was destroyed in a freak fire storm at their factory and they conveniently found a rather strange and convenient replacement in the game controller that the owner's son used for his virtual science simulations.

The X2BV is made for high capacity bionetic security points identifying 4 people at a time via a hemoscan, thermoscan, as well as a electro-resonant brain scan. The three of them approached  the device and grabbed a hold of the handle and spoke out their names. Following the slight prick into their palms and the line of light that passed over their bodies quickly the light on the top of Anton's handle lit up green and the other two lit up red.

The chimpanzee brothers scowled and walked their seemingly simian gait back to the elevator, mashed the buttons, and then disappeared as the doors closed and the elevator descended. As they left Anton began to feel really anxious and alone. He had never met the head of the family and he really had no weapons with himself. '_You never can be too careful._' He had no idea what to expect, but assumed that it had something to do with his snooping around their family's history and private archives, as well as asking meaningless questions about a long lost past.  '_Perhaps, my moment of reckoning had come._' he thought to himself as he tried to suppress a smile.

Once the the elevator had left this floor the light above the door that led to where the patriarch lay turned green. He could hear the heavy '_chunk[/]' of presumably metal locks opening. The double doors quietly slid open little bit so that a dim light could be seen emanating from with in. Quiet sounds of microfans and, most likely, the glow of computer monitors seeped from the room beyond. Anton stood their and tried to slow his breathing and to keep his pulse from racing as this could be the moment when all is righted.

Anton walked slowly forward while nervously running his left hand through his hair. He used his right hand to open the doors and look into the room to try to assess the situation. Whether he should run or whether he should get ready for *the* showdown.

The half-elf walked slowly into the darkened room and he looked at the sole occupant in the room a woman not too much older than him - 24. She had long brown hair with delicate pale skin. Her eyes were wide, confident, and full of concern and fear as she sat in a bed with the covers pulled up to her bent knees. Anton was shocked. 'This is no patriarch. But everything made sense in light of it.'

The window was open behind her and the curtains were laying still with no breeze coming in. There was not a lot of light here as it was night time and the only light that was available was from the picture of the family crest on the wall screen behind him. His keen partially-elven eyes allowed him to see well enough and he stared at her. She stared at him as did her black cat who sat quietly at the foot of the bed and indifferently looked at him and then looked away at something obviously more interesting. The darkly wooded bed was contrasted by the statue of three scowling bulldogs' heads with wide eyes that was made out of a light marble at the foot of the bed.

It was an all together surreal moment and it is nothing like he would have imagined. He expected to find a man here, his uncle who bore the family secret, but instead, he found the family secret. He imagined an epic battle to the death with thunder, lightening, storms of acid and hell-wrent flames. But there is only this. This moment looking at each other. Rather anticlimactic after a few years of searching for the truth, and for the right of ascension.

Anton cleared his throat and began to speak in an ancient tongue that has long been forgotten. "In the name of the fathers of Auld I command you, Dorus Seven Swords, heir to the patriarchy and secrets of the Seven Swords of the Fathers, and to the fabled recipe of the Spicey Kelp Balls to abdicate you throne at the head of Family."

At that moment a great wind blew the curtains opened and it started to rain. Thunder and lightening ripped across the sky as the flash wrent the magics in the room. The cat bore the antlers of a hell-bound servant and the three dog-headed statue at the foot of the betrayed something more insidious - a Beyhound with swirling red enthralling eyes that beckon you to doze and relax. Its greenish skinned tentacles and toothy maw lashed out from under the bed and poised to strike.

'This was more like it." he thought as he readied the appropriate spell and incantation to take his place as the head of the family. The Beyhound's eyes called his attention and assaulted his will. The hellbound cat glowered at me with a vicious and uncaring indifference while its horns pulsed and throbbed with electricity that lanced out toward Anton seeking his flesh.

The electricity arched to him and found itself drained by latent protective magical field that emanated from his cybernetic arm. Anton smiled and pulled out a black sapphire the size of a human fist and presented it as he continued "In the name of the Elders and the heirs of the Seven Swords I command you to relinquish." The Beyhounds tentacles lashed out to him but he was not there, at least not physically there to extradimensional creatures as they were.

The wind howled and blew hard and lightening struck not too far away outside. The woman smiled and said "Thank you, my love. I am ready." The black sapphire flashed and the room was empty of all creatures save himself. He could still smell the aroma of her perfume on the now still air. His heart sank.

The room was quiet and the tousled bed was wet from rain coming in from the open window. He could still see the impression on the bed from where the woman sat. He whispered to himself "By the flame of the righteous, I consecrate thee." He sighed in sadness and a longing that no one else could ever understand, but this is necessary for the family line to continue appropriately. The surface of the Black Sapphire was warm to the touch and seemed to flare at small moments like flame was trying to free itself from within.

The mural at the entrance to the building fade slowly away and all that remained the phrase 'By the flame of the righteous, I consecrate thee.' below was a clean blank wall. [/sblock]_


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## FickleGM (Aug 3, 2007)

Hey, FreeXenon, I just noticed that your location shows you as being from Wisconsin.  Awesome.  Good luck. 

Yeah, I know...we are totally sucking at the trash talk.  We're like the anti-trash talk and if trash talk were to happen, the world would end.  It may not seem fair, but it is.  Trust me.


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## FreeXenon (Aug 3, 2007)

Yup! Baraboo Area!   
Oh yea! Well you rock, so deal with it!


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Aug 3, 2007)

FreeXenon said:
			
		

> Oh yea! Well you rock, so deal with it!




*sighs deeply and gives up on any possibility of smack talk for this round*


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## Trench (Aug 3, 2007)

The Real Beginning

by Shawn Feakins


When did it start? Hell, may as well say the Big Bang or God fartin', all amounts to the same thing. You can get all sorts of metaphysical with that question. You wanna talk about the squid heads invading? The day when the world wakes up and finds the Midwest is the nicest place to live? Or do you want to talk about the retaliations, when we made it worse? Hell, hundreds of nukes set off in the oceans hoping we'd hit something and instead we melt the ice caps juuuust enough to raise the water for the squid-heads to spread their wobbly bits into the coastlines. Either way it's a sad tale of bad to worse.... least from the human's perspective.

Nah, you want the skinny on me. You want to know about The Voice. Well, honey, if there's one thing I can talk about, it's me.

Now when _I _started was in some Moline, Illinois ER of '91. Momma had a bit of a meth habit and could never afford no doctor or ultrasound, so I came out with the leftover bit of a conjoined brother attached to my head. He decided he'd up and stop growing five months in. The way the world turned out, he maybe had the right idea. Now I know lots of people hold that bit o' evidence up as why I am the way I am trying to read meaning into it, but I just think it's just one of those things. Just my momma not ready to face up to herself and that turned inward just enough to make my brother fold into the closest spot and hide- namely my skull. Grandmama's church ponied up the money for the surgeries to make me a real boy and I always wondered where the rest of him went.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30093

Watch your step honey-britches. Now I know my office is a little strange (by the way tell me when you stop throwing up since the ears and nose ain't what they used to be), but not as weird as Cancun. When the Deep Ones started crawling out of the oceans, all those ocean paradises suddenly became the worst place on earth. You look like you're barely old enough to remember when it all started, so let me tell what it was like- cause history footage don't cut it. 

You wake up one morning and go for a jog on the beach when suddenly you have a dripping, shambling mess of tentacles and screaming gills bearing down on you like a drunk tractor. Oh it was bad on the coasts of all the continents, sure, but at least they had somewhere to fall back to. We lost Manhattan, but Jersey survived (least before the nuke floods). But islands were just floating snack bars to the squid-heads. Japan went under fast and I don't blame the chinks at all for nuking them. Resort islands had the worst of it. You saw pictures in the news of Hawaiian shirts torn to shreds in the maws of lamprey mouths. Flags of flayed flesh with tramp stamp tattoos waving in the breeze from long pikes. All those shitfaced college students and doctors on drug company junkets didn't have a chance. 

Cancun at least had the advantage of being on a peninsula. And when the Deep Wars cooled it was one of the first tactical cities to get. That there Lagoon was the perfect testing ground for any captured squid-heads and we had a perfect view of Cuba- which was squidy central. 

So when I got there it was "Welcome to Cancun: Hell on Earth". Fourteen years after the Apocalypse and still going strong like a semi with the devil in it's pistons. We turned a buncha hotels into a command center and spliced power in from all those carnival generators. The rusty skeletons of bungee jump platforms and abandoned roller coasters shot outta the concrete like the earth rejecting something vile. Least that's how it felt, but maybe that's just cause we knew what was under the water and that made us distrust the earth too. Made for paranoia it does.

Now I'm a country boy at heart but I was fortunate enough to be drafted into this holiest of holy wars. See by this point, some of the squid-heads starting talking- or at least not killing. No real rhyme nor reason as to who they started talking to it seemed. See they don't think like we do, you know. They'd tear through a city block smelling of brine and gore just to sit down and wiggle their bits at some kid with a Tonka. You 'member that time they hit out to Chicago? Last big city left in this grand ol' country and everyone thought this was the end as those yellow beach ball eyes rose outta Lake Michigan and all they wanted was to have a sandwich with some old colored lady. All random we thought, but it made sense to the squid heads since they don't rightfully think like us. See, they see patterns right differently then we do. See across time and see how one pat on the back could make some kid be nicer who then invented mint flavored chewing gum which is what the president bent down to get outta his pocket before he ducked a bullet meant for his head. Squid heads see to the beginning of that chain I think and that's who they're interested in. Now, I don't rightfully know what I did to put me up there, but here I was.

Now I ain't gonna go into how I was discovered by the government since that's been covered in alla those zines. By the way, good for you getting newspapers out again. People need that! Point is they shipped me and a buncha others out to Cancun, since that was one of the biggest squid-head nesting ground right across the way and they wanted to maybe open lines of communication.

I tell you, first time I stood on that beach, all cleaned up and megaphone in hand ready to talk to those squid heads well it was a right proud moment. It's intimidating staring into that clear blue and knowing what's underneath but you find a way to face it you do. Felt my whole life starting to turn into something better when the first squid heads came outta the water. Sure, people complain about the smell, all licorice and salt water and most people can't stand that little burbling noise they make- but I ended up being more bothered by the bits o' humans they had hanging off of them. On my first time talking to them, one even had a leftover thong wrapped around an eyestalk, which made me feel skeevy and a little turned on at the same time I gotta say.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30092

Now an operation like that has got to have some people helping it along. (And pay attention here cause this is the beginning now.) You had linguists working on seeing if those burbles were anything special. You had secretaries, file clerks, and scientists. Hell, you had janitors. People never think that government operations need janitors but they do. They need people to restock the candy machines and empty the garbage and do the laundry too. 

One of those people was this girl named Rachel. She mostly just transcribed whatever I said after this little nervous guy gave her the tape recorder of our Deep meetings. I liked her. She had this hand cream she used that smelled like vanilla that made me think of ice cream and eating some offa her ass. She'd sit down by her keyboard and I'd watch her hand type away as that little cyber-pet o' hers ran around in his wheel. Lotta pets died after the Deep Wars and animals were mostly raised for food not companionship, so there were plenty of companies that tried to make up for that fact. People sometimes need to think they can take care of something in these times. It was just a little hamster with those white glowing eyes that makes you know it ain't real, but she doted on that thing like nothing else and I fantasized about being that rat and climbing into her cleavage to snuggle down and think of Dairy Queen.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30095

And that was life for near on two years. Now I know everyone wants to believe we were doing some deep thinking and communicating out in Cancun, but truth be told it was pretty one sided. Squid heads marched outta the water every week we called and watched us as we shouted back at them. They sorta burbled occasionally, but there was never any sense of any language or nothing. More like they was just waiting. Military would rotate us out regular so none of us would get too scared, but I never had a problem. After a year of that it became routine. Call out to the squid heads, watch them slosh on up and we shout questions and pleas to them till our ears bled and they marched back in. it was kind of the only thing you could count on anymore.

We played cards. Talked about what we did during the war, except how we survived- cause no one liked to talk about that. Here's the dirty secret, you weren't a good person if you came outta the war intact. You had to cheat, steal, and maybe kill to stay alive and well... people tried to forget that and forget the faces they trampled on to keep breathing. Suicides were still a problem, even when you were working on something like we were. Only thing to really look forward to was maybe hooking up with anyone else on the compound. I had plenty of girls. Couple guys too. You got bored easy. Rachel had plenty of folk too, but in all that time we just passed by each other. I was with this girl who had hooked up with Rachel the previous summer and I made her mad all the questions I asked about their fling.

Around then I was starting to have dreams. I'd see myself when I was born with my brother still attached to me. And he'd start to breathe out of these little air holes in the top of our head. And then he'd start to grow and pulse and wrap around the gloved hand holding me up. Soon he'd be a giant tentacle reaching down and around and enveloping everything around us in a hug that felt like you inside someone's nose. Wet and sticky and warm and salty. I'd wake up feeling... good.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30093

Squid heads were looking at me different to. Not that anyone noticed much. All those scientists and linguists around and all they concentrated on were the burbles trying to figure if it meant something. But I was looking into their eyes and beaks and suckers. I saw them look and breathe at me differently. I felt tides washing over me and coming over and making me warm.

But it all REALLY began when Rachel lost her hamster. 

Word travels fast, even in a government compound with five hundred or so people. Rachel was flipping out cause her hamster got out of its wheel. Now I never saw it do much else but run around and fake breathe and mindlessly munch pellets but that was enough to make my vanilla girl love it. Everyone pitched in to try to find it: under bathroom stalls, in wall pipes, outside in sand dunes, under the ragged flaps of beer garden tents.  We looked everywhere in the safe zone. It wasn't till that night they found it. It had gotten out and just did what it as programmed to do. Just run. Not its fault it got stuck in the drainpipe and cut itself up till all that was let was a patch of moldy fur and tin joints. When the janitor gave it back to Rachel it rubbed against her cheek and she gasped as its sharp metal nose peppered her face like she had acne.

Now this shouldn't be no big thing. Cyber-pets break down alla time. They ain't perfect. They even put warnings on the box to realize this, so that people accept it. Kinda skuzzy since why they sell 'em is for comfort but hey; I'm not in advertising. Least I wasn't then. We had plenty of smart folk people willing to fix it up and in about a week the little rodent was up and running again in Rachel's wheel, spinning around in time to her keyboard taps.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30095

Thing is, she never took it right. I could tell cause she stopped using that vanilla hand cream. Something about being confronted with the fake nature of that rodent just snapped one of the little lies she had been telling herself.

They found her underneath the roller coaster car looking like a pile of red, wet matchsticks. The generator still powered some of the rides, so she apparently got right on the most rickety, old one and took a dive. I wasn't there but the people that saw it said that rusty cart almost fell apart as she went off the edge- her eyes closed so she couldn't see the ground coming up towards her. Maybe she was thinking about her hamster, both of them spinning around in circles and riding the small, red girders of their prison till they couldn't take it no more and had to run off. 

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30094

Dreams got worse then. My brother would whisper to me inside our head and his teeth would bite my brain as he grew. The holes would open and close like little mouths exhaling air and burbling like the squid-heads.

I ain't even gonna go into the next year. Read all the papers people wrote and saw a couple specials on the networks. I know how it went down. You know how it went down. I spiraled, I retreated (even though I was never really there) yadda yadda yadda. Who cares?

The real beginning (for real, really) is when I went back down to the beach all alone. Decked out to the nines in the suit the government gave me to look all nice for the cameras when I talked to the squid heads. Course people noticed me going down there, but they didn't get it as I screamed out into the deep. No one said much. The squid-heads were punctual and never showed up except at their appointed time. I was screaming into nothing.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30092

Imagine their surprise when the squid heads came up when I called. Then imagine it turning into bowel churning confusion and terror when I stripped off my clothes and walked in to meet them.

See, it's all Rachel and that damn hamster. People said she closed her eyes so she wouldn't see the ground rush up. But no one who smelled like pleasant childhood memories would do that. Nah, she was a dreamer. Anyone who wears vanilla scent likes to think back to the good days. She got on that roller coaster to know what her hamster felt, even though it wasn't feeling anything it weren't programmed to feel. She closed her eyes to feel connected to something again. 

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30094

She damn lied to herself. Just like we all been doing all this time since the Deep Wars ended. She closed her eyes cause she couldn't well face the future. She lied just like my momma did about her habits when it turned inward and killed my brother. Just like it's turning inward and killing us. Lying to yourself don't do no one no good.

Which brings us to the question you've been plum dying to ask, huh? Do I miss being "human"? 

Tell you what honey, I'm more human than most. Shoot, no denying the fact I don't look it. Hell, my pretty mouth is about all they left alone with all the tentacles and gill things that popped outta my skin. I'm getting used to eating out of my pooper but I gotta be honest I have no CLUE what this here organ is 'sposed to do. Just throbs and looks like a dried bogie when I push. 

And yeah, I hear all those broadcasts about "Deep Benedict Arnold" and "Squid-Lovin' Betrayer" and all that. Listen missy we're tuned in to just about all your networks, even the top secret ones, so it don't get by me. But the thing is, I'm doing this for human kind see? Like I said, you gotta stop lying to yourselves. Do that evolution thing like Darwin said and move on when you know the chips are up. That's what I saw when Rachel was crushed like a buncha laundry under that roller coaster, I saw the future of humankind if we don't forge ahead, be brave, and explore this new frontier. And hell, ain't that American? Ain't that human? You try to grab a piece of that pie and like it or not our Undersea Overlords are where the apples are nowadays.

Truth be told, I almost kinda like those "Aqua Antichrist" monikers. Now sure as shootin' my grandmamma would twirl in her grave like an eager whore looking fer a dollar if she heard that. But it's true since he was 'sposed to be all charismatic- and that's why I'm here. I'm still heading to that beach trying to convince the others that this is the right thing to do, 'cept from the other side this time. See, they got me as a mouthpiece and we're reaching people. More than the governments wanna say at least. Listen, try as you like, ya'll can't keep track of _everyone_ walking into the deep blue like I did. We're growing every day and pretty soon it's gonna be mighty lonely on those dusty shores.

I'm just another man trying to get by in the New World. That'll be the byline for this here story.

Oh I'm sorry you thought you had a say in this? 

Heh. Honey-britches, you're in our world now. Best get in line ya hear? It's a new beginning.


----------



## Trench (Aug 3, 2007)

Comments on my story and such.

[sblock]So writing in the first person is rather difficult when you're supposed to use pictures as reference... And then I figured... hell, why can't they be used like memory? Same image, different perspective?

The use of the pictures twice might disqualify me... Not sure, but I think it still works, cause it's the same exact image both times- just different context or perspective. Hence "The Real Beginning". It all looks different the way you look at it...

And if it does disqualify me, so be it. I'm cool with it.[/sblock]

Anyway, I have work tomorrow, and a bachelor party to prepare for. I have been asked if I have trouble breathing through my nose and to try to bring 16th or 17th century clothes if I have them. Also to have a bail card.

I think I have it easy. I know my bride to be will be subjected to zombie burlesque as the girls tear out their own entrails. That equals fried gold AWESOME.


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## Hellefire (Aug 3, 2007)

Quick update, whil I can - have to leave immediately again for the weekend. Will post more on Sunday/Monday. Good luck guys! And sorry again 

Aaron


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 3, 2007)

maxfieldjadenfox said:
			
		

> *sighs deeply and gives up on any possibility of smack talk for this round*




Quitter.


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## FickleGM (Aug 3, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Quitter.



 Ninja editor.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 3, 2007)

FickleGM said:
			
		

> Ninja editor.




 

Better, but smack-talking the judge while your story is still under consideration is probably not the best idea


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## FickleGM (Aug 3, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Better, but smack-talking the judge while your story is still under consideration is probably not the best idea



 I've never been known for having the best ideas.


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## Piratecat (Aug 3, 2007)

No, totally smack-talk him. He's paying $20 to have my ENnies badge say "Ennies Booth Babe." Frankly, he needs all the smack-talking he can get!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 3, 2007)

Piratecat said:
			
		

> No, totally smack-talk him. He's paying $20 to have my ENnies badge say "Ennies Booth Babe." Frankly, he needs all the smack-talking he can get!




That'll teach you to ninja the primo ENnies booth time.    

My little nephew is crying because he wants to play 'Ratatouille' on his Wii.  Get back to work.


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## FickleGM (Aug 3, 2007)

Piratecat said:
			
		

> No, totally smack-talk him. He's paying $20 to have my ENnies badge say "Ennies Booth Babe." Frankly, he needs all the smack-talking he can get!



 You really are a girl, aren't you?

(cool, post 1000 and it's my best post)


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## FreeXenon (Aug 3, 2007)

FickleGM said:
			
		

> You really are a girl, aren't you?
> 
> (cool, post 1000 and it's my best post)




NO! You're a girl!


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## FickleGM (Aug 3, 2007)

FreeXenon said:
			
		

> NO! You're a girl!



 How did you know?


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## FreeXenon (Aug 3, 2007)

NO! How did you know?   

I bet you I am a bigger girl that you are! 

 

After reading your story I think that you might win this round.


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## FickleGM (Aug 3, 2007)

FreeXenon said:
			
		

> NO! How did you know?
> 
> I bet you I am a bigger girl that you are!
> 
> ...



 Okay, I concede.  You're a bigger girl than I am.


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## FreeXenon (Aug 3, 2007)

Hey... wait!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 3, 2007)

You're getting there.  Now you've got to work on your timing.  Smack talk is best before and especially during the competition, when you can rattle your opponent.  Smack talking afterwards, not so effective.  Still, you're learning.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Aug 4, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> You're getting there.  Now you've got to work on your timing.  Smack talk is best before and especially during the competition, when you can rattle your opponent.  Smack talking afterwards, not so effective.  Still, you're learning.





First, I am not  a quitter. I was trying a different tactic that obviously worked. Na na ni boo boo. Second, I agree that their timing needs work, but they're sort of getting it. Well, except for FreeXenon. Guess you can't have everything.


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## Cevalic (Aug 5, 2007)

I have to apologize.  I completely forgot about this event.  Life just got the best of me, and writing completely slipped my mind.  Best of luck to Trench in the next round.

Again Im sorry.


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## yangnome (Aug 6, 2007)

Hello,

Just a quick note to let you guys know that I'll be out of town from 8/13 - 8/20 for GenCon and will have very limited internet/computer access.  I know that others, including at least one judge will be too, so it probably won't be an issue.  If we get a match posted with enough time between now and then, I'm able to participate.  Other than that, it'll have to wait until after GC.


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## FickleGM (Aug 6, 2007)

Just a slow note that I'll be out from 8/15 - 8/20 for GenCon.


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## Avatar_V (Aug 6, 2007)

yangnome said:
			
		

> I'll be out of town from 8/13 - 8/20





			
				FickleGM said:
			
		

> I'll be out from 8/15 - 8/20 for GenCon.




I'd like to take this opportunity to request that if I'm writing in the next round, I get either yangnome or FickleGM as an opponent and that we have an 8/15 start date.   

What? No, I'm not bitter that GC is far away and expensive and that I have no vacation time for it. No, not at all...


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 6, 2007)

I'll be out of town 8/15 to 8/20 for GenCon.


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## FickleGM (Aug 6, 2007)

Avatar_V said:
			
		

> I'd like to take this opportunity to request that if I'm writing in the next round, I get either yangnome or FickleGM as an opponent and that we have an 8/15 start date.
> 
> What? No, I'm not bitter that GC is far away and expensive and that I have no vacation time for it. No, not at all...



 Ha ha.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 6, 2007)

Avatar_V said:
			
		

> I'd like to take this opportunity to request that if I'm writing in the next round, I get either yangnome or FickleGM as an opponent and that we have an 8/15 start date.
> 
> What? No, I'm not bitter that GC is far away and expensive and that I have no vacation time for it. No, not at all...




You can't stow away with someone from WotC or Paizo?  You just don't want to go bad enough then.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 6, 2007)

FickleGM said:
			
		

> Ha ha.




Short, but at decent effort.  To really achieve the effect, though, you should have put faux [Nelson] brackets around it or something.  Still, you're improving. 

We'll see if Avatar V does it properly when I schedule your match to start on the 16th.

Edit:  There was an unspoken "assuming you advance" there.  I've not gotten any judgements from the other two judges.  Poke poke.


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## Trench (Aug 7, 2007)

heh.

I'm getting married on the 11th, and the week after that is pretty kaput for me. So after the 18th I'll be open.


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## Avatar_V (Aug 8, 2007)

So... it's been pretty quiet around here, lately. How's that judging coming along?


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## awayfarer (Aug 10, 2007)

I'll judge if it'll help.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Aug 10, 2007)

awayfarer said:
			
		

> I'll judge if it'll help.



Geez. I take a few days off and usurpers want to take my place! I'll be back in town on Saturday and I'll try to send judgments on Sunday, K?


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## Avatar_V (Aug 10, 2007)

awayfarer said:
			
		

> I'll judge if it'll help.




I'll help, too! I predict a close vote for match 1


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## yangnome (Aug 13, 2007)

Hello,

Just bumping the thread to remind you that I'll be out of town from this evening through next Monday night for GenCon.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Aug 14, 2007)

OK, I finally got my judgements for the two actual contests sent to Rodrigo. Obviously Trench and Yangnome advance, but I will write critiques for you guys before the next round starts, OK? All of you going to the con, have fun and be careful.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 14, 2007)

Thanks, max.  Still no word from Herremann -- I wonder if Lady Death sliced his internet connection again?  We've got two advancing by default, and one that max and I agree on, but the remaining match I need a tiebreaker.

I'll post max's and my judgements in the morning.   Maybe I'll see something from Herremann by then.


----------



## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 14, 2007)

*Awayfarer vs Avatar V - partial judgement*

*Rodrigo Istalindir*

Awayfarer vs Avatar V

Both stories had a shall we say 'sillier' tone this time around.  It's a nice change of pace; too often the CDM pictures inspire darker tales, so mixing things up is good.

Awayfarer's fractured fairy tale had me laughing out loud.  It's tone is is consistent, spot on, and funny.  It takes its premise seriously, though, and sticks with it throughout.  "Hey, somebody's been whacked with my gun' is just priceless.

Picture use is a mixed bag.  The men at the urinal servers well enough to introduce the characters and set the tone.  The tree as a wizard's home plays nicely into traditional uses and helps sell the fish out of water aspects of the story.  The girl with her shadow is a little weak, but redeemed by additional references to Burning Hair's shadow later on.  It would have worked better, though, if her shadow had played a more important role in the story.  The man in the t-shirt is pretty much a throwaway, though.  Humorous, but the way it is worked into the story is kinda awkward.

Avatar V brings another fish out of water tale.  His alien on a machine is also terribly funny, and the text is very well written.  It has a nice payoff at the end, too, and one I didn't see coming at all.  The only real weakness from a story standpoint is it's rather perfunctory; a little real tension would have made the funny bits even funnier.  As it is, Grikzxax just seems to wander from scene to scene rather than have to work at it.  Still, for a humorous tale, not a real problem.

Picture use is very good.  Raine dancing with her shadow is pretty straightfoward, but played well for comedic effect.  Dylan and his t-shirt is the weakest of the bunch; it serves no story purpose at all, really.  But the men's room scene is hysterical and consistent with the other events in the story.  The elven home at the end is very good, as well, as it really sells the twist conclusion.

Both of these stories were really, really good.  I'm throwing this one to Avatar V, though, as I think the picture use was a little better, and the narrative flowed more smoothly.  Awayfarer's story still has me chuckling, though.  Thanks, both of you, these were both very enjoyable to read (and hard to judge).


*maxfieldjadenfox*

Awayfarer Vs Avatar V

Mooks and Magic: Awayfarer. Your story made me laugh out loud several times. I thought it was genius to have the thugs do the three bears, and damn, when Vinny said "hey, somebody's been whacked with my gun," I really almost wet myself. The tone was spot on, and in my opinion as a Sicilian girl, you did the thug's lingo real nice. The Indians were very funny too. A couple of minor issues. You said quite instead of quit, and moth instead of mouth- just typos, and not the sort that a spell check could have fixed. It's just a case of needing maybe one more thorough read. 

As far as picture use goes, I really felt like the tree, bathroom and teepee/shadow pictures were very well used. They were integral to the story and worked fine. I loved the shadow especially, and having hit men move to an enchanted tree... Nice. But, I was less than impressed with the t-shirt picture. Not sure what else you could have done with it, (not my job, man) but I think it's kind of like using a picture as a picture. Or something. Anyway, it was the one thing that bugged me. It felt like it was only there because it had to be.  

There was some grandma unfriendly content that should have been flagged. I thought the whole dryad sequence was pretty funny, but you missed the opportunity to do something with the checked/plaid bit. If you're going to go there, I say go there. All in all, I really got a kick out of this one, thanks! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grikxzax Jr. and the Search for the Sacred Scroll: Avatar V, this is a fun quest story with a lot of witty cultural asides. The fish out of water story gets told pretty regularly, but you told it well with your teenaged alien protagonist. Grikxzax's confusion about the toes, the bathroom, and the recipe were pretty funny, but something felt like it was lacking, and I'm not exactly sure what it was. Maybe the quest was too simple, or maybe the stakes just weren't high enough for me to care? 

The whole story felt a little rushed, I know all of the characters were links to the final solution, but I didn't get to know any of them much. The character Raine was engaging and goofy. I would have liked to see more from her. Dylan and Vinny were pretty sketchy (in every sense of the word. )   
I had a brief moment of confusinon on reading the following sentence: “Oh, you know, the usual stuff,” Grikxzax shrugged, “campaigning for the primaries. But, what about you – shouldn’t you be with your family on the mother-ship?” I think it should be Xrinthus shrugging, shouldn't it? It's a little mistake, but an important one.

 The picture use was interesting if not inspired. Once again, I thought the tree, bathroom and teepee/shadow pictures were pretty well used. I think you did slightly better than Awayfarer with the t-shirt picture. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grikxzax Jr. and the Search for the Sacred Scroll was well-written, and smart, but it just didn't grab me the way Mooks and Magic did. It appears that the war hammer agrees, it has been revving up to a scream for the last 10 minutes and shows no sign of stopping. I looked at a few rare book stores while I was in California,  but still didn't find anything to give me a clear idea what the war hammer is saying. (Wish I could have made it to Berkley, I'm sure they would have had something to help me out.) All I know is that it wants blood, and this time it gets Avatar V's. Sorry, A.V., you did good work this round! 

*So, Awayfarer and Avatar V are tied 1-1, and await the tiebreaker *


----------



## FickleGM (Aug 14, 2007)

So, that means that my match is the one with a 2-0 decision.  Hmmm....


POST IT!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 14, 2007)

FickleGM said:
			
		

> So, that means that my match is the one with a 2-0 decision.  Hmmm....
> 
> 
> POST IT!




I started to this morning, but then I went back and re-read both.  Now I'm not so certain I agree with max.


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## FreeXenon (Aug 14, 2007)

I expect that, but where are the result listed?   
Where! Where! Where! Where!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 14, 2007)

*FickleGM vs FreeXenon*

*maxfieldjadenfox*

Extinction
I find it amazing that you could make me care about a monster, FickleGM. That is no mean feat, especially in such a short story. Ogg's bewilderment at the world was well written, and I definitely got the undercurrent of the homeless as disposable and invisible. A little social commentary always makes me happy. I thought most of the pictures were well used, but the game control seemed a bit forced. I also felt like you told instead of showing, which made the story a bit dry. There were a couple of mistakes that could have been found with another read through, like:
Perhaps they don't take care about each other any more. If this was intentional, the stilted speech should have been used throughout, and might have actually enhanced Ogg's voice.
I've actually written for money, but while you do get a copy editor once someone likes your stuff enough to publish it, competition is stiff in the writing world and you won't get past the slush pile with errors that look like you don't care, or worse, don't have a great command of the language. Trust me, I know the pressure of knocking one of these out in 72 hours, but reading your entry aloud before you post it will help you avoid most mistakes (not all of them, but at least the obvious ones). I hope that doesn't sound too harsh. I really do like the story a lot, and felt sad for the two brothers. Writing pathos well is a gift, and you made it look pretty effortless to me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ascension
This is an interesting story. The circular use of the mural works quite well. When I first saw a picture used as a picture I went, "uh oh," but you made it work. The other picture use is adequate, but nothing really knocked my socks off. Also, unfortunately, I am a grammar freak, and you have again broken my cardinal tense changing rule. Several times. The most obvious time was:
"Anton tapped his left arm a few times trying readjust the servos back into place. His cybernetic arm has been recently damage in a 'misunderstanding'" Tapped, trying and has do not agree. His arm had been damaged. I hate to sound like a broken record, but a good story will only get you so far. Writing is a craft, and as such has rules. You have a great imagination and some really fun ideas, but the mistakes really pull me right out of the story. It also has a meandering quality which can work under some circumstances, but not in a story where you're trying to build suspense. The payoff, the protagonist getting trapped, is great, but the suspense got diluted. I really got jarred by the story going from first to third person or maybe I was just never clear who was telling the story... and I don't think I ever quite recovered. 

The warhammer has been humming something that resembles a cross between an 80's hair band anthem type song and the Battle Hymn of the Republic, but is now revving up to its keening scream. I'll be glad when this competition is over. My poor old dog is in the very back room of my house howling, and the ancient cat is hiding under the bed. The hammer is only happy when it's reducing someone to jelly. Sorry, FreeXenon, but you're the flavor of the night. Squish.


*Rodrigo Istalindir*

I've hemmed and hawed, wavered, flip-flopped, and finally reached a decision.  

We've got two very different stories, with different strengths and weaknesses.  I found FickleGMs story to be frustrating.  It reached for something different, but the writing I thought was detached.  There should have been some emotional resonance with the main character, but the voice was so dispassionate there was no impact.  Picture use is perfunctory with the exception of the first.  Using the freaks as the protagonists was a good choice -- it would have been easy to cast them as the bad guys, but taking the approach you did was clever and lends the picture some weight and pathos.  The remainder are adequate, but nothing really stands out.

FreeXenon's story had a little more emotion to it.  There seemed to be a little depth to the main character, and some sense of a greater story.  The writing was very uneven, though, and it could have used another pass to clean up some of the more obvious shifts in tense and what have you.  The McGuffin was a little off-putting, too -- the frivolity of 'spiced kelp balls' seemed out of place with the rest of the tale.  (At least they weren't 'Schwetty salty balls' though),  The descriptions were very good, though, and the pacing was tight and consistent.  Picture use was pretty weak.  The painting as a mural skirts way too close to the edge, and the others seemed merely descriptive and not essential to the tale.

By a hair, I judge this on in favor of FickleGM.  

*FickleGM advances, 2-0.*  (Hopefully Herremann will have some feedback, even if the vote doesn't matter).


----------



## FreeXenon (Aug 14, 2007)

Thanks for the input, guys. I know that I really struggle with the tense issue. I am hoping that it was better this time around.   

Good luck FickleGM! Knock their socks off!


----------



## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 14, 2007)

FreeXenon said:
			
		

> Thanks for the input, guys. I know that I really struggle with the tense issue. I am hoping that it was better this time around.




A lot of writers struggle with that, and I think everyone falls into the trap from time to time, especially when they shift from largely passive descriptions to action scenes (or at least, that's when I tend to blow it).  

Next time, though, I'd suggest concentrating on the picture use.  That was the real tie-breaker for me -- FickleGM's story needed that picture for the ogres, whereas in yours, the pictures were useful but not essential.  A truly lopsided contest quality-wise in CDM is rare; more often than not its the pictures that make the difference.  And really, that's how it should be


----------



## FreeXenon (Aug 14, 2007)

I will keep that in mind for next time. 
Thanks!


----------



## Avatar_V (Aug 14, 2007)

Thanks for the feedback and for posting the partial decision. As soon as I heard there was one undecided, I suspected it was mine  As I was discussing with Awayfarer previously, I think that our stories are similar in both style and quality. Also, I appreciate the tips on how to make the story stronger - the point about raising the suspense, even in a comedic piece, is well taken. That style is new to me, so I especially appreciate the inupt.

And I think you're right, Max, about me attributing that line of dialog to the wrong character. Oops!


----------



## FickleGM (Aug 14, 2007)

Thanks for the judgments and the feedback.  As always, it is appreciated (and never too harsh ).  

FreeXenon, keep writing, keep improving and come back next time.  Thanks for well wishes.


----------



## awayfarer (Aug 15, 2007)

I'm on the edge of my seat...

...I really should sit back, there's plenty more chair here.

Oh, I see AV and I are tied too.


----------



## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 15, 2007)

I'm off to GenCon.  I'll have my smartphone, so if I hear from Herremann I'll post an update.  Round 3 will start when I get back.  Thanks for playing, and thanks for your patience.  And thanks for some great stories, too.


----------



## maxfieldjadenfox (Aug 16, 2007)

Wow. I can hear the crickets with so many folks off at GenCon. 

To all of you who participated in this contest so far, thanks for entertaining me and the war hammer. And to the fallen, I salute you and hope you'll continue to write whenever you get the chance. This contest messes with you, but I think it really stretches you as a writer and that's a good thing.


----------



## maxfieldjadenfox (Aug 19, 2007)

BTW, Trench and Yangnome, you are not forgotten. I'll make sure you get critiques for your stories this round even if you didn't have opponents...


----------



## Avatar_V (Aug 20, 2007)

Whoa - with all the 4E stuff moved, I can finally see this thread again! So, any word on which way the match between me and Awayfarer is going to fall?


----------



## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 20, 2007)

Sorry guys.  Got bumped from my flight last and had to get up at 4:30 to catch the first flight back from Indy this morning.  Gotta go to work, but I did just get an email from Herremann promising judgments tonight. 

Thanks for your patience, and I apologize for the delay.  Start thinking about your availablity for the next round.


----------



## Avatar_V (Aug 20, 2007)

Cool; good to hear. Thanks for the update. My availability is this: The sooner the better. I begin after-work grad school on 9/26 - so I'm going to be perpetually busy beginning then. The more rounds we can get in before it the better. 

Beyond that, I have a preference for starting on Sundays (since Mondays and Tuesdays are good days for me to write) - but I'm fairly flexible in this regard.

Of course, this all depends on Herremann liking my story


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 20, 2007)

Dear god, I hope we're done by the 26th of September!  Not that this isn't fun, but I'd like to have this one done before the next one starts.    

I think for future generations we must institute the 'no Ceramic DM in July/August' rule.  Sort of like the oyster rule, only different.


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## awayfarer (Aug 20, 2007)

I have a week and to go at my summer job. This weekend _might_ be a bad time to start a new round as I may be going to a family get together. August 29th-September 2nd should be clear. 

Of course, this assumes that Herreman makes the right decision.


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## yangnome (Aug 22, 2007)

OK, I'm back from GenCon--a day late a two bags short, but back nonetheless.  I am ready to start whenever we can get things rolling.  Sunday/Mondays are my days off and therefore my preferred time, but I'll write whenever you give pictures.


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## Trench (Aug 22, 2007)

So far, I'm okay for most days.

I'll be in Canada from September 7-11, but otherwise I think I'm good.


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## EP (Aug 22, 2007)

Trench said:
			
		

> So far, I'm okay for most days.
> 
> I'll be in Canada from September 7-11, but otherwise I think I'm good.




Whereaboots, eh?


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Aug 24, 2007)

Any news from Herremann?


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## Trench (Aug 24, 2007)

EP said:
			
		

> Whereaboots, eh?




Toronto actually. Maybe trek down to Buffalo for a bit.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 24, 2007)

maxfieldjadenfox said:
			
		

> Any news from Herremann?




I've received a decision from Herremann re: awayfarer vs. Avatar V, but no critique as yet.  His decision is for Avatar V, who advances in a squeaker.  

I'll post the next round matchups in the am.


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## Avatar_V (Aug 24, 2007)

Yay! Thanks for the vote, Herremann. Though you certainly drew out the suspense!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 24, 2007)

Round 3 starts Sunday morning for all contestants!  Thanks for your continued participation and patience.


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## awayfarer (Aug 24, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> I've received a decision from Herremann re: awayfarer vs. Avatar V, but no critique as yet.  His decision is for Avatar V, who advances in a squeaker.
> 
> I'll post the next round matchups in the am.




Well poo.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 27, 2007)

Sorry guys.  Computer issues this morning and then I had to go out.  Can everyone start tomorrow night?


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## yangnome (Aug 27, 2007)

The earlier start, the better for me.


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## FickleGM (Aug 27, 2007)

Yes, I can start tomorrow night...


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## Avatar_V (Aug 27, 2007)

yangnome said:
			
		

> The earlier start, the better for me.




Same


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## Trench (Aug 27, 2007)

Sure. This coming weekend is a mess, so early is good.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 27, 2007)

*Round 3 Match 1 -- yangnome vs Trench*

5 pictures, 72 hours, no word limit.  Pictures 3 and 4 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 27, 2007)

*Round 3 Match 2 - FickleGM vs Avatar V*

5 pictures, 72 hours no word limit.  Pictures 3 and 4 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 27, 2007)

Do'h.  Cut and Paste error.  Match 2 is FickleGM vs Avatar V


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Aug 28, 2007)

Wowee, I am mighty glad I don't have to make up stories with those pictures. Rodrigo, you are just cruel!


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## Avatar_V (Aug 28, 2007)

maxfieldjadenfox said:
			
		

> Wowee, I am mighty glad I don't have to make up stories with those pictures. Rodrigo, you are just cruel!



Tell me about it!    I can make three of those fit easily into a story, and a fourth one with a little effort. The last one, though, is difficult.

However, I must admit that I think the pictures for yangnome/Trench are even tougher than mine.

Also, is picture three from that match (Yangnome/Trench's) really from maxfieldjadenfox? It's not her usual style.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Aug 29, 2007)

Avatar_V said:
			
		

> Tell me about it!    I can make three of those fit easily into a story, and a fourth one with a little effort. The last one, though, is difficult.
> 
> However, I must admit that I think the pictures for yangnome/Trench are even tougher than mine.
> 
> Also, is picture three from that match (Yangnome/Trench's) really from maxfieldjadenfox? It's not her usual style.




Picture three was chosen by me, but no, not painted by me. Good catch!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 29, 2007)

maxfieldjadenfox said:
			
		

> Picture three was chosen by me, but no, not painted by me. Good catch!




Ah.  Didn't know if it was a personal snapshot or not.


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## FickleGM (Aug 29, 2007)

Avatar_V said:
			
		

> Tell me about it!    I can make three of those fit easily into a story, and a fourth one with a little effort. The last one, though, is difficult.
> 
> However, I must admit that I think the pictures for yangnome/Trench are even tougher than mine.
> 
> Also, is picture three from that match (Yangnome/Trench's) really from maxfieldjadenfox? It's not her usual style.



 I think that I'm going to have to congratulate you right now.  My initially free week has ended up as anything but free and I still have no ideas for a story (work's kicking my ass and I'm already booked with other stuff for tonight).  I'm not conceding, but I am preparing you for the possibility that I may not have much to show come tomorrow afternoon.

I wonder if I can create a haiku that incorporates all five pictures?  

EDIT: Inspiration just hit...cross your fingers that it produces something suitably challenging.


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## Trench (Aug 30, 2007)

Crappity Crap Crap. Between work, my dad unexpectedly dropping by, and my wife's birthday being tomorrow, my time is non-existent...

I'm going to try to get SOMETHING up, but yeesh


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## Avatar_V (Aug 30, 2007)

FickleGM, we're in similar places  I've been slammed at work (and busy at home to boot!). I nearly gave up last night, but I did managed to write about a third of my story. Hopefully I can finish it tonight. Talk about a time crunch, though. 72 hours can be brutally short.


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## FickleGM (Aug 30, 2007)

Trench said:
			
		

> Crappity Crap Crap. Between work, my dad unexpectedly dropping by, and my wife's birthday being tomorrow, my time is non-existent...
> 
> I'm going to try to get SOMETHING up, but yeesh






			
				Avatar_V said:
			
		

> FickleGM, we're in similar places  I've been slammed at work (and busy at home to boot!). I nearly gave up last night, but I did managed to write about a third of my story. Hopefully I can finish it tonight. Talk about a time crunch, though. 72 hours can be brutally short.




I hear ya both.  My oldest daughter, who is living with friends an hour away needed us to run some paperwork to her this evening.  We're behind schedule at work, so I'm not finding much idle time.  Egads!

Right now, I'm trying to get some stuff done, but it's almost time for me to hit the hay.  I'll have to see what I can sneak in tomorrow at work and just post what I have when I get home tomorrow evening.

Yangnome, you licking your chops over Trench's difficulties or are you going to have to cram your story in, as well?  Now that I think of it, don't you usually cram your story in at the last second?  Yeah, I new I hated you for some reason.


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## Trench (Aug 30, 2007)

How much time do I have? Till 5:05 PM tomorrow? hm....


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## yangnome (Aug 30, 2007)

FickleGM said:
			
		

> Yangnome, you licking your chops over Trench's difficulties or are you going to have to cram your story in, as well?  Now that I think of it, don't you usually cram your story in at the last second?  Yeah, I new I hated you for some reason.





[sblock] I'm just starting right now.  I'm resisting the urge to go to bed and put it off until morning since it has to be turned in by 830am my time.  I was honestly going to start this one earlier, but the week has been very hectic for me.  We got a new shark in at the aquarium, which = extra busy time for me.[/sblock]


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## Trench (Aug 30, 2007)

Noah's Lament

by Shawn Feakins


"Dad we got it, come on!"

He meekly protested and mumbled his acquiescence.

"Lord save me from math professors," his wife says, affectionately.

Betsy was the one he tried to move, but she actually liked standing there holding a plastic pumpkin between her teeth. Euclid was snuffling and bobbing his head and the sheet almost came off, but his daughter rushed over to throw it back on. Newton, Popper, and Devlin were mostly trying to chew on the pumpkin handles. he asked again if he could take betsy out.

"Oh you always want Betsy out," his wife said. "Only one you didn't name."

His family made it work, of course. Betsy stood in the front of them all, defiant and gnawing of that plastic handle (which had been smothered in bacon grease) until it snapped in half. But when he saw the picture, that fifth dog gnawed at _him_ and made his brain burble and itch. He made it standable. One pumpkin was obscured so that made four pumpkins. Add that to the five dogs and you get nine- still an odd number. But take the number five and break it down, two and three. Three squared became nine and that made the picture part of an equation. The circle was closed and he could relax again.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30477

He wasn't dressed as anything, although his daughter had on a pair of faeire wings they bought for her. Her boyfriend was dressed all in white. A lazy costume, but he justified it by saying he was a soul being ushered to heave by his angel. She swooned of course, despite the blatant confusion of mythological motifs on the boyfriend's part. He gagged internally and shriveled a little inside as his wife chewed her lip and echoed back the cute sentiment designed for maximum social foreplay. He could see it, of course. It all fit the pattern.

He was still bothered by the picture, so he excused himself and left his wife to deliver the cautions and admonishments before the children headed out for the night. He walked back to the kitchen, which still had a rustic old-timey feel that they never updated when they bought the farmhouse. Only way they could have the room for five dogs, after all. Still, he was bothered by the subtle asymmetries of it. The curve of the table that dipped from the warped wood and the mismatched chairs. He put his head in his hands and sighed. This was why he could only get a teaching job at a community college far away from most urban centers. They thought that maybe he could get somewhere with no distractions perhaps he could calm himself but...

He looked up to the stuffed owl on the refrigerator top. It came with the house. All moth-eaten and small and feather bare and mustering as if it were molting. He looked at the taxidermied avian and wondered if it would just be simpler if he were an animal. A being that was just content to exist and not constantly quantify and organize to such a debilitating degree.

He set the bird on the table and stared at it for a moment. Noah saw the necessity of order. Or evening out the equations. Two by Two. It was needed to create life.

"Dad?"

He looked back to see his daughter peeking through the doorway. Some friends of hers had come over to pick them up and she was saying goodbye. But as she opened the door he saw her boyfriend stare at her with a lecherous grin that made him feel... uneven. She didn't notice of course. She stared with a mixture of concern, curiosity, and boredom at her father sitting across a warped table staring at a dead bird.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30476

"We're leaving. Happy Halloween."

He nodded and she stood, bent over for a moment waiting for a verbal reply. Her boyfriend was still staring at her bent over and he whimpered a little. Chewing her lip just as her mother does, she hastily closed the door- a little embarrassed at her father's oddities.

The sexual charge in the air left by that stare put his mind in a haze of emotion that struggled to unravel his world. He took the silverware out and lined them up, putting forks with forks and spoons with spoons in two by two.

He started going to the hunting lodge. He could never do it himself. The act of loading a gun and the noise and the triggers clicking was far too much for him. Still, when he saw the bear he realized what he had to do.

He began ordering from taxidermists. He got literature and emails. His first purchase was a stuffed cat from an estate sale, which used to belong to an old, lonely woman. After that it got much easier. A pair of dyed chicks from an educational museum. A waxy penguin from the zoo display. His proudest purchase was the giraffe that he drove all the way out to Pennsylvania for, left over from a big game hunter who spent time with Theodore Roosevelt. After that the bear from the lodge just seemed necessary.

His wife and family were concerned, but kept quiet. When they went to sleep he would set the animals up on the table and looks at them. He thought about how they were from a simpler time. How their mindset precluded them from obsessing on the nature of things. How they could just be.

Still they were dead. And, for most, only one of them.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30475

The papers were glad to have the story. An eccentric mathematic professor breaking into a zoo and freeing animals was odd enough. Once coupled with the odd scene of a zoological last supper however. He tried to explain. He only wanted certain animals. A giraffe to go with his. A bear to go with his. Life to go with Death. The Equation had to be completed. Two by Two.

As they wheel him in, something is broken in the world. There are cracks that show in the ether. Coughs in the pavement and a dim buzz behind everyone's ears that provides a harmonic hum to living. It's there, but no one sees it. The loops of living wrap around itself like ouroboros and begins to choke the individual out of the abstract. Time begins to fragment. Color recedes and fades and soon he take a shade of green as he red shift blue shifts yellow shifts out. He feels his head spiral back toward a mathematical representation of the universe- an equation that explains it all in all it's layers and complexities and paradoxes in one simple equation beyond pi beyond Planck's Constant beyond Gödel's Proof. But the knowledge gained is fleeting so fleeting and by the time any progress is made in your head by the time any concept begins to stick it evaporates as if it were water on a hot pan and bubbles away with your senses and you are left simply falling falling toward the door where they have you strapped down and an intern cracks a small ampule of haloperidol to keep you from thrashing in your birth/death throes.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30479

And then before one can breathe before one can think or feel or do or begin or end it all

Simply

Turns

Green.

"And you're home."

He looks at her, diaphanous wings glistening as the wind ripples the sun as if alive through them. The bones are fragile like birds as this tiny woman with wings stares at him. Logically, he knows she can't exist. She is the stuff of faerie tales. She reaches up to caress his cheek and he starts at the touch of her hand on his flesh. His beard is simply gone and he finds that when he breathes, leaves rustle. His hair has become leafy and verdant. A noble mustache of oak and maple swoops down and she brushes the bridge of his nose. And for some reason.... he sees her, so like her, so like the daughter he had (has? Has or Had Present or Past? Possession is the only constant.) and he is at peace.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30478

"It doesn't hurt anymore," he says.

"You wanted to live in a simpler time. A time where man was more one with the world, yes?"

"Is this a dream?"

"Does it matter?"

And so she flew off to dance in the air with others of her kind. And he walked down forest paths covered with crunching leaves and gloried at the feel of it between his moss-encrusted toes. And every animal knew him. And everything, _everything_ evened out.


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## Trench (Aug 30, 2007)

Boo Yah. Posted. And only at 2 AM.

At this point, I'm happy with it. We'll see how I feel when I wake up tomorrow afternoon...


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## yangnome (Aug 30, 2007)

yangnome said:
			
		

> [sblock] I'm just starting right now.  I'm resisting the urge to go to bed and put it off until morning since it has to be turned in by 830am my time.  I was honestly going to start this one earlier, but the week has been very hectic for me.  We got a new shark in at the aquarium, which = extra busy time for me.[/sblock]



 [sblock]ok, change that last post.  It's now just about 1230 and I haven't started.  And blast, trench already posted his...pressure is on, I have to write something.[/sblock]


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## FickleGM (Aug 30, 2007)

yangnome said:
			
		

> [sblock]ok, change that last post.  It's now just about 1230 and I haven't started.  And blast, trench already posted his...pressure is on, I have to write something.[/sblock]



 [sblock]Good luck with your story and with the shark.  I'm about a third done with my story, but I have a few more hours than you do.  I'll have to finish mine at work...or I'll be posting an incomplete story tonight.[/sblock]


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## yangnome (Aug 30, 2007)

An Intervention

Some say there is another world-- a world very different from ours--that exists parallel to our own world.  Stories of this other world tell of mythical creatures: faeries, goblins, talking animals, and even dragons that have live in equality and harmony with each other and have charged with managing nature in our world.  Despite their involvement in our world though, most people do not see or interact with these creatures, nor are most aware that they exist.  

Truth be told, there are some that know of the fey’s existence.  Those who are in tune with nature often suspect their presence.  Every generation has enlightened ones that can see beyond the veil and into the world of the fey.  Typically, only those who are sensitive toward nature and open their minds are blessed with this gift.

Joshua was not one of these people.  Until yesterday, Joshua was your typical, self absorbed, late-20-something pricks who was only interested in making money and wetting his dick.  

Make no mistake, Joshua had been granted what many would call the best opportunities in life.  Born into a wealthy family, Joshua was never left wanting.  He had the best opportunities in life: a wealthy family, a fancy car –a brand new corvette-- when he turned 16, an Ivy League education, to include an MBA from Harvard, his blessings went on and on.  

Now one might say that Joshua was a product of his environment.  Perhaps his spoiled upbringing played a part in whom he had become.  After all, at no point in his childhood had he heard the word “No.”  Maybe, had his parents raised him better, he may have learned some consideration for others or the world around him.   

Perhaps this is why the faeries chose him—perhaps it was a mission of mercy. I am getting ahead of myself though.  Quite honestly, we cannot know their motives, just as we cannot consider any other Joshua other than the one who takes part in this story. To try to analyze what he could have been, or the motives of the fey would be to lose the meaning of the story.

So, back to the Joshua that we’ve known. Joshua was the person that many would envy to trade places with.  Following his Harvard MBA, Joshua got a job in New York City working on Wall Street, earning a salary that none of us would consider meager.  

As I mentioned earlier, Joshua was the kind of prick that cared only about the finer things in life—mainly indulging his own senses.  He would frequently pass the bums on the street without casting them a wayward glance much less a nickel or dime or God forbid the leftovers from his dinner at Blue Ribbon or whatever swank place he had dined at that evening.  

Now, I don’t mean to bore you with all these details about Joshua—nor do I mean to make you feel envy.  I am merely trying to demonstrate that Joshua is not the typical fellow that would share experiences with the fey—of course he did, or I wouldn’t be telling this tale.

It all started in late October—at least as I can guess—on Joshua’s 28th birthday when Joshua’s father gave him an interesting birthday present: a deed to 300 acres of forest in Colorado.  The deed was to property Joshua and his father had visited when Joshua was a boy.  The only property on the land was a wooden cabin they used on hunting trips. 

It had been years since Joshua had visited the land with his father.  To be honest, the trips outdoors weren’t his favorite memories growing up.  He didn’t like being away from the amenities of home, and he didn’t really enjoy roughing it.  

Because of this, Joshua wasn’t too thrilled about the gift he had received.  Of course he knew he would receive it someday.  After all, the land had been passed down from generation to generation.  Still, Joshua had no intentions of visiting the land with his son, and was even a little upset with his father for skipping out on a real birthday present for him.

Now, Joshua, being a crafty sort, did have plans for the land.  The property was close enough to Colorado Springs that he figured he would be able to make some decent money by leveling the forest area and building a housing development along with a golf course.  He figured if he wasn’t going to enjoy the gift, he might as well make something off it.  He had a friend from business school that would be able to hook him up with the right permits.  Not less than 24 hours after he received the gift from his father, Joshua had booked a plane trip to Colorado the following week.

There is an interesting thing about faeries, and if any of you are sensitive enough to know much about them, you might be aware of this: faeries are very attuned to emotions, ideas and the like.   There is something about their world that helps them understand a person’s motives, even across great distances.  Something about Joshua’s plan touched the faeries and they decided to conduct an intervention on Joshua.

Now, one thing about the fey—they can be a very subtle folk.  They don’t always come out and say what they want directly, but would rather have the person glean their lesson through experience.  It was no different with Joshua.

The first visit the fey paid Joshua was on a late night, two nights after he had received the gift from his father.  Joshua had returned home from the bar not more than a few minutes before their visit. Joshua was in the living room of his brownstone working a girl out of her Prada shoes and Versace dress.   That is when the doorbell rang.  

Now most would probably expect Joshua to pay attention to his half-disrobed guest, but as I’ve said Joshua doesn’t care much for anything other than himself and at the moment, he had considered it might be an old one night stand coming back for more and there is a small possibility she might be better looking than the girl sprawling across his suede loveseat.  Hell, he might get really lucky and be able to talk them into a three-way.  
So, Joshua decides to answer the door.  To his surprise, on the other side of the door, [img= [url]http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30477][/url] Joshua finds not one, but five b!tches. [/img] More specifically, five dogs dressed up in ghost costumes with plastic pumpkins hanging from their mouths—definitely not something he wants to add to the party.  He had forgotten it was Halloween, but there was something that looked familiar about the dogs—his grandfather had five golden retrievers he used to keep on the property in Colorado.  

Now, had Joshua actually stood there a moment longer, the dogs would have spoke to him and he probably wouldn’t have been so puzzled, but Joshua, figuring it was some prank his friends were playing, slammed the door shut and went back to the b!tch on the couch.  The fey didn’t get a chance to really share their message with him.

Joshua flew first class to Colorado Springs. On the plane, he met a young stewardess with auburn hair.  It wasn’t long into the flight when he had wooed her and talked her into visiting the lavatory for him to re-vet his membership in the Mile High club.  Joshua went to the lavatory first, leaving the door unlocked.  [img= [url]http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30476]Then[/url], a few minutes later, the stewardess came in, looking back into the cabin as she shut the door, making sure the other crew members didn’t see what she was up to.[/img]

Needless to say, the occupied light came on the lavatory, and Joshua was feeling pretty pleased with himself.  She turned toward Joshua and told him to close his eyes.  He did what she said, but felt a strange sensation.  He didn’t know if it was turbulence, or if maybe it was anticipation, but he felt like he was being transported to somewhere else.  

“Open your eyes” A small finger touched his lip.

 Joshua was no longer inside the plane lavatory.  He found himself somewhere… outdoors, amongst the woods.

Now, what you have probably figured out is that Joshua had been transported to that other world—the world of the fey.  Joshua didn’t know this, so needless to say this was a bit of a shock to him.


What did you do to me?” he asked. “What did you do to you?”

[img= [url]http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30478][/url] In front of him, a small creature with wings sat perched on his lap.

“I am not here to harm you Joshua.” She said.  

Joshua looked closely and noticed the fairy resembled the stewardess who had lured him into the lavatory only a few minutes earlier.

“You have lost your course Joshua, and I hope you will let me help you find it.” She said.

Joshua sat, awestruck.  The fairy explained to him the same thing I’ve told you regarding the parallel world.

“If you’ll let me, I’ll show you why it is important to think of others outside of yourself, Joshua.”

Joshua tried to fight her.  He tried to push her off his lap and move toward the door of the lavatory.  During his life he had tried a number of kinks, but this was too much for him.  He wasn’t able to move though.

“Listen Joshua, I have brought you here to Faery to show you this lesson.  You have no control here.  You have no choice, but to listen. Like it or not, you are part of nature.  

“Look at your true self Joshua.” She took his hand and placed it on his upper lip.  Where before he had been clean shaven, something—almost like leaves—had sprouted from his face.

“But, what..”

“Shh..” she told him.

“You, aren’t what you think you are Joshua.  Years ago, your great-grandfather, when he was young visited the same land that your father gave to you.  There, he met and fell in love with one of the fey.”

Joshua’s face showed no expression.  He was unable to open his mouth to speak.

“Your grandfather, your father and you are all part fey.  Part Dryad to be exact.”

“Why has no one told me this before?” Joshua asked.

“Would you want your son going around telling people he’s part mystical creature?” she asked. “your father felt it best that you not know your heritage until later in life.”

“Why should it matter to me.  I hate the outdoors?”

“The outdoors are part of you Joshua.  You, your life force is connected to your family land.”

The fairy motioned for Joshua to rise and follow her.  They walked through a forest until they came upon a cabin in the woods, a cabin that looked vaguely familiar to Joshua.  

“This here is your family cabin.  Today, you will be able to see the true woods for the first time, Joshua. Your father has decided you are old enough, and he wants to pass on the responsibility of maintaining the family forest.”

The fairy motioned toward the cabin.  [img= [url]http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30475]Joshua[/url] entered and she followed him inside.  Inside the cabin, a number of different animals of the forest sat around the table.  Creatures Joshua had seen as a child when camping with his father: a rabbit, an owl, a fox, and a badger, and a bear as well as some creatures he hadn’t seen in these woods: a giraffe and a penguin.  They looked up at him when he entered and bid him welcome.  [/img]

Needless to say, Joshua was startled.  Startled beyond words.

“They’ve come here for a sit down with you, Joshua.” The fairy said.

“A … sit down?”

“They have a vested interest in what happens to this land, and are quite concerned over your plans.”

The penguin beat its wing against the table in rapid succession.

“Quite troubled indeed.” The penguin said. “I congratulate you on your new inheritance, but we are quite disappointed that you did not consult us before making decisions regarding the land of my family here.”

The fairy intervened before Joshua could respond.

“I have just been explaining to Joshua the true history behind the land here and the history of our people” she said. “ I am sure he may reconsider his views now that he has seen the whole truth.”

“I would hope so.” the penguin said and a number of the animals echoed their consent.  

“We established a pact with your grandfather when he inherited this land from his grandmother.” The badger said.  “Here, the details of the agreement are on this.”

The badger pushed a green ball over across the table toward Joshua.  [img= [url]http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30479]The[/url] fairy motioned toward it and Joshua bent down and picked it up—a flash memory device with a bust of his grandfather’s head on the end of it.  [/img]

“You can take it with you and review it later.” The badger said. “The important thing is you hold up to your responsibility to protect our home.”

“You see,” the fairy said, “so many people are depending on you, Joshua.”

“Look, I’ll do whatever you want.” Joshua said “I just want to go back home, to my world.”

“We have a deal then?”

“Yes” Joshua said.

Everything went black for a moment, then Joshua’s head felt as if it had been split open. He was cold and someone was shaking him.

“Mister, mister wake up” a kid, with a sheet draped over him was shaking Joshua’s shoulder.  Four other kids also in costume stood behind him, scared looks in their eyes.”

“You ok, mister?” the kid said.

Joshua rubbed his head and glass fell out of his hair.  He struggled to pick himself off the ground and dust himself off.  He quickly felt his pockets and noticed his wallet missing.  He looked around and noticed he was near the entrance to the Central Park Zoo.  

He blinked his eyes and muttered “It all must have been a dream.”

“What’s that?” the kid said.

“Oh nothing.  Thanks for your help.” He turned to walk home.

“Hey mister, does this belong to you?” the kid held up the green plastic head of Joshua’s grandfather attached to a memory stick.


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## yangnome (Aug 30, 2007)

FickleGM said:
			
		

> [sblock]Good luck with your story and with the shark.  I'm about a third done with my story, but I have a few more hours than you do.  I'll have to finish mine at work...or I'll be posting an incomplete story tonight.[/sblock]




[sblock]
Well, I finished, but not without some more procrastination.  About half way through the story, I went and wasted about 30 minutes or so over on CM..oh yeah, then there was the search for mile high pictures .  Anyway, it is done  I should have written it earlier, I probably would have put more effort into it.  I started getting really worried that I was jut throwing things together when I did have a general plan for this story, but I think the ending pulls it through and strengthens the picture use a bit.  now it is off to bed.  i ahve to be up for work in three hours.  Good luck with your story.[/sblock]


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## Avatar_V (Aug 30, 2007)

ENWorld Short Story Smackdown Summer 07

Round 3, Match 2

Extracurricular Murder
by Mike Rousos (Avatar_V)

Sergeant Guerin looked at the body again and shook his head. The scene was truly revolting. Tim Crawford, 12th grade English teacher at nearby Washington High School lay dead, his skull bashed in with a pick. Next to Guerin, Officer Dixon, still quite new to the force, shook a bit. It was Dixon that had first lifted the ridiculous party hat the murderer had been sick enough to strap on over the wound. Making that discovery had cost Dixon his breakfast and now, as lunch time rolled around, he was anything but hungry. The forensics team was packing up and paramedics would be by to take the body in for the official autopsy any moment now. At last, Guerin nudged Dixon, “Let’s go, rookie. We’ve seen all we can here and we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”







As Guerin turned the cruiser out of the soccer field parking lot, Dixon flipped through his notes, still flustered but glad to be away from the grisly scene. 

“I talked to the staff and a lot of his students this morning, like you asked, Sir,” Dixon explained. Guerin nodded and the young officer continued. “Several people mentioned a pair of students – Ashley Green and Katy Allen. Sounds like the two of them are pretty much inseparable – and Crawford flunked them both on some big project recently. Word is, it’s keeping them from graduating and spoiling some college plans, to boot. A few of their friends told me that they’re awfully upset about the whole thing. They’re definitely the popular choice for a motive of revenge.”

The sergeant nodded. “Let's stop back at the station and grab our lunch while we wait for the coroner’s report. Then, we’ll pay those girls a visit.”

“After this morning, sir, I think I may not eat lunch.”

“Ah, right. Well, I’m hungry. You can keep me company.”

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Officer Dixon was a bit nervous as Sergeant Guerin parked in front of the Allens’ home, though he tried not to show it. He’d only been on the police force for a few months and already he was involved in a big investigation. He’d spoken with four different newspaper reporters just in the time it had taken Guerin to eat lunch. This was big. If he could help to crack this case, it would be great for his budding career. Getting out of the car, he noticed a sign hanging near the front door. It read “Congratulations Class of 2007!” and was ripped in half. Yea, they were mad. Dixon took a picture of the sign. They walked up the path, and Guerin knocked forcefully on the door. A moment later, Mr. Allen answered and asked the policemen if he could help them.

Guerin saw his partner twitching and answered quickly, before the rookie could, “Good afternoon, Sir. I’m Sergeant Guerin, this is Officer Dixon. We were wondering if Katy Allen was home. We’d like to ask her a few questions.”

“Of course, Officer,” her father answered, “Katy’s upstairs with Ashley.”

Guerin nodded, “Good, we’d like to speak to her as well. May we see them?”

“Sure, follow me.” Mr. Allen opened the door wider for police officers and led them upstairs. He opened the door to Katy’s room to let the officers in. 

Inside, stood Katy and Ashley. On the floor, in front of them, sat two open, half-packed suitcases. Ashley held a bizarre alien mask. Another like it was already in one of the suitcases. 






Both girls looked up, startled at the intrusion. Dixon’s heart beat faster. They were already packing for their getaway! The case couldn’t be more open-and-shut! Before Guerin could react, Dixon stepped forward and thrust his badge at the girls. In his most official sound voice, he inquired “What were your whereabouts on the night of March the 10th?”

Ashley looked at him, “What?”

Guerin interrupted. “Sorry to barge in like this. What my partner wants to know is where you both were last night.”

Katy looked baffled for a moment and then her eyes widened with comprehension, “This is about the murder last night, isn’t it! You think that we killed Mr. Crawford!”

“We never said that,” Guerin soothed. “We’re going to be talking to a lot of people – just trying to establish the facts about everyone’s whereabouts, you understand.”

“I see you’ve got some luggage there,” Dixon noted. “Are you girls planning on heading out of town for a while?”

“We’re packing for spring break,” Katy explained, “We’re leaving Friday after school to go to the coast with some friends.”

“And the masks? Perhaps you wore them to conceal your identity last night?”

“We were at a sleepover last night and we had them there,” Ashley answered. “We were scaring people during the night – we figure they’ll be fun at the beach.”

“I see,” said Dixon, jotting some things in his notebook. “I must say, it seems a bit odd to be packing for a trip a week in advance…”	

“Well, it wasn’t us that killed Mr. Crawford,” Ashley said, sounding exasperated, “Like I said, we were at a sleepover with a dozen other girls – at Nadine Adams’ house. Ask anyone there, they’ll tell you we were there!”

“What time was Mr. Crawford killed, anyhow?” Katy asked.

Dixon consulted his notebook, “Coroner said that when the body was first found around six this morning, it had been cooling off for about four hours, give or take fifteen minutes – so, I guess around two.”

“Well, there you go!” Katy smiled in relief. “We arrived at Nadine’s at one last night. Five hours before six. And at least a dozen girls saw us nearly constantly the whole night. I’ll give you their names and phone numbers.”

Dixon frowned. Things had seemed so clear a moment ago. Now, Katy was ready to give him a list of a dozen witnesses to the fact that she and Ashley were nowhere near the scene of the crime. 

“I see,” Guerin said, “We’ll check with Nadine, but I’m sure you’re telling the truth. Do you know of anyone with reason to be upset at Mr. Crawford?”

“Besides us?” Ashley asked.

“Right, besides you.”

“Well, there’s Samantha Simmons,” Katy offered.

Dixon began scribbling in his notebook, excited by the development of a new lead. “What did she have against the victim?”

“Oh, he used to pick on her horribly,” Katy answered. “Teasing, making fun, that sort of thing.”

Ashley tried not to laugh. Guerin raised an eyebrow. Ashley explained, “I’m sorry, Officer. It’s just so funny to remember. I mean, not funny for Samantha – she was furious – but really it was sort of funny for the rest of us.”

Katy chuckled as well now. “Do you remember the time that she dressed as a princess for the Halloween party and Crawford made her kiss a frog? She was mortified.” 

Ashley nodded, “That was one of the best.” 






Guerin and Dixon exchanged glances. It seemed that Ashley was going to continue reminiscing, but Dixon interjected, “I see what you mean, girls. I’m not sure that’s really motive for murder, though.”

“Ah, but that’s only half of it,” Katy explained, “You see, we said she got really upset over it, and we meant it. After particularly nasty teasing, she used to write these terrible poems and rants about how she hated Mr. Crawford and wanted to smash his skull in and stuff. It was really sick!”

Dixon began scribbling in his notebook again. Guerin answered the girls, “I see. Well, thank you for your time. I think we’ll go chat with Samantha. Will you two be around later if we have any more questions?”

Katy nodded, “We certainly will, Officer.” Then, looking at Dixon, she added, “Good luck cracking the case!”

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Samantha Simmons wasn’t at home. Her parents were concerned by the officers’ visit, but after being assured that it was nothing to worry about, they told the policemen that Samantha was spending the weekend with her friend Anna Liu at her family’s vacation home a short ways out in the country. The officer’s thanked Samantha’s parents and drove out to Anna’s home. It was, perhaps, just shy of an hour before they were heading down the small dirt lane that led to the Liu’s house. Mrs. Liu met the officers as they got out of the car. “Good afternoon, Officers. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Good afternoon, Ma’am,” Guerin answered, “I’m Sergeant Guerin, this is Officer Dixon. We were hoping we could ask your daughter and her friend Samantha a few questions.”

“Sure,” Mrs. Liu seemed agreeable. Dixon suspected she didn’t know about the murder yet. Regardless, she led the two officers into the kitchen where Samantha and Anna were preparing a casserole for dinner. They both looked surprised to see two policemen in the kitchen.

“Hello, girls,” Guerin greeted them quickly before Dixon could whip out his badge and his ‘What were your whereabouts on the night of March the 10th’ routine. “How are you doing?”

They both shrugged. “Fine,” Anna said. “We heard about Mr. Crawford, if that’s what you’re wondering. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To find out if we know anything?”

Guerin nodded, “That’s right. We’re just talking to people who knew him who may be able to tell us anything useful.”

“Particularly,” Dixon added, “it would be useful to know where you were last night, Samantha.” Guerin sighed. He would have to work with Dixon on his questioning technique.

Samantha sat up straight, “You think that I killed Mr. Crawford? That’s absurd, why would I do a thing like that?”

Dixon spread his hands, “I never said you killed him. Though, I have heard that there was some tension between you; that you wrote some pretty grim stuff about how you would like to hurt him.”

Samantha looked flustered. Color rose in her cheeks. “I’ve never written any such thing! Why would I do that? I always thought Mr. Crawford was great. Oh, he teased me here and there, but he knew I took it all in fun!” She was beginning to tear up.

“It’s ok, Samantha,” Guerin comforted. Dixon’s just asking questions. We’re not accusing you of anything.”

“Well, I hope not!” Anna sounded indignant. “She’s been with me all night, and I can assure you we were nowhere near Mr. Crawford.”

“I see,” Dixon had his notebook out again and was jotting things down. “And what did the two of you do last night?”

“We were here all night,” Anna said, “but there are plenty of witnesses.” Dixon looked inquisitive and Anna continued, “You see, my father died a year ago yesterday. It’s tradition in Chinese culture to hold a memorial for a deceased person on the one year anniversary of their death; it completes the term of mourning. Most of my extended family was here with us until late into the night. I was out on that hill,” she pointed, “holding a lantern. Samantha was with me as support in a difficult time. So, if you think that she killed Mr. Guerin, you’re wrong. I don’t know who put you onto her as a suspect, but they’re either malicious or just ignorant. Samantha wouldn’t hurt anyone.”






Dixon scribbled in his notebook for a moment and then looked up. “I see. Just how late was this vigil?”

“Quite late,” Anna repeated. “Many of my relatives were here until three in the morning. Some stayed even later.”

Dixon frowned and grumbled to himself, “How is it that everyone’s accounted for at two in the morning? Relatives over until three – that’s worse than arriving at a party at one.” His frustration showed in the way that he aggressively wrote this newest information in his notebook.

“Party at one in the morning?” Anna asked, “Who was that?”

Dixon looked up from his notebook, “Oh, your friends Katy Allen and Ashley Green. We know they weren’t involved in this because they arrived at a party at one last night and the victim wasn’t killed until nearly two. Same way we know that you and Samantha weren’t involved since you were here until at least three.”

Anna thought for a moment and then asked, “Mr. Crawford was killed around two last night?”

Dixon nodded, “As near as we can tell. His body was found at six this morning by a groundskeeper and the coroner is fairly certain that he’d been dead for four hours at that point.”

Anna considered this and then started to laugh, “Officer Dixon, Katy and Ashley were the ones who told you Samantha had threatened Mr. Crawford, weren’t they?”

Guerin answered, “We ought not to answer a question like that, Anna.”

“That’s fine. I know they were. Samantha, can you hand me that tomato from the counter? I want to demonstrate something for these officers.” While Samantha retrieved the tomato, Anna went briefly into the next room. She returned with a short tape measure.

“What’s all this about?” Dixon asked.

Anna answered with a question of her own. “How big around is this tomato?” She lifted it up for the policemen to see.

Dixon shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe twelve inches.”

Guerin shook his head, “It’s a big tomato. I’ll say fourteen.”

Anna smiled and wrapped the tape measure around the tomato. She showed the measurement to the officers. It read seventeen inches.






Dixon whistled, “That’s one large piece of fruit.”

“Vegetable,” Guerin corrected. Dixon looked as if he were about to argue the point, but Guerin continued, “Regardless, that measurement doesn’t seem right to me. I agree that’s a prize-winner of a tomato, but it certainly doesn’t look like it’s got a seventeen inch circumference.”

Anna smiled, “Very perceptive, officer.” She opened her left hand a bit and revealed several inches of tape balled up there.

“So, then it’s not really seventeen inches around,” Dixon said. “What’s the point of all this?”

“I’m just demonstrating that things can seem longer than they are when some of the measuring standard is unaccounted for.”

Dixon and Guerin exchanged glances and Guerin asked the question they both were thinking, “What does this have to do with Tim Crawford’s murder?”

“It’s March 11th today,” Anna explained, “the second Sunday in March.” She waited but nothing registered for the officers, so she explained further, “Today begins daylight saving time! Last night, all our clocks were set forward an hour. Clocks went from 1:59 directly to 3:00.” Guerin’s eyes grew wide as he understood what she was saying. Dixon dropped his pen. “Last night,” Anna concluded, “there were only four hours between one and six in the morning. Seems to me that there was time for someone to kill Mr. Crawford four hours before dawn and still make it to a nearby party by one.”

Guerin already had his cell phone out. “Hello, Mr. Allen? This is Sergeant Guerin. I need to speak to Katy at once.” There was a pause. “What do you mean, ‘she left’?” Another pause. “With her bags? And Ashley too? Did they say where they were going?” One final pause. “No, Mr. Allen, I don’t think she was joking about the airport.”

Guerin flipped his phone shut and pounded the table. Dixon put his head in his hands. Suddenly, he was much less excited to be working this case.


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## Avatar_V (Aug 30, 2007)

And, as always, here are my after-story thoughts and reflections...
[sblock]Well, there it is    As with the last story, I didn't get to spend as much time on this one as I would have liked. In the end, I think it's adequate. I think the picture use is pretty good, but the story still feels like something that was built around a set of pictures. Ideally, it wouldn't feel that way, but it is what it is. It's shorter than my last two, but I think that since it lacks some of the emotional turbulence I usually like to include in my stories, the length may be a good thing. That it's not terribly long helps to disguise the fact that we're really just going from scene to scene designed around pictures   All that negativity aside, I do like the twist at the end (I hope it's not too obvious) and feel that it's not a bad story given how little brain-storming time it got. As always, this round has been a harrowing but fun experience!

(edit: Oh, and that bit about the one year memorial in Chinese culture is something I made up (though that tradition does exist in Greek Orthodox culture). Apologies to any Chinese people I've offended by misrepresenting your culture  I blame the time crunch!)
[/sblock]


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## FickleGM (Aug 30, 2007)

ENW Short Story Smackdown Summer '07
Round 3, Match 2 -- FickleGM vs Avatar V


Monster


Lying on the soccer pitch, he appeared to be sleeping.  Appearances, as they say, are often deceiving.  The young man, wearing a suit and a party hat, was dead *(Picture 1)*.  He had no markings on him or signs of trauma.  Unfortunately, this was not the first dead body that Yuki had come across.  This young man was just another in a long line of dead bodies showing no trauma, that she had come across since this morning.

Yuki was no longer stunned by all of the death.  She was starting to become numb to it, as every street that she walked down in the now-silent city contained only dead bodies.  In fact, she hadn't found a living soul, yet, human or animal.  It was as if she were the last living being.  She couldn't reach anyone on her phone, no radio station was broadcasting and the power was out.

It had been like this since she was fired from her job this morning.  She remembered getting into her car, and being unable start it.  She recalled banging her head on the steering wheel in frustration.  Then she remembered getting out of the car and starting to walk home, angry and bitter.  That is when she saw her first dead body...

A flash of movement out of the corner of her eyes interrupted Yuki's reverie.

"What was that?" she whispered to herself, half-expecting an answer.

"Hello!" she yelled out, as she started walking in the direction of the movement, toward the white house near the soccer pitch.

Unless her eyes were playing tricks on her, the font door had just closed and a shape had passed in front of a window.  Someone else was alive and she was going to find out who...or what...it was.  Dread filled her heart as she reached for the doorknob.

She hesitated.  What if it was dangerous?  She wasn't ready to die, yet.

The door suddenly flew open with a loud bang, startling Yuki.  She fell backward and found herself on the ground.  Holding her breath, she waited for whatever was coming for her.  Gasping for air, as she finally remembered to breath, Yuki stared into the house.  Nothing appeared.  Nothing came after her.  Like before, all was quiet and still.

"Hello. Is anybody in there?" Yuki half-whispered into the house as she stood up.  As before, there was no answer.

As she crept into the house, she couldn't help but think that she was going to run into whoever, or whatever, was responsible for killing everybody that Yuki had come across.  That filled her with fear, but did not deter her.  She had to find out what happened.  She needed answers.

The foyer was empty, as was the parlor and the den.  Yuki made her way down the hall, toward the kitchen.  Like the other rooms, the kitchen was also devoid of life, but the screen door was swinging open in the breeze.

Whatever came in must have left out the back door, so Yuki followed.  The door lead to a garden...a garden that contained some of the largest plants she had ever seen.  Seeing the lush and ripe produce reminded Yuki that she was hungry.  Looking around nervously, as if the gardener would catch her, she picked a large tomato.

"Wow," she exclaimed, feeling the full weight of the fruit in her hand.

With mouth watering, she bit into the tomato and experienced pure taste ecstacy, as the juices flowed in (and out of) her mouth.  Not only was it the largest tomato that she had ever seen, it was the best tomato that she had ever tasted.  The fruit was intoxicating...literally.  Yuki's head began to spin.

"These are large tomatoes, aren't they?" asked the suited man with the party hat, who was now standing in front of Yuki, holding a tomato in his hands with a measuring tape wrapped around it *(Picture 5)*.

"Yesh, that one ish sheventeen inshes, hee hee," Yuki swayed a bit as she watched the man turn into a frog and jump down the hole.  "Wait Mishter Frog, I'll come wiff you."

Yuki crawled into the hole and found herself standing in a forest, staring into a calm pond.  She stared at her reflection in wonderment, for she was dressed in traditional Chinese robes and was holding a stick that held a paper lantern *(Picture 3)*.  She sat down beside the nearby tree and tried to figure out where she was.

The tomato, the man, the frog and the hole in the ground were all a blur in her mind.  How did she get here?  Where exactly was she?  Why did the man turn into a frog?  Was she alone?

The answer to the last question became readily apparent when she noticed a person walking toward Yuki.  She was a woman, probably in her early twenties, with red hair and wearing a blue dress.  She also had an emerald-set tiara on her head and a familiar looking frog in her hand.

"Well, well, what have we here?  It isn't often that we get visitors," she said, although it seemed that she was talking to the frog, and not to Yuki.

The frog's tongue darted out in reply to the woman's inquiry.  Wrinkling her nose *(Picture 4)*, the woman shook her head.

Looking at Yuki, she started, "You ate the tomato?  Why would you do that?  Have you no sense, whatsoever?  Did you not notice the dead bodies everywhere you went?  Didn't you stop to consider that things were a bit off?  Wouldn't it be reasonable to believe that the tomato, amongst other things, would be unsafe?"

Finally stopping to take a breath, the woman put down the frog and straightened herself, smoothing her dress as she did so.  The frog hopped over to Yuki and flicked its tongue at her.

"No, my prince, she doesn't understand at all.  It truly is a pity, though, for I don't know how she will get back.  Perhaps the witch will help her," the blue-dressed woman contemplated.

"Witch?  Where am I?  Who are you?" the effects of the tomato were wearing off and Yuki was able to think straight again.

With a deep bow, the woman answered, "I am Princess Penelope and you are in the Witchwood, home to my mother, the Witch Queen.  It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Yuki impulsively pinched herself.  Ouch.  Well, this was either a painful dream, or she wasn't dreaming.  But, if she wasn't dreaming, then that would mean...

"Yes, my dear, this is real.  Well, as real is these things can be, of course.  I see that you have already met my betrothed, the Frog Prince."

Yuki stood up and returned the bow, "I am Yuki Li.  If your mother can help me get home, then I would like to meet her."

Princess Penelope led Yuki through woods, followed by the Frog Prince.  The trees moved unnaturally as the trio passed by, bending forward as if to bow to the prince and princess.  The woodland creatures also showed their respects by stepping off the trail and lowering their heads to the group.

Ahead, sitting on a small hill, sat a ramshackle old hut.  If that was where the Witch Queen lived, her palace left a lot to be desired.

A flick of the tongue told Yuki that the Frog Prince did not approve of her opinion.

"It may not look like much from out here, dear Yuki, but it is what's on the inside that matters most," came Princess Penelope's response, as if verbalizing the Frog Prince's thoughts.

Yuki looked down, slightly embarrassed, "I'm sorry.  I did not mean to judge your home."

Princess Penelope only smiled in response as she walked up to the door.  She knocked some sort of rhythmic pattern and the door opened, revealing a grand entry hall.

"As I said, it is what is on the inside that matters most," Princess Penelope said as she turned to Yuki and beckoned for her to enter the Witch Queen's house.

Yuki curtsied to the princess and walked into the amazing hut.  A man, dressed as a servant, walked up to Yuki and took her lantern.

"Thank you, I don't think that I'll need that in here," she responded.

Princess Penelope and the Frog Prince walked (and hopped) down the hall, motioning for Yuki to follow.  They came to a large set of double-doors and once again, Princess Penelope delivered a rhythmic knock that caused the doors to open.

As the doors opened, a magnificent throne-room sprawled before them.  On the far side of the throne-room sat a stately woman, attired in the splendid robes of a queen.  On her head, rested an equally impressive crown.

"Welcome home, my daughter," the Witch Queen said, her voice carrying the weight of authority. "I see that you have brought company with you."

"Yes, mother," the princess replied, as she bowed to her mother and motioned for Yuki to follow in suit.  "My friend, Yuki, is far from home and wishes for you to help her return."

Turning to Yuki, the queen asked, "Is this true, my dear?"

"Y-y-yes," came the stammered response, followed quickly by, "your majesty."

Nodding, the queen stood up and walked over to a large mirror, which sat near the far wall, behind the throne.

"You do realize that your home is no longer as it was?  All of your friends are gone.  Things will never be the same."

"I know, but I need to get back," said Yuki.  "I have to find out what happened."

"Well, I can send you back, but I am afraid that you will not like what you find."

Yuki started to cry, "It is my home and I must return."

"Hush now, child.  If you are determined to return, then I will not stop you."

The queen walked over and put an arm around Yuki's shoulders.

"I can set things straight and return you to your world, but you have to be prepared to return to such a place.  Are you prepared to face what happened and things as they truly are?"

The young lady straightened back and lifted her chin, "Yes I am.  I want things to be the way they should be and I am willing to do whatever needs to be done."

"As long as you are sure, then who am I to argue?" the Witch Queen waved her hand in front of the mirror and suddenly it showed Yuki her town, with live people moving about. "Walk through the mirror to return home, but remember to look at what is inside for the answers."

"Oh thank you, great queen.  And thank you, Princess Penelope and Frog Prince."

Yuki walked into the mirror and found herself transported...to her home, she hoped...

Opening her eyes, Yuki looked around.  She couldn't move her head, but she could feel that her hair was being tugged.  She spotted a mirror sitting on a night stand and the image it portrayed filled her with dread.

She was in someone's bedroom, but she was not her.  She was just a head, a grotesque monstrous head, but a head, nonetheless *(Picture 2)*.  Holding her by the hair was what looked to be a teenage girl.  She was talking to a taller, older teenage girl, but Yuki couldn't hear what was being said.

How did this happen?  Why was she trapped like this?  What had she done?

On the inside, Yuki cried, only for once she didn't cry for herself, but instead she cried for what she had done.  She remembered that it was she who had wished for the world to die.  Just this morning, when she had been fired, she had made her silly wish in a fit of anger.  It was just a silly thought, brought about by the feelings of hopelessness and despair.  Whether or not it was silly did not seem to matter, however, as much as whether or not she had meant it.  It was then that she truly saw what she was on the inside...a monster...


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## FickleGM (Aug 30, 2007)

[sblock]Well, it seems that I am still an impatient writer.  I have a hard time keeping a story going and once I get to a certain point, it turns into a race to see how fast I can get it finished.  Of course, it may come as no surprise that I am also impatient with pretty much everything else in life.  I'm just an impatient person.

Oh well, I'm happy that I finished it before the deadline.  Good luck, Avatar V.[/sblock]


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## FickleGM (Aug 30, 2007)

Avatar_V said:
			
		

> [sblock]Dixon whistled, “That’s one large piece of fruit.”
> 
> “Vegetable,” Guerin corrected. Dixon looked as if he were about to argue the point, but Guerin continued, “Regardless, that measurement doesn’t seem right to me. I agree that’s a prize-winner of a tomato, but it certainly doesn’t look like it’s got a seventeen inch circumference.”
> 
> ...



 [sblock]Actually, a tomato is a fruit. [/sblock]


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## Avatar_V (Aug 30, 2007)

FickleGM said:
			
		

> [sblock]Actually, a tomato is a fruit. [/sblock]



[sblock]Haha... You know, I spent some time researching that since I wasn't sure. According to Wikipedia, it's botanically a fruit, but has been classified as a vegetable by law in the past (who'd have thought there were laws about such things!) and in a culinary sense is considered a vegetable. So, I wasn't sure what to call it. I figure that usually people who refer to something as a fruit or vegetable are thinking of it in a culinary sense (in the same way that cucumbers are fruits but aren't usually referred to as such), so it was fine to call this a vegetable. Though, I definitely intended to leave it ambiguous (though my more 'authoritative' character takes up the vegetable side of the argument) since it seems there's no single 'right' answer. 

Also, I like your story a lot. Some of the pictures seemed a bit arbitrary in their use, but overall I really appreciated how the story stood on its own without relying on the pictures. If someone asked 'what's the story about?' the answer is not 'Yuki goes through a bunch of scenes in which she sees some assorted views that happen to match up with the pictures illustrating the story' and that's a very good thing. Anyhow, I enjoyed it; good luck![/sblock]


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## FickleGM (Aug 30, 2007)

Avatar_V said:
			
		

> [sblock]Haha... You know, I spent some time researching that since I wasn't sure. According to Wikipedia, it's botanically a fruit, but has been classified as a vegetable by law in the past (who'd have thought there were laws about such things!) and in a culinary sense is considered a vegetable. So, I wasn't sure what to call it. I figure that usually people who refer to something as a fruit or vegetable are thinking of it in a culinary sense (in the same way that cucumbers are fruits but aren't usually referred to as such), so it was fine to call this a vegetable. Though, I definitely intended to leave it ambiguous (though my more 'authoritative' character takes up the vegetable side of the argument) since it seems there's no single 'right' answer.
> 
> Also, I like your story a lot. Some of the pictures seemed a bit arbitrary in their use, but overall I really appreciated how the story stood on its own without relying on the pictures. If someone asked 'what's the story about?' the answer is not 'Yuki goes through a bunch of scenes in which she sees some assorted views that happen to match up with the pictures illustrating the story' and that's a very good thing. Anyhow, I enjoyed it; good luck![/sblock]



 [sblock]Some legislators have too much time on their hands.  Also, I liked your little murder mystery...I'll never underestimate the powers of daylight savings time again. 

I'll leave the technical feedback to the pros, since I'm not that good at it.  I think that your picture use was good.  The use of the two pictures as description of past events was something I hadn't done before.  Overall, I think that your story is stronger than mine, but we'll see what the judges say...[/sblock]


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## Herremann the Wise (Aug 31, 2007)

Hello Everyone,

Just a quick note of congratulations to all the semi-finalists for getting your stories in! It sounded like a few of you were under the pump.

As for myself, I apologise profusely for my recent lack of presence (work/family/vista destroying my hard drive - although I did recover everything so I can't complain too much... just two whole days of work to catch up on).

However, I'm going to get the judgments done today so we can keep this thing moving to the final.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Avatar_V (Sep 1, 2007)

Just a quick note to let people know that I'll be on vacation this weekend. I'll be back Monday night.


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## yangnome (Sep 1, 2007)

Do we have any rough estimate of when the next round will start?  Just curious since I don't check ENworld on a daily basis.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Sep 1, 2007)

yangnome said:
			
		

> Do we have any rough estimate of when the next round will start?  Just curious since I don't check ENworld on a daily basis.




I'm hoping to get judgements finished and sent to Rodrigo tomorrow, and if Herremann has sent his, I guess it'll be up to Rodrigo...


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## yangnome (Sep 4, 2007)

Any better idea of when the next round will start?


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## Avatar_V (Sep 5, 2007)

So... how's that judging coming along? 

Also, I wanted to let people know that I'll be out of town between tomorrow morning and Saturday evening, in case it matters (away at a three day MBA program leadership retreat/orientation/class thing - should be interesting). I would guess that I'll have internet access, but who knows.


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## Herremann the Wise (Sep 6, 2007)

Hello Everyone,

I have forwarded my decision in the FickleGM/Avatar_V match up. Trench vs. yangnome is to follow hopefully i the next 6 hours. Apologies once again for the unreasonable delay. 

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Sep 6, 2007)

Rodrigo has both of my judgements, so any time now, I think...


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Sep 6, 2007)

Rodrigo is travelling.  I'll see what I can get posted tonight.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Sep 6, 2007)

*Round 3 Match 2 -- Avatar_V vs FickleGM*

*Herremann the Wise*

It will be news to no one that this match-up had a very difficult set of images. I found it interesting how both our competitors attacked the images (or were attacked by them).

FickleGM has truly dug into the flavour of the pictures, with numerous descriptions that put me in a “happy place”. I went from imagining Dawn of the Dead to Stephen King’s The Stand to Alice in Wonderland. It captured the whimsy in most of the images, which was certainly a good thing. However, the story has suffered somewhat without a strong golden thread tying it all up.

Yuki’s plight is a somewhat tragic affair that does not punch as hard as it should. Rather than a ringing message, fable or moral, we are left with a self-realization without depth. Just because she wished something bad, even if she really meant it at the time does not necessarily make her a bad person – there was certainly little in the story that hinted at it, even several reads later.

Avatar_V has put the detective hat on to deliver a somewhat interesting tale that in the end just could not ring true for me. A detective discussing vital evidence (victim’s time of death) with suspects or even persons of interest just does not make sense (unless it is part of some tricksy ruse). The fact that it was not a ruse and in fact they were outsmarted by a young girl (well a few of them actually) made the overall story a little wonky (if still somewhat enjoyable).

I think it would have been better if our older, wiser detective had have made these deductions, even if they were too late – him using the tomato as an example rather than Anna. It would have fitted in to the overall story better I think. Still 20/20 hindsight is a wonderful thing and something that has absolutely no benefit or relevance whatsoever when it comes to Ceramic DM. When you get your inspiration, you just have to write.

As such, it is a difficult decision but I think I’ll go with Avatar_V on this one. While not perfect, I thought the fact that a cohesive story was crafted from such a difficult set of images is worth noting. I enjoyed the imagery FickleGM conveyed but in the end, you still have to write a story that appears to achieve its aim. Thank you to both our competitors for your considerable effort!

*maxfieldjadenfox*

Extracurricular Murder

An interesting detective story, this. Katy and Ashley are nasty pieces of work, and the way they placed the blame on Samantha was pretty smart. It was clear that they had thought it out. I think it was an interesting choice to have two teenaged girls be the cold blooded killers. Not your standard suspects. The daylight savings time twist is fun. I liked the tone, and while I didn't get a strong sense of the detectives, they were still used to good effect. The picture use is strong, especially considering how really disparate the pictures were for this round. I don't know that the mask photo was thoroughly explained. Maybe if there was some reference to the mask before, or if Ashley appeared to be trying to conceal the mask or something? I thought the tomato picture use was genius. It illustrated the truncated time well and didn't feel forced to me.


Monster

Your writing style is strong here, Fickle GM, but Yuki's punishment seems way, way harsh for the crime. She was upset and made a wish? Without some sort of set up explaining that wishes come true in this world or something, it seems way too random. If she is truly a monster, we should see her do something truly monstrous. As it is, I feel like the whole reason for the story unravels. The picture use is OK. They were hard pictures to integrate. The dead guy was sort of the introduction, but there was no explanation for why he was dressed the way he was on a soccer field. The girl with the lantern and the princess and the frog set up the alternate universe Yuki fell into, very Alice through the looking glass stuff, which you wrote well, I think. The tomato is pretty weak, using it as a hallucinogenic works, but the explanation for the tape measure isn't plausible. Overall, this story just doesn't work for me. I can tell what you were going for, and like I said, it is well written, but the story itself just doesn't fly. The hammer and I are in accord, we give this one to Avatar V. Sorry Fickle GM. Squish.

*Rodrigo Istalindir*

Avatar V's story starts out with a bang, sort of sags in the middle, and recovers nicely with a twist at the end.  It makes the cops look a little foolish -- who wouldn't remember DST the next day -- but funny nonetheless.  The way you worked in the party hat is excellent -- it takes a distracting element in the picture and welcomes it rather than trying to gloss it over.  Similary, the tomato picture was a clever way of reading more into the picture than was given without  adding or subtracting an element, just implying it.

The writing here was rougher than I've come to expect, and some parts of the story seemed perfunctory.  The 'memorial celebration' seems quite forced.  Also, some of the 'police procedural' elements are off -- questioning minors without their parents present, etc.  When you adopt a fairly defined genre for your story, you have to take care to follow the conventions.  Still, this is more a reflection of the time constraints of CDM.

FickleGM's story starts off suitably creepy.  I'm a sucker for 'last man in the world' stories (and I wonder what a shrink would say about that  ).  The transition from mundane to magical is a bit quick, though, and Yuki's actions seem to flow from the requirements of the story rather than from the requirements of the character.     Overall, the pictures are a little forced.  Nothing really bad, but nothing terribly inspiring either.

This is probably your best writing so far, though.  The pacing is very good, and your characterization is improving.  The dialogue is solid, and the transitions between it and the narrative are smooth.  The tone is spot on for the kind of fairy tale aspect you were shooting for.  While some elements of the story feel a ittle rushed, the writing doesn't.

FickleGM's writing was a little more solid and polished, but Avatar V did really well working in a couple of the pictures, so I throw my vote to him.  FickleGM -- I know you mentioned not having as much fun as you thought you would in the competition, but I'd really recommend trying some writing when you're not 'on the clock'.  You've really improved over the course of the Ceramic DMs and you should at least see if you can enjoy writing in a different context.

Avatar V advances to the finals, 3-0.


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## FickleGM (Sep 6, 2007)

First, I have to give a hearty congratulations to Avatar V.  I also felt that your story was the stronger of the two and deserved to win.

Second, while I am glad to finally be out of the competition, I am also glad that I stuck with it and tried my hardest to win.  It is true, that I did not enjoy the writing and the competition was more work that I would have liked.  I felt this way after my first CDM, this spring, but I convinced myself to give it another go and see if I would improve and/or enjoy the experience more.  I do feel that I improved, but I did not enjoy myself, which caused the first two rounds to leave a bittersweet taste in my mouth.  I was rooting against myself, because I wanted out.  But, like Ricky Bobby's French adversary, I wasn't going to just throw a match (granted, the French guy possessed much more racing skill than I do writing skill, but you get the point).  I hope that I acquitted myself well.

Third, I would like to thank the judges (both from the spring and summer competitions), for they have given good advice that has helped me to both improve my writing and recognize weaknesses that still exist.

Finally, Rodrigo, I will give some serious consideration to writing something recreationally and see how I feel about it. 

Good luck to the finalists.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Sep 6, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> FickleGM -- I know you mentioned not having as much fun as you thought you would in the competition, but I'd really recommend trying some writing when you're not 'on the clock'.  You've really improved over the course of the Ceramic DMs and you should at least see if you can enjoy writing in a different context.




Fickle GM, what Rodrigo said. Keep writing! CDM/SSSD is incredibly difficult for even seasoned writers. It's like running a marathon, no matter how much you train, you're sore the day after. Good work, I saw lots of growth from you through the course of this competition.


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## yangnome (Sep 6, 2007)

FickleGM said:
			
		

> Finally, Rodrigo, I will give some serious consideration to writing something recreationally and see how I feel about it.




NaNoWriMo starts in November.  If CDM is like a marathon, NaNoWriMo is like the Bataan death march.  Toss your hat into the ring.


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## FickleGM (Sep 6, 2007)

yangnome said:
			
		

> NaNoWriMo starts in November.  If CDM is like a marathon, NaNoWriMo is like the Bataan death march.  Toss your hat into the ring.



 I have started a story for NaNoWriMo the last two years.  I made it over 5,000 words two years ago (1/10th of the way) and only to around 2,000 words last year.  I plan to continue starting this each year...perhaps one year I'll succeed.


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## Avatar_V (Sep 9, 2007)

Thanks to the judges. I appreciate the feedback, and it is well taken. I suppose that isn't very normal police procedure - is it?  

Also, I'd like to tip my hat to FickleGM. I very much enjoyed your story. I know some of the judges didn't buy into the execution of the moral tale, but to even attempt it with 5 pictures impresses me and I thought it was well done given the circumstance. Also, as others have said, I think it would be a shame for the writing community to lose you. Perhaps without the time limit it will feel less like work.


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## tadk (Sep 9, 2007)

NaNoWriMo is so rough, I am planning my story now in fact, getting some outlining and ideas in mind. This will be my 5th try, only broke 50K one year. Come on over and join us. 

best to all in CDM also here towards the end.


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## Trench (Sep 10, 2007)

Just came back from Toronto and I haven't missed any days of writing. Cool.

Actually, hey, we still need judgments as well!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Sep 11, 2007)

*Judgement -- yangnome vs Trench*

*Rodrigo Istalindir*

Trench

This is a superlative story.  Inspired by the pictures, but not surpassing their literal nature.  The central character is mesmerizing, and the trail of his descent into madness (or ascent into enlightenment) is artfully expressed.  The writing is spare but effective, and the paragraph leading up to his epiphany is brilliant in its headlong rush.  Aside from a couple typos, this is nearly perfect.

The only real weakness is that you don't get to know Noah until he's already on the slippery slope.  A little more backstory, some interaction with his family before he starts to lose it, would flesh out the character and make his trip resonate more strongly.

Picture use was excellent.  The Halloween picture is taken at face value, yet serves as an excellent introduction to Noah's thought process.  What could have been a throw-away instead becomes and important scene.  The segue to the taxidermy was very well done.  The 'green head USB drive' was a little weak, but really only in comparison to the others.

yangnome

This story has an interesting premise, and the picture use is functional and straightforward.  Unfortunately, it takes too long to get there, and it fails the 'show, don't tell' test for the first half or more.  Far too much time is wasted on narrative establishing that Joshua is a self-absorbed jerk. A couple short scenes showing him acting like a jerk would have been better.  The scene with the ersatz trick-or-treaters, for example, could have been a solid opening, establishing the shallow nature of Joshua and the influence of the fey at the same time.

The writing is solid, but it almost seems like two stories as the point of view shifts from the narrator to Joshua.  A little mix-n-match to switch things up would have been welcome.  Overall, though, it just feels flat.

Picture use is conventional.  The 'intervention' with the animals should have been the big payoff, but the scene was somewhat perfunctory, rendering the picture use weaker than it should have been.  Tying the girl in the doorway to the fairy was a good touch.  Using the USB drive as a USB drive was a little too conventional, though.

Judgement for Trench.

*maxfieldjadenfox*

Noah's Lament

I LIKE this entry. There is a sweetness to it that appeals to me, and I like how odd it is. The poor, damaged, mathematician is a lovely protagonist. He is quirky enough to be intriguing, and I feel like you understand him very well. The picture use is pretty solid. The doggies set things up, the taxidermal party advances things and the green man ends them nicely. The first green man isn't really too important, and I think the use is pretty weak, but it does set us up for the last greenman image, so it at least works as a segue. The "mile high club" picture doesn't seem necessary to the story, although his response to her daughter and her boyfriend does offer us more insight into his character. Since the greenman shows up later, maybe there should have been a bigger reference to his repressed sexuality. Green men are earth spirits and the fact that he became one offered an opportunity for contrast that you didn't capitalize on as much as you could have. It's a minor complaint though, I think the last line is killer, and like I said, the story just plain makes me happy.


An Intervention

Wow, hugely different character. The narrative voice makes it feel like a parable or faerie tale, but there really isn't much of an arc to the story.  It reminds me a bit of A Late Aubade, CarpeDavid's story last competition.  Unfortunately, that story set the bar high. While the picture use her is decent, None of the photos stand out as being used spectacularly. Joshua is not a likeable character, and I am not at all convinced that he had any kind of transformation as a result of his "sit down". I would have liked to see that  transformative force. Even his randy-ness  could work with the greenman/pan myth, but you haven't connected it. I know you are not a fan of fantasy, Yangnome, and I am impressed that you got as far as you did with this story, but the war hammer and I are going to give this one to Trench. Crunch...

*Herremann the Wise*

Critique pending, but judgement for yangnome.

*Trench advances to the finals, 2-1.*


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Sep 11, 2007)

When do our finalists want to start?

Also, I'll need more pictures from the judges.  Six pictures in the finals, so two each, please., extra-diabolical.


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## Avatar_V (Sep 11, 2007)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> extra-diabolical.




Now, now, no need to be _extra_ diabolical! I think the diabolicalness (new word!) is pretty high already!

As far as starting the next round - this week is packed for me. A Sunday morning start would be pretty good, though.


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## Trench (Sep 11, 2007)

This week is fine for me, but I'll wait for Avatar. Sadly, I have no idea what the next week will bring as I don't have my schedule yet. I can wait this week out if need be. But I have to drive down to Southern Illinois next Wednesday and Thursday (19th and 20th), and there's no internet access down there at all- so I won't be able to post on those days.

So early next Sunday is fine, or starting on next Tuesday so I can spend those two dead days writing. I'm not going to have a lot to do (I have a court date, so I'm just waiting around till then. All for a missing auto insurance card which we had...), so I'd welcome the chance to do something besides sit and read. 

But having said that, I can see how that may give me an unfair advantage in the finals. So feel free to disregard that. Just as long as we don't have to post anything on the 19th or 20th. We can even postpone it to next Friday if need be.


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## Trench (Sep 11, 2007)

And congratulations to yangnome for lasting this long and still putting in a hell of a story for our round. This was a tough battle for both of us due to time constraints, and I think you did very well given the circumstances.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Sep 12, 2007)

Congrats to Trench and Avatar V... Get ready for extra diabolical!


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## Avatar_V (Sep 12, 2007)

maxfieldjadenfox said:
			
		

> Congrats to Trench and Avatar V... Get ready for extra diabolical!



Bring it on!   

(Oh, and thanks for the congrats )


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Sep 16, 2007)

Pictures in the a.m.  Sleep well tonight, because you won't for the next three days


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## Avatar_V (Sep 16, 2007)

Eat, drink, and be merry. For, tomorrow, we... write!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Sep 16, 2007)

*Finals -- Trench vs. Avatar V*

6 pictures, 72 hours, no word limit.  Pictures posted at 1425 GMT.

May God have mercy on your souls.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Sep 16, 2007)

Wow, more of my really old stuff sees the light of day! Contestants, glad I'm not you.


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## Avatar_V (Sep 16, 2007)

This should be interesting  I will say, though, that I do like the majority of those pictures. We'll see how this goes...


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Sep 16, 2007)

maxfieldjadenfox said:
			
		

> Wow, more of my really old stuff sees the light of day! Contestants, glad I'm not you.




Oh, yeah, pictures 3 and 4 courtesy of maxfieldjadenfox.  

I was going to use 'Celtic Lament' (which I really like) instead of 'Daydreams', but I thought the rhino was like twisting the knife after I buried it in their backs


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## Piratecat (Sep 16, 2007)

I _love_ picture 4. The rhino and the girl are great together.


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## Trench (Sep 16, 2007)

Actually... I can work with those...

Here's hoping.


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## tadk (Sep 16, 2007)

the Rhino and Girl pic are going to make it into my NaNo this year. I think I have a pic for my main character now.
thanks Max


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Sep 17, 2007)

Piratecat said:
			
		

> I _love_ picture 4. The rhino and the girl are great together.




Thanks, PC, it's one of my favorites. I had a rhino fetish for a while, couldn't stop drawing and painting them. I did a rhino on roller skates in front of a checkered flag and titled it "Built For Speed"... MJF is pretty clever, yes? 

And glad I could help, Tad. 

Trench, Avatar V- if you're reading this, shouldn't you be writing?


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## Avatar_V (Sep 17, 2007)

maxfieldjadenfox said:
			
		

> Trench, Avatar V- if you're reading this, shouldn't you be writing?



 About to get started.


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## Trench (Sep 19, 2007)

Crazy week. It's midnight. I have to get up to drive six hours tomorrow.

I haven't started writing.

Am I giving up?

Coffee and Jameson's is set up in front of me. The only way I will NOT get a story posted is if I fall asleep at the keyboard.

Let's rock.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Sep 19, 2007)

Trench said:
			
		

> Crazy week. It's midnight. I have to get up to drive six hours tomorrow.
> 
> I haven't started writing.
> 
> ...




Whoohoo! Welcome to Short Story Smackdown, last man standing wins...


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## Avatar_V (Sep 19, 2007)

Trench said:
			
		

> Let's rock.



Good luck, Trench! I'm feeling better about my situation now  I'd say I'm about 2/3 of the way done; maybe a bit less, but it is definitely starting to get late. And I haven't proofread yet. Looking to be a long night here, as well.

And don't fall asleep driving tomorrow!


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## Trench (Sep 19, 2007)

May The Air Bring You Down

by Shawn Feakins

Kendrick ran as quickly as he could, adjusting his helmet as he did. He climbed up the side of the formation, lichen getting under his fingernails only to be gouged out by weeds. He hopped on one foot as he struggled to get on the ridiculous striped tights. He couldn't wait till this ritual fell under the waves of something new. Of course, by then, he would be cycled into something new as well. Perhaps a storyteller or a history changer. Regardless, for now, he was a ritual minder.

He groaned as he saw Azure and Mere had already claimed their spots at the bell and mouthpiece of the horn. He grit his teeth and knelt down to duck under pitted brass horn, specks of dirt still caked inside the dents from where they excavated it. Mere could barely hold up her end, so he struggled- his arms slipping to one side of the horn while propping most of the weight on his right shoulder. It was painful. The vibrations of the lasting horn massaged his screaming muscles, although the blast of stale air and dust that came out the other end must not have been pleasant for Mere. There was a cry from below as the crowd heard their call to begin their changes.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30746

Azure dumped his mouthpiece end unceremoniously and the horn clattered to the stones. He nodded. "Well gents, its been fun."

"Your time is up?" Mere asked, sniffling.

"On to wherever the Wind blows me."

"Well good luck then," Mere shakes Azure's hand. "Let me know what your new name is if you're still here."

"Likewise," Kendrick said, not as enthusiastically.

As Azure took a final look and left, Kendrick took off his helmet and rubbed his shoulder. He looked  down to the plaza below. Already, people were piling their old possessions onto the ancient straight-cloth wing/sail transports. The chimerical vehicles were two months (two months!) old and the zeppelin freights had been shipped down by the Star Dwellers. This promised to be a Big Splash, and the people were feverish in anticipation. Some were naked as they threw in their clothes in a fit of zeal. They would most likely regret it as their bodies would remain most likely unclothed till the next clothing shipment next week. But for now Kendrick watched the orgy of metamorphosis as their city shed itself and turned into something new again. The square looked like a kaleidoscope of merging and babbling color- the parrots fluttering about and squawking throwing a decidedly tropical air to the proceedings. Since they were high on a mountain top, Kendrick could appreciate that.

Kendrick's eyes were attracted to the one still spot on the edge of this miasma. A young girl stood very out of place in clothes that were nearly six months old. It was a wonder she hadn't been stripped for it. Her wide-brim grey-felt hat stood out amidst the dancing colors. But just as startling was the rhino, a creature that had gone out of style nearly a year ago. Most people gave her and it a wide berth (which is simply good sense when dealing with a rhino...). She looked like a rock stubbornly set against the tide of change, which was dangerous. The Wind wouldn’t allow it.

"Going to head down?" Mere tapped Kendrick on the shoulder.

"Yeah sure," he said.

"Won't be long till this goes under the waves," mere kicks the gargoyle looking out from their perch. "I'm feeling crusty already."

"It's only been two weeks," Kendrick says.

"Long enough. Come on. I don't want to miss it."

The zeppelin freighters towed them out while their difference engines wound down. The priests had never liked the requirement on improbability for the vehicles, so these zeppelins were a welcome arrival- for the time they would be here. The sails and wings of the transports looked ratty and torn, as few people cared for them near the end of the year of their use. Screens projected their descent into the waves as the zeppelins tossed them out of the holds to have them careen into the deep, unchangeable deep. A burst of superheated plasma came from the chimney of one just before it splashed down, and a burst of applause came from the crowd in response to it's splash.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30745

"The Air is holy," the priests said- wearing a frock of discarded bird feathers. "The Air changes and sweeps and is free. The air holds the Water at bay. The Water that shifts yet never changes. That is always there in it's terrifying solidity. By destroying the old, we are the wind. Remember the sin of attachment. Remember the sin of permanence. In Change, we touch Divinity. We use what the Air gives us, and in this we become close to it."

The crowd murmured its agreement. Kendrick watched the girl lead her rhino away from the crowd.

~

The next time he saw her, he wasn't Kendrick. He was Gypsum. Mere had long been sent to the Deep Area and Gypsum was sure he wouldn't recognize him afterward. That's how it always worked. Nonetheless, Mere (when he was Mere) got him into the Air Wielding so he went today.

The teams were something called "Japan" and "USA"- more clothing taken from the Air. This would be the last game played with these teams as new uniforms were found recently. The crowd roared as the hollow boned athletes rolled onto the floor. It was midway through (Japan leading asteriks to 8) that she saw her again.

She sat at one corner of the court, knees tucked up to her chin and wearing the same grey felt hat. Her clothes were different, but the flower dress was still an antiquated piece of clothing that made others shy away from her nervously. She didn't seem to mind. She simply pet her rhino and watched the game with sad eyes. Gypsum wasn't sure why, but he walked over anyway.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30747

"What name does he have this time?" Gypsum ran his hands over the rough rhino hide.

"Same name he's always had. Tide."

Gypsum balked at that, both the uncomfortable name and the fact that it had been his always. He peered into the rhino's eyes and was surprised to see them milky and sightless. "He's blind," he almost gasped.

"That’s what happens when you get old," she said as the crowd cheered on a particularly effortless lay-up.

"I...see..." Gypsum's hand slowly moved away from the rhino to drop uncomfortably to his side. He felt his skin crawl with... with age. With something that lasted.

They didn't talk the rest of the match. After it was over the crowd filtered out. The girl picked some of the flowers growing by her feet and put them behind the rhino's ears as they walked out.

"If...uh... You don't mind me asking..."

"Why do I keep him?" she said. "Because I love him, and just because something is old doesn't mean we throw them away. Sometimes having something stick around can be a good thing."

Gypsum blushed and looked around to see if anyone heard. "Ah, that's a little... ah... It's not safe to get attached to things. The Wind could change and the Water can come up to us and wash it all away again. It's happened before-"

"-And it will happen again, I know," she said. "But is that any reason not to have a home? We're always in this constant state of getting used to something. New jobs, new names, new pets, new clothes. Don't you ever want to just sit?"

Gypsum had honestly never thought about it before.

~
They would meet at the games. She would often sit in the same spot again and again. Sometimes she would have to argue with people who insisted on her spot for a change of pace. Usually when he came over as well, they walked away sullenly- eager to demonstrate their lack of attachment. Tide would chew contentedly on the grass as they watched the chairs wheel and pivot and dive past each other to get to the net.

"You know why I like watching them?" she said once.

"Why?"

"Because of their bones. They've had to get so many surgeries to hollow out their bones to be that light. They can't even hold themselves up any more. But even in the chairs, they can fly."

To illustrate her point, one of the team flew up in the air to tap the bullseye above the net. The crowd cheered as the chair pivoted on the ring and floated down.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30748

"But once their turn is up... I mean most people hate getting this shift. The surgeries are painful and there's certainly the adulation. They mirror the birds we admire. I've even heard the priests say it's the most important job one can do, entertain. They always say we should be thankful for their sacrifice, but..." Gypsum shook his head. "But this is it for them. If they get a new occupation that they can't do before the next surgeries blow by..."

"The get put out Above the Waves," she nods. "I know. No attachments even to our own."

"So why do you admire them?"

"Because no one's body is ever quite the same after their tenure as a Ball-Bird. They're always a little lighter... and that's permanent. They have scars, have you seen them?"

Gypsum shuddered. He didn't, but he had seen those wavy, raised white lines of flesh- a terrible thing to see. They were a permanent mark on a body that you couldn't change with paints and henna and dieting and gorging. Most people tried their best to hide them.

"It shows that something ACTUALLY happened in their lives. That they did something besides flit around."

She looks hard at the court as the Ball-Bird's wheel about. "I hate the fact that this land has turned flying into something to be ashamed of."

~

His name changed again. He became Ellis. And through it all her rhino got older and more rheumy-eyed and he told her things. She told him how her father would read to her from blasphemous texts. "History" books. She told him how they lived on trash that was thrown from people living in the stars and thought it was something holy when it was not. She told him how the people who could afford to, left this world long ago and had built something permanent- and that THAT was the true nature of humanity. Not living off what the Air gave but being like the water. Shifting yet never changing.

He was beginning to feel attached to her, and he felt shame. He shifted jobs to the difficult duties of Stonecarver to the pleasing job of Grower. And still he found her, no matter how different he looked she always looked the same. He grew to know her. He knew her father's name and what he did. What jobs she liked and didn't. Where she got her hat from. He began to know her and inside himself he felt something shifting. Shifting like the tides.

And then it all came crashing.

~

Logically, he was surprised it took so long. The rhino had been walking around getting older and ore feeble and reminded the others of what could happen. People became familiar with it, and that made them uncomfortable.

He wasn't there. If he were, he may have been able to stop it. But as it happened, he didn't know about it till he came back from his current job at the Scavenging Piles. And as he walked back to the hovel that was his home for this cycle he saw Tide. Flayed out in the Town Square and having his parts be picked over by others. Bladders and stomachs were being turned into canteens and balloons. Skin was being stitched into flags and shoes and being made into something that would be thrown away in a few weeks time.

In a pile, nearby, he saw the grey hat.

He ached. He knew he could never see her again. He went out Above the Waves to see where they hung her. There, surrounded by the unlucky Ball-Bird players and those too old to change easily any more- she lay swaddled in cloth. He cried out to her, but no answer came. None ever did. People never knew what the priests did. Before they punished those who defied the transitory nature of life. For those who transgressed, they were sent to hang Above the Waves, suspended in the Holy Air as it whipped around and changed until the Air was too much and dropped them below the cold, immutable Water. Where all the Old was placed to rust and disintegrate. There would be no air burial for these, they would simply be swallowed by the Water. The terrible, hungry Deep.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30744

He slept there. Talked to her. He left only to go to his job. The worst days were those that when he came back a new one had replaced one that had fallen. Each time he wondered if it was hers.

Eventually, all of them were new. As it should be.

He wished for permanence. He cursed the change that took her. He would draw her. He had no skill for it, but carving was another matter. His hands would move across the fruit that they would be given and that they found and he felt air in his veins. He felt Water in his heart as he shaped sensuous melons, bitter oranges, unyielding apples, and gory pomegranates. He worked on those times when he did not work. His names changed. People would ask him or see him carve and get uncomfortable. To carve a face was a soft blasphemy. The face revealed our emotions. The face was the Air in its mutability. It betrays our moods like the wind betrays the moods of the earth. He realized that the Air and the Water were not that different. The air mirrors the Water below, our inability to see the air represents the unknown below the waters.

But it wasn’t enough. All the food rotted and decayed. Just like her. It never stayed long enough.

One day, he looked at his most recent work as felt terror. He saw a half hint of a smile that she never had. She had earrings that she never wore. And worse yet, her eyes... her were shadows.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30749

It was horrible. All his attempts to blaspheme, to make something last, and even then his mind betrayed him. He looked down at the carving knife in his hands and cursed it. The face, bloody with melon innards smirked at his pain.

It was the color that inspired him. He closed his eyes. He chose a name for himself. A name he would take with him. He opened his shirt and started carving.

His scars would be permanent waves to drown the airy sentiments of the wisdom of non-attachment. He would walk shirtless and watch mothers shield those children whom they had for that month's eyes. They would see her face staring at them always and forever. Until one day, when he finally threw their denial, their lie back in their face for one too many times- they would come for him. They would hang him Above the Waves. And he would rock himself to sleep in his cloth coffin, waiting for the Air to take him somewhere that mattered.


----------



## Trench (Sep 19, 2007)

[sblock]Two-Thirty.

BOO YAH!

Like the last one, I like it- but I always seem to like my stuff when I stay up late posting it. Not sure how much of that is sleep dep. The Whiskey has flowed, and the editing has been done. And if I crawl into bed, I can still get some sleep... 

Won't be back till Thursday evening, so we'll see what happens. Good Luck Avatar V![/sblock]


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## Avatar_V (Sep 19, 2007)

ENWorld Short Story Smackdown Summer 07

Round 4, Match 1 (Final match)

Freedom
by Mike Rousos (Avatar_V)

Feet pounded the floor. Hands clapped together. Fans hollered. The crowd’s roar swept over Nathan and shook the pit of his stomach. His left hand held binoculars to his eyes as he watched the basketball game. It wasn’t the NBA, though, it was an International Wheelchair Basketball Federation game. The United States was hosting Japan and the game was close. Japan had just sunk a three pointer, bringing themselves to within one of the Americans as the final minutes of the third quarter ticked away. The din of the crowd reminded Nathan of another sporting event – one that had taken place three years ago. Nathan closed his eyes and remembered. 

Nathan saw a blue track and he felt the rhythm of his stride as he came around the last turn. He breathed quickly as his arms pumped and he ran. Ahead of him, he saw a hurdle. He pushed off with his left foot and cleared it easily. Then there was another. Without breaking his stride, Nathan cleared it. And then the race was over. He soared across the finish line and knew that he had won. His scarlet jersey clung to his body as he gulped air and then water. He looked around and saw a crowd roaring and cheering for him. He raised a fist in celebration and the noise amplified. He was only a junior in college and was the fastest 400 meter hurdle runner in the state of Ohio. Next would be Nationals and he stood a real chance of placing. As Nathan sat in the stands of the basketball game, a small smile spread across his face – that track meet was, without a doubt, the high point of his life. 

He brought his attention back to the basketball game and, there, his fantasy continued. He imagined himself on the court dribbling around defenders and then launching into the air to dunk the ball. Sure, Nathan wasn’t actually much of a basketball player, but in his imagination his athleticism more than made up for his lack of talent at shooting a basketball. He set the binoculars on his lap. But, as he did so, he felt the cool metal rail to his left – a rail that was constantly beside him – and he remembered why his girlfriend had brought him to this game instead of to a Cav’s NBA game. Suddenly, his fantasy changed. Why was he imagining himself jumping over defenders? That was his old life. He would never jump again. Grimly, he saw in his mind’s eye the absurd image of a wheelchair-bound player soaring through the air for a dunk and his smile turned into a frown. He looked at his wheelchair and shook his head. Could he have proven himself the fastest hurdler in the nation? If not that year, perhaps the next? Who knows? Who cares? Nathan leaned back and closed his eyes, no longer aware of the crowd’s cheers all around him.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30748 

Next to him, Nathan’s girlfriend, Jessica, looked over at him concerned. She squeezed his hand, “Nathan, you ok?”

“Yea, Jess, I’m fine.” He picked up his binoculars again. The Japanese team had taken the lead.

“You sure?” Jessica pressed. She took the binoculars. “You’ve seemed really detached and depressed lately.”

“Lately? What, you mean like for the past three years?”

Jessica frowned, “I’m just worried about you, Nathan. You ought to get out and make some new friends. You haven’t seen any of your college friends, other than Art, since you graduated. You can’t always be alone.”

“I’m with you, aren’t I?”

“You know what I mean, Nathan. Basketball, for instance,” she motioned at the game going on below them. “There’s a local wheelchair basketball league. I thought maybe you could sign up and meet some people.”

“Why would I do that? I’m terrible at basketball.”

“You’re not terrible,” Jessica protested, “you just don’t want anything to interfere with your moping! You ought to give it a try. You’re a great athlete, Nathan. I don’t want to see you give that up.”

Anger flared in Nathan’s eyes as he stared at her. “Give it up? Jessica, I never gave it up. It was taken from me!” People around them looked at Nathan and he realized his voice was raised. He lowered it, but the intensity remained. “I used to be an athlete, Jess. Used to be. In the past. If I joined a team now, I would just help them lose. I jumped hurdles. That’s it. Now, I can’t even walk. So what’s that leave me with? Huh? I’ll tell you what – not much. I’ve got nothing to give to anyone. And no one’s got anything I need. Now stop pushing on things that you know hurt me.” 

Jessica was flustered. “But, Nathan, to be an athlete – it was your dream…”

“Dreams? You’re one to talk about dreams, Jess. You’re 25 years old – shouldn’t you be well on your way to being ‘Dr. Jessica, veterinarian extraordinaire’ by now?”

“Nathan, that’s not fair; you know I’m not smart enough for that-”

Nathan interrupted, “And you know that I can’t walk! So quit telling me to do things that I can’t do.”

Nathan turned his wheelchair as fast as he could and pushed himself out of the arena. He sat on the sidewalk for some minutes thinking before Jessica joined him. She came and stood next to him, but couldn’t find the words she was looking for. Instead, she pulled her coat tighter around herself to keep the cool night air from chilling her. Nathan looked up at her. “With this stupid chair, I can’t even stalk out angry. All I can do is roll myself out to the sidewalk and sit there waiting for you to catch up with me.”

“Let’s go home,” Jessica said, pulling her keys out of her pocket.

“No,” Nathan answered.

“No?” Jessica asked, “I’m leaving – if you don’t come, how are you planning to get home?”

“Well, I’m not going with you. I know you think I’m such an invalid I can’t even get myself home at night, but I can call Art. He’ll pick me up.”

“Nathan, I’m just trying to help you,” Jessica pleaded.

“I know,” Nathan conceded, “but you can’t help me. So, it’s really just a waste of your time.”

Jessica frowned and thought for a moment. Then she nodded and said, “Yea, I’m beginning to see that.”

“You know – in there I said that, at this point in my life, I’ve got nothing to offer anyone and no one has anything I need.” Nathan looked up at his girlfriend. “That’s the truth, Jess.”

Jessica stood for a moment looking at him, then she said “You’re right – I don’t have time for this.” And she turned and left.

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Nathan slept in late the following morning. By the time he woke and got ready for the day, guests had already arrived for the barbecue his parents were hosting. It didn’t really bother Nathan that he wasn’t ready when the guests arrived – none of them were there for him, anyhow. Jessica had been invited, of course, but he was pretty sure she wasn’t coming. On the way home the previous night, Art had mentioned that he may drop by, but Nathan knew not to count on it. The preceding night’s sourness was still with Nathan as he wheeled himself out into the backyard where the guests were gathered. 

Nathan made the rounds, politely chatting with the guests, but the party went on for some time and his boredom only increased. Eventually, he decided that no one would care if he headed back inside and spent some time with his Xbox. He wheeled himself up the short ramp into the kitchen. As he passed the kitchen counter and the last of the guests, Nathan heard someone call his name and he stopped. The voice was strange – it sounded vaguely feminine, but he couldn’t be sure. “Nathan,” it said again, and he looked around. The voice was mesmerizing; he was sure he would have remembered if it had belonged to one of the guests. He turned around, looking for the speaker. Then, the call came again and Nathan stopped cold. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The voice was most certainly coming from a watermelon sitting on the counter. A watermelon that had been sliced open and had the face of a woman carved into it. As he stared, the watermelon’s mouth moved and it spoke, “Hello, Nathan.”

Nathan looked around. There were other guests in the kitchen, but no one else seemed to hear the watermelon. He wasn’t sure if he should answer. Was he hallucinating? He didn’t feel sick. At last, he looked at the fantastical fruit and informed it, “I’m sorry, but watermelons don’t talk.”

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30749

The watermelon watched him for a moment, as if unsure whether that was all he had to say. Finally, assuming that Nathan was done, the watermelon responded, “It seems that you’re mistaken.” Nathan was sure that the watermelon was smirking at him. It made him angry to have a large fruit smirk at him. It continued, though, “It seems, Nathan, that you have never seen a talking watermelon before. It seems that there are many things you have not seen.”

“What are you talking about?” Nathan was trying to talk quietly now in case someone noticed him talking to a side dish. 

“I can show you,” came the offer. Nathan waited for a little more explanation. And the watermelon did continue – in just as frank a fashion: “Eat me.”

“Excuse me?” Nathan was beginning to get somewhat uncomfortable, “I think that you’re a figment of my imagination, and my life’s really too screwed up right now for you to make it any worse…”

“Eat me.” Nathan looked at the watermelon, unsure what to say. It persisted, “Eat me. Just a small piece, there’s a knife next to me. Go ahead.”

Not sure what else to do, Nathan reached for the knife and slowly cut off a piece of the watermelon’s cheek. It gave no indication of pain. Then, watching the watermelon woman the whole time, Nathan slowly lifted the melon to his mouth and ate it. He chewed. He swallowed. Immediately, his world began to spin. He dropped the knife as vertigo struck. If he had not been sitting already, he certainly would have fallen. The ceiling whirled around and the walls and guests spun around him. 

Nathan could feel his pulse in his temples and he raised his fingers to his head. He closed his eyes and fought to hold in a scream as his sense of balance deserted him completely. The spinning sensation continued and he opened his eyes again. Now, though, the scene was different. He was no longer in his kitchen. He was in a car. The vehicle was careening out of control and Nathan watched in horror as the world outside the car spun in a whirlwind around him. Now his scream came uninhibited – he had been here before. He knew this car. He had been in it three years ago – on the day he lost the use of his legs. These memories were not new and Nathan began fighting to get out of the car. But, of course, there was no time for that. Everything happened in a flash. Nathan saw the sky spinning past him. But then he saw something that had not been in these memories before. He saw water spinning past him. There had been no water near his accident. Then, he saw other cars – they were flying. Before he had time to process the bizarre scene, though, his car crashed into the sea and he was thrown into the icy water. 

Water forced its way into this nose and mouth and, instinctively, Nathan swam upwards. It was very difficult to swim – he almost couldn’t do it – but just as his vision waned for lack of breath, he broke the surface of the water and gasped deeply for air. For some moments he just fought to stay afloat and breathed in the fresh air. Only after assuring himself that he was not going to drown, did Nathan really look around and take in the amazing scene around him. 

He was treading water in a beautiful sea. The shore was mountainous and not terribly far off. Up upon the highest peak, Nathan saw what he could only describe as a castle. The sky above him was a brilliant blue and was nearly cloudless. There were a few seagulls. But, the sky also held the strangest of all the things Nathan had yet seen here. For flying over him were a multitude of vehicles and buildings – cars, trains, houses – all with rickety wings, sails, and dirigibles keeping them afloat. Some – especially the large buildings – moved lazily across the sky. Others, such as the trains, sped along – often dangerously close to the water. Near him, Nathan saw the remnants of a wing in the water and he realized that he had been in one of those very vehicles – a flying car that had somehow lost control and deposited him here in the water. 

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30745

Not wanting to tire before he could safely reach shore, Nathan began swimming towards the mountains. It was much harder going than he would have expected, but he stroked and kicked furiously. Suddenly, something dawned on Nathan that had been lost in all of the prior commotion. He was kicking as he swam. He could move his legs! He felt them powerfully propelling him, just as he remembered. Encouraged and amazed by this, Nathan kicked harder and moved more swiftly to shore. Finally, he reached the rocky shore and crawled onto the beach. 

Very carefully, he placed a foot flat on the ground. Then the other. Then, slowly, he straightened his legs and stood. He looked down, he was wearing his old track uniform. The joy at feeling his own strong legs under him again was almost immeasurable, but even as he stood and stretched, concern entered his mind. For, the situation was not as simple as it had first seemed. For, there was more peculiarity here than just the health of Nathan’s body. His body was just as he remembered it being all those years ago, but tied around his waist were two large stones. They hung from his waist and weighed him down terribly. He could stand, he could walk, but he could barely run at anything faster than a jog with the great weights hanging from his hips. He could never race like this – he could hardly jump over anything. The tremendous difficulty in swimming to shore made sense, now. 

Frustrated, Nathan sat down on the rocky beach and examined the weights that tethered him. They were large oblong rocks. He picked one up, measuring it. Nathan figured that each of them must have weighed easily over twenty pounds, probably more than thirty. Strong cords connected them to a rope belt that encircled his waist. At once, Nathan set to work unknotting the ropes. But, despite his best efforts, the ropes were tied securely and would not budge. No matter how he pulled at the ropes, they stayed firmly fastened around his waist and to the stones. Nathan tried slipping the rope belt off, but it was too snug and wouldn’t fit over his hips or ribs, no matter how he contorted his body. Growing more and more upset at the terrible weights, Nathan found the sharpest rocks the beach offered and set to work sawing at the ropes. The efforts were in vain, though. He sawed furiously, but the ropes never so much as frayed. 

At last, defeated, Nathan sat on the beach, drenched in sweat and seawater, and looked out over the waves. He couldn’t see the other side of the sea, but as he looked up, he once again saw the flying vehicles. He couldn’t imagine how they flew – they seemed so unwieldy. Then, he looked back at the ropes around his waist and it struck him – this world was clearly magical. Perhaps it was magic that bound the ropes around him. He turned, remembering the castle up on the mountain top. He looked up at it. If this land was somehow enchanted, perhaps whoever lived in that castle would be able to tell him how to overcome the enchantment and drop these burdens that were so determinedly fastened to him. Perhaps whoever lived in the castle would be able to tell him how to go home. Though, as he looked at his legs, Nathan wasn’t sure he wanted to go home. For a few minutes, Nathan stood on the beach, waving his arms overhead, trying to get the attention of one of the pilots above him. They were too far away, though. Nathan turned and looked up at the castle again. He would have to get there himself.

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

The first leg of the journey was difficult. The beach quickly turned into steep and rocky hills and Nathan had to crawl up most of them on hands and knees as they were too steep to walk up. Even without the stones around his waist, it would have been a difficult hike. By the time he reached the first level terrain, he was breathing heavily and his legs were badly bruised from the stones bouncing against them. He took a short break and then continued on. Although the incline was much less severe now, the trees around Nathan became increasingly dense until, at last, he was pushing his way through nearly impenetrable foliage. His progress was no faster than it had been on the hills, and to make matters worse, the stones kept tangling in the brush and holding him back. Nathan hoped that he was still heading in the right direction (the green canopy overhead prevented him from seeing the keep’s towers), but he had no choice but to trust his sense of direction and press on.

It wasn’t until the light in the forest began to fade that it occurred to Nathan that he might need to eat and sleep before he was able to reach the castle. In fact, he was suddenly aware of the fact that he was quite hungry. Not sure where to find food, he continued on – not sure where food would come from, but also unsure what else to do except to try and reach the mountaintop castle. He continued trudging through the thick foliage for another half hour before it was too dark to see any further. Even if it had been light, though, Nathan’s legs were quite sore and he had to stop and rest. With the last of the daylight, Nathan settled down next to a large tree trunk, his stones on either side of him, and slept.

Nathan awoke early the next morning. He wasn’t sure whether it was the first rays of light through the canopy that woke him or the tremendous pangs of hunger and thirst. Either way, he woke and began searching immediately for something to drink. There was no water to be found, though – only the dew on the ground. Nathan tried to press dewy leaves to his lips, but the moisture from them was scarce. With nothing else to do, he pressed on, cursing the weights that swung from his waist. 

The forest Nathan hiked through was beautiful in the morning sunlight, but he could not enjoy it. The stones at his sides and the hunger in his gut occupied all of his thoughts. Then, just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, around noon, he left the forest and came out onto a plain. He had been hoping for a reprieve from the thick forest brush all day, but he quickly longed for the shade of the trees as the scorching sun beat down on the plain fiercely. At least he could see the castle again. He was nearer to it than he had been before. Encouraged, he trekked on. 

Shortly after leaving the forest, Nathan encountered what was simultaneously the most encouraging and the most depressing scene of the day. There were some tall sparse savannah trees scattered around the plain he walked across and as he drew near to one, he looked up and realized that there was fruit hanging from its branches! He couldn’t clearly identify the fruit, but it seemed to be some sort of large berry. The excitement of the discovery was very temporary, though, because it became quickly apparent that he had no way of retrieving the food. There were a few pieces of the fruit lying near the tree and Nathan greedily devoured them. Their taste was splendid, but they were far too few to satisfy his hunger. He tried climbing the tree, but the trunk was sheer and his stones weighed him down heavily. He tried throwing the rocks against the trunk to shake down berries, but to no avail. After some time, Nathan gave up on harvesting the berries and continued his journey. He stopped by all of the trees he saw to check the ground for berries, but he never did manage to pick a berry that hadn’t already fallen. And, tasty as they were, the fallen berries were generally somewhat rotten and no matter how many trees Nathan found, what sat on the ground was not enough to sate his hunger. 

And so things went for the rest of the day. Nathan wearily made his way across the expansive land, drawing ever nearer to the castle. It wasn’t until the sun sank behind the horizon that Nathan became truly frightened. That fright was triggered by the howl of a hyena. Dusk had settled fully when Nathan heard the spine-tingling laughing cry. He saw eyes peering at him from the darkness, and he tried to run. He didn’t know where he was going, but he wanted to get away from the hyenas as quickly as he could. The entire way, though, the stones fought him – slowing him, hitting his legs, even threatening to trip him as they swung around at his sides. Though he ran, the hyena howls continued. Then, in the distance, Nathan saw a light. At first it was a small point of illumination, but as he drew nearer, he could see it was a campfire. With all he had, he ran. The hyenas were still following him, just waiting for the perfect time to pounce, he supposed, but the campfire promised safety. Onward he charged, in spite of the stones. Finally, exhausted, cramped, and sweating, he drew near to the campfire and he heard the howls of the hyenas recede. 

The first thing Nathan noticed by the campfire was a rhinoceros. It was an enormous beast. It was more than a little startling, but Nathan could see that it leaned to its left, putting no weight on its front right foot. The second thing he noticed was the woman sitting beside the rhinoceros. She sat huddled, knees to chest, arms wrapped around them, staring into the campfire. She had a brimmed hat that would serve her well to keep the blistering sun from her face come daylight. She wore a haunting expression that Nathan could only describe as longing and sad. Then, abruptly, it hit him. He knew this woman. He wasn’t used to her in a hat and next to a rhinoceros. But sitting on the ground not more than forty yards from him, staring into a campfire, was Jessica.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30747

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Nathan stood for a moment, trying to process how she could be in this bizarre world with him. He dismissed the thought quickly, though, as he realized that he didn’t even have an explanation for how he had entered this world. He considered approaching her, but he looked at the stones around his waist and thought about the sad expression on her face. Wherever she was going, he would only keep her from it. He didn’t want to burden her. He very nearly left. But, by now, his thirst was overwhelming. And the laugh of the hyenas still rung in his ears. And so he stepped forward slowly. When she still didn’t look up from the fire, he addressed her, “Jessica…” His voice cracked as he spoke; he hadn’t considered that he’d said nothing for the past day and half.

Her head jerked up in surprise and she looked at him, wide-eyed, “Nathan!”

Before she could say anymore, he interrupted her. “Jess, I’m just here to find out if you know where I can find water. I know you’re going to want me to come with you. But you’re more than capable on your own. I have these weights,” he motioned at the stones, “attached to me magically. I can’t remove them. Everything I do is hampered by them. I can’t run, I can’t jump, I can’t climb. I need some water, so I’m coming for your advice. But don’t weigh yourself down with me. You’ll be more likely to survive this hellish place alone.”

Jessica looked at him for a while, processing and making sense of what he had just said. Then, slowly, she stood and lifted her hands. As she did, Nathan saw that attached to her wrists were the same ropes that were bound about his waist. And hanging from each wrist, Jessica had a large stone – not unlike those he wore. 

“You…” Nathan was utterly shocked, “You have them too?” Jessica just nodded and began to cry. Slowly, the stones still weighing heavily, Nathan went over to her and they sat down together. She handed him a canteen and he drank. Then, for a long time, neither said anything. They watched the fire together and just rested. At last, Nathan motioned at the rhinoceros next to them, “So, who’s your friend?”

Jessica chuckled a bit, “I found him yesterday. He’s very friendly, but he seems to have sprained his ankle. I think I could set it in a big rhino-sized splint for him if I could gather some wood and something to tie it with, but I just can’t do a thing with these,” she held up her wrists and let the stones hang for a moment before allowing gravity to pull her arms back down. “I feel so helpless.”

Nathan nodded, “I understand.” An idea occurred to him. “Maybe tomorrow I can set it for you. You’ll have to tell me what you need and how to do it, but I’ll bet if we work together we can fix him up. My stones are on my waist, not my arms. Then, after that, maybe I can put you on my shoulders to get some of those berries fresh out of the trees.”

“I thought you weren’t staying with me.”

Nathan shrugged, “Maybe I won’t be so much deadweight after all.” He placed a hand on the rock that lay next to Jessica’s knee, tethered to her wrist. “I think we have more in common than I realized.”

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

The following morning was one of industry. Jessica showed Nathan the stream nearby where she had filled her canteen. He drank greedily from it. Then, they visited the fruits trees and standing on Nathan’s shoulders, leaning against the trunk, Jessica pulled down all the berries they could eat. Throughout the morning, the rhino limped around, grazing. Shortly before noon, Nathan’s shirt was torn into makeshift ties and, under Jessica’s instruction, Nathan carefully set the giant animal’s bad ankle. Then, their pockets full of berries, and Jessica’s canteen brimming with water, they bid farewell to the rhinoceros and set off again towards the castle.

As it turned out, the berries were good to have, but they soon were going to have far more water than they had counted on. For that evening, just as they were transitioning out of the plains and back into mountains, there was an abrupt clap of thunder and rain began pouring down. There was no cover, so they simply got wet. But the worst of it was not the inconvenience or the discomfort of it. The worst of it was the way it made their climb up the mountainside far more treacherous than it would have been otherwise. They slogged through muddy passes and up slick stone slopes, every step crucial as they carefully picked their way over the slippery ground. It seemed that as they went the rain only got harder and the mountain only got steeper. And their climb only became more dangerous. Until, finally, as they walked along a narrow mountain path, Nathan’s stones became too much for him and he stumbled. He slipped on the slick ground and nearly fell from the mountain’s face. Holding on to the edge of the narrow path and unable to pull himself up, he called for Jessica. For a dreadful moment, it seemed that she could not hear him over the torrential rain. He called again, “Jessica, help me!” And, then, she turned, saw what had happened and rushed to him. Dropping to her knees on the muddy path, she extended an arm to him. Ironically, the dangling stone was nearer to him and he grabbed a hold of the rope fiercely. Jessica leaned back and Nathan clamored back up onto the ledge. For several minutes they just sat on the path, their feet hanging over the edge, the rain drenching them. Then, Nathan leaned over and kissed Jessica. After a long embrace, they stood, and continued their climb. It was only a short distance later that they found a cave they could use as shelter from the rain. There, they spent the night.

The next morning, they breakfasted on soggy berries and Nathan went out to survey how far they had come in the night. He was pleased to find that they were nearly to the top of the mountain and the castle was only a short ways off. And so, after their light breakfast, they set out once more. The mountain ledge was far easier to navigate in the daylight and without the rain. 

Early in the morning, they arrived at the gates of the castle. They both were a bit nervous as they approached the portcullis. Neither spoke, but they clenched each other’s hands tightly. As they approached the gate, it was suddenly drawn up. They still saw no one, but they ventured inside. The castle’s courtyard was nothing like Nathan had imagined it. Grey outer walls surrounded a beautiful yard, which, in turn, surrounded a great white keep. Parked in the courtyard were a number of the strange aircraft Nathan had seen when he had first arrived. Liveried servants ran to and fro, all miniature people – gnomes, Nathan might call them. The spectacle of the gnomes running back and forth was almost enough to distract Nathan from the most striking thing of all about the courtyard – the other guests.

Spread around the courtyard were dozens, maybe hundreds, of other people. Nathan knew them all. There were old classmates, teachers, relatives, neighbors, even some of Jessica’s friends that Nathan only knew through her. Like Nathan and Jessica, they all looked a bit worn and dirty. And like Nathan and Jessica, every single one of them wore stones that weighed them down and impeded them. Some wore them around their waists like Nathan. Others had them on their ankles or their shoulders. Some had the stones draped around their neck. Two days ago, Nathan had been shocked to discover that Jessica was weighed down as he was. Now he found that everyone he knew stood before him with stones of their own. He had no time to speak to them, though, for at this moment, a door halfway up the keep opened and a trio of gnomes emerged with an enormous horn. Two of the gnomes in front bent over, resting the horn on their backs. The third gnome took a deep breath and blew the horn loudly. The walls shook as the horn bellowed. 

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30746

Then, the herald straightened and shouted as loud as he could, “Her majesty, the Empress!”

And with that announcement, a door at the base of the donjon opened and a gnome woman, decked in many lavish robes, strode forth. Nathan looked at her and squinted in concentration; he knew her face from somewhere! Then it struck him – her face had been on the watermelon he had eaten to begin this whole adventure. She rapped her staff on the ground to get everyone’s attention (though all eyes were already fixed on her), and she spoke “Welcome to my manor. I’m glad to see you all here. Congratulations on arriving despite the inclement weather. Please, make yourself at home – there’s no reason to still be wearing those stones.” 

The crowd stirred and Nathan eagerly reached for his knots. They were as tight as the first day he had arrived, though. Try as he might, he could not release the cords. He looked around and saw that everyone had the same problem. Frustrated, he spoke, “Your majesty, our stones cannot be removed; these ropes are enchanted.”

The Empress laughed, “The stones certainly can be removed.”

Nathan was growing upset at her teasing, “Your majesty, I have tried. It is impossible.”

The Empress continued to chuckle as she looked at him, “Nathan,” she addressed him, “it is no more impossible than arriving safely here at my palace.”

Nathan grunted, “That would have been impossible too, except…” his voice trailed off and he looked up at Jessica. Then he addressed her quietly, “Jessica, I can’t untie these ropes. Can you?” Obliging, she stepped to him. Her hands were unsteady because of the weights hanging from them, but it didn’t matter. She barely touched the knots at Nathan’s waist and they unraveled themselves. Nathan felt himself lighten as the stones fell to the ground.

Jessica stepped back, surprised. Then, hope spread across her face. She touched her hands to her wrists and said, “Nathan…” He went to her, tugged on the knots ever so gently and they fell apart. The stones fell to the ground. The others in the courtyard saw this and became excited. They ran to each other and, soon, no one was burdened with a stone. Celebration erupted. The jumped and shouted and cheered. Nathan grabbed the ropes to his rocks and ran through the open portcullis. He took hold of the ropes and spun as if he were a state champion in the hammer throw instead of the hurdles. Then, he let them fly. The rocks spun through the air and finally caught in the branches of an old tree. Others cheered and ran to throw their stones from the mountain as well. Hundreds of stones littered the mountain side. Many, including Jessica’s, joined Nathan’s on the tree – hanged there, burdens put to death, never to weigh their owners down again.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=30744

Nathan closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and spread his arms victoriously.

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

“Nathan,” the voice came. Then again, “Nathan, are you all right?” Nathan’s eyes snapped open and he looked around. His mother was standing near him, looking concerned. He was in his wheelchair, in his kitchen. A half-eaten piece of watermelon was in his hand. “Are you ok?” His mother asked, “You looked very ill for a moment just now.”

“I’m fine,” Nathan said, still dazed from what had just happened, but trying not to show it.

“Well, why are you inside? Most of the company is outside.”

Nathan had to think for a long time before he could remember all the details of what was going on. Then, as it all came back to him and he remembered the barbecue and the previous night, he answered, “Oh, sure. I just came in where it was quieter so I could make a phone call.” He took his cell phone out of his pocket. “I want to talk to Jess. I’m hoping she can come over.” As he dialed, he took another bite of watermelon.


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## Avatar_V (Sep 19, 2007)

Well, there it is 

[sblock]It's late and I'm tired, so I'm going to keep this short. I like the story overall, but I am afraid that it sags a bit in the latter half of the middle (during the adventure across the fantastic land). Given more time, I'd love to add more interesting stuff to that section. Also, I have a nagging feeling that I'm overlooking some typos (the proofreading has been necessarily brief tonight ). Ah well, such is the nature of a 72 hour story. 

Best of luck, Trench!
[/sblock]


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## Avatar_V (Sep 19, 2007)

And now, having read my competition, let me say...
[sblock]


			
				Trench said:
			
		

> May The Air Bring You Down
> <snip>really cool story<snip>



I really like this one, Trench. Very cool concept, and a touching story. Well done!

The two things I like most in a story are untethered imagination and deep, thought provoking characters/plot. I think you nailed both of those.
[/sblock]


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Sep 21, 2007)

This is a tough one! Good writing, guys...
I will probably not have time to write my final judgement til Saturday, sorry.


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## Herremann the Wise (Sep 23, 2007)

My judgment has just been officially sent. Congratulations to our two final competitors, I look forward to seeing which way this one goes.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Trench (Sep 23, 2007)

Having read my esteemed competition, finally...

[sblock]I like it. You can tell you took a bit more time than I did, as everything is much more fleshed out. That very well may hurt me. I like the metaphor of the hanging rocks and the fact that weight is what we carry with us, not put upon us. All in all, your story is honestly more polished than mine.[/sblock]


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## Sialia (Sep 24, 2007)

I realize this is completely and utterly off topic, but I wanted to mention somewhere on the boards that I sucessfully gave birth to a son a few days ago, and this seemed as likely a place as any to reach most of the folks I habitually hang out with online, at least when I had time to be online, which I realize hasn't been much lately.

We're all healthy and well.

Please don't derail this fine, fine thread by cluttering it up with congrats posts. If you want to write to me, I can be reached at sialia care of gmail.com

Wishing all the contestants as much joy from all their creations . . .

--Sialia


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Sep 24, 2007)

*Herremann the Wise*

And so finally we come to the end of Smackdown/Ceramic DM with two great final entries. Avatar_V has given us the tale of Nathan, the wheelchair-bound former athlete, desperate to achieve some form of peace within himself while Trench has given us a wonderful fable of change and permanence.

Both contestants have used their pictures well and in some cases decisively. I appreciated the way how Avatar_V neatly weaved each picture into the
story, none avoided and with all given due attention. For such a disparate bunch of images, this was well done indeed! However, Trench has for mine
taken two of those pictures and wrought absolute and dramatic wonder out of them. I refer to the Foxy one's most excellent Rhino/Girl drawing and the Tree loaded with strung up stones (or in Trench's case swaddled heretic-bodies). Sometimes you just have to nod in appreciation of how a
writer takes an image and extracts so much meaning and emotion out of it.   Trench's use of these images was not only a standout for this match, but the entire competition. Trench made these pictures really mean something to me.  Well Done!!!

In terms of overall reading pleasure, I have to side with Trench's efforts once more. The initially confusing world into which Trench invites us
becomes a surreal background to the themes at hand. There is no explanation of the world, nor an over-reaching logic to permeate it, instead the focus becomes purely the interactions between Kendrick/Gypsum/Ellis and the girl with the grey hat and Tide. In death, she was remembered and so I feel, achieved the victory, rather than the defeat at the hands of the priests.  

While I find it difficult to pinpoint my exact feelings towards this story, I knew the first time I read through it (like carpedavid's from the previous
competition), I was reading something special.

Avatar_V has not been outclassed though by any stretch. The eventually gentle tale of Nathan's inner peace was a neatly constructed affair. The
characterisations while believable and realistic did not however engender for me though the same level of attachment and emotion as Trench's. Perhaps the resolution while suitable and to an extent obvious, was just too simple for the tale? It seems unfair to judge this story so because I did really enjoy it. While elements could have been tightened (the long journey to the castle was exactly that), I think the overall product is good enough to overlook such things in regards to the three day writing environment. In the end, a good and fine effort.

Perhaps the only downside of each story in terms of a final was the level of typos/editing issues in the final submission. While the time limit is
certainly an obvious factor, it seemed that both our writers could have maybe used with an extra day to re-edit their pieces after a night's rest or
break. While not the biggest deal, in comparison to other final round stories, it was noticeable.

And so obviously enough my vote for the final round goes to Trench with a story like carpedavid's before it (the previous winner in CDM/smackdown) that ended up meaning something to me and that would stay in my memory to be recalled for the rest of my days. Congratulations to Avatar_V too for such awell constructed story, as well as to all the other competitors who penned such wonderful stories throughout. And finally congratulations to my fellow judges for their constructive comments as well as other important behind the scene things: Rodrigo for keeping this whole thing together so well, as well as Maxfieldjadenfox for the wonderful pictures that I believe made this story smackdown something special too.

*maxfieldjadenfox*

You guys! This round was a real pleasure to read, and a bitch to judge.  Both of your stories are lovely and probably worthy of publication in a bigger  
arena. As always, some typos and tense disagreements and such marred the  perfection, but I had a great time anyway. 

Avatar V has given us a dear fable called Freedom. It is well  written, with strong characters and an engaging premise. I thought the picture  use was 
good, and that's saying something with pictures as odd and diverse as  these.  There are a few typos and such, but 72 hours is a short time to put  together a complex story, so I won't complain much. I liked this story, it has a  sweetness to it. It feels familiar somehow.  Overall, nice work, and an  enjoyable read. Thanks, Mike.

Trench's May the Air Bring You Down is a haunting, brilliant piece  of  writing. Seriously, go over it again, clean up the legion of typos and send  it to  Realms of Fantasy or something. Better yet, use it for a jumping off  point for NaNoWriMo and make it a novel. It's an amazing concept, this world of  transience, where nothing is valuable enough to hold on to. 

I have an emotional attachment to certain pieces of my art. The girl and  rhino (titled Daydreams, if anyone's interested) is at least 20 years old, and  one that I could never bear to sell. I will never be able to look at the picture  again without thinking of this story. 

On to brass tacks. Once again, there are typos, and a couple of tense  disagreements. Obviously this is a function of the time constraints and with a  
story this good, I won't fault you too much. The sentence "watch mothers shield  those children whom they had for that month's eyes." is a little klunky, once  more due to time constraint, I'm sure. Maybe "watch mothers shield the eyes  of their temporary children" or something? Anyway, it's a small  quibble.

Picture use is strong. I never felt that any of the pictures were  shoehorned in. All of them made sense in the context of the ever-shifting world. 
Wow, Shawn. Wow.

The warhammer has been quiet this week, as if it were biding its time. I  think it knew that I wouldn't be needing it anymore, and that it was headed for Craig's List. It seemed a bit sad as it started its hum this time, as if it knew  that in any other competition, Avatar V would have walked away with the prize.  But Trench really brought it, and since there can be only one, Crunch, Squish.  Mike, we barely knew ye. 

*Rodrigo Istalindir*

At long last this edition of Ceramic DM (or whatever we call it now) comes to a close.  For the finals, we have a pair of allegorical tales.  Perhaps unavoidable, given  the set of picures, but when I assembled them I'd hoped for something a little more concrete.  My disappointment was short lived, however, as we have two excellent stories.

Avatar V brings a tale of loss and acceptance and renewal.  Nathan's journey through the Empress' realm hits the right notes of confusion and gradual enlightenment.  The set up is good, and helps ground the characters in the here-and-now, lending weight to the conflict and striking the right balance so that Nathan comes off as sympathetic with just enough 'whiny' to make the rest of the story meaningful.  That's no mean trick -- it would have been very easy to veer too far one way and make him thourougly unlikeable, or the other and make him a Hallmark caricature.    The writing is evocative and patient, letting the story get to the point where the pictures make sense rather than leaping from scene to scene.  

The stones in the tree is solid -- the metaphor is critical to the story, and its appearance at the end is emotionally solid and appropriate.  The wheelchair basketball is also good, setting the stage for Nathan's descent into self-pity.  The remaining pictures are average, fitting the scene, but not as integral.  

Overall, a very good story, but just a little too neat in the eventual resolution.  Spreading the journey out over several scenes, interspersed with real-world events between Nathan and Jessica, would have made Nathan's epiphany more organic and believable.

Trench takes a more surreal approach, and gives us a story that stands among the best of Ceramic DM entries.  Things start off a little shaky -- I like stories that drop you into the middle of events and leave you to gradually discover what is going on, but still, he almost lost my interest.  Fortunately, he pulls it together in time, and the payoff is emotionally powerful and actually gave me a little shiver down my spine.  Bravo!  

The author does an exceptional job of pulling in the (very well hidden) common elements in the pictures and cleverly weaving the events of the story around them.  Each stands well alone, but has tendrils that tie the whole together.  The only false note (for me) was the wheelchair basketball players -- the notion of being so light they could fly but so fragile they couldn't stand was excellent, but then being able to still lift the chairs seems really out of place.  A minor issue, to be sure.  The tree as sacrifical ground is creepy, and with the girl and the rhino you capture not only the physical but the essence, as well.  I'm glad max approves of the use, as it really struck home with me.

With that, we crown Trench as the new champion.  Avatar V, you did a superlative job, and the tales you put together throughout the competition is impressive as hell.  You and Trench both did consistently exceptional work.  Thank you both for the wonderful stories.  

Thanks, too, to the judges for their hard work, and a special 'gracias' to maxfieldjadenfox, who proves herself a double threat with her writing and artwork.  For every one of her pictures that ended up in competition, there was another equally good waiting in reserve.  

Good luck to you masochists participating in NaNoWriMo!


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## Avatar_V (Sep 24, 2007)

Congratulations, Trench! The sting of defeat is made negligible by having an opponent so worthy.  

A big thank you to the judges, also; I know what a time-commitment this must be! So thanks for wading in week after week, warhammers in hand (in some cases), to help us move this contest along.


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## Trench (Sep 24, 2007)

Wow. Cool.

Thanks to all the judges and everyone who wrote anything here. Despite the crazy hours, I really enjoyed playing with the pictures we received.

Realms of Fantasy is on the list. Part of the reason I did this was the series of stories I have in the submission rotation are getting moldy. Also, I felt I was having ahard time kick starting myself for a while, and this is just what I needed. It's nice to have at least one story (we'll see if the other three are salvageable) to put in the rotation as well.

So thank you to everyone you read and wrote (special thanks to Avatar V for keeping me on my toes). It's nice to come back from an unpleasant doctor's appointment to this.


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## Avatar_V (Sep 25, 2007)

If you don't mind me asking, where all do you submit stories to? I've never submitted anything for publication but I've been thinking about it. Thanks in advance for any info


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## Trench (Sep 25, 2007)

http://www.ralan.com/

One of the most comprehensive listings of speculative fiction markets. Organized by pro to semi-pro to freebie to even anthologies. Also breaks down which stories each mag looks for, which is... relatively on-target. Sadly, it comes down to editor's tastes and he doesn't list things like "This editor doesn't like humor". That you have to track down on various websites.

What he doesn't do is mention which one's are prestigious. Flytrap is is in the paying section, but get published there and you'll be read by heavy hitters. Mags like Asimov's and Realms of Fantasy are a given. But mags like Brutarian, while they pay the most, won't get read as widely (Brutarian is actually some guy with a huge trust fund who publishes his own magazine semi-sporadically) 

But Ralan is the best place to start. I've been published in two anthologies (small press) through titles I found there.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Sep 25, 2007)

Just so you guys know, I haven't forgotten my promise to review the earlier stories that won by default, but it may be a little while. If ya'll are still interested, let me know and I'll send my warped viewpoint along to you ASAP. Sadly, I won't have the benefit of the war hammer...

Dwarves must keep weird hours. It was 12:18 AM. I was just finishing up my homework for my tropes class (I have got to stop overcommiting myself!) when there was a knock at the door. Samwise, guard dog extraordinare, didn't even flinch. In fact, I'm suprised I heard the knock over his snoring. I opened the door, not having learned my lesson the last time this happened some two months ago, and there was my friend, the short, stocky, hairy guy.
I could hear the hammer starting to whine in my studio. Plugging my ears against the noise, I yelled, "What do you want at this time of night?"
He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me, a look of pure disgust on what little I could see of his face through his massive beard.
It was my check. Stamped on it, a whole bunch of times, were the words: Insufficient Funds.
Boy was my face red. I went into my studio and retrieved the hammer, wrapped it once more in its velvet cloth and handed it to the dwarf. He looked it over, grimacing as the whine became a full on scream. Sam woke up and began to howl along.
Apparently, I hadn't done any damage to it because the dwarf turned, stomped out of my screen door and into the night.
Sam sighed and went back to sleep. He's old. It's late. I couldn't blame him.


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## Avatar_V (Sep 26, 2007)

Trench said:
			
		

> http://www.ralan.com/




Thanks, Trench; that looks like a great resource.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Sep 27, 2007)

The Writer's Market is a good old standby. It has all manner of publisher's data, and even some agent info and such...


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