# CERAMIC D.M. Final Judgements In- New Champion!



## alsih2o

48 hour deadline
 4 illustrations to start
  finishers only
 no peeking


 we have to save a spot for our last winner, but if anyone else is interested now would be the time to speak up, if we have interest i will gather up those who sign up first and we will start in the next couple of days.

 good luck


----------



## Ashy

Wharg!!!  I WANT to!!!  But I can't    Too much other stuff to write on me schedue for the next month.   Sorry, Clay - slot me for the next one please.....  (shucks)


----------



## megamania

Not this time.  I'm doing too much with my Story Hour.


----------



## Mirth

RL problems _may_ get in the way for me this time. My son is having some respiratory problems. We're going to the doctor today @1:30pm. If everything's okay with him, I'm set for go. If not, well... I'll post back and let everybody know what happened at the doc's.

Jay


----------



## Sniktch

Yeah, I have a lot on my plate, too, atm.  Not sure I want to get into writing anything else or my brain may explode.  I'd be happy to lend a hand as a judge, though


----------



## alsih2o

mirthcard said:
			
		

> *RL problems may get in the way for me this time. My son is having some respiratory problems. We're going to the doctor today @1:30pm. If everything's okay with him, I'm set for go. If not, well... I'll post back and let everybody know what happened at the doc's.
> 
> Jay *




 do let us know mc, we all hope it goes well


----------



## Drawmack

I am in, so in, totally in.


----------



## Mirth

Well, I'm good to go  

Turns out my son Rohan (honestly not from LOTR at all, just a happy coincidence) almost certainly has asthma, so we're taking him to an asthma specialist soon (poor guy, he's only 13 months). Our doctor really helped us calm down about the situation (my wife was ready to take him to the hospital because he was having so much trouble breathing) but I'm still amazed that a little guy like him can handle as much medication as we have to throw at him now. 

That coupled with the fact that I closed the retail business that I've had for the last five years for good on Sunday has made for a super busy and stressful week for me. I still have to sell off fixtures, get rid of remaining stock and clean the place up for the next tenant by March 15th but my schedule will be more flexible, so I should be able to squeeze Ceramic DM in there.

Not that anyone here needs to know any of that 

I'm kind of surprised that there haven't been more signups by now. I expected to come back and see the roster full.

Come on people! Let's get WREADY TO WRITE!!!!!


----------



## arwink

Wahoo!  New Ceramic DM!

I gots me judging pen all a-warmed up and ready to start a-commentin'


----------



## Maldur

arwink said:
			
		

> *Wahoo!  New Ceramic DM!
> 
> I gots me judging pen all a-warmed up and ready to start a-commentin'  *




I m ready for some intuitive judging


----------



## Mirth

Wha? We've got more judges than contestants. That's just not right. Hey Clay, maybe you should put [Ceramic DM] at the front of the title?


----------



## alsih2o

actually, my intent was to put out 4 illustrations  for everyone and pick 7 contestants out from those, but we seem to have a lack of interest.

 odd being as more than 20 people emailed me to be included "next time"

 hmmm, maybe try again in a week or so


----------



## Drawmack

How about emailing invites to some of the people who emailed you?


----------



## alsih2o

well, 6 players and 2 backups to go


----------



## Maldur

we need more players!!!!


----------



## Wippit Guud

Well... the wosrt thing that could happen would be me coming in last... so hell, sign me up.

Now then...  what in the 9 hells is a Ceramic DM competition, anyways?


----------



## Barendd Nobeard

Wippit Guud said:
			
		

> *Well... the wosrt thing that could happen would be me coming in last... so hell, sign me up.
> 
> Now then...  what in the 9 hells is a Ceramic DM competition, anyways? *



I think I know what it is....so sign me up!  Then, when alsih20 explains it to you, I'll know if I know what it is.


----------



## Wippit Guud

Well, it sounds like it's happened before, right? Just post me a link to the last one.


----------



## Mirth

Links to the first two competitions are in my sig, everybody.


----------



## Wippit Guud

Well, after giving thread 2 a quick run-through...

... I am SO dead...


----------



## Barendd Nobeard

Wippit Guud said:
			
		

> *Well, after giving thread 2 a quick run-through...
> 
> ... I am SO dead... *



Nah, it'll be fun.

Besides, if you get stumped, just draw on what you know.  Since you're from PEI, I suggest "Anne of Delta Green Gables (a.k.a., "Anne of Green Gables" meets "Call of Cthulhu").


----------



## arwink

Could work on some of us.  I've been known to appreciate lovecraft references almost as much as Gaiman references


----------



## SonOfLilith

I know I am a major lurker, but I want to give this a shot.


----------



## alsih2o

lurkers and all are welcome


----------



## alsih2o

Drawmack said:
			
		

> *How about emailing invites to some of the people who emailed you? *




 i recently suffered a complete p.c. meltdown and lost everyones email addy 

 i know nit was wanting a shot, and i expected a return of shadoes lady


----------



## Speaker

Hey there again, folks.

I am soooo tempted...  Weighing the pros and the cons...  I am quite a bit busier this time then I was last time.

The agony of a tough decision.

Bah, what am I thinking.  Ceramic DM or catch up with RL work?  The decision is made already.

I'm in, Alish2o.  Bring on the wild pictures, the challanges, and the last minute deadlines.  And it's nice to be back.


----------



## Mirth

Clay,

YGeM.

Jay


----------



## NiTessine

Mirthcard is in? Finally, I can test my mettle against him once more! You're going down, d'you hear me! DOWN!


----------



## alsih2o

Speaker said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I'm in, Alish2o.  Bring on the wild pictures, the challanges, and the last minute deadlines.  And it's nice to be back. *




 woo-hoo, 2 more....and i sent out ome invites to previous participants and wanna-plays


----------



## SonOfLilith

> lurkers and all are welcome




Alrighty, then I want in if it is not too late.


----------



## Maldur

It would be fun to see what they will come up with this round 

I wonder if there will be as much modern fantasy stories?


----------



## Taladas

I'm ready for another go. Just let me know if I am a player, alternate or lurker in the datastream.


----------



## NoOneofConsequence

Barring unforeseen circumstances, my hand is up yet again!

Also:

NiTessine - nice to see you over at the Attic.


----------



## Mirth

NiTessine said:
			
		

> *Mirthcard is in? Finally, I can test my mettle against him once more! You're going down, d'you hear me! DOWN! *




Bring it on! I'm up for a CAGE MATCH! Are you up for a CAGE MATCH?!?!

_btw, love that Christopher Lee quote in your sig _


----------



## NiTessine

NoOneOfConsequence, I have always been there... [/kosh] I just don't post much, and the last story I wrote there was pretty much exactly a year ago.

Mirthcard, when I'm finished with ya, not even your mother's gonna recognize what's left!


----------



## Drawmack

The Attic?


----------



## alsih2o

that is looking like our 8, and at least 1 alternate.

 mirthcard
 drawmack
 wippit guud
 barrend nobeard
 son of lilith
 speaker
 nitessine
 taladas

 with noone of consequence as the first alternate...now, mirthcard is a 2 time champ, and has been talking smack to a certain nitessine for a good while now, so if these guys are up to facing each other in round 1 i will be shifting the bracket that direction

 barring objections from these 2 i plan on having the first pictures posted around noon cst for everyone to peruse...

 you guys ready to geek-rumble?


----------



## Sniktch

Who are you using as judges, Clay?


----------



## Drawmack

bring it on, bring it on, bring it on - I want wippit guud. Anyone who has a misspelled devo reference as a name can't be that hard to beat.


----------



## alsih2o

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *Who are you using as judges, Clay? *




 i am gonna have to honor the previous services of maldur and arwink...but you are the first person i am gonna call should on of them drop 

and it is noce to see drawmack has started out with some smacktalking 

 everyone have their brain lubed up ?


----------



## Mark CMG

Best of luck to all of the participants!


----------



## Sniktch

alsih2o said:
			
		

> * i am gonna have to honor the previous services of maldur and arwink...but you are the first person i am gonna call should on of them drop
> 
> and it is noce to see drawmack has started out with some smacktalking
> 
> everyone have their brain lubed up ? *




Well, put me down as an alternate player, too, should you need one.  I'll just sit here on the sidelines and hope that someone's computer melts


----------



## alsih2o

Mark CMG said:
			
		

> * Best of luck to all of the participants!  *





 ain't mark just groovy?


 sniktch, i have you marked down as first judge and second player alternate 

 anyone else wanna call someone out? i have drawmack calling out wippit, and mirthcard and nit have been frothing at the mouth for a month, anyone else wanna say somehting they may have to eat later?


----------



## Drawmack

alsih2o said:
			
		

> and it is noce to see drawmack has started out with some smacktalking




I've been studying - at least that what I tell the GF when I'm watching wrestling.


----------



## NoOneofConsequence

Drawmack said:
			
		

> *The Attic? *




It's a Baldur's Gate fanfic site - I write fiction there mostly. Some of the authors are quite good, though quality can be variable.


----------



## Wippit Guud

Amazing... this is the first ever thread I've read where people spell my name right.

As for Drawmack... Dem's fightin' words.


----------



## Drawmack

Wippit Guud said:
			
		

> As for Drawmack... Dem's fightin' words.




Bring it on man. I'm going to teach you the meaning of your name.


----------



## Mirth

I'll be off and on the boards today, so I'm ready to go.

And NiT, I'd bring your mother into this, but I don't want to wake her up right now 

(Don't mess with the YoMama master!)


----------



## alsih2o

so, this is the breakdown as far as i can read it...i am not going easy on any round here, we are all grown ups and you can expect some bad craziness right out of the gate 

mirthcard vs.
nitessine

drawmack vs.
wippit guud

barrend nobeard vs.
son of lilith

speaker vs.
taladas


----------



## Nail

mirthcard said:
			
		

> *And NiT, I'd bring your mother into this, but I don't want to wake her up right now *



Yoink!!


----------



## Wippit Guud

I eat bad craziness for breakfast!


... wait, that doesn't make sense...


----------



## Sniktch

Wippit Guud said:
			
		

> *I eat bad craziness for breakfast!
> 
> 
> ... wait, that doesn't make sense... *




It does to me, but then, I have hair in places monkeys don't


----------



## alsih2o

mirthcard vs. nitessine rd. 1

 pic 1


----------



## alsih2o

mirthcard vs. nitessine
 pic 2


----------



## alsih2o

mirthcard vs. nitessine
 pic 3


----------



## alsih2o

mirthcard vs. nitessine

 last pic, 48 hours fromthis post gentlemen


----------



## barsoomcore

Go, ENWorld writers! Woot!

Bad craziness, breakfast, and, er, NiTessine's mother.

 

Good luck to everyone!


----------



## alsih2o

drawmack vs. wippit guud rd.1

 pic 1


----------



## alsih2o

whoops


----------



## alsih2o

drawmack vs. wippit guud

 pic 2


----------



## alsih2o

drawmack vs. wippit guud

 pic 3


----------



## alsih2o

drawmack vs. wippit guud

 pic 4, 48 hours from this post folks


----------



## barsoomcore

DRAWMACK! WIPPIT! DRAWMACK! WIPPIT!

*throws popcorn*


----------



## alsih2o

barrend nobeard vs. son of lilith rd. 1
 pic 1


----------



## alsih2o

barrend nobeard vs. son of lilith 

 pic 2


----------



## alsih2o

barrend nobeard vs. son of lilith 

 pic 3


----------



## Mirth

Got 'em chief  I'll probably be pushing the deadline like normal


----------



## alsih2o

barrend nobeard vs. son of lilith 

 pic 4, 48 hours from this one..


----------



## alsih2o

speaker vs. taladas rd. 1
  pic 1


----------



## barsoomcore

Where's the SMACK!? I wanna see some SMACK! I payed good money for this show, I wanna see some SMACK!

Hit 'im again! Wooo!


----------



## alsih2o

speaker vs. taladas 

 pic 2


----------



## alsih2o

speaker vs. taladas

 pic 3


----------



## alsih2o

speaker vs. taladas

 pic 4, 48 hours from now is the deadline


----------



## barsoomcore

Make 'im cry like a baby! Come on! You call that smackdown? I call it smack-wimpy-no-good-pointless-something-or-other...

Man, that started out a lot funnier than it finished. 

*sits back down*


----------



## Drawmack

man and I was ready for a challenge - you gave us three pictures that I can link together in about 10 seconds and one that is easy to fit into any fantasy story. Damn it - oh well guess the story will have to make up for the lack of descent pictures. - I'm off to whip whipit.


----------



## barsoomcore

Ooh, smack-talking the ref! I like to see that! Grrr, baby, grrr!


----------



## Nail

I'm with *Bar*, here.....

More smack!   Hit 'em again!  Insert funny picture jokes.......just don't give the other guy any ideas!

BTW, alsih2o, very good stuff!


----------



## Wippit Guud

Drawmack said:
			
		

> *man and I was ready for a challenge - you gave us three pictures that I can link together in about 10 seconds and one that is easy to fit into any fantasy story. Damn it - oh well guess the story will have to make up for the lack of descent pictures. - I'm off to whip whipit. *




heh, can we both agree to have new pictures assigned? 

(now, is that Wip thinking it's too easy, or too hard?)


----------



## alsih2o

Drawmack said:
			
		

> *man and I was ready for a challenge - you gave us three pictures that I can link together in about 10 seconds and one that is easy to fit into any fantasy story.  *




*alsih2o covers his notebook with one hands and makes notes, staring at drawmack*


----------



## Drawmack

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *alsih2o covers his notebook with one hands and makes notes, staring at drawmack*




I hope you're making notes on how to make round II harder. I (rolls a d20) laugh at your vain attempt to intimidate me. I shall (rolls a d20) stand on top of the pile and proudly exclaim that I got here through blood, sweat, tears and bribing the ref.


----------



## Wippit Guud

*Wippit touches Drawmark with a non-house-rule-or-erratea Harm*

*rolls a d4* 3 HP left, buddy.


----------



## Drawmack

holds up my character sheet SR 304, DR 900/+5 - ha


----------



## Wippit Guud

*Holds a Zippo up to the character sheet*


----------



## Drawmack

*points to notice on bottom of sheet*

Made from Asbestos


----------



## barsoomcore

Is this going to turn into one of those competitions where the competitors (one of whom has already bragged about how simple this is) get so involved in knocking each other over the head that they forget all about the contest itself and so the little mouse that entered at the last second and nobody even noticed despite his outrageous Mexican accent actually ends up winning and the two "big" contestants stand there looking silly after the cup is awarded?

I'm just wondering.


----------



## Nail

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> *and nobody even noticed despite his outrageous Mexican accent actually ends up winning and the two "big" contestants stand there looking silly after the cup is awarded?
> 
> I'm just wondering. *




As long as there's no_ "Andale'! Andale'!  Yee-ha!  Yee-ha!"_, I'd be okay with that prospect.


----------



## Sniktch

and as long as the little mouse is really the Iconic Rat Bastard in disguise


----------



## SonOfLilith

yes, I'm in! I can't wait to see the pics.


----------



## alsih2o

SonOfLilith said:
			
		

> *yes, I'm in! I can't wait to see the pics. *





 um, they are on page 2, they have been posted since just before noon today.

 i hope you check back in soon.....


----------



## Taladas

Saw the pictures and have begun writing. I would smacktalk some but I am facing Speaker and I will need all my focus on writing. 



Mustn't panic       AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


----------



## Speaker

Since Taladas was polite enough to hold back, I suppose I must do the same.  Bother.  

Now, to write.  Good luck to all contestants.

If only I had a Time Stop in my pocket...


----------



## Barendd Nobeard

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *
> 
> 
> um, they are on page 2, they have been posted since just before noon today.
> 
> i hope you check back in soon.....
> *



But if he doesn't, I can win my round with a four sentence story.


----------



## Mark CMG

Barendd Nobeard said:
			
		

> *But if he doesn't, I can win my round with a four sentence story.   *




Oh my!  This would be both sad and classic!


----------



## alsih2o

Barendd Nobeard said:
			
		

> *But if he doesn't, I can win my round with a four sentence story.   *





 i sent him/her an email and it bounced, i hope this hasn't turned into a terrible faux pas (sp?)


----------



## Sniktch

Barendd Nobeard said:
			
		

> *But if he doesn't, I can win my round with a four sentence story.   *




Don't count on it.  If he happens to disappear (which would be terrible, I agree), you will have to bypass the fury of the alternates to get to the next round   NoOne and I aren't about to let you advance without a fight (are we, NoOne?)

Edit:  Oh, and you got faux pas correct, Mark, unless you're from Xanth


----------



## Drawmack

I have his email at home, I'll send one to him tonight. Ash - can I pass your email addy on to him?


----------



## alsih2o

Drawmack said:
			
		

> *I have his email at home, I'll send one to him tonight. Ash - can I pass your email addy on to him? *





 of course


----------



## Wippit Guud

Looks like I have to pull out already, hopefully a standby will have enough time to take my place... seems my toddler decided to learn weapon focus - bite, and used it at daycare. I'm trying to explain that humans use man-made weapons, not natural weapons, but he doesn't seem to get the ida just yet.

On top of that, today is the 29th anniversary of my mom screaming "GET ME SOME PAINKILLERS!" and people seem to want to make it impossible for me to type... or walk... or see straight....

So, good luck to everyone else, I'll still read it, just don't have the time to write anything (the plan was write a poem, just to be different)


----------



## alsih2o

Wippit Guud said:
			
		

> *Looks like I have to pull out already, hopefully a standby will have enough time to take my place... *




 sorry to lose you wippit, but thanks for being a stand-up guy and letting us know.

 looks like nooneofconsequence has his shot here! noone, wanna check in and let us know oyu are on it?


----------



## Maldur

wooohooo it started


----------



## Drawmack

will the reset button on my round be pushed? I feel this would only be fair to allow the alternate equal opportunity with myself. I want to win, but I want to win fair.


----------



## Mirth

Anyone heard from NiTessine? Just want to make sure that he got the pics...


----------



## alsih2o

Drawmack said:
			
		

> *will the reset button on my round be pushed? I feel this would only be fair to allow the alternate equal opportunity with myself. I want to win, but I want to win fair. *




 i am wondering about this my self....if noone checks in soon we can see what he feels, he should be ready to take off wiht a story from your pics, but i could also see a complete re-drawing of the round for oyur bracket


----------



## Wippit Guud

Just use new deadlines... Drawmack has his current deadline, and the replacement has 48 hours from my post dropping out, I doubt they've actually written or thought up anything, as they were watching all 3, and not focusing on just one.

(if you're wondering, I'm at work, lost of free time, but with contant calls coming in, I'd never get it done)


----------



## Nail

Awwww,....I was looking for a Wippit upset......

So much smack, so little time.


----------



## Sniktch

C'mon, NoOne, I need you to step up or they;ll be calling MY name next


----------



## alsih2o

o.k., if i can get drawmack and sniktch to check in we will restart their rd 1 with new pics....you out there guys?


----------



## Drawmack

bring it on - he's mine.


----------



## Sniktch

Yeah, I'm here, and ready to show Drawmack the inherent superiority of Marylanders


----------



## alsih2o

drawmack vs. sniktch rd. 1 

 pic 1


----------



## alsih2o

drawmack vs. sniktch

 pic 2


----------



## alsih2o

drawmack vs. sniktch

 pic 3


----------



## alsih2o

drawmack vs. sniktch

 pic 4, 48 hours form this post.


----------



## Sniktch

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *drawmack vs. sniktch
> 
> pic 3 *




AAAAaaaahhhhh!!  My eyes, my eyes!  

Once I recover my sight, Drawmack, prepare yourself for a good ol' redneck can o' whoopass to be unleashed on ya


----------



## Drawmack

Well Sniktch - if you're writting a story about Red Man and broken down cars then I'm pretty sure I can beat ya. Anyway may the best geek win.

Als - much better pictures this time.


----------



## alsih2o

Drawmack said:
			
		

> *
> Als - much better pictures this time. *




 i was actually going for giving very little with the other set, to see what could drawn out in the writing, sometimes i fear going too far in handing over a story.

 either way it is nice to get feedback on the pic selections


----------



## Drawmack

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *
> 
> i was actually going for giving very little with the other set, to see what could drawn out in the writing, sometimes i fear going too far in handing over a story.
> 
> either way it is nice to get feedback on the pic selections  *




My problem with the other set was this:

Guy Lifting a heavy rock - Prisoner
Crator - The prison he's in, it's actually a quarry
The Cement Face - Entrance to the prison.

I litterally had the connection that quickly. The only one that it would have been any work to figure out where it fit was the birds. In these competitions I enjoy attempting to blend strange visiuals into a cohesive storyline. With this set up pics I can do that. There is not a single picture in the set that instantly related to another picture, I've got to figure out a story that ties them they don't really tell a story that is already cohesive.


----------



## Sniktch

Drawmack said:
			
		

> *Well Sniktch - if you're writting a story about Red Man and broken down cars then I'm pretty sure I can beat ya. Anyway may the best geek win.
> 
> Als - much better pictures this time. *




Don't be too sure - Red Man and broken down cars can make for some pretty good stories sometimes.  However, I don't see how to fit our pics into that type of tale, so you're probably spared 

Good luck to you, man


----------



## Mirth

mirthcard said:
			
		

> *Anyone heard from NiTessine? Just want to make sure that he got the pics... *




Seriously people. Has anybody heard from NiT?


----------



## NiTessine

Yes, I've seen the pictures, and I'm working on a story... Our duel will come to pass. Fear me!


----------



## SonOfLilith

I don't think I will be able to make the deadline, literaly dozens of projects fell into my lap today and I have to put all of attention to them right now. I _might_ be able to finish, but I don't know, but I'm trying.


----------



## alsih2o

SonOfLilith said:
			
		

> *I don't think I will be able to make the deadline, literaly dozens of projects fell into my lap today and I have to put all of attention to them right now. I might be able to finish, but I don't know, but I'm trying. *




 let us know as soon as you can, as we are having no free rides this time, your match will have to be rematched


----------



## Speaker

Ugh.

I just came back from surgery (nothing serious, just getting a tooth removed and reciving in return a gaping hole in my mouth), which means I am now under a diet of antibiotics and painkillers.

Just wanted to inform all of you in advance in case I end up posting something I will regret, or I fall asleep with my hands on the keyboard!

Cheers.


----------



## Drawmack

Round I Snitch vs. Drawmack
Set’s Avenger


I do not know if it was the searing heat on my face of the loud crackling of the roof timbers but I woke just in time to run from the building as it went up in flames. Looking back on the building I saw flames stretching into the sky obscuring the view of everything else and heard the screams of my brethren trapped inside. (pic II) Taking a quick head count I knew that Aldreth was not among the survivors. Every ounce of strength drained from my body and into the sands like water spilling from a broken cup. My knees buckled and I fell into a ball of quivering jelly as the tears erupted from my eyes. Time lost all meaning as I lay there on the sand but when the tears stopped my resolve started. I would find the people who did this and I would bring them to justice.
The next day I approached Serdalion and requested a private counsel with her. Turning so that her long blonde hair swirled like a dervishes dress she took one look at my face and said, “It is a sin to have eyes so beautiful be tainted with a hatred so strong. Anything I can do to restore the exuberance I knew from you yesterday will be my pleasure to do. As you know we are without a building right now so secluded outdoors will have to do.” Then she began to walk away slowly, gently grasping my hand to take me along.
“Aldreth was my confidant, I have known him longer then memory serves me. Our lives have always been intertwined and we always wished to keep them that way.” I stated with my emotions rising almost pulling me into a rage.
“Yes my child, the two of you were inseparable. I remember the day you came to the commune. The two of you hand in hand with a story of love persecuted. I remember a tear in my eye as I heard your story. Now all of your dreams have been shattered and you feel that someone must pay for this.” She spoke the words with a gentle and knowing tone as if she had once been in the place where I stood now.
“Yes, faith mother that is exactly how I feel. Only I have no idea who could have done this. We always kept to ourselves and bothered no one. What kind of a hate filled monster attacks the defenseless under the cover of night? I do not even know where to start looking for the culprits, let alone how to make them pay.” Again my emotions flared and I could feel the heat of anger in my face which surly was turning my fair skin ruddy with the rush of blood.
“In New Belston you will find an oracle. She has a devoted following and will be easy. Just go into town and ask where you might find The Coven of the Poisoned Lance. They will help you find the answers you seek. No go before the flames of hatred burn to weak to push you forward. Those flames will never go out, they must either be used to hunt those who deserve it or they will slowly consume you from the inside out.” After speaking this she kissed me on the forehead and walked away.
Looking at the rising sun I started on my trek. New Belston was only about twenty miles to the east. The trip along the well traveled trade routes should be reasonable safe and I should make town by nightfall if I walked briskly. Grabbing a full water skin I headed for town, alone. On the trek to town I commune with Set, praying for the power to overcome those that would destroy his temple and asking for his aid in completing this mission. As I prayed I could feel power being poured into by body. Almost as if a piece of set himself were beginning to run through my veins. I knew that my prayers were being answered but that I was far from completing this task. As the sun was beginning to set I saw the walls of New Belston rise up from the desert. 
At the gate I was asked my business in town. “I come seeking guidance from The Coven of the Poisoned Lance.” With that reply the gates opened and I was directed to a building near the center of town. I was also told that they would not see me anymore today so I should probably get a room at The Maimed Golem which was close the coven’s temple. Upon seeing the inn I instantly knew where it had gotten its name; the inn was inside the husk of a gargantuan wood golem. You entered through the mouth, the inn was in the chest and the rooms filled the rest of the body. Getting there late yielded me the last available room, in one of the feet. Before retiring I grabbed a bite to eat and a couple pints of ale. It took me nearly a half an hour to walk to my room. Though I was glad in the morning when the first lights of the morning woke me.
As any other morning I prayed to set. However this morning the power I had felt as I prayed yesterday returned and redoubled. I climbed from the window instead of navigating the busy inn hallways. This placed me right by the coven’s temple. I approached and asked for a counsel with the oracle. When questioned about my purpose I simply replied, “Set has guided me here for answers.” Upon hearing this I was guided to a chamber in the center of the building. 
Sitting in front of me were three very lovely human women, tall and dark with flaxen hair. While their eyes showed the wisdom of ages their bodies looked like they were still in their prime. Their shapely bodies accented beautifully by the flowing orange dresses. They looked at me and I realized they did not look similar, but rather exactly the same.
“We have been expecting you. We saw the smoke rising from Set’s shrine and knew that he would send an avenger on his behalf.” They all spoke in unison, their voices making the most melodious chord.
“I wish to avenge the wrong on my god and the death of my beloved.” I spoke in an icy tone.
“Your voice rings with hatred strong enough to burn a city. We will see what we can see”, they spoke flatly as they closed their eyes.
After a short time a light flashed in the hand of the one in the center and a white dove appeared in her hand. The three stood up and implored me to follow them. The walked outside with the one holding the dove calmly by her side. (pic IV)
“The bird will fly slowly and circle allowing you to follow it. This bird will lead you to those you seek. Move swiftly, before your hatred burns you out.” The spoke briskly and then walked away. 
The bird was flying northwest leading me into the mountains behind the place where the shrine stood two days ago. I followed the bird always with my eyes on the sky. I know that Set was protecting me and I did not see even one dangerous animal on the entire journey. On the second day I found myself near a stream where I filled my water skin. Looking into the water I noticed a two headed baby alligator. I scooped it up into my hand for a closer look. (pic I) The bird was circling in a steady place now and I knew that the time of reckoning was close.
I knelt down and poured every ounce of hatred that I had into a prayer to Set for the power to destroy those who committed the insurrection. My hands began to get hot and I knew that I would have the power I needed. I then ran to the spot where the bird was circling. 
There I saw three apparently deranged men. They were wearing nothing but green skirts with swords on their backs. One of them with horns on his forehead was squatting on a rock looking in my direction and when he saw me he let out a loud squealing hiss. (pic III) Then he lunged for me.
I felt the burning in my hands again and I reach out and touched him as he landed. A single shriek of pain escaped him as he fell to the ground unconscious. “By the name of Set I rebuke ye and come to take his vengeance.” I screamed as the other two rushed in.
I feel a burning in my ribs as a sword slashes at me. While I dodge the one I saw coming. Then flames erupt from both of my hands burning the two still standing. 
The one on my left hurls his sword at me as he looses his footing. I stumbled dodging it and the other one took the moment to leap on me and began stabbing me with a dagger. “In the name of set I smite you” and he shattered into a hundred pieces. The unarmed one came rushing back in with a rock in hand. Without time to react the rock collided with my back causing great pain. As I reeled to the ground I yelled, “Inflict” and blood gushed from his chest as he fell to the ground lifeless. I grabbed a dagger from the ground and placed it firmly into the chest of the unconscious one. Then I sat to heal myself and realized how close to death I was.
In a shower of light Set appeared to me. “You are mine avenger. I have sought long and hard for someone like you to right the wrongs done me on this world. Go forth and stop all who stand against me. Purge the world of those who would do me harm or disgrace my name. Be the bastion of my faith in a world of folly.” The image then disappeared and I slept for days. When I woke I was completely healed and knew that my life had new meaning and new purpose. I was the world’s Avenger of Set.


----------



## Barendd Nobeard

*Barendd Nobeard vs. son of lilith*


The rain had finally let up.  The sky was beautiful but the mud was hell.  No matter, the slaves still had to work the fields; grapes must be picked when they are ready, not when it is convenient.  The Duke smiled as he thought of the crop.  Yes, technically, the land belonged to the church, but since he supplied the slaves, he stood to gain the most profit.

"My liege," bowed Father Kinkaid as the Duke entered the church.  "It is an honor to receive you."

The Duke got right to business.  "How are preparations for the festival going?"

"Very well, my lord," answered the cleric.  "While the slaves pick this year's crop, we shall be feasting on the best vintage from ten years past."

"Excellent!" exclaimed the Duke.  Without another word, he left.  Father Kinkaid judged the Duke's mood to be foul.  He hoped the festival went smoothly, for he enjoyed his duties as spiritual leader; he would hate to be sent to the—no! better not even to think of that!

The Duke rode away from the church, through the vineyard.  Stopping at the bottom of the hill, he turned for one last look at the unplucked vines, remember how they had looked just a few short months before (photo 3)..  In a few days, they would be bare of grapes, and the Duke expected this to be his finest plucking ever.

The Duke's thoughts turned to his siblings.  They were all toeing the line, and would pose no threat to him.  Tonight, they would drink the family vintage and toast his health.  The Duke chuckled, remembering all of their weaknesses, and how he had exploited them.  Playing them against one another had been most fun; he almost wished he could do it again.  Oh well, he sighed to himself, perhaps that one slave he had been dreaming about would keep his mind occupied during the festival….


The church bell sounded the morning hour.

The slaves hurried from the hovels, but there was no excitement in their rapid pace.  Picking grapes was hard work and they did not enjoy it.  Doubly worse, they were expected to pick faster than was humanly possible, for each year a new record crop must be plucked.  To do otherwise was to invite disaster, probably directly from the Duke's hand.

"Hey, why all the rushing?" asked a slave named Gregory.  "Grape time," mumbled an old-timer who move away quickly.  Gregory turned to his brothers and sisters, "Grapes?  I wonder what that's about?"  "You'll learn soon enough," answered another slave.  "It's my fourth year for grape time.  Pick fast or you'll be whipped.  And don't eat any!  You'll lose a finger for each one you eat!"  The slaves glances around furtively, "My name's John," he whispered quietly to Gregory before moving away in the crowd.

Gregory could not tell if this slave was serious.  If he had learned one thing since they had been captured, it was that people rarely told the truth or helped one another in this hellhole.  Nonetheless, he thought it prudent to warn his siblings, so he relayed what he had learned.

"Gee, Gregory," said his youngest brother Robert, "we'd better pick fast then."

"And don't eat any," admonished middle sister Janice, already stressing rules and propriety.

"I may not have to pick any grapes," said the eldest sister, Marsha.  "I think the Duke likes me."

No one had any response to that, expect to glare at her with anger—and a little envy.  They continued on their way to the vineyard, slogging through the mud.


After a few hours picking grapes, some slaves actually believed that death would be a welcome reprieve.  They were not to be so lucky.  Gregory's middle brother, Pietr, did note with some satisfaction that eldest sister was working her finger to the bone, just like the rest of them.  He nudged his brothers, tilting his head toward her, and giving a silent laugh.  They smiled back for a second, and went back to work.

They were all filthy.  The mud was deep, and the few slaves who had shoes quickly lost them in the muck.  Still, the baskets were filled quickly, only to be replaced by more empty baskets which needed filling.

Just as the sun approached its zenith, a commotion drew everyone's attention.  Someone was running through the vineyard….chasing someone, perhaps?  No, chasing some_thing_.  Something small.

All the slaves were soon following John.  Several slipped and slid down the vineyards gentle hills.  A few were trampled to death; that was not good news for the harvest size.

Finally, in the muddy waters of the stream, at the edge of the vineyard, the slaves caught up to John.  As Father Kinkaid ran to get some soldiers to force the slaves back to work, everyone else looked expectantly at John.

"I got 'im!" John exclaimed.  His hands were at his side, hidden by the muck at the river's edge.

"Got what?"  "Got who?!"

John looked a little sheepish.

"Uh….this."  He pulled one hand up out of the muck.  He was holding a frog (photo 2).

The older slaves sighed in exasperation and went back to work.  Perhaps if they got back fast enough, Father Kinkaid would only punish John and let the rest of them live.

John continued to look sheepish, until everyone but the Gregory and his siblings had left.  Then his expression changed drastically.  "Guys," he whispered excitedly, his face charged with excitement, "this is it!  Our way out!"

"What do you mean?" Gregory asked, a little confused.

"This is no ordinary frog!"  John climbed out of the river's muck, with a little help from Gregory.  He still had the frog in one hand.  "It's a Michigan Jumping Frog.  They grant wishes."

Everyone's eyes got wide; then they broke into nervous smiles.

Jean relaxed, and that was his mistake.  For the frog was waiting for just such an opportunity.  It leapt from his hand, and jumped toward the river.

Fortunately, littlest sister Cynthia caught it.  Unfortunately, she immediately made a wish.  "I with we could overthrow thith evil duke and be fwee!" she lisped happily.

The sky grew dark.  Thunder clapped.  And a strange transformation began.  All of the siblings began to morph and change shape.  Some subtly, some not so subtly.  Oh, they were all still human—for the most part—but their clothes changed, their hair grew longer, and each sibling had a black mask affixed to his or her face.

But even more horrifying, John appeared to turn into a large rat!  The frog cackled wickedly, and hopped into the river, never to be seen again.

Gregory scooped up the rat.  "Well, we got Cynthia's wish.  But how will turning us into an evil rat-worshipping cult overthrow the Duke?"  (photo 1)

"Maybe we could gnaw his knee caps off," offered Robert.  Pietr punched his younger brother's arm.

"No, there's got to be some other way," mused Gregory, "but what?"

'"A-hem."

Everyone look at the rat.  It was speaking to them.

"First, let's get out of here before the soldiers arrive."  They ran down the river, until the got to some trees that offered a little cover.

"Next, don't you silly kids know anything about evil rat-worshipping cults?" demanded John-rat.

The cultists stared intently at the floor, embarrassed to admit that they did not recall the techniques and powers of rat-worshipping cults.

Exasperated, John filled them in.  "It's not just the Duke.  His whole family is evil.  Ever since they were kicked out of the pear tree vineyard they used to run.  We have to take out The Duke *and* his four siblings.  Otherwise, we'll get a ruler just as bad as The Duke."

"But how will we manage that?" asked Janice, a worried look on her face.

"Simple," said John-rat.  "At the festival tonight, we will poison them.  We will use our evil rat-worshipping cult powers to add poison to their wine before they drink it.  When they die, the next in line to the throne can ascend and that person will free all the slaves!"

The cult eagerly discussed their plans for the evening.  Since Cynthia and Robert were the smallest, it was decided they would have to sneak in to the wine preparation tent and spike the beverages.


The rat cult spent the rest of the day feeding John-rat certain herbs and plants, forcing lots of water down his throat, and then milking him (for he was now a she-rat) to produce the poison.

"Remember," John-rat admonished before the youngest (and most adorable) rat cultists set off on their task, "The Duke's family drinks from vessels the same shape, but different sizes.  The Duke's is the largest, put about half the poison in his.  Put half of the remaining poison in each vessel, continuing from largest to smallest, until you have one vessel remaining.  Put all the remaining poison in that vessel."

"We know!" whined the two youngsters.

"Good," said John-rat.  He smiled, but his sharp teeth and beady eyes made the smile kind of creepy.


With the excitement of the festival, Robert and Cynthia tried to sneak into the wine preparation tent.  They made it!  There before them, lay their goal!  (photo 4)

They crept forward, poison in hand.  Soon, the deed was done, and they crept back outside, to join their rat brethren.

About an hour later, the time for the drinking of the vintage arrived.  The Duke called forth his siblings.  He named them:  "Princess Tracy!  Prince Christopher!  Prince Daniel!  Princess Laurie!"  The crowd seemed stunned.  When had they been elevated to the status of Prince and Princess?  Could it be?  "I have been elected Prince of the region!"  A great cheer went up; well, as great a cheer as four tipsy royals can manage without advanced warning.  The sacred vessels of the former rulers of the pear trees were placed into the hands of the royal family.  They drank.  Deeply.

"Ahhhh," they all exclaimed, as was the tradition.

"Ack!" they all exclaimed as they died, which was not the tradition.

The slaves all celebrated for hours.  They stopped picking grapes, drank wine, had Father Kinkaid drawn and quartered for complicity in the Duke's wretched leadership, and slept the sleep of drunks.

The next day, they work.  (photo 1 again)  "Hey," Gregory asked John-rat, "who's the next in line to the throne anyway?"

John-rat smiled evilly.  "Why, I am, of course.  Now back to work, slaves!"  Terrified, they all began picking grapes again.  Occasionally, King John-rat would fire his evil rat lord death rays near someone's feet, just to make him "dance" for his amusement.

"Hey!" complained the slaves, "why didn't you just kill The Duke with your evil rat lord death rays?"

"Because," answered King John-rat, "it's so much sweeter to have your work for your freedom and achieve it, before I take it away.  Dance!  Dance!"


The End?


Thanks for reading "The Brady Kids Get Sold Into Slavery" – available soon on DVD and VHS!


----------



## Barendd Nobeard

Well, I'm done.  Stick a fork in me.

I hope you get yours done, Son of Lilith.  If not, I look forward to the alternate challenger!


----------



## Taladas

Taladas vs. Speaker

	The wild boar was no challenge. He simply ran, pushed on by chasers. He ran driven by fear down the trail and right towards me. I rested on the overhanging branch with the spear in my right hand. I heard and then saw him coming. His gait was ungainly and clumsy, very different from the boars I usually hunt. I sent a small prayer for forgiveness and then speared him right through the heart. Swinging down from the tree, I saw him stagger for a few steps and then collapse. I heard his last breath and tears fell down my face. I had hunted countless boar and other animals but this boar was like no other. His name was Silas and he was a human magically transformed into a boar. He had stolen from Charzigne, the wizard who rules this land. Charzigne delights in punishment. He laughed as he polymorphed Silas into a boar. He had ordered us to hunt him down and kill him.  I picked Silas up and carried him back to the village (pic #1). No one even looked at me on the way back. 

	Charzigne had ordered that I bring back Silas’ body for his examination. But first I had to march though the village to let all see, what happens to those who would steal from Charzigne. My fellow hunters quickly dispersed into the village leaving me alone to walk through the town square. I trudged in silence afraid to look up, knowing that they all knew that I had killed him. I was almost out when I heard her. Elaine, Silas’ wife, was wailing. Her hysterical sobbing tore at me like a cat of nine tails, shredding my beleaguered soul. A rock was thrown, hitting my face and knocking me over. I hit the ground dazed. Several other rocks were thrown, most missing. I pulled Silas over my shoulders and got up again. I carried him out of the village. 

	On the road to Charzigne’s abode is Farmer Jon (pic # 2). Farmer Jon is called by some in the village the First. The first to be punished. It happened before my grandfather was born. He speared a locust the size of a squirrel, that was eating his crops. He didn’t know that it was one of Charzigne’s great experiments. Charzigne was enraged and turned him into a statue as a warning to others. But Charzigne was far more cruel than to simply turn Farmer Jon into a lifeless statue. He left him aware of his surroundings and able to speak but unable to move. Farmer Jon has long since gone mad. 

“Greetings lad, how fare ye?”

“Hello, Farmer Jon, I have come to see the master and must be quick about it.”

“Yes, He is not one for patience and he does have a temper on him. Best be off with you lad. I have a field to clear and you have your errand, but please tell Bess and the children that I will be home soon, you know how they worry when I am out late.”

Staring into that immobile face all I could say was “Yyy…yes, I will tell them.”

	Soon I am in the field of flowers were Charzigne holds his audiences. I put down Silas’ body and waited. Charzigne orders that all who seek him come here and wait. He will come when he is ready. Then I see it moving, through the field of flowers (pic #4). A giant puppet of a man in black robes and a blue coat. The face has blue skin and yellow hair. The arms are being controlled by two figures in black. It is a form that Charzigne likes. It is all him even the creatures controlling his arms. He crosses the field and towers over me. 

“YOU HAVE DONE AS I HAVE ORDERED!”

“Yes, your liege.” 

“THEN WE SHALL CELIBRATE! WE SHALL ROAST THIS BOAR AND FEAST UPON IT!”

The shock rolls over me. 

“THE ENTIRE VILLAGE WILL ATTEND!” 

I am slashing at him before I realize it. The knife pulled from my belt. The figure on the right arm falls as I stab it. The left swings the arm of the puppet but it’s ungainly and I easily move away. 

“BETRAYAL! YOU WILL BE PUNISHED!”

In a rage I leap on the puppet stabbing and tearing. And it starts to fall. The puppet collapses on me sending me to the ground. The smell of flowers is overwhelming and I can’t think. 



The first thing I sense is the smell of roasted boar. And then the sound of singing. It sounds forced and unspirited. The strong taste of wine follows. The next thing I am aware of is a tapping that seems to ring though my whole body (pic #3). 

“MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION!”  followed by dead silence. 

“I, HUMBLY PROPOSE A TOAST. MAY MY AUGUST REIGN CONTINUE TILL THE END OF ALL AGES, AND MAY YOU GOOD PEOPLE NEVER KNOW WHAT IT IS TO BE WITHOUT ME!”


----------



## Taladas

Well I am done, but please don't put a fork in me.  

Best of luck to everybody, including my honorable opponent Speaker.


----------



## Maldur

Several stories allready 


But no pair yet

Hope the writing goes well for everyone!!


----------



## alsih2o

let's please remember to be patient with our judges.

 all have full lives and we live on 3 different continents, so judging can be a little slow


----------



## Maldur

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *let's please remember to be patient with our judges.
> 
> all have full lives and we live on 3 different continents, so judging can be a little slow  *




But can we still tease them on the judgements?


----------



## alsih2o

Maldur said:
			
		

> *
> 
> But can we still tease them on the judgements?
> *




 what is this "we" crap, you are a judge!!

 whose side are you on you nasty netherlanderlandian?


----------



## Drawmack

Maldur is going to smack talk himself - that's one way to boost post counts.


----------



## Maldur

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *
> 
> what is this "we" crap, you are a judge!!
> 
> whose side are you on you nasty netherlanderlandian? *




I still havent forgiven you for the gnome, so Im on their side 

next thing you know Im not allowed to except bribes.


----------



## Speaker

*Taladas vs. Speaker*

If you ever find yourself travelling through the foothills of Ur, near the trickle source of the mighty Whitemane River, drop your packs and rest your animals amid the tall grass and rocky lips of stone.  This is friendly country, a tamed land in the midst of the northern wilds, and for the duration of your stay you may rest assured that security need never cross your mind.  There is no other realm quite like it, for it is here that leviathan-breed and those of more humble human descent might abide for a time as both allies and friends.

Somewhere under these peaceful mounds of earth there lies a quiet village, a scattering of buildings and hard worked fields where men and women eke out there existence from the earth about them.  Though unassuming, be aware that such gentle facades often fool the eye.  In the mists of history, it is here where legends find their making, a home where the meek discover on their own accord the true meaning of bravery.  For these hills were not always peaceful, and in the beginning was wild.  Legends walked and fables breathed.

	Here it was that a hunting camp was established, by the more reckless of wanderers from beyond the Pale Sands.  Those souls who lived and worked here found themselves living as if in a dream.  Many fell to their nightmares, but there were those who lived more richly for their troubles.  The hill-folk still speak of one such man to this day.  His name is the Lord of Hunters, Befriender of Fiends, and beastbrother.  His name is Jine, and he is the one who broke the legacy of nightmares and brought peace to a land that has since never been without.  Of him there are many tales, and by him are many legends birthed.

	Here follows a tale of Jine and the Giants of Ur.


	Jine was a hunter, one who ranged wide upon the hillside of Ur, avoiding danger and the evils of the dreamscape with such ease as to make other men envious.  Yet he would not always remain safely away from danger, and one such mistake would lead to his first meeting with the leviathan kind.  

One that far off day, when the sun rose high above the mountains and shone freely after the banished shadows of the night, Jine found himself two days from camp, a distance much lengthened by the intervening giant territory he would have to span.  Travelling straight through the wild foothills would have made the journey much shorter, but fear of giants made men skirt wide.  About him the air was clean but biting, and the animals awake and lively.  Over Jine’s mighty shoulders was slung a great beast, the boar, the finest meat of Ur and the symbol of hunting prowess.

(Insert ‘Man carrying Boar’ picture)

	Jine’s walk was not to go unnoticed this day, for unwittingly the hunter had stumbled into the very place he and all the hunters feared to tread.  The land of giants, and colossal-folk.

	Before long, Jine was made aware of this fact when a huge figure stepped out from behind the hill in front of him.  While seemingly a good distance off, the giant was standing before Jine, as if the ground between was nothing at all.  The behemoth wore finely crafted leather, held a great trident in his hand, and a belt knife larger then Jine’s forearm gird his stomach.

	‘Hold, stranger, and stand still.’ Proclaimed the giant, and Jine fearlessly stared upwards into the bearded face that towered above him and did as commanded.  ‘To pass back to your kind, you must tell me your name and your reasons for entering the land of giants.’

	‘I am Jine of the hunters, and I was not aware that your land extended so far to the south.  Had I known, I would not have strayed within.’  Answered Jine, never one to lie and hasty to avoid any conflict with others.

‘Jine.  I have heard that name many times, as have others of my kin.’  Said the great giant, stooping to bring his piercing eyes to bear, like a hawk stoops onto its prey.  ‘I am Halsaf, the guardian of the borders, and I believe you, Jine.  But you are far from home, and it is not in your kind to roam so far.  Why is it that you are here?’

	Jine nodded carefully in response to the fair question, bold grey eyes matching the great giant’s gaze firmly.  ‘The true hunter seeks his prey not only where it is safe, but where it is needful for him to be.  My journeys took me further then I thought, though my success would not have come had I not wandered.’

	The giant nodded in careful consideration.  ‘You speak boldly, human, but with great wisdom.  I feel a form of kindness towards you, for I see that we are more alike then we are different.  As you, I am a hunter, for my guard ship brings prey of its own sort.  Your journey to the east will add many hours to your journey home.  I invite you instead to come with me, and walk through the land of giants.  While we will not go far within, you may see some things that may surprise you.  Hand me your prey.’

	Jine did so, and the giant took the great animal and speared it upon the great trident he held.  ‘Now you can walk unencumbered, and drink of my land with your eyes, for there is much too see within.’

(Insert ‘Giant with animal on pitchfork/trident’ picture)


With that, Jine’s journey into the land of giants began.

Throughout the morning the hunter was confronted by strange wonders the like he had never seen.  Giant animals abounded, some tame packhorses that towered many feet above Jine’s head to large insects larger then his hands put together.  The grass grew wild and high, and lakes shone in the sunlight.  In this land the hills glowed and the wind sang hymns of joy and freedom.  Jine had never seen such sights and such sounds.

By midday the unlikely pair had travelled quite far through the giant lands, and were now close to the time when Jine and Halsaf would part.  Yet there were a few more wonders that Jine would see, and these were greater then the ones before.

	First Halsaf brought Jine to the base of a great monolith, atop which rested a mighty cup, intricately carved with leaf and symbols of fertility.  Jine marvelled at how such giant folk could carve so carefully such a piece.

(Insert ‘Cup’ picture)

‘This is the ceremony cup of friendship of my people’ intoned Halsaf, who tipped it up into his lips and then bending down to place the massive vessel to Jine’s own face.  The small hunter placed his hands within, and drank from the dark wine like he would from a stream or still pond.  The giant laughed at this, then rose and placed the cup back onto the rock from which it came.

	‘Let us now travel into the rainbow fields of my people, and from there to the borders, where we will part.’ Said the giant, and the two companions began to once more travel north and west, each step bringing them closer to the camp Jine called home.

Here, in the near-borderland of the giants, a new wonder revealed itself to the hunter.  Great fields of multi-coloured grain rose from the ground, and the air was at once clear of any cloud or blemish.  Halsaf now began to walk more quickly on the flat ground, and Jine pumped his legs faster to keep pace with the giant’s stride.  Then Halsaf halted, and with his thick finger pointed far over the fields to the south.

	‘Behold the death of a giant.’  Said he, and Jine stood still and gazed in the direction indicated.  There, in the distance, stood a great old giant, with fierce wrinkles and dressed in great finery.  About him stood many others, with huge eyes sad and mourning, a painful scene in the midst of colour and light.

	Without fanfare, Jine found himself aware of two other figures beneath the ancient leviathan, both dressed in black and with scythes raised.  Though the distance was great, Jine heard their words, and what they said chilled his heart to flesh.

	‘I am the Grim, the lifetaker.’ Said the first, and plunged his golden scythe into the old giants wrist.

	‘I am the Reaper, who gathers from the field those who are ripe.’  Said the second, and he too plunged his golden scythe through the heavy wrist of a giant.

	‘We are death, and you are claimed.’  Intoned them both, and the great old giant fell to the earth and died.

(Insert the Scythes and Giant Picture)

	‘So dies a giant.’  Observed Halsaf again, averting his eyes and once more walking forward through the fields.  Jine followed, unsettled and awed by all that he had seen.

	All too soon the fields came to an end, and the land of giants came at last to its great western border.  Here, the two hunters were forced to depart, but through this journey the foundations were laid that would bring peace to Ur and fame to the name of Jine, peacemaker and giant-friend.


----------



## Speaker

I woke up late, my mouth is killin' me...  but I'm done!  Yay!

Now, of course, the real tension begins .

Cheers!


----------



## Maldur

Speaker said:
			
		

> *I woke up late, my mouth is killin' me...  but I'm done!  Yay!
> 
> Now, of course, the real tension begins .
> 
> Cheers! *




Good luck , with the mouth!

Ill sent my judgement to Clay later this evening!


----------



## Sniktch

Hey, Maldur,  _pssst!_ Over here...

_Sniktch slips Maldur a 50_

Now, you know who wins my 1st round match, right?


----------



## Drawmack

not without a story you won't what's taking you so long?


----------



## Sniktch

so long??  Hey, the clock restarted; by my watch I still have 12 hours to go...

Plenty of time to smooth out the rough spots in my story...


----------



## NiTessine

Here it is! And I still have a good... eight or seven minutes to spare!

*Bitter Wind from the North*

Conor Coldrage glared across the battlefield at the Norsemen. Once more, the men of Midgard had poured westwards into Albion. Last time they visited his town, one of their shamans slew his brother, Adhar, by fell magic. This time, he would be avenged. This Conor swore, even if it meant he'd have to personally decapitate every berserker in the raiding party.

When they'd last descended upon his lands, eight months ago, the Norse had fought the Celts in this very same field, on the beach of a small lake. Adhar had fallen then, fighting honourably to the last. He'd been cornered on a tree log, its top branches in the water *(pic 4)*. It had been winter then, and the water deadly cold. Standing on the log, with nowhere to run, Adhar had sent five of the Norse to their cold death in the waters, staining the ice and snow red and making the log slippery. Finally, they'd overpowered him, and dragged him from the cold waters to a shaman waiting on the beach, who performed the ceremonial sacrifice to power his magic. Conor had then sworn to slay the shaman, but the coward had fled on a chariot afore he could get close enough to plunge two feet of iron into the man's bowel.

Perhaps a thousand men in total stood on opposite sides of the great field. On the eastern edge, there were the Norsemen, fearsome warriors and raiders from Midgard. Conor fancied he could see a few of them biting their shields with a bug-eyed, mad expression. Smiling, he slid his thumb over the sharpened iron rim of his own shield.

"We will see them chew on this," Conor remarked to his companion, Tathal. Tathal was a large man, and his blonde hair was formed into spikes with grease. He struck a stark contrast to the smaller and darker Conor.

The larger warrior grinned, and shook his iron sword, banging it on his shield.
"And this!"

The rest of Fir Domain's proud Celtic warriors took up the shield bashing, drowning out the screaming of the Norsemen in a terrible metallic din. The men of Midgard were not to be outdone so easily, however, answering with a great scream of their own. The Fir shouted back, through their growling shields, and as this deafening noise reached its crescendo, the sky was suddenly blackened with a thousand arrows, as the Norse bowmen unleashed a volley. Their bows were short – Conor had seen some when he last fought them – and were not efficient over long distances *(pic 3)*. The Fir raised their shields above their heads, blocking the black rain of death, and as the last shaft fell from the grey sky, the bellowing hordes of half-naked men charged.

Conor picked his first foe, one of the drooling berserkers. The Norse warrior, clad in furs, raised his axe over his head to deliver a great blow, which the nimble Celt easily evaded. The next blow he took on his shield, the sharp iron sinking into the wood with a dull thud. Conor smiled as he twisted his arm and yanked the shield and axe away from the raider's hand, and jabbed up with his short sword, plunging the blade under the chin of his foe, and into the brain. The froth on the berserker's lips turned red and his eyes rolled back in their head as he died.

Drawing his sword free, Conor looked about. He knew he'd have to break through the lines of the Norsemen to get to their druids. Weak in combat, they stayed back, channelling the power of the Earth Goddess from afar.

Waving Tathal and a few other Fir tribesmen to follow, Conor began the long and arduous task of forging himself a path through the Midgard warriors. His shield and sword ran red with blood, and numerous gashes and wounds graced his skin when he cut down the last Norseman charging him, and saw the shaman.

The man was tall, even for a Norseman who usually stood a head taller than the Celts. He was clad in furs, the great pelt of a white bear covering his shoulders and back, its head resting on top of his own. His face was painted in a visage of death, and he held a corn dolly and a small staff in his hands *(pic 1)*. As the shaman and Conor locked gazes, the bloodied Celt knew instinctively that this was the one he was looking for, the slayer of his brother. The shaman's expression changed into… fear? It was difficult to tell with the face paint. As Conor charged, the Norseman pointed his staff at him and shouted in a strange language.

The Celt felt as if an icy cold hand was reaching into his chest, enveloping his heart, and squeezing. He couldn't breathe, and stumbled, falling into darkness, the sounds of battle fading around him. But then, he took the next step, tasting the blood in his mouth, the pounding of bloodlust in his ears, the clash of iron on flint and the screams of the dying around him. He closed in the distance between himself and the shaman, and with a terrible roar and a single sweep of his sword, took off the Norse shaman's head. As it flew through the air, trailing gore behind it, its face was frozen into an expression of surprise.

Conor, the proud warrior of the Fir Domain, raised his shield and sword into the air, shouting triumphantly. It felt good to slay the killer of his kin. The Celt picked up his fallen opponent's head and stuffed it into his backpack, to be made later into a tathlum*.

*  *  *

It was evening as Conor Coldrage made his way back to the village. He bled from many wounds, had two broken ribs, and had cracked a tooth when a berserker head butted him in the face. He was coated in blood and the mud of the battlefield. It had been a good day, and Danu had been with him.

Conor pushed aside the wolf pelt that served as a door to his hut. He saw his wife, Sugyn, start. She had been on her knees, burning candles before offerings made to the Earth Goddess in order to ensure the Fir warriors would be victorious on the battlefield *(pic 2)*. When Sugyn saw his face, she smiled.
"You've returned alive, my husband," she spoke.
"Yes, Danu was with us today. We were victorious," Conor answered, stepping into the hut and letting the wolf pelts fall over the doorway once more.


* Tathlum: a thrown weapon, made by mixing the brains of a slain enemy with lime. Said to be blessed by Danu, the Earth Goddess.


----------



## alsih2o

and mirthcard pushes the deadline again.....(he actually smacked it once!)


----------



## Mirth

*SORRY!*

I've been scrambling to make the deadline this morning, but the time I had set aside to work on my entry was taken up by RL matters. I worked on packing up and clearing out my retail store all day yesterday, until the wee hours last night. I awoke this morning about 5 am to work on my entry to find that our heat wasn't on. Given my son's sickness, I've been trying to fix that all morning. Finally thought I had it running only to find it isn't. ARRRRRGGHHH! Anyway, deadline has passed now, so...

I can post what I have, but it's not complete and I know it won't win


----------



## NiTessine

I'm beginning to think Fate himself is conspiring to prevent our duel. The bastard.

*Slaps Fate around a bit with his keyboard.*


----------



## Mirth

*mirthcard vs. NiTessine* 

*Dead Men, a tale in shades of gray* 
An adventure for 4-6 characters of levels 4-7

*The Set-Up:*
The Church of the All-Father has been trying to "civilize" the northwestern part of the continent for several centuries now. The harsh, brutish savages that live in those cold wastes have been very resistent to the All-Father's efforts. A few months ago, the All-Father gained his first foothold there, a small church in the village of Iklastal ("Gray Water") at the foot of the Haknarok ("Land of Glass"), the natives' name for the glacier that provides the lake that in turn gives the village its name. 

The new church is being led by Pater Rumalski, a kind and generous soul who has finally reached the native populace by respecting their traditions and allowing them to be practiced alongside the ceremonies of the All-Father, rather than trying to force the Church's ideals on them. While this innovative approach has helped the good Pater gain a following in Iklastal, many in the service of the All-Father feel it is sacreligeous for such "pagan" rituals to be given equal standing. A committee of Paters was sent to oversee Rumalski's operation and decide whether to let it proceed or take over control from him. That was several weeks ago, no one has heard from the committee or Pater Rumalski since.

The Church has decided to hire the party to investigate the matter (or better yet, the party may include a cleric or paladin of the All-Father). Just as the group is preparing to head out on their journey to Iklastal, a woman dressed in the garb of the savages arrives in the city with a wagon full of small boxes *(Picture #2).* She says nothing as she is dragged from the cart and questioned. Screams and sharp intakes of breath are heard as the boxes are opened to reveal the severed and shruken heads of all of the committee members. Conspicuously missing is the head of Pater Rumalski.

*What's really going on:*
Pater Rumalski is still alive, albeit in a very changed form. The natives of the cold wastes call themselves Posonshik ("Little Cubs") and they revere a spirit known as Shikdaiah ("Great Bear"). It is this spirit that Pater Rumalski was trying to help the people of Iklastal connect with his own god, the All-Father. He connected them only too well, unfortunately. 

At the same time as the All-Father was questioning Pater Rumalski's intentions, the time of the Ulasdai ("Great Thawing") had come and Shikdaiah was coming out of hibernation. With the Great Bear's strength waxing and the All-Father's faith in the Pater waning, the priest was left in a very precarious position. Then the committee arrived. 

All of the questions, demands, pronouncements and denouncements that followed from this hallowed group angered the Great Bear spirit and it overtook the gentle Pater Rumalski, using him as his agent of retribution. Now acting as the living manisfestation of Shikdaiah *(Picture #1)*, Rumalski has slaughtered all of the clerics and sent their heads home as a warning to leave the cold wastes alone.

*The Main Event:*
The party will only be privy to one side of the story, of course. The Posonshik woman who brought the heads to the temple will only reveal who she is (her name is Massi) or what she knows under great duress or torture. There are those in the Church of the All-Father who are fine with using the latter method to deal with savages. What the party decides is okay with them is another matter altogether.

Massi only wants to leave. If she is freed, she will not stop the party from following her home. Despite outward appearances, Massi has no ulterior motive, she is simply loyal and stoic to a fault. She should only break into conversation with the party if they engage her through the most auspicious role-playing they can muster (and even then, she will be a minimalist in every respect).

Once the party has arrived in Iklastal, they will be largely ignored. The other Posonshik, unlike Massi, will converse and even bargain with the party, but they will treat them with suspicion and will be reluctant to reveal too much about what has happened. From their perspective, Shikdaiah has protected them. They have nothing to fear from outsiders, for Shikdaiah is now walking among them (in the form of Pater Rumalski) for the first time in many seasons. However, they have no need to embrace outsiders either. 

If the party searches the village, they will find the small church building empty and cold. Dried blood stains the floor, walls and pews inside and many claw marks are found there as well. It looks as though the committee priests were killed here and their bodies dragged out into the hills towards the north of the village that line the Gray Water lake. Pater Rumalski, however, is nowhere to be found. (He is, in fact, now living in the ancient cave associated with Shikdaiah, located in the self-same hills to the north. The well-picked bones of the priests are scattered about the interior of the cave.)

If the party decides to attack the villagers or to attack Shikdaiah in his cave, Shikdaiah will return their attack. This isn't the wisest choice (in fact, it's probably the worst choice). As an avatar of Shikdaiah, Pater Rumalski should prove more than a match for the party, but if help is needed, feel free to beef him up with Druid, Ranger and/or Barbarian levels as well as providing him a few Dire Bears and/or Werebears to help with matters. 

If the party decides to ingratiate themselves with the locals, and they are successful at parlaying their way into the Posonshik's good graces, then they can slowly pull out details about Shikdaiah's legend and eventually be able to put 2 and 2 together to find out that Pater Rumalski and Shikdaiah are now one and the same.

One key to Shikdaiah's legend is that he can be defeated, but only with Yustal ("The Spine Bow")*(Picture #3).* Unfortunately, according to the legend, when the young hunter Tinook tried to kill Shikdaiah with Yustal, the Great Bear used his massive weight to break off a part of the glacier, sending Tinook plummeting down a huge precipice into a solid floor of ice, breaking the  boy and the bow into pieces. Another Yustal has yet to be forged. How is it forged you ask? By using a branch from the Yusa tree ("Spine of the World"). This great tree is only visible after the time of the Ulasdai has finished. This magical tree grows perpendicular to the lake *(Picture #4)*, and the Posonshik believe it to be the entrance to the world of the spirits, literally it is the backbone of the world itself to them. 

*The End?:*
Now the party has to decide what to do. Here's how this could end. 

---They could attack Shikdaiah without Yustal. They will die.

---They could take the time to craft another Yustal and then attack Shikdaiah with it. Risky, but could very well succeed. Of course, then Pater Rumalski would be dead.

---They could try to converse with Shikdaiah instead of attacking. This could lead to some interesting outcomes. If the party agrees to leave Iklastal and the cold wastes behind, vowing never to try and convert the people here again, then the Great Bear will release his hold on Pater Rumalski. Shikdaiah may even go so far as to reconstitute the bodies of the slaughtered priests so that they may be taken home for burial and/or reincarnation. If the party does not agree or the Great Bear does not interact well with belligerent members of the party, then all bets are off and the group is back to square one. 

---They could return to the temple of the All-Father and try to recruit an army to attack Shikdaiah. Epic idea, that. Bloody and pointless too. But they can give it a go if they want.

---They could just leave the whole messed-up situation behind. After all, who needs to get themselves stuck in the middle of a religious war anyway?


----------



## Mirth

Got it done and decided to post it anyway. I'm not expecting judgment on this, just wanted to post it for posting's sake. Good luck everybody else. Go NiT! Go NiT!


----------



## alsih2o

only 4 stories oosted by deadline....i have no idea what to do


----------



## Drawmack

default winners let's move on to round II


----------



## alsih2o

Drawmack said:
			
		

> *default winners let's move on to round II *




 yeah, assuming snoktch gets his in we will hav an odd but finished round, i am currently awaiting judgement fron th judges for this round, remember patience


----------



## Speaker

Well.

This is a nasty situation.  I don't envy the judges, particularly alis2ho, who have to sort out the mess.  Whatever happens, I support your decisions...  the contest must go on!

Nor do I blame the judges or the missing contestants for taking their time.  If I had been detained by RL matters for but one additional hour during the submission period, I would have had to bow out.  I can appreciate just how crowded life can get at the most inconvenient moments.

Here's waiting for Judgements to come,

Cheers!


----------



## Barendd Nobeard

Speaker said:
			
		

> *Whatever happens, I support your decisions...  the contest must go on!
> 
> Nor do I blame the judges or the missing contestants for taking their time.  If I had been detained by RL matters for but one additional hour during the submission period, I would have had to bow out.  I can appreciate just how crowded life can get at the most inconvenient moments.
> 
> *



Same feelings here, on both issues.  I actually thought about calling in sick to work to finish mine, but just stayed up past my bed time instead.


----------



## alsih2o

Speaker said:
			
		

> *decisions...  the contest must go on!
> 
> Nor do I blame the judges or the missing contestants for taking their time.  *




 yeah, i tried to schedule this game in a vacuum, but p-kitty was using it for some nefarious no-goodness i am sure.

 alas, judgements will come and then next round will proceed.

 just waiting for my other judges input, and getting ready for 2 hours of funny videos-no chance you guys are gettign an update while people are doing improvisational slapstick for my amusement 

 to all who didn't show- check in, let us know oyu got bust or something but are alright please 

 to the remaining players- what do oyu think of me posting many pics for the final and letting our "viewers" decide on the pics we use via a poll in meta?    just a thought


----------



## Barendd Nobeard

alsih2o said:
			
		

> * to the remaining players- what do oyu think of me posting many pics for the final and letting our "viewers" decide on the pics we use via a poll in meta?    just a thought *



That's be a neat wrinkle.

You could also assign each alternate to a specific pairing, so they can think about what they might write.  Then, if you need to use an alternate, they're partway done already.


----------



## Taladas

Well I wouldn't mind the "viewer's choice" for the pics in the final round. You might want to concider some wildcard match-ups with alternates to boost the field a little. And whatever the judges decide is fine by me. 

Best of luck to everybody.


----------



## Speaker

I think audience participation would be great.  Give those in the audience the chance to make us suffer.

I'm for it.


----------



## arwink

Hmm.  Time for Bad News/Good News:

Bad News:  I've pretty much commited myself to a Neverwinter Nights Lan at a friends place this weekend, so the odds of me getting all the judging done today or tomorrow are slim.

Good News:  THe university, in it's inifinite wisdom, has given me a seven hour break between classes on Monday so I'll be trapped there all day with nothing to do but surf the net and answer students questions about the course.  I can pretty much garentee the results will start rolling in from Oz around ten-thirty Monday mornining (Sunday some time in the US) - thus keeping with the fine tradition of me being the last judge to get results to Clay 

I'm also all for audiance participation,


----------



## Sniktch

*Rd 1, Drawmack vs Sniktch*

The young druid had traveled far to reach his destination, but he knew that at last he was drawing close to his goal.  The forest had grown darker and more forbidding over his last day of travel, until the acolyte felt that he was a very unwelcome guest indeed.  Finally he broke through a particularly overgrown stretch of forest and beheld the one he’d been sent to find.

The man stared back at him, crouching upon a broad, flat stone, a wide grin stretching his round, cherubic cheeks even as he reached for the sword scabbarded across his back.  Curly brown hair covered his head and most of his body, but the small horns protruding from his forehead were the real giveaway to the man’s true nature.  It was Khorr’d the satyr, the champion of the woodlands. (pic 3)

Khorr’d frowned and left his sword sheathed when he realized that the adept before him was no enemy.  “Well,” he growled in a thick, deep voice.  “What is it ye want, then?”

“Look - just look at what they’ve done,” the druid said as he stretched forth his cupped palms.  Within them lay a tiny, delicate reptilian creature who glared at him with one tiny head, legs thrashing about as it struggled against its captor, more legs than such a creature should have, and then, where its tail should be, a second tiny head. (pic 1)

“Please,” he continued.  “Please, you must discover what is being done to the wildlife here and end it before this evil taint spreads.”  The youth went on to explain that several fortnights ago the druid council had first noticed the spreading taint within the forests and marshes to the south.  They had tracked the source of the corruption to an evil cult that made its home in the rocky, mountainous region to the southwest, but the council had proved powerless to halt their vile rituals.  Some form of strong protection rendered the druids’ spells completely useless, and the cultists were too numerous to contemplate the use of force.

They needed a champion, one who was skilled with the blade and the art of infiltration, to track the cultists back to their lair, discover within the source of the infection that spread through their beloved wilderness, and to destroy it by any means possible.  In short, they needed the help of Khorr’d.

The satyr listened to the story with growing rage, and when the acolyte ended his story with question, “Please, will you help us?” he nodded immediately.  It took him less than half an hour to gather his things and prepare himself for the coming journey.

Several days later the satyr found himself upon a rocky slope, leaning against the wind as he picked his way up the mountainside.  Before him the mountain curved in upon itself and several small structures had been built of brick within the curve (pic 2).  Khorr’d approached the entrance of the nearest building cautiously, wary of a sudden ambush.  He had tracked a group of cultists back to this place and it was not inconceivable that they had noticed their tail.

Suddenly a crossbow bolt skipped off the rock near him, sending a spray of gravel flying, andf Khorr’d knew the time for stealth had passed.  He leaped up and charged the doorway, leading with his sword.  Another bolt flew from the dark aperture and grazed his arm, and he immediately felt an itching, burning sensation from the wound.  Luckily the poison was not enough to overcome his tough woodland constitution and the satyr ran on.

He burst in through the opening and saw a pair of cultists before him, their crossbows cast aside as the hastily tried to draw their long knives.  Khorr’d brought his sword across in a sweeping arc and cut the throat of the nearest cultist before he could bring his weapon up to defend, simultaneously leveling a vicious kick at the other cultist that knocked the man backwards.  The thug recovered quickly and came in swinging his knife, but Khorr’d caught the blade on his own and parried it out to the side, then snapped his head forward and butted his opponent with his horns, stunning the cultist momentarily.  The satyr wasted no time disposing of his foe and then went to work examining the interior of the cave.

In the back of the room he found a staircase leading down into the heart of the mountain.  The satyr entered the tunnel and heard a faint pounding sound like a drum, and began working his way through the mazelike warren   He was forced to double back a couple of times when the passage dead-ended or when it simply became too small for him to continue.  At long last he emerged upon a ledge, overlooking a vast underground cavern where a hideous ritual was taking place.

Cultists gathered in a great frenzied throng in this chamber, with painted red skin and wearing bright red robes.  Each cultist had  a white dove tied to its belt, the birds standing out in stark contrast to their scarlet captors, alive and obviously terrified (pic 4).  One by one they approached a great vat upon a raised platform in the center of the room, decapitated their birds, and let its life blood drain into the great bubbling black vat filled with a tarlike substance.

With an outraged cry the satyr leaped down amongst the cultists, his blade flashing right and left as he kicked the vat with all his strength and sent it tumbling down the steps of the platform to disgorge its filthy contents upon the floor of the cavern.  A man dressed in the robes of a high priest charged in snarling, an upraised mace within his grasp.  Khorr’d caught the downward stroke and pushed the mace back up and away, then snapped his sword downwards and opened the man’s belly.  His opponent fell to the ground, howling and trying to hold his guts in until the satyr silenced him forever with a vicious kick to the skull.

The cave began to rumble and shake as if it were starting to collapse, and Khorr’d turned and began making his way toward the exit, cutting down any cultists foolish enough to stand in his way.  Luckily the satyr had an innate sense of direction and was able to retrace his steps perfectly, leaving a trail of bodies behind him.  He pushed his way through the panicked cultists and finally made his way out of the cave as the tunnels began to collapse behind him.

He was followed from the entry by a cloud of thick dust, but when it finally settled the satyr beheld no living cultists and the structures’ doorways choked with tons of rubble and debris.  Khorr’d doubted that any cultists had survived the disaster.  Whistling cheerfully, he sheathed his sword and began sprinting down the mountainside toward the forest below.


----------



## Sniktch

Well, I got caught up by RL, too, between my regular game tonight and my dad coming in from out of town, but like Barendd, I just stayed up past my bedtime until I got it done.  I haven't had a chance to read this over or do any proofreading or editing, and I'm super tired, so I hope it stands up under the light of day - I just typed it up and posted it while I had the chance.  I'm sorry to see we were plagued by non-entries again 

Clay, just to let you know and if I should happen to advance (I haven't read my story since finishing it nor Drawmack's story yet so I don't know what my chances are ), I'm leaving town early this morning and won't be back until Sunday evening, so if I'm in round 2 I would appreciate if you could hold off posting it until sometime Sunday afternoon.  Thanks


----------



## Maldur

Ill make sure Ill get my judgements in before Arwink does 

And now youll just have to wait for two days

(see I can pester them about judgement!)


----------



## Maldur

Dang, judging is hard. 
I think you guys actually improved since last time!

*ponders on the stories some more*


----------



## Drawmack

Maldur said:
			
		

> I think you guys actually improved since last time!




thank you. Writting is a living art. You cannot stay in the same place. You either progress or regress, so it is a great compliment to hear that I am progressing and not regressing.


----------



## alsih2o

i have started recieveing emails form our esteemed judges, should be too long now


----------



## Speaker

Great.  Can't wait.

Would you say they'll be up in the next two hours, Alis2ho?


----------



## arwink

I just sent the last of mine off, so it'll probably happen not long after Clay checks his mail next


----------



## Maldur

I got mine in somewhere this mornin.

Good luck everyone!!


----------



## Drawmack

waits patiently, patiently, begins reading a magazine in the waiting room, waits patiently, patiently.


----------



## arwink

Hey, is that Clay posting in Gnome threads instead of giving you hardworking writers the results?


----------



## alsih2o

i am just putting everythign into a readable form, almost close enuf to hold your breath


----------



## Sniktch

arwink said:
			
		

> *Hey, is that Clay posting in Gnome threads instead of giving you hardworking writers the results? *




Grrrrr...


----------



## NiTessine

*Taps foot... checks watch... yawns... drums fingers on tabletop...*


----------



## alsih2o

nit vs mirthcard

alsih2o
 no judgement from me here, mirth was in late....nit wins, but our kind judges have included commentary for both anyway 
Maldur
Mirthcard vs Nitesse
Mirthcard: A adventure with no good ending, good for roleplaying, but it
might be a bit frustrating for the players. 
Nitesse: Battle, blood and a new thrown weapon (stats, we want stats!)
Nitesse, Celts and Norse and a free history lesson, what do you want more!

Arwink
NiTessine
NiTessines piece shows a lot of polish, and works well as a snap-shot of a 
single battle. The implied story we're getting a glimpse of works well, as 
does the decision to launch straight into the fight and hint at what we're 
missing out on. Simplicity and strong stylistic choices are this stories 
strength. Where NiTessine lost me a little was some of his cultural choices- 
the story is strongly associated with Celt and Norse society, but for the 
casual observer of such societies like myself (who largely pick such things up 
through dodgy mythology books, DnD sourcebooks and Astrix comics) things like 
Norsemen on Chariots following face-painted shaman seem out of place. I'll 
leave it to others to argue whether this is true or not, and it's interesting 
to note that if it had been a fantasy story rather than an implied historical 
one, it would have been less of an issue. Perhaps some further shaping on such 
elements, with more care to place them within the historical context for the 
uninitiated will help prevent images of horn-helmed Vikings unloading their 
roman style chariot from a longship 

Mirthcard
Mirthcard offers us an atmospheric adventure in the cold north, pitting waring 
religions against one another. In many ways it takes a step away from usual 
DnD tropes in style, yet keeps many of the elements we're all familiar with. 
That being said, I can already see how I'd have trouble integrating it into an 
ongoing campaign without ruining the flavour, explaining many of the elements 
within normal DnD magic terms (such as the Tree as Entrance to the Spirit 
Realm, the possessed Pater becoming "Just another avatar," etc). While I'm not 
sure if this truly counts as a drawback, it would instantly force the adventure 
a step further into "Something I'll run one day as a one shot" rather than 
a "must have for next session." Mirthcard has referred to his submission as 
incomplete, so it leaves me wondering what more he was planning as I'm 
intrigued enough by this adventure as is.

Finding a winner out of these two would have been a case of splitting hairs in 
many respects. From what I gather, Mirthcard missed the deadline, but I'll 
offer a judges decision just in case I'm wrong or the contestants are 
interested in how close it would have been. Both are fine pieces of work in 
two different styles of writing, and there is no clear factor that tips the 
balance in one direction or the other. In the end I give the round to 
NiTessine if only because it was an immediate sense of gratification, and 
because I know I couldn't live up to the potential of Mirthcards idea should I 
run it. 

 nit wins by default and judgement....could a new champion be amongst us?


----------



## alsih2o

drawmack vs. sniktch
alsih2o:
drawmack
 i think drawmack and i were looking at different pictures at one point at least, for i had trouble fitting the fire to the stone buildings. i do have to say i really liked the handling of the bird tho.

 in contrat, i think the double headed crocodilian was mre than a little glossed over.

 sniktch
sniktch manages to make his plot turn heavily on 2 of the pictures, the croc and the satyr, i felt a little elt down by the dove killing not being explained, but that happens in-game all the time i guess.

 i gotta give this one to sniktch, on strength of pic usage

Maldur:

Drawmack: revenge, murder, and rightious retribution.
Sniktch: Natures revenge. Good story, but the changeover from the druid to
the Satyr was not that strong. 

Drawmack, similar stories, but drawmacks story was stronger (I just loved
the golem-hotel).

Arwink:
Drawmack
The essential flaw of Ceramic DM is that there's very rarely time to refine a 
submission, and that shows a great deal in Drawmack's entry. The bare bones of 
this story shows a lot of promise, but it ultimately fails to deliver. After 
two very strong first lines, Drawmack soon falls prey to over-description and 
rushing the story. In essence, we need more time to absorb events as readers 
before we're rushed on to the next. The idea behind the story is interesting, 
particularly the focus on Set and his traditionally "Evil" faithful. With more 
attention paid to pacing and the toning down of some of the description, this 
could be a great read but at present it looses the reader by alternating 
between too much information and not enough. 

Sniktch
Bring on the berserker Satyrs . While I enjoyed Sniktch entry, it too needed 
more development. Everything is neatly contained within the story, as though 
it existed within a vacuum. Trouble has started, the guardian is warned and 
butt is kicked. Game over. While this is fine it is the hints of background 
that give life to the setting and the stories within it, even if those hints 
are never explained or expanded upon it works on the imagination and brings the 
story alive in the readers head. Putting some more focus into the pacing may 
also help, breaking up the steady chain of events that seem to roll inevitably 
forward. Like Drawmacks, Sniktch's story shows some promising bare bones in 
need of refinement.

This round goes to Sniktch, although it's a fairly close call. In the end both 
stories need development in similar areas, and displayed such interesting use 
of the ingredients, that the decision was made on style. While Drawmack's 
piece brings to mind a dark, atmospheric and brooding film, Sniktch's reads 
like the fey version of a Jackie Chan flick and like Chan flicks it's easier to 
look past the parts that aren't working and enjoy the rollicking good fun.

 2 to 1, the winner is sniktch


----------



## NiTessine

Ah... Perhaps I should've made it clear when I posted the story... It was based on _Sláine_. I got the Mongoose book for the game only two days earlier, and, like any good setting, it got my creative juices flowing. In the setting, there is no sea between Midgard and the Celtic lands, so a chariot would be rather easier to transport.

As for the tathlum stats...

It's a small exotic weapon, does 1d6 points of bludgeoning damage, does x2 damage on a successful crit, has range increments of 10 feet, and a single tathlum weighs two pounds. By spending an Earth Power point, the maker of the tathlum (who also must be the one who slew the brain's previous owner) can throw it at a foe, gaining an attack and damage bonus equal to the previous owner's Int bonus. This power can only be invoked once, after which it is gone. The tathlum can be used as a normal weapon afterwards, though.


----------



## Drawmack

congradulations sniktch


----------



## alsih2o

speaker vs taladas-
alsih2o:
taladas: nice handling of the boar and the statue, but i LOVED the handling of the cup...that is the kind of pic handling that makes the contest for me 
the puppet was difficult in my opinion, and it was handled pretty well too 
speaker: in my opinion , better writing, altho less strength in the picture handling dept. the pictures were handled well, just without the shock taladas had
 this oen was hard for me to call, but i have to go with speaker, taladas handled himself well, and if speaker had made any errors in pic handling it would have lost it for him.


Maldur:
Taladas vs Speaker: 
Taladas: Evil wizards, polymorph and an emerging concience. Great twist,
very cruel.
Speaker: A very Mythical story, a fairytale, very nice!
Speaker, The more mythical story about the giant-friend was more complete,
allthough the mages revenge is very....poetic

Arwink:
Taladas
Taladas' story starts with a very stilted rhythm that is disrupting to read. 
It conveys what's happening, and the pace with which he presents the story is 
great, but the consistent use of sentences that are roughly the same length 
makes things very halting. He relaxes into things from time to time as the 
story goes on, but the halting tone comes back to reassert itself. Some 
interesting use of the pictures, with the last punishment in particular 
catching me off guard. 

Speaker
Speakers approach has a resonance with myth that works well within his entry, 
and his style is very natural and easy-flowing. I could easily see his piece 
being polished to professional standards, and it makes good use of the various 
pictures without feeling forced. Very, very nicely done. 

I give this round to Speaker. Taladas story has some merits, but Speakers 
style and approach ultimately wins out. 

speaker wins unanimously, and barely


----------



## alsih2o

barrend nobeard advances by default, altho arwink the reviewer sent this- 
Barendd Nobeard

Barendd's piece is nicely paced, and shows a great deal of whimsy and humour in 
it's recounting of the slaves and their magic frog.  It has a deceptively 
simple, childlike tone its recounting that works to its advantage.  Where it 
falls slightly is its use of this childlike tone to cram in the use of the 
pictures, taking easy choices that may falter when held up against innovative 
or complex uses in later rounds.  Even so, this is a great read that made me 
smile more than once


----------



## Sniktch

Alright!  I have revenge for the last time around now - score Drawmack 1 Sniktch 1   Good job, Drawmack; I'll look forward to meeting you again in a future competition (we have to have a tie-breaker sometime, if nothing else ) 

Bring on round 2 - hopefully I will have a little more time to work on the story this time around, as my dad flew back to Alabama last night and I have no D&D game scheduled until Saturday...


----------



## alsih2o

next round starts after all of the winners have checked in-

 barrend nobeard vs speaker

 and nitessine vs sniktch

 let me know when you are ready fellas 


 oh, and remember to thank our kind judges


----------



## NiTessine

Thank you, judges... And thank you, mirthcard, for the challenge. *Shakes his adversary's hand*

I am ready for the next round, and... Sniktch, you're going DOWN!


----------



## Sniktch

Ah, bring on NiTessine!  I have anticipated this matchup ever since I read the piece he submitted in the last, aborted, Ceramic DM (while Clay was away).  It will be a tough round, and I will throw myself into making the judges' decision as difficult as possible 

Edit: No smack talk from me this round!  My opponent has already earned my respect and I will treat him like the deadly venomous snake that he is


----------



## alsih2o

well, since they bothe jumped on it let's start nit and sniktch on their way 

 sniktfch vs nit- semifinals

 pic 1


----------



## alsih2o

sniktch vs. nitessine 

 pic 2


----------



## alsih2o

sniktch vs. nitessine 

 pic 3


----------



## alsih2o

sniktch vs. nitessine 

 pic 4, 48 hours from this post competitors


----------



## Sniktch

and repeating the pattern from last round it is pic 3 that makes me feel ill...Thanks, Clay - I'll get you for this


----------



## alsih2o

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *and repeating the pattern from last round it is pic 3 that makes me feel ill...Thanks, Clay - I'll get you for this  *




 if it makes anyone feel better they are dummies posted on a special fx site....not real humans.

 i keep a seperate file of "pics you don't show people"



 no, not that kind!


----------



## Sniktch

Nah, I figured as much - kinda looks like a scene out of the first Predator movie... I'm just becoming ill trying to link them all together 

(and then Clay confirms his sickness for all to see )


----------



## arwink

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *
> 
> if it makes anyone feel better they are dummies posted on a special fx site....not real humans.
> 
> i keep a seperate file of "pics you don't show people"
> 
> 
> 
> no, not that kind!
> 
> *




I thought they looked a little waxy.

I think I'm quite content seeing pictures from your show-people files though


----------



## NiTessine

I just figured their proportions were a bit off.

A challenging set of pictures you have posted, but I think I can cook up something. Sniktch... may the best venomous bastard win!


----------



## alsih2o

NiTessine said:
			
		

> *
> 
> A challenging set of pictures you have posted*




 thanks noit, i do my best everytime, which is sometimes emberassing to admit


----------



## Mirth

NiTessine said:
			
		

> *thank you, mirthcard, for the challenge. *Shakes his adversary's hand**




Right back at you NiT  You rentry was really well done and even if I had more time on mine, I don't think I could have outmatched you. Well-deserved congratulations from me. I rooting for you to go the distance and join me in the winner's circle.

How is the Slaine book? I've been thinking of running my first PbP game (I play in several but I haven't run one yet) and I think I'm gonna make it Celtic Arthurian. I'm getting my master's in literature and my focus is on pre-christian Arthurian sources. Do you think Slaine is worth getting for that kind of campaign? I've got the AD&D 2E Celtic sourcebook and I've bookmarked Vincent's 3E conversion of much of that material, and I'm also thinking of using Chaosium's Boy King from their Pendragon game if I can find my copy. As a last note, would you be interested in joining such a game if I actually get off my can and start it? I'll save you a slot if you are.

To bring the thread back on track - Good luck NiT and good luck to everyone else. I'll be watching...

Jay


----------



## alsih2o

mirthcard had one heck of a run...definetely a hall of famer for his early domination of genre.

 i assume he is not retiring permanently


----------



## Taladas

Congradulations to everyone who passed on to the second round. I bow to you Speaker, your word fu is mighty.

"Stilted, your saying I'm stilted?" bonus points if you know where the quote comes from.


----------



## NiTessine

mirthcard said:
			
		

> *How is the Slaine book? I've been thinking of running my first PbP game (I play in several but I haven't run one yet) and I think I'm gonna make it Celtic Arthurian. I'm getting my master's in literature and my focus is on pre-christian Arthurian sources. Do you think Slaine is worth getting for that kind of campaign? I've got the AD&D 2E Celtic sourcebook and I've bookmarked Vincent's 3E conversion of much of that material, and I'm also thinking of using Chaosium's Boy King from their Pendragon game if I can find my copy. As a last note, would you be interested in joining such a game if I actually get off my can and start it? I'll save you a slot if you are.*




Celtic Arthurian..? I have trouble wrapping my mind around this concept.

In any case, while _Sláine_ is an excellent work on its own right, it is not really D&D-compatible, at least not without some major reworking. The magic system is completely different, for one thing, and the monsters don't have any Challenge Ratings.

_Sláine_ portrays an Iron Age Celtic setting with magic. It's got rules for stuff like flint and iron weapons. Rules for getting magic power from human sacrifices. In fact, one of the core classes, the Witch, gets sacrificial feats for free at certain levels.

Have you read the reviews at the main site? You should. They are quite invaluable.

As for a play-by-post game... No thanks. They move way too slowly for my liking. I do play IRC games, though.

And now I'll bugger off from spamming this thread and start figuring out a plotline.


----------



## Mirth

NiTessine said:
			
		

> *Celtic Arthurian..? I have trouble wrapping my mind around this concept.*




The Arthurian legend has its origins in Celtic, pre-Christian myths. For some excellent treatises on the subject, see if your local library has Roger Sherman Loomis' books, _The Grail: From Celtic Myth To Christian Symbol_ (ISBN# 0691020752) and _Celtic Myth & Arthurian Romance_ (ISBN# 0838305865) and for early Celtic / Welsh Arthurian stories find a copy of _The Mabinogion_ translated by Jones & Jones (ISBN# 0460872974). All good stuff to wrap your head around!



			
				NiTessine said:
			
		

> *As for a play-by-post game... No thanks. They move way too slowly for my liking. I do play IRC games, though. *




That's cool, just wanted to offer. No time for IRC unfortunately  My only gaming outlet right now is PbP. Thanks for the advice on Slaine. I guess I'm gonna have to splurge for it, although my pocket doesn't like it. At least I still have my retail account so I can get it for 40% off 

Good luck again!


----------



## Mirth

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *mirthcard had one heck of a run...definetely a hall of famer for his early domination of genre.
> 
> i assume he is not retiring permanently  *




Thanks for the kind words, Clay.

And no, I'm too young to retire


----------



## Barendd Nobeard

I'm here.  Just forgot to check this thread today.

Ready for round 2.


----------



## Speaker

Taladas:  Very well done, and I agree with the judge's comments that your tale not only handled the pictures well, but presented itself excellently in regards to the theme of revenge.  I may have defeated you twice, but I would never bet on defeating you thrice.

I'm in judges.  Thanks for your comments-  I have to say that you hit your mark every time, and your analysis agreed with my own gut feelings on my piece.

And now I face Nobeard.  I just hope I'm up to the challenge.


----------



## alsih2o

well, i hope oyu guys are awake, cause here it comes 

 barrend nobeard vs speaker semifinals

 pic 1


----------



## alsih2o

barrend nobeard vs speaker

 pic 2


----------



## alsih2o

barrend nobeard vs speaker

 pic 3


----------



## alsih2o

barrend nobeard vs speaker

 pic 4, 48 hours from now guys


----------



## Sniktch

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *barrend nobeard vs speaker
> 
> pic 4, 48 hours from now guys *




LOL!  Hey, anyone mind if I smoke?


----------



## Maldur

Good luck everyone!!


----------



## Nail

Wow, those last three pics made me want to be in on th' writing!  Good luck, guys!  They're excellent pics!


----------



## Sniktch

Nail said:
			
		

> *Wow, those last three pics made me want to be in on th' writing!  Good luck, guys!  They're excellent pics! *




Heh, yeah me too, but I'm apparently in the wrong matchup.   Clay, I like Barendd and Speaker's pics a lot better than mine, can I switch?   (just kidding - I'm almost done with my story, don'e want to start over now)


----------



## Barendd Nobeard

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Heh, yeah me too, but I'm apparently in the wrong matchup.   Clay, I like Barendd and Speaker's pics a lot better than mine, can I switch?   (just kidding - I'm almost done with my story, don'e want to start over now) *



I love your pics, too!  (esp. #4)  But I like mine, so no switching!  

Good luck, Speaker!  This should be fun, and I'm going to go for a little more serious tone for this one.


----------



## alsih2o

less than 12 hours, let's hope ebveryones alarms go off


----------



## Speaker

Just going to sleep, do some editing when I wake up (seven hours from now), then post.  I think I have until 7:00 pm, but I can't trust myself to work during the daylight hours.

Cheers,

Speaker

Edit:  Post 100.  Oooo.  I'm hooked now.  Line and sinker.


----------



## alsih2o

Speaker said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Edit:  Post 100.  Oooo.  I'm hooked now.  Line and sinker. *




 congrats speaker, the hundredth monkey is on oyur back


----------



## Speaker

*Speaker vs Barendd Nobeard*

Pressure.

Something is about me, pressing in, squeezing.  I move.  Muscles respond slowly, as if held in a powerful grip. I look.  My eyes are open, yet I cannot see; the colour is leeched out of the world.

All is white, and in that white is movement, though I cannot comprehend what it is that I see.

Something is wrong.  Wrong.  I yearn to know what it is, but I cannot think, my thoughts are hazy and as vague as the formless substance around me.  Before I can understand, I dream.

“Hello, child.”

The world is now mine to observe once more, my thoughts restored to focus.  At first I can see only the colour gold, a great expanse of precious metal.  A statue of gold.  I know where I am, though I do not know how I arrived.  Nor do I know the identity of the voice that now speaks from the air to me.

“Memories are powerful.  They remind you of who you are.  They take you back, and within the past they shape you, creating a new being from the old.  Do you recognize this one, child?”

I looked up.  My gaze reached high, and still higher, until the vast expanse of a blue sky filled my eyes and still the statue rises, burnished by the light, beautiful.  Now I know where I am.

“This was the day you swore to my enemy that you would be faithful.  That your life would be spent fighting for his glory.  That you would die for the honour.  Do you remember, child?”

My hands—small and smooth, without the rough calluses that would come.  My feet—bare and unmarked by many years on the road.  I remember taking the oath, young in years and experience, innocent to the consequences of my actions.  I remember that I was once a child.

(‘The child' picture)

	Then all is white again.  I am once again held by pressure.  I flail and struggle, to no avail.  My unease is compounded by the fact that I cannot breathe.  My mouth stubbornly refuses to open.  I will suffocate soon.

	“Time passes, and oaths grow bitter in the cold expanse of months and years.”

	I am free again.  A young man stands before me, athletic, strong.  He smiles at me, white teeth showing, lips curled back.  I still cannot breathe, but the need to do so passes from my body.

	“How acidic does your tongue now taste, when you come to the end, and know that all you’ve done is done in vain?”  He asks, teasingly.

	We are in a green field, him and I.  My shape is no longer that of a young girl, but of a woman, fine toned by the hunt.  Now I sense that it is my turn to speak.

	“Any who work against you cannot die in futility.”  My voice rings harsh in my ears.

	“So, you have guessed my name?” the young man inquires.

	“I have guessed that you are a servant of evil.”

	“No servant, wretch, but evil itself.  Now with power over you.  The power of life and death.”

	“I am a hunter.  You have no power over the light I chose to reside within me.”

	“Indeed.  But I have the power to ask you now, when the choice matters most, if you want that light to remain.”

	I would speak to deny him, to dismiss that choice as one already taken, but the young man turns from me and bends to his knees.  His face begins to smoke, then his body, as if some great fire consumed him from within.

(‘Steaming man’ picture)

	When he rises again and turns back to me, I am forced to step back in horror.  Where his eyes once were are empty sockets, where smooth skin stretched over hard muscle there is only bone.  His hair is long and white.  His teeth still grin, but now it is the fleshless grin of the dead.  Permanent and unseeing, that of a dead man.

	“When you wake from this nightmare, warrior, you will find yourself immersed in water, flung from the cliffs into the ocean depths, your lungs poised on the brink of collapse and your body too far from the air above.”

	So that is the pressure; that is why I couldn’t breathe.

	“What your merciful mind has caused you to forget, warrior, is that you are betrayed, your mission foiled.  My men have found you, and have overcome you, and now have thrown you to the very edge of life.”

	The white I saw was the exhalation of my fall, the pouring out of my breath.  A white curtain beyond which death laid waiting.

	“Whether you survive the experience or not now depends on my will, warrior.  A simple spell will whisk you from the water, and you will find air your friend once more.  The price will come, but it pales in comparison with the alternative.”

	The water pressing all about me, slowing my movements, impeding my arms and legs, encasement as strong as steel and as final as that horror which it brings.

	“Really, I cannot believe you have a choice at all, warrior.  Yet I must ask.  Is this your brave yet useless end?  Or do you live, plucked from the jaws of death, just as they snap shut.”

	His grin is mocking, his stance insolent.  He already knows that answer I must give.

(‘Mocking grin’ picture)

	I do not waste time in responding. “I accept”

	He laughs.  “Then you are mine.”  His hands began to move, the dead lips start to utter the words that will save me.

	“I accept.”  I say again, staring down into the black wells of his eyes.  “I accept the fulfilment of my oath, the promise I swore to defend the light, and the path I have led.”

	The dead man stops his spell, his eyes on mine, his teeth still and silent in the wake of my words.

	“I accept my death, and do not submit.  I die free of you, and I die well.”

	“As is your choice.” His final words to me are cold, but I am warm now.

	On all sides the water waits once more.  My lungs are empty.  I fall through the white curtain of air that heralds my passage.  My limbs lose their strength and become still.

	Yet my mind is clear.

	I fall towards the depths, and rise into the light.

(‘Into the depths’ picture)


----------



## Speaker

I am done.

I look forward to seeing the other three entries!


----------



## Sniktch

RL got in the way for me again, and this time when I tried to stay up late to finish I fell asleep at my computer desk.  Never fear, though, I am on the last page and should have no problem posting my piece by the deadline in 40 minutes.  

However, once again I am not going to get a chance to look it over or do any editing before posting it


----------



## Sniktch

Eek!  C'mon NiTessine, I want to see what you wrote for this round!

I'm finished now, just taking the last 20 minutes to try to do some quick proof reading.


----------



## Sniktch

*Sniktch vs NiTessine, rd 2*

Far away in the tower of Daggas Bludd the wizard Jhakkar stared into his crystal ball impassively as he watched the destruction of the servants of Hecate, stroking his flowing white beard.  On his shoulder perched Grundy, his homunculus, the twisted little man clutching at his master nervously as he saw the work of three years falling apart before his eyes. (pic 4)

“Master,” he whined, “we are ruined!  The slayer will surely come after us next; what are we to do?”

“Calm yourself!  The slayer does not even realize that we played a part in this.  We will do what we always do, my pet, what we always do,” Jhakkar rumbled.  “We watch and we wait.  Besides, all is not lost yet, for we have yet to unleash our greatest weapon.”

They both laughed at that.  When Jhakkar could control his mirth again he continued, “When the world is ripe for the plucking we will call upon that weapon and watch the earth burn.” 

*****

The day that Khorr’d destroyed the temple, a child was found by the druids of the Twilight Woods.  It came floating down the Rillarock in a dainty, watertight bassinet right into the small village of Nevyr, where it was discovered by Belba the midwife as she took care of her weekly laundry.  He was a perfectly proportioned little man with beautiful blue eyes and shiny golden hair, and Belba was instantly smitten.

She took the child before the council and they were also charmed by the innocent and cheerful baby, and he was adopted by the village as a whole.  Thus they were alarmed when Khorr’d passed through a week later on his way back to the deep forest glade that he called home and declared the child to be evil.

“Ye canna be keepin’ it, now,” he said solemnly before a gathering of the council.  “Ye may not be able to tell with yer human senses, but the child reeks of the taint of Hecate.  Yer enemies still seek to destroy ye even after they been vanquished.”

The council was forced to agree, for none could argue with the acute senses of the fey satyr.  Heartbroken, they agreed that it would be done and parted sadly with Khorr’d as he continued on to his abode.  However, they did not realize that Belba had sneaked into the meeting and had sat listening in horror as the council issued the decree.  

When the druids ventured to the midwife’s house after bidding the faun farewell they found it abandoned; Belba and the child having vanished into the woodlands long ago.  The druids debated for several days before deciding to let the midwife go and not inform the satyr, figuring that the absence of the babe from their realm was just as good as its destruction.

*****

Poor Belba ran long and far, not realizing that she was not being pursued and that her actions were being guided subtly from afar.  Eventually she stumbled upon a cave near the edge of the woods, an old abandoned bear’s den.  Over the next few weeks she worked long and hard to transform the cave into a home for herself and the child, who she had named Frewen, until they were living in relative comfort.  The child was plagued by nightmares but other than that Belba saw no indication of the great evil that the satyr had warned of, and she became convinced that in this case the fey was mistaken.

Jhakkar smiled to himself in his distant tower, pleased by the current course of events.  The child would survive to achieve his purpose and none would be the wiser until it was too late; his plans would achieve fruition.  He patiently watched for the next two years as Frewen developed into a happy young toddler, then decided it was time to move forward at last.

“It is time for you to play a part, Grundy,” the wizard stated and the evil little golem hopped down from his shoulder and onto the table, rubbing his tiny hands together with wicked glee.  Jhakkar fell into the magic then, letting the syllables stream from his lips as he concentrated on the last image he’d seen within the crystal ball.  As he intoned the last word a bright flash of light filled the tower, and when it cleared the homunculus could no longer be seen.  

An instant later Grundy materialized upon a low hanging branch on the outskirts of a wood and went to work.

*****

Belba whistled cheerfully and off-key as she gathered wild blackberries on a late spring day, Frewen playing a few feet away.  Completely absorbed in her task, she did not notice the approach of strangers until it was far too late, when she heard the crunch of footsteps just behind her.  She whirled around and found a hideous beast towering over her, a vicious looking humanoid that strongly resembled a hyena.  She opened her mouth to scream, but the creature  reached out and grasped her about the neck with a powerful claw and snapped it with a quick twist.

The infant began to cry but another of the monsters bent down and lifted him almost gently from the ground, cradling the boy in its arms.  A tiny deformed man jumped down from the beast’s shoulder, trying to comfort Frewen.  “You have nothing to fear from us,” assured Grundy.

Though the boy could not understand the golem explained anyway.  “You are fiend-touched; your father was a demon.  You have great powers but you must learn to use them.  I have been sent to teach you.”

Frewen spent the next few years in training with Grundy, learning to unlock the latent abilities inherited from his demonic parent.  The homunculus also poisoned the boy’s mind, filling him with bitterness and rage.  Grundy directed his hatred toward the druids in particular, telling Frewen constant lies about the manner of his birth and subsequent abandonment.

In his lonely spire, Jhakkar only smiled and watched...

*****

Khorr’d woke one morning with a terrible sense of unease.  The woods seemed strangely silent and he knew that something was amiss even before he saw the faint plumes of smoke rising into the sky.  The satyr grabbed his blade and pipes and bounded off in the direction of the smoke, praying that his instincts were a miss.

Sadly, they were not.  He arrived in Nevyr to find it a smoking ruin, the inhabitants either badly mangled or skinned alive and left hanging from the trees. (pic 3)  The burly warrior let out a bestial moan of mingled rage and pain, then set about looking for tracks.  He found a pair at last, those of several heavy humanoid creatures wearing heavy boots.  The trail was easy to follow and he ran off through the forest, hoping to gain time on his quarry.

However, those he pursued seemed to possess unnatural constitution and he seemed to make no headway in his chase.  He passed out of the woodlands and onto a broad, flat grasslands and he still saw no indication that he was any closer.  Finally he came to a barren windswept plain in a place where the sun beat relentlessly down  upon the scorched earth and he found he could continue no farther.  The sun had heated the earth to the point where even his hooves felt uncomfortable being in direct contact with it.  The tracks had changed curiously, resembling smaller round holes in the dirt and not heavy booted feet, but they continued straight into the fabled Scorched Plains.

Frustrated and on the verge of despair, Khorr’d started to skirt the edges of the plain, hoping to find a point where the passage would be easier.  He traveled west along the edge of the desert for two days but found no break in the unending miles of flat, super-heated soil.  On the third day however he had a lucky break.

The satyr woke to find himself surrounded by swarthy, dark-skinned men on strange wooden stilts.  He immediately saw the usefulness of these devices for crossing the hot ground, and he rose to a sitting position, extending his hands in a sign of peace and calling out to the men, “Ho there and well met!  Ye wouldna be interested in partin’ with a pair o’ them stilts, would ye?”

The strange men only stared at him blankly, but at least they made no threatening moves, so Khorr’d tried again.  “Ahem, I was wonderin’ if ye might be persuaded to sell me a pair o’ yer stilts.”

One of the men stepped forward and rambled off something in a tongue foreign to the satyr and he sighed as he understood that clear communication would be impossible.  He stood up and approached one of the men, pointing at the stilts and then at himself.  The man shouted back angrily and backed away from the faun, and he stopped, trying to think of a different tack.

His eyes rested upon the panpipe shoved in his belt and an idea came into his head.  He slowly pulled the pipes free and lifted them to his lips then started to blow, tentatively at first but rapidly gaining tempo and volume.  He began to dance and twirl about as he played, drawing the strangers into the song.  He danced among them and blew reel after reel of catchy music as they performed an elaborate and beautiful stick dance upon their stilts.  (pic 2)  

At last they seemed to draw to a close, and Khorr’d quit playing and panted for breath.  One of the men broke away from the others and approached him, the man appearing to be the oldest one there.  Khorr’d knelt and bowed respectfully as the man approached but he smiled and shook his head, grasping the faun by the shoulder and pulling him upright again.  He produced a pair of stilts from somewhere and pressed them into the satyr’s hands, then nodded and pointed out across the baked ground.

Khorr’d practiced walking on his new stilts for a couple of hours before taking leave of his new-found friends, waving to them fondly as he set forth across the Scorched Plains.  He angled back to the southeast, hoping to come across his quarries’ tracks again.  He journeyed all through the night and into the next day, not daring to stop in the hostile terrain, but when he finally reached the other side he had still not discovered any signs of the trail again.

Beginning to despair again, Khorr’d continued southeast, not really expecting to find anything but not knowing what else to do and not ready to abandon his quest yet.  He saw signs that he was entering populated lands a week later, and the next night he woke suddenly to the illumination of a great fire not far off.  He sprang to his feet, sword in hand, and sprinted off in the direction of the blaze, somehow instinctively feeling that it was related to the prey he had tracked across half the continent.

He arrived at the scene of a village engulfed in flames.  He could see mangled corpses strewn about the ground and heard echoing screams emanating from the hamlet, and bounded forward to put an end to the suffering of helpless innocents.  He was not prepared for what he would find...

He entered the thick smoke blanketing the village to find a human child standing before him, silhouetted by the leaping flames.  The youth appeared to be quite innocent, with cherubic features, deep blue eyes, and a halo of blond hair, but Khorr’d’s nostrils flared as he detected a familiar reek of taint coming from the boy.  His eyes widened and he yelled, “You!” and the boy turned towards him.  A terrible roar erupted from the lad’s lips then and he raised one hand in a clenched fist. (pic 1)  Terrible unholy energy exploded around the satyr, but the fey was made of stern stuff and survived it unfazed.

He started to charge forward but caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye and rolled to the side at the last instant as a powerful gnoll leapt out of hiding and attempted to behead him with its axe.  Khorr’d’s dodge caught the creature by surprise and it tilted forward, unbalanced by the miss.  The satyr brought his legs sweeping around and kicked at the back of its knee and the gnoll fell heavily to the earth.  Khorr’d was back on his feet and upon the fallen gnoll in a flash, creasing his opponent’s skull with his keen blade before it could rise.  Even as the first gnoll died the satyr became aware of two more of the creatures stealthily moving in at his flanks and whirled to face the nearer of the two, intentionally exposing his backside to the other.

The beasts took the bait and rushed in swinging their axes.  Khorr’d waited until he they were nearly on top of him and then tumbled to the side, slashing with his sword in a low arc at the legs of the attacker coming in from behind.  He scored a stinging hit across its shins and it lost control of its charge, falling to the ground howling as its axe slipped free from its fingers and spun through the air.  The thick wooden handle caught the other gnoll in the face and its head snapped back.  Khorr’d was quick to take advantage of the opening, launching himself forward and striking the creature in the chest with his horns.  The gnoll doubled over as it felt the air collapse from its lungs, then the satyr’s blade flashed once and it dropped to the ground, dead.

The last gnoll had recovered by this time, pulling a pair of long bladed knives from its belt and rushing back in.  Khorr’d parried several furious blows in rapid succession, catching one of the knives on his blade and pushing it far out to the side on his last parry.  The other dagger whistled in unblocked and the satyr accepted the hit on his forearm, catching the gnoll’s arm in his mighty grip as it followed through.  He fell to his knees and twisted that arm, using the beast’s momentum to lift it over his head and drop it back to the ground on its back.  Before it could rise a well-placed kick opened its skull and poured its brains into the dust.

Breathing a little harder now, the satyr turned back to face the evil child, who had watched the entire battle with a bemused expression on its face.  As its last ally fell the boy’s eyes began to widen as fear started to his mind.  The satyr rushed forward, yelling, “Prepare to return to the hell that spawned ye!” and the child turned and ran off into the burning town.  

Khorr’d started to give pursuit but a tiny figure launched itself from hiding and landed on his arm, biting and scratching in a frenzy.  The faun could feel the stinging of the golem’s poison entering his bloodstream, but he trusted his magical constitution to protect him from the worst effects.  He plucked the homunculus free and hurled it to the ground, trampling it into the earth beneath his hooves.  When the tiny construct moved no more the satyr moved to where he’d seen the child disappear and began searching for the trail again.

*****

In the distant tower of Daggas Bludd, the wizard Jhakkar howled in pain as his creation was crushed, the backlash of Grundy’s death wounding him severely.  Greatly weakened, he could no longer maintain his link to the crystal ball and the images within it faded.  A stream of curses left his lips as he considered the last few scenes that had flashed before him – the bastard satyr was on the verge of defeating his plans once again!

Swearing vengeance, the wizard crawled to his bed and collapsed.  When he regained his strength he would watch and wait for the opportunity to settle the score with the damned fey.

*****

Hours later Khorr’d’s chase came to an end.  It had taken him some time to locate the boy’s trail where he’d left the town, and the child had managed to put a good distance between them, but the satyr ignored his exhaustion and the stinging of his wounds and set out after him.  Finally, in the small hours of the morning he found his quarry, sleeping peacefully on a bed of moss where at last its strength had fled.

The faun regarded the small sleeping form sorrowfully.  At rest the demon-spawn appeared to be nothing more than an innocent child, his features beautiful and angelic.  Still, the satyr knew that there could be no redemption for this one; the taint was in its blood and it would bring nothing but destruction to the world if allowed to survive.  Others had made that mistake before and paid the price.

Khorr’d’s expression grew grim and he unsheathed his long, shining sword, stalking towards the child.  It heard him as he drew near and awoke, lifting frightened and pleading eyes to gaze at the fey.  

The satyr’s lips tightened and his knuckles grew white, but his resolve did not falter and he showed no mercy.


----------



## alsih2o

wow, folks are cutting it close!


----------



## Sniktch

Yeah, there it is, for better or for worse.  I'm not going to be able to get any more work on it done without going over the deadline.  C'Mon NiT, 2 minutes left by my watch  

Its a bit longer and more ambitious than last round, but I hope it stands up as a good follow-up under the cold discerning eyes of the judges.  Clay, next time can we have 72 hours, please?  I'm gonna take a nap at my desk now


----------



## NiTessine

*A Good Life*

Vennizen the Silvery lay dying. He was not particularly opposed to this, having lived good life, and reached venerable age of 90. Lying between his silken sheets on this warm spring morning, he felt only restful.

He was alone; it'd be an hour before the servants should start roaming the house, and yet another after that before the rest of the family would wake up. He'd have plenty of time to leave his mortal coil.

Taking a more comfortable position, he reflected back on his life. His earliest memories were at the age of five, when his latent magical powers had first awoken and marked him special for the rest of his life. The unfortunate, though deserving, recipient of his magical outburst had been a bandit chieftain, who was just in the process of burning down his noble family's estate in countryside, a day's ride from Dajeq. The man had been immolated in a conflagration that rivalled the heat of the burning buildings. *(pic 1)*

He'd slung fire and flames many times that day, destroying the bandits with the sort of innocent rage that only a child can muster. The border riders had found him soon after, following the enormous pillar of smoke that cleft the grey sky in twain. 

Many things had died that day, his childhood among them. After it had been ascertained he was a natural sorcerer, he'd been taken in by the clergy of Annek the Nighttime Protector, as the law dictated.

From then on, his days were full of study, about the principles of magic, the religious texts of Annek, and the histories of the Dajeqi people. He never saw his parents again, until over a decade later, when he'd been groomed into the rank of a full warrior priest. At the time, he was the clergyman of a patrol through the jungles surrounding the city, hunting a band of border raiders, the eternal plague of the borderlands. They'd been told the raiders had attacked a caravan and taken a number of prisoners, including Vennizen's parents. A cold rage had burned inside him that day, and once they came upon the flayed cadavers of his kin, he let it out. *(pic 3)*

He'd run and tracked with exceptional skill that day, leaving behind the rest of his patrol. When they caught up with him, he'd already caught up with the bandits, and all that was left was a crater and smoking bones.

Vennizen had soon been transferred out of field duty afterwards. The Dajeqi military could not afford to have such unpredictable power in their ranks. He was made a temple priest, though he continued to practice the traditional skills of a Dajeqi warrior; archery, tracking, and the hom-dai.

The hom-dai was an integral part of the Dajeqi culture. It was a very dramatic martial arts, where the combatants moved about on short stilts. *(pic 2)*The first thing taught to a student of hom-dai was to never set his foot down from a stilt during a fight. Moving the foot in other ways, however, was quite important when pressing an attack. Some of the most devastating attacks were lightning-fast kicks to the front, or a double kick, where the warrior took support from his stilts and kicked forward with his feet. The punches were similarly quick, the hand leaving the stilt only for a fraction of a second to smack the opponent in the jaw.

The stilts themselves were also used for offence, when the fighter put both feet on the same stilt and used the other to swing at his enemies. Hom-dai was most often played as a sport, where the bruises and occasional broken bones were accepted as a risk and quickly forgiven by the cheerful Dajeqi, who saw it was a part of the fun. However, against the border raiders, it was used to deadly effect, and the stilts were iron-shod.

Vennizen had made a good hom-dai player. But those days were past him, now. He'd married in the meanwhile, too, and his beautiful wife, Mesijah, had borne him three healthy sons and a daughter.

Since his fortieth year, the priesthood called his attention once more to the ever-growing list of responsibilities he had as a senior clergyman. He was required to do sermons, paint himself white to symbolize the relation he had with the moon god, and live away from his family, in a niche behind the great statue's head in the temple of Annek. His quarters there were austere, and from there he would wander forth in the hour of midnight, to sit on the shoulder of Annek, and speak to the believers. *(pic 4)*

That had ended, too. His time of duty as a priest of Annek expired, and he could retire to his rebuilt family estate, to spend his life as he would with his family. Mesijah died of a strange wasting disease along the years, leaving Vennizen feeling empty and old. And now, seven years after his wife, he felt his own death approaching. He had no fears, having served the Nighttime Protector well in his time. Now, he could just lie down in his bed, smiling.


----------



## alsih2o

i have nit as being 2 minutes late....close enuf for me to leave the inclusion or rejection of his story to sniktch.

 sniktch- sportsman-like patience or deadline loving justice?


----------



## Sniktch

Woo!  He made it!  Clay, sportsmanlike patience from me.  He's close enough to the deadline and I didn't want to win by default, anyway.  No matter how it turns out, I'd rather leave this in the hands of our esteemed judges.


----------



## alsih2o

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *Woo!  He made it!  Clay, sportsmanlike patience from me.  He's close enough to the deadline and I didn't want to win by default, anyway.  No matter how it turns out, I'd rather leave this in the hands of our esteemed judges.  *




 good man sniktch, hours is one thing, a few minutes leaves me feeling lenient (aome dictator i would be )

 and can i just say, GREAT stilt usage by both of you, i thought that pic would eb a stumper 

 well played gentlemen, it is now up to the judges


----------



## NiTessine

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *Woo!  He made it!  Clay, sportsmanlike patience from me.  He's close enough to the deadline and I didn't want to win by default, anyway.  No matter how it turns out, I'd rather leave this in the hands of our esteemed judges.  *




Thank you...

You know, I lost to mirthcard the first time after letting him continue even though he was a few hours late...


----------



## Sniktch

I remember that, but for me its all about the writing practice and not the competition really.  And if I get to the finals I want it to be because I was judged worthy, not because of a no show or technicality.  Good Luck, NiT


----------



## Nail

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *I remember that, but for me its all about the writing practice and not the competition really.  And if I get to the finals I want it to be because I was judged worthy, not because of a no show or technicality.  Good Luck, NiT  *



I call for a disqualification, on the grounds of "Sportsmen-like Conduct"!

None of this "fair" stuff 'round here, bub!


----------



## Sniktch

Oh yeah? Get in here and write against me face to face, bub, and we'll see what you're made of


----------



## Nail

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *Oh yeah? Get in here and write against me face to face, bub, and we'll see what you're made of  *



Sounds like a deal to me.

An' if yer story was in late, even by a minute, I'll ask to have yer %$^#%& disqualified.....

After all, how else would I be able t' win?  Can't even seem t' find th' vowel keys sometimes......


----------



## Sniktch

Well, then I'll just have to make sure I'm not late 

(Wow, first time I ever got abused for being friendly and nice   Well... maybe not )


----------



## Barendd Nobeard

barendd nobeard vs speaker


She glanced up, casually, and scanned the room.  Nothing was out of place, but something seemed wrong.  She scanned the room again and for some reason, her eyes were drawn to the smoke.  It wasn't just floating to the ceiling, like smoke normally does.  It was....staying in place. (photo 4)  No, it was moving, but moving very slowly.  Like the solar system billions of years before, it seemed to be random bits just slowly coalescing.  She hoped that whatever it was would take form more quickly than the planet beneath her feet.  She returned to her work, making a mental note to check the smoke periodically.  She did not share her observation before he left to search the temple.  Looking back later, she realized that was probably a mistake.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He kept running to the temple.  "Where to search?  Where to search?" his mind asked himself over and over.  The temple was large, and it could be anywhere.  "The precious flower....the precious flower," he kept repeating internally, as if trying to summon the object by force of will.  He ran up the steps, to the main door of the temple, and stopped to catch his breath.  With one final deep breath, he opened the door and peered inside.  The temple was brightly lit by the afternoon sun--shadows were short as it was just past noon, and the golden status was dazzling.  He could not stand to look in its direction, and his hand instinctively went up to shield his eyes.  He turned away from the dazzling reflection, then started toward the side of the temple.  It hit him immediately, almost as if she was sending him a telepathic message.  Or maybe he was just recalling some bad movie.  "Walk into the light," he muttered, amazed that he had some sense of what to do.  Certainly the precious flower will be hidden in the temple.  And what better place to hide it than the spot which almost forced you to turn away--the last place you would search under normal conditions.  Yet, the current extraordinary conditions had somehow tipped off his brain.  He approached the statue, he eyes adjusting to the glare.  As he approached, he saw a few others there, going about their own prayers.  He brought his hands together, as if praying.  There, on the middle toe, right next to a child.  (photo 1)  Some sort of beaded flower--an offering.  There weren't many people around, but enough to make taking the flower risky.  There was no time for subtlety; he snatched the flower and ran, ignoring the stares and cries of the temple visitors.  The small child laughed as he ran away, and the adults halfheartedly ordered him to stop.  They didn't seem overly concerned.  After all, the thief had taken a small token, but ignored the baskets fill with gold coins that comprised the toes of the statue.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The smoke was taking form, and she was alone.  She wished she had told him before he left to search the temple, but it was too late now.  It was condensing, but not into any recognizable shape.  She walked over to the smoke, and peered intensely at it.  Thinking about it later, that was probably another mistake.  She began to feel light-headed and light-footed.  She was floating for a few seconds before she even realized it.  She tried to cry out, but no sounds emerged.  Soon, she was horizontal, and eventually vertical once again, but upside down with her feet at the ceiling.  And her head right above the smoke.

He opened the door.  "I got it!" he shouted in triumph.  "I found it right--" he stopped, as he watched her floating above the strange cloud.  Before he could react further, she disappeared.  She just headed into the smoke and vanished.  But that wasn't the strangest part.  What really bothered him was the sound.  As she disappeared, he clearly heard the sound of a splash.  A large splash.  And then she was gone.  

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She plunged into the smoke, which was suddenly wet (photo 2), and headed straight down.  She could not seem to reverse her direction.  Thinking back to the events of the last hour, she couldn't help but think, "Not telling him about the smoke was probably a mistake.  Ditto, examining the smoke by myself."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He ran to the smoke, screaming, but stopped abruptly when he was no longer in the room.  He was outdoors, the smoke obviously some sort of teleportation device.  "What now?" he wondered.  "What now, indeed," a gravelly voice answered.  The man whirled around.  The smoke was gone, but the sight of two figures he had seen before (though in separate places) unnerved him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Back at the temple, authorities questioned the patrons.  They questioned the man who had placed the flower there.  It was a personal totem, offered freely, and of little monetary value.  Almost an hour had passed before the parents realized their child was missing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The elemental Lich laughed.  "Air," it said, remembering the smoke, "water," it continued, thinking of the woman, "and now, earth," it finished, gesturing to the land around them.  Indeed, the very ground seemed to have taken hold of the man's feet; he was stuck fast.  "All that is left is fire, my friend," it said, smirking.  It still held the child with one arm.  "Be still, my precious flower," it said to the child.  A few strange words were uttered, and the child went limp.  It dropped the body on the ground.  

"Damn!" thought the man, "I never was good at riddles."  

"No, you weren't," it said, reading his mind, "that's why I chose you to help me."  It began to gesture.  Strange words issued forth from its mouth, and the man was suddenly very afraid.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The woman continued down, drinking more water every few seconds.  In a short amount of time, her lungs were filled with water and she could no longer breathe.  At the same time, the man's lungs filled with fire, as the meteor swarm decimated his mortal frame.

The lich crossed its arms, satisfied with its handiwork (photo 3)  "It's all in the timing," it chuckled to itself, "I really should have minored in Chronomancy."  It picked up the child.  "Now, to plant this precious flower, so it can bloom at the appointed time."  It sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune; the lack of lips apparently no impediment to its musical endeavors.


----------



## arwink

Just the normal warning that it'll take longer than twenty-four hours to judge.  Wednesdays and Thursdays are the hectic days at work, so I won't get a chance to look things over until friday night or saturday at the earliest 

Hmm.  I wonder if I can make these posts automatic somehow


----------



## Mirth

NiTessine said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Thank you...
> 
> You know, I lost to mirthcard the first time after letting him continue even though he was a few hours late...  *




Actually, that time I was only a few minutes late. It's on page 4 of the link to the first competition in my sig, I think. Not that it really matters  Thanks anyway for letting me slide then - and now karma has come back to save you, see?

Good luck everybody!


----------



## alsih2o

looks like we have a roundup, some time this week i plan on starting to catalog the pics in a ceramic d.m. folder in the art gallery, i will also be including some pics that haven't been used, but maybe useful


----------



## Maldur

I send Clay my verdict!

So I am now ready to take bets.


----------



## Sniktch

Argh!  Can't handle antici.....


----------



## alsih2o

remember, arwink is almost a full day ahead of us, so it may be quicker than you folks think


----------



## Sniktch

any word from arwink yet? _Sniktch is trying to sit on his hands, really _


----------



## alsih2o

nope, he has evidently been busy teaching future writers...i mean besides y'all


----------



## arwink

Yep, sorry.  The words "Chaotic" and "Mind-bending exhaustion" and "Oh my god, I almost forgot I was gaming yesterday which threw my schedual off completely" are very apt to any excuses I may offer.  The return to teaching took a lot more out of me than I thought after three months off.

I appologise to everyone that I'm not going to be able to get this done today either.  Some friends are taking me out for my Birthday soon, but I have the ever faithful six hour gap between classes at Uni again tomorrow, so I guarentee results will have started filtering in to Clay by this time tomorrow.  I could send results now (because I know which stories I'll pick) but it'll take me a while to get together the commentary.

Again, very very sorry.


----------



## arwink

I've just sent my judgments to Clay.  

Sorry it's taken so long.


----------



## alsih2o

sniktch vs. nitessine, judgement-

alsih2o
 nitessine- odd, and groovy story.  it is a round of big weirdness. i really like the way the statue pic was handled, and both competitors really made me proud of them in their use of the stilts pic. while these stand out as the strongest point for illustration handling, i found the story to be 2 parts i enjoyed, hinged together a bit loosely.
sniktch- putting the child so near the center of the story was a gutsy move.i found the homonculus treatment of the statue pic to not be the strongest, but of the stilt pic strength in both of them, i find sniktches to be the stronger.
 i have to give sniktch my vote by a slim margin.

maldur
Sniktch vs NiTessine
Sniktch
Another episode in the action hero satyr's story Go Khorr!!
NiTessine
Introspective (hope I spelled that right), very athmospheric.
Round goes to NiTessine for a more onorthodox story, may he rest in peace.



arwink
Sniktch
After the rollicking combat of his first instalment, it was nice to have this 
well paced piece that offers a bit more background to the adventures of 
Sniktch's hero. There are some nice mythical overtones here that could perhaps 
be brought further into the fore - retelling Khorr's tale as though it were a 
folk legend could lend it a nice touch and bring in a resonance with the 
traditionally folksy focus of most tales revolving around fey have in modern 
renditions. Although I was impressed with the use of the stilts, I'm not 
entirely sure it fit in with the rest of the story - it's the only picture 
element that felt truly "tacked on" and out of place. The exposition here is 
perhaps a little over-done, at times relying on telling us background a little 
more than showing us. Particularly in the scene were Grundy is sent to train 
the fiend-child, where the lingering implications of "I am here to teach you" 
are immediately dashed by explaining what exactly the golem does. Leaving it 
hanging could well lend a greater impact the atrocities that occur at the 
village later.

NiTessine
NiTessine paints an interesting picture of a man who has lived an interesting 
life, but there's no real sense of narrative present. Although interesting and 
well told, the story doesn't ever really go anywhere or do anything. I was 
waiting for some sign of internal conflict that needed to be resolved before 
death, even something as simple as lingering guilt or doubt about his 
reactions, but Vinnezen is - in his current state - dull. While the elements 
of his past show signs of a good story, in the stories present he doesn't want 
or need anything, and as such he doesn't leap off the page or grab the reader. 
Great picture use, good voice and well told, but in need of something more.

NiTessine and Sniktch have both presented good pieces, but in the end its that 
lack of forward momentum that gives Sniktch's the edge. Although my instant 
reaction to NiTessine is to steal all the cool cultural elements for a future 
game, it doesn't really do anything for me as a story. This round goes to 
Sniktch


 looks like sniktch snuck this one by.


----------



## alsih2o

barrend nobeard vs speaker, judgement.

alsih2o
barrend nobeard- "i really should have monored on chronomancy" what a line. focus on the details of the statue pic, this story is a bit hard to keep up wiht, and worth all the effort it takes. gotta love someone who takes a literary chance to let the bad guy win. (whistling with no lips...oh, man.)
speaker- takes us on a dreamlike ride. both of these stories had that odd layer of unreality around them. i liked the handling of the imagery, but not as much as barrends.
both writers get odd on us, adn both of them make it work, but i liked the stronger sense of conflict in barrends. i have to give this round to barrend nobeard
maldur
Speaker 
Dilemmas with "paladin" like hero and evil lich. Good story, the image of a
slowly sinking hero is very strong.
Barendd Nobeard
Im a bit confused. What actually happened? Sorry but I could not make heads
or tails of that story.
Round goes to Speaker!



arwink

Barendd Nobeard
I had two gut reactions to Barendd's piece - the first is that it's terribly 
cool idea that's only really being half-explained, and the second is that the 
few minor DnD references (Lichs and meteor swarms) really detract from the 
general tone. There's something very interesting going on here, but it's only 
really a fragment of a story. A very cool story, to be sure, but I understand 
only a little more than I did at the beginning. While I'm all for leaving some 
things unexplained, there's no real pay-off for the reader here - this is 
almost the introduction to a longer tale, or the ending of one. That being 
said, the voice is interesting. The choice of short, punchy sentences that 
demonstrate the urgency of the desperate male searcher works well, although 
some tidying is needed in parts. All in all, it's great stuff but I wanted to 
see more.

Speaker
Speaker lends a slightly philosophical tone to his piece, and touches on the 
same mood and style as Barendd does. The basic idea is very cool, and the 
style of the piece comes together very well. It's well paced, moving through 
the various elements with a reasoned focus, and the questions raised at the 
beginning are slowly fleshed out as the story progresses. The actual story 
itself touches on some fairly common fantasy fiction themes, but there is a 
faint spark of innovation within that gives it some new life.

Choosing between the two is difficult. While Barendd's chaotic whirl of a 
story holds great potential, it ultimately doesn't stand up to the reasoned, 
well-told rendition that Speaker gives us. It's a tough call to choose, but 
ultimately the round goes to Speaker. His story feels more complete and solid 
as a reader.

 speaker wins by the skin of his teeth.


----------



## alsih2o

as soon as our 2 finalists have checked in i iwll start posting the next round.


----------



## Speaker

Oi.  Skin of my teeth, by a hair, no kidding!  Funny how alike our tales turned out, Nobeard.  I count myself lucky here!

I'm fine to go right now, but if possible I'd like the next round to start in 8 hours from this post.  Up to the judges, and sniktch.

Here's looking forward t the final round, the harrowing championships, the panic-inducing pictures that must follow...

Cheers!

Speaker


----------



## alsih2o

Speaker said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I'm fine to go right now, but if possible I'd like the next round to start in 8 hours from this post.  Up to the judges, and sniktch.
> 
> *




 yeah, looking like monday morning


----------



## NiTessine

Ah, well... Should've known trying to type up anything an hour before the deadline isn't going to work.  

Congratulations, Snikch, and good luck.


----------



## Maldur

Well played, good luck withthe finals you both!!

I wonder what insanity Clay will come up with this time.
(hope it involves applepies)


----------



## Sniktch

Wow, I feel like a wild card team in the Superbowl   Sorry for not checking in again yesterday but it was my anniversary   NiTessine, thanks - you're a great competitor and I feel lucky to have slipped past you.

Clay, I'm ready to go.  Bring on Speaker and the final round - there can be only one!


----------



## alsih2o

alright kids, arwink is gonna be running slow with judging, so pics will be posted by tonight, and you will have 72 hours.


----------



## Sniktch

Sounds good, I can't wait to see what you've cooked up for us this time!


----------



## alsih2o

*5 pictures, 72 hours* 

 here we go-

 sniktch vs speaker- the finals

 pic 1


----------



## alsih2o

sniktch vs speaker- the finals

 pic 2 of 5


----------



## alsih2o

sniktch vs speaker- the finals

 pic 3 of 5


----------



## alsih2o

sniktch vs speaker- the finals

 pic 4 of 5


----------



## alsih2o

sniktch vs speaker- the finals

 final pis, 5 of 5, 72 hours left boys and girls!


----------



## Sniktch

At least I have an extra day  

I'll get you for this, Hairy Potter!


----------



## Nail

Pic #1 is super cool......the word "perspective" jumped into mind.....the other pics are also cool, but that goes without saying.

alsih2o may be king of the typos, but he's also king o' th' pics!


----------



## alsih2o

Nail said:
			
		

> *
> alsih2o may be king of the typos, but he's also king o' th' pics! *




 king of the typos? what did i do to deserve that? when do i gte my sceptre?


----------



## Speaker

Heheh...  whoa.

Pic 3...  Just strange...

This should be fun!


----------



## Barendd Nobeard

Speaker said:
			
		

> *Oi.  Skin of my teeth, by a hair, no kidding!  Funny how alike our tales turned out, Nobeard.  I count myself lucky here!
> 
> *



Good luck, Speaker!

That was a lot of fun; now I'll have to go read Speaker's story.

I was originally going to go for a happy ending, but I was having a really cruddy day and I was in too foul a mood to write anything that might be construed as positive, upbeat, or generally uplifting in any way.

Thanks for the thoughtful comments, judges.

I look forward to Speaker crushing....um....whomever it was that squeaked into the finals!


----------



## Sniktch

Barendd Nobeard said:
			
		

> *I look forward to Speaker crushing....um....whomever it was that squeaked into the finals!  *




Just the sort of comment I would expect from a stinking gnome lover  

Clay, I've got some sort of stomach virus and am largely confined to bed and/or the bathroom today, but I will try my best to get my story up before the deadline.  Just wanted to give you a head's up since I won't be online much, if at all, today.  I'm crawling back to bed now; try to catch up with you later.


----------



## Speaker

Frantically I write.
Hope it doesn't take all night.

I'm in contact with some old frends and fellow gamers in Indonesia right now.  Busy talking about the developing situation there and all, but I'll have the tale done in time!


----------



## Barendd Nobeard

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Just the sort of comment I would expect from a stinking gnome lover  *










> *
> Clay, I've got some sort of stomach virus and am largely confined to bed and/or the bathroom today, but I will try my best to get my story up before the deadline.  Just wanted to give you a head's up since I won't be online much, if at all, today.  I'm crawling back to bed now; try to catch up with you later. *



Ick--good luck with the stomach virus.  No fun at all!


----------



## Sniktch

*Final Round - Sniktch vs Speaker*

The giant arrived just after midnight.  My family and I slumbered peacefully in our beds when the earth began to shake to its thunderous footfalls.  I jumped out of bed and threw open the shutters, and beheld a mammoth figure silhouetted by the moonlight.  It strode purposefully towards the farmhouse, the floors and the walls of the house shaking more violently with each approaching step.

I heard screams from the house, and the voice of mother as she tried to soothe the little ones.  Soon I saw father run out into the yard, brandishing an old sword and a torch.  He yelled at the giant, demanding that it leave, but the brute only laughed, a deep but feminine laugh.  With surprising swiftness, it suddenly leaned forward and swatted father with a huge hand, and he flew off into the night without a sound.  The giant shook with laughter again, the waves of sound breaking over the house like thunder, and began its steady march toward the structure.

It was my quick thinking that saved me then.  I finally tore myself away from the scene in the window and ran downstairs.  I could still hear the wails of my younger siblings and the comforting tones of my mother, but they seemed distant and unreal somehow.  Nothing seemed real except for the looming footsteps of the giant.  It was very close now; I would not be able to get away from the house in time, so I ran to the kitchen and climbed into the heavy iron cauldron, curling into a fetal position with my arms held above my head.

A crash echoed through the air then, accompanied by the terrible screaming of the wooden timbers as the house died.  My arms were struck by falling dust and chunks of debris and the air grew stale as the building was crushed down on top of me and I took only short gasps of air so that I would not suffocate.  Eventually the clamor died down and was replaced once more by booming footfalls that gradually receded into the distance. 

When at last I felt it safe enough I dug my way free from the rubble and collapsed in the fields, weeping and crying until I passed out from shock and exhaustion.  The next morning I rose and beheld the full extent of the ruin the giant left in its wake.  (pic 5)  I dug hopelessly at the rubble near the bedrooms, crying out to my mother and siblings, but knowing in my heart that it was unlikely anyone else had survived.  My worst fears were confirmed hours later when I found their crushed bodies.  

Again I was gripped by the sensation that none of this was real, that I was living in a nightmare and would awake soon.  In a daze I wandered the fields until I found the body of my father laying where it had fallen, his head twisted at an unnatural angle and his chest caved in.  I wanted to weep again, to rail against cruel fate and shake my fist against the heavens, but I knew that it would accomplish nothing.  Instead I gathered up his sword, though it had done him little good, and removed a silver ring decorated with flowing foreign script from his right hand, placing it upon my own.  The ring was a family heirloom and would probably turn out to be more useful than the dulled and pitted sword.  

I spent the rest of the day dragging father’s body back to the remains of the house and salvaging the few supplies that survived its destruction.  As night fell I placed my father’s body in the wreckage with the rest of my family and set the timbers ablaze.  I turned and walked away from the funeral pyre, praying for my family’s souls and swearing vengeance against the giant.  Its tracks were easy to follow and I walked until sleep overtook me, falling to the trail and sleeping on the ground where I lay.

I don’t know how long I trailed the giant in this dreamlike state, waking each day and walking mile after mile, stopping only to eat, relieve myself, and sleep.  A fever took me and I raved incoherently to the phantoms of my family, lost in wild hallucinations and oblivious to the actual world around me.  Perhaps the rest of my story is just a fever dream, but I am not convinced.

When I regained my senses I was in a broken land.  The ground was stony and cracked by lack of moisture, barren of life save for a few scraggly plants that dotted the ground.  It seemed the same in every direction, just parched and broken earth stretching out to the horizon.  I wandered aimlessly through this desert and presently came across a dark skinned man kneeling on the ground and gathering the sickly plants.  (pic 1)  He smiled and waved me near as soon as he spotted me, and somehow I knew that he had been waiting for me.

I halted before him.  “Hello,” I greeted.  “What are you doing out here?”

He shrugged.  “Waiting for you, I believe.  Why are you in this forsaken land?”

“If you are waiting for me then you must know that already,” I said, confused.

“Ah, but I can not be sure you are the one I am waiting for unless I know why you have come.”

That made sense to me, but I hesitated a moment longer before blurting out, “I follow a wicked giant.  She slaughtered my family and destroyed my home and I have sworn to kill her.  

“I seem to have lost the trail,” I finished, frowning.

He nodded, “Then you are the one I was expecting.  Follow me.”  He pulled one last plant free from the earth and started walking away.  I fell in behind him and we walked in silence until we reached a stone house built in the middle of the broken plain.  We entered the house together and he pointed to several cushions scattered on the floor.  I sat and watched as he built a fire and placed a pot of water over it to boil.  Next he lay the plants upon a broad, flat stone and began to crush them with a fist-sized rock, scraping the pulp and juices into the pot.  As he worked he began to speak.

“This land was not always the shattered plain you find yourself in now.  Long ago it was a fertile and beautiful place.  My people lived in happiness upon the natural wealth of the land... until the giant came.

“The giant lives in a vast and plentiful realm herself, but in her greed she would take what she does not own, and destroy what she could not take.  Thus it was with our land.  My people would never serve her, nor would they agree to abandon their lands to her, so she used her magical powers to keep the rain from our soil.  Our rivers and lakes dried up, the plants died, and the animals fled.  Soon the people left as well, until only I remained.  It has been twenty years and not a drop of rain has fallen since the giant cursed us.

“I stubbornly refused to flee, swearing my own oath of vengeance against the giant.  I dreamed that one day another would come after the giant, someone with the strength and ability to gain entry to her fortress, but who would need a weapon capable of slaying her.”

The concoction in the pot had by this time boiled down to a thick liquid that he poured into an empty bottle.  He corked the bottle securely and handed it to me, continuing, “This is that weapon.  If you can get the giant to consume this potion she will at long last pay for her crimes.”

I spent the night with the strange man in his home before setting out again.  His final instructions repeated in my head as I fell into step, “Head north from here until you find yourself in a lush and fertile land again.  Find the river and follow it to a tall rock spire towering over the landscape.  Climb to the very top and you will find a circular depression; stand in it and speak a certain word and you will be instantly transported to the giant’s fortress.”  He leaned forward and whispered the word to me then, forcing me to repeat it until he was sure that I had it right, then he wished me luck in my quest and sent me on my way.

I was taken by delirium once more as I traveled northward and again I lost track of the passage of time.  It seemed like weeks passed by and yet I know that it could only have been a couple of days, but eventually I felt the air change and noticed  more and more plantlife eking out an existence in the rocky plain.  Soon after I found the river the old man had spoken of and in the distance I saw the natural rock tower.  However, a settlement lay between my goal and me, and as I drew closer and closer I saw that it was a village of trolls.

Luckily I had not forgotten about my father’s ring or its powers.  I concentrated upon activating it and felt my skin tingle as it changed color and shade to blend me perfectly into my surroundings.  I crept slowly through the village this way, hugging the walls and inching my way to the other side.  (pic 2)  In this way I made it through the village and had started to climb the spire long before the trolls detected my presence.  The sight of half a dozen trolls charging towards me howling blood curdling cries spurred me into action and I climbed as I had never climbed before, easily beating the enraged trolls to the summit.  (pic 4)

I found the depression the man had described and stood within, speaking the word he had made me memorize so carefully.  Instantly I felt a gut wrenching sensation and the world blurred before my eyes as my world was turned inside out.  I awoke several moments later and found myself at the top of an immense staircase, directly in front of two gigantic wooden doors.  I wriggled under the crack beneath the doors and found myself within a palace of epic proportions, everything as you would expect to find it within a normal castle but built for occupants forty feet tall.

I wandered through this vast place until I heard the sounds of its occupant.  Making sure to activate the magical ring again, I rounded a corner and beheld a cavernous dining hall.  A colossal golden-haired woman wearing a horned helmet sat in one of the huge chairs placed around the table, noisily feasting upon the remains of some large beast and washing her meal down with a flagon of ale.

I moved to the other end of the table and started ascending its leg.  My progress felt agonizingly slow, but I eventually achieved the tabletop before the giant had finished her meal.  Carefully maintaining my disguise and dodging from cover to cover, I gradually drew close to the brute.  With one last burst of speed I ran to her mug and hid behind it, retrieving the bottle the old man had given me and unstopping it.  Murmuring a quick prayer that the giant would not notice the tiny bottle in her drink, I threw the bottle and watched as it disappeared over the lip of the flagon.

I threw myself flat and crawled behind a gigantic salt shaker then as the giant reached down and picked up the mug of ale.  I watched with growing satisfaction as she tilted her head back and drank long and deep from the cup.  If the old man had been correct, she had just drank more than enough to complete the task.

The giant placed the mug back upon the table and let out a deep, satisfied belch.  Suddenly, a strange expression came over her and she tilted her head far to the side, sinking her teeth deep into her own shoulder and tearing free a great chunk of flesh!  Blood ran freely from the wound and from her mouth, but she chewed with relish, a strange tittering laugh escaping her lips.  (pic 3)  After she swallowed she brought her other arm to her mouth, this time biting off a large portion of her wrist and severing several important blood vessels.  She continued to laugh louder and louder with each following bite, until she finally slumped in her chair and ceased moving.

I stayed in my hiding place, rooted to the spot with sick fascination as the giant tore herself apart before my eyes.  A great weight lifted from me as I watched her movements cease and came to the realization that my enemy was dead.  I spent the next few days exploring the rest of the castle.  The giant had a large number of slaves and I informed them of their newly won freedom, and in turn they led me to the treasure hoard the brute had collected over the years.  

I selected a few choice pieces to keep for myself and let the freed slaves keep the rest in exchange for directions back to the broken plain.  I bid them farewell and departed soon after, making my way over the next few weeks back to the desolate land where I had met my strange benefactor.  A heavy rain was falling on the earth and the first signs of plant life were bursting through the tortured ground, and I knew that the news I brought with me had already been delivered.


----------



## Speaker

*Speaker vs. Sniktch*

There is a simple expression in physical activity.  The body is forced to cope with rigours beyond the norm.  Fingers strain with focused energy, then radiate pain as sores begin to open, then go numb and rigid.  Feet ache from constant pressure.  Eventually, the mind is unshackled from the body, and is free to loose itself as the body continues to move.

	Throughout the years of quick training and sudden conflict, I have come to enjoy climbing.  The same is not true of my mentor and partner, Pual.  Looking over my right shoulder, I can see him grimly applying himself to the cliff face with a fierce intensity.  I almost think he would rather reach the top and what is waiting there for us then remain clutching to the cold hard stone of this up thrust mesa.  His leathery skin contrasts with his wiry ease, he manoeuvres his body to best reach the next upward point, ever ascending in tandem with myself.  Pual is about half again as old as I am, my thirty-five to his sixty-five, but he doesn’t show it.

	Below us, the other teams follow our trail.  Someone watching from a distance would see us as tiny specks of colour slowly seeping up the rock face.  Hand over hand.  One arm length at a time.

(Insert “Climbing” picture)

	There is a reason why Pual and I are first.  Together, ignoring pain and weariness, we are nearly silent as we reach the top.  Pual rests briefly on a outcropping, flexing his fingers.  He motions carefully, and our long time together allows me to understand the movements of his body as clearly as speech.  He wants me to skirt the cliff to the left, and then come up as he does.  I work my way in the indicated direction, nod at him.  My hands and feet pump in final effort, and I hurl myself upward over the cliff edge.

	From the top the view is breathtaking.  In a moment I take in the river snaking down below, the sparse vegetation.  Before I get the full chance to absorb the view, I am forced to reality by the presence of our objective.

	Perched upon the edge of the cliff opposite from me she sits.  The last of her kind in this time.  She whistles a truly unnerving tune, but the wind snatches it from her and flings it away from the mesa edge before I catch more then a strain.  I glance at the rocky lip where Pual was supposed to have surmounted, but he is not there.

	“This time or another, you will not win.”  The female says, still looking away.  She is wearing a period costume, Viking-esque.  Most of her kind hold onto their original timeline with such reminders.  This particular outfit is gaudy, includes a chain hanging down the back, of all things.

	“This time or another, you will not win.” She says again, and turns to face me.  Her mouth leaks blood.  That is a good sign.  She is stressed, preparing for sudden movement, and reacting as her species is wont under such conditions.

	This warning is sufficient, and I am prepared as she throws herself clear across the breadth of the mesa rock, hands outstretched towards my throat.  I dodge backwards, and foolishly trip over a jutting stone, falling pathetically in her path.  She leaps upon me, in all likelihood she means to rip out my throat or snap my neck.  I try and roll, but her arms are unnaturally strong.  She holds me down, and prepares for the kill.

	Then there is a loud noise, the sensation of movement.  The creature’s left arm explodes.  She rears up, chains flying, golden breastplate sodden with fresh blood.  There is another crash, another unseen projectile, and she arches back.  Her bloody mouth smiles, ignoring her pain.  “This time or another, you will not win.”  She whispers thickly, and falls over.  Dead.

(Insert “Weird bloody girl picture”)

	I see Pual before me, hands upraised and still glowing from the release of energy.  He frowns for a moment, then bends over and funnels the unspent energy remnants into the ground.

	“Does this mean were done here?”  I ask, gasping for breath.  I am still high on adrenaline, but I know that soon that surge will falter, and every ache I now feel will hit me with full force.  I am not looking forward to that moment.

	“Yes.  We are done in this time.  Now we must move on to the next.”

	I groan.  Truth to tell, after five years of training and fifteen more of hunting, I had hoped for a little rest.

	A hunter never receives rest while there is still prey to catch.  In this time or another.

------------------------

	There is one more thing we must do before leaving this time.  We must speak with the oracle.

	Two flights, four days, and much aching later, Pual and I arrive at our destination, a sprawling city of ancient buildings mixed with modern architecture.  We rent a small little car and head downtown, into the older sections in which the occasional ruin of pre-war buildings still stand, albeit in several different pieces.  One of these pieces holds a special significance for the hunters we are.  Of brick construction, overlaid by a now faded wash and graced with ancient wire boxes, this wall serves as the home for the oracle.  It has for nearly eighty years, I am told.  Put up when war talk was still an undercurrent of society, and not yet the destructive conflict nobody could have imagined.  Here was where the first victim of the otherworlders fell into death, and in so doing became a spirit.  Granted wisdom and insight, she now waits within the wall, dispensing lore to those that hunt her dispatchers through time.

	As we get out of the car and approach, the wall bends outwards to meet us.  The form of a women, trapped in brick and plaster residue.  Waiting.  Trapped forever.  I cannot imagine her plight.

(Insert “Wall Women” picture)

	“Pual…Apprentice.  I am glad to see you.  Now.  What about the reverse?  Time?”

	“Yes, Oracle.  When is the next outbreak occurrence?”  Pual, straight to the point as usual.

	“Always so very.  Quick.”  The oracle sighs.  It resonates much like the rattle of a tile, falling down a roof full of its fellows.  A very unnerving sound.  “I much prefer talking to your master, when his time comes.”

	While I have little idea what she is speaking of, I have to chuckle at Pual’s discomfort.  “Forgive me.  I am merely nervous about the reverse.” He eventually replies.

	“Of course, forgive me for prolonging your.  Time.” The oracle fades back into the wall.  Just as I thought that she was gone sulking, the wall burst outward again.  “The next outbreak will occur in forty.  Years.  Ten.  Months.  Five.  Days.  Recommended reverse; thirty. Years.  Five.  Months.  Allow for extra. Training.  You will need.  Time.  The others will.  Follow.”

	“Extra training Pual?”  I enquire, setting up for a joke about old men fit for retirement.  Both Pual and the oracle turn their eyes towards me and do not speak.  I find their combined stare most unnerving.  The oracle in particular can stare unabashedly with brick red eyes for long moments without blinking, encouraging watery eyes within seconds.  I blinked rapidly, turned to avoid her gaze and focus on Pual.

	“You will see.”  He says, leaving my question hanging.  I hate it when Pual does that.

----------------------

	The oracle next revealed the “where” of the matter, without which the “when” would not be of much use.  That meant that Pual and I had to go flying again.  Planes are convenient, planes are relatively safe, but not all that comfortable.  	Then it was a three-day trip by bus and car to the edge of the Northern wastelands.  No other place on the planet is quite the same.  At the border you see the ultimate dichotomy, life against death, as the wastes creep ever southward year by year into the prosperous croplands.  How green fields and barren land can exist within miles of each other is beyond me.

	We stood in one of the bordering green fields, the bulk of a huge farmstead dominated the scene.  The field grew right up to its tattered remains in orderly rows, as if reluctant to leave the carefully tilled soil of the long departed farmer.  This was no coincidence.  I now knew why the oracle had sent us here.  Ritual power lay in the land, the last gasp it held before the waste advanced further giving it strength unmatched.

(Insert “collapsed house in field” picture)

	Pual seems nervous.  He paces.  Pacing is a bad sign in my book.  Action without purpose, undirected, often motivated by some inner conflict.

	“What’s wrong?”  I ask.

	“Reverse timing.”  He barks.  Terse, just like normal.  

	I press the conversation forward weaving around his blunted rebuttal.  “From what you have told me, reverse timing merely jumps us forward over the years.  It works, and all the hunters use it.  What are you worried about?”

	“Worried?  Pah.”  He dismisses the idea solidly.

	I return to my silence.  Pual does not often talk until he wants to.  I was willing to wait.  This being my first time to travel by reverse timing, I was not in a hurry for the experience.

	“Remember when we first met?” Pual asks, abruptly.  

	“Is this a relationship question?  I am not too good at those.”  I reply.  I earn a scowl in response.  Pual continues pacing.  I decide to act my age for a minute and give a real answer.  “I was a total amnesiac.  We were on a dusty road together; I didn’t know you or where I was, or even who I was.  You took pity on me”, I say this with a sardonic grin, “Taught me how to hunt outsiders, and that’s what we’ve been doing for the past twenty years.”

	Pual nods.  Paces.  Then he plants his feet and heaves a big sigh.  Not a good sign.  Pual never sighs.  “No time like the present.”  Says he.  I groan, and he smiles…an uncharacteristic fissure cutting across his face.

	I stand up to begin, my mind searching back for the words and gestures necessary to send us forward in time.  But Pual looks at me and shakes his head.  “Unlike most of the powerful magic we’ve done together, my friend, this one is done solo.  You’ll have your chance yet.”

	I am thoroughly confused.  Rituals require energy, and the bigger and more blended the ritual, the higher the potency.  I had expected to pour quite a bit of myself into this one.  It was not a question of training—like all the rituals, I knew the reverse time one inside and out, never mind that I had never used it.  But I had to assume Paul knew what he was doing by asking me to sit out.

	I pick up a narrow sprig of ripening grain and placed it between my teeth in feign indifference as Pual closes his eyes and began to concentrate.

	Time passed.  Normal time, I mean, not the years we were about to traverse.  “Are we there yet?” I whine in my best high-pitched nasal tone.

	“It has begun.” Pual says, and opens his eyes.   His cheeks are flushed, and he nearly collapses.  

	Before I can say another word, there is a sudden change in the environment.  The sky becomes a blur as the sun and clouds race overhead and scar tracks across the sky.  The stalk in my lips curls into itself, turns an unhealthy black, and then crumbles into dust.

	Pual stiffens and slumps to the ground.  He grasps a hand full of the larger field stalks, which immediately accelerate towards decay, leaving a green stain on his hand.  Pual does not notice.  He slumps forward onto the ground.

	As I rush towards him, time swirls.  The fields ripen, and then collapse as dry winter comes the cycle repeats again and again.  The space of five years passes in the time it takes for me to lift Pual to his knees.  The fields continue their seasonal converson, but the order they display begins to fall apart.  Something is happening. 

	“Pual?”  I ask.  A dozen brief lightning storms spawn and vent their fury.

	“I am conscious.” He replies.  “Help me to my feet.”

	I lift him up.  He looks around, and so do I.  The field life is nearly extinguished.  The abandoned house has nearly finished falling completely apart.  Although I do not feel it, I am sure that a hot wind is blowing from the north almost constantly.   Fewer clouds drift through the sky.  Pual lowers his head, and then turns to me.

	“Understand this.  The Pual you know is about to cease to exist, as surely as the waste will come this way.”

	“What do you mean?”  I ask, as the sun begins to shine near constantly and the ground begins to harden beneath my feet.

	“Your amnesia…  will now be mine.  No ritual could throw two beings forward into the future without a price…” His voice fades, and he shrugs off my hands.

	Cracks are beginning to form in the ground.  The sun beats down upon us.  How many years have passed already?  Twenty?  Thirty?

	“What do you mean?”  I whisper harshly.  Although I as yet feel no heat, I have the urge to lick my lips thoroughly as the cracks in the ground begin to harden into solid rigidity.  The mark of the waste.

	Pual reaches down and tears apart a handful of soil.  He rubs this between his hands, as if trying to remove the stain of green from those long lost plants.  He wipes his face, and the soil follows his hand.  His appearance is now wild.  He does not look like the Pual I know.

	He turns back to me and reaches out his hand.  I then begin to see the price he spoke of.

(Insert “Man in the dust” picture)

	He looks younger, much younger.  Thin as a rail, his mouth drawn over with fine white dust.  “To reverse time, I must give up years of my life…  and all the memories those years contain.  And a little more.  I shall become as you were twenty years ago.  Unable to recall my own name.  Not knowing our mission.  You will have to teach me.”

	I now know the truth.  “This has happened before, hasn’t it?  That’s where I come from?  I once gave my life for the same cause?”

	Pual nods.  That is all he has to do.

	I have no time to dwell on my new situation.  Time is beginning to restore itself to normal speed.  I can feel it now, in the back of my head.  The sun is beginning to slow its burning progress across the sky.  I begin to feel the heat of the sky and the ground pressing towards me.  Pual senses this too.  He reaches up and pulls me towards him.  “Continue the cycle, my new master.  For in five years we must hunt.”

	And so we will.


----------



## alsih2o

wowza!

 you guys rock!

 2 great stories, makes all the time and coordination worth while 

 before the judgements i wanna say thanks to all who played, watched and judged....this can be a minor hasle, and you folks make it pay off every time, thanks.


----------



## Maldur

wow great stories both!!!!

You both out done yourself!



Ill send my verdict in a second.


----------



## Sniktch

Just wondering what the word on Arwink is.  Arwink, I know you're busy so take your time; I'm just moving this thread up to the top while trying to contain my anxiety


----------



## alsih2o

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *Just wondering what the word on Arwink is.  Arwink, I know you're busy so take your time; I'm just moving this thread up to the top while trying to contain my anxiety  *




 you were literally 30 seconds ahead of em old man!

 arwink did call ahead and say he may take till monday, but remember, that is our sunday


----------



## Nail

Snitkch:  Good job!  As scary as it sounds, that's almost _exactly_ the story I was thinking about.  Mine wouldn't have had the teleportation in it, but...very nice!  Give's "self-obsessed" a whole new meaning.

and Speaker:  Holy cow, but that's good.  The imagery of the "reverse time" will stick in my brain for quite awhile now.

I'll hold any other comments (apreciated, or otherwise) until after the judges have weighed in.


----------



## alsih2o

Nail said:
			
		

> *
> I'll hold any other comments (apreciated, or otherwise) until after the judges have weighed in. *




 my judgement is done, i have maldurs, and i do not think arwink is the type to have his literary criticisms swayed by the masses, comment away


----------



## Sniktch

alsih2o said:
			
		

> * my judgement is done, i have maldurs, and i do not think arwink is the type to have his literary criticisms swayed by the masses, comment away  *




Ditto.  I always appreciate feedback


----------



## Nail

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Ditto.  I always appreciate feedback  *



Great!

*Sniktch*: The beginning of the story is well done.  The thundering footsteps, the hopeless defence by the father,...and the quest for vengence.

The middle part, including the dream-like death march from fertility to desolation back to fertility is good too...but I was hoping for more from the old man.  (Don't questing people always run into wise old men?   )  The story must be short, so there's not tons of room...but there should be some sort of connection made here, some sort of resonance between the young-grieved man and the old-world-weary man.  A shared experience?  Just the giant's general (magical) destruction of the old man's lands is not enough.

The young man must do what the old man cannot.

The end was a decent wrap-up, but again seemed a bit rushed.  I hope I don't offend you when I say that the end with the slaves seems completely un-fullfilling.  Such an ending might be great for a D&D adventure...but for a story like this it serves no purpose.    ...Just kinda cheapens the blow an ending should have.

Mean and cruel, ain't I?   

************
*Speaker*: My biggest problem with this story was....well, I'm almost ashamed to write it.   ......Boy, did I hate the name of the protagonist's master!  "Pual????!!!!"   Arrrrrgggg!  I can't say it.  How do you say it?   I'm going nuts over here.....

The story is very tight, and the action moves well from point to point.  I was left a bit mystified by some of the trivia, though: why are "other teams" climbing up the spire, in the beginning?  Did I just read that wrong?  And why is the outsider hiding up there?

There were some great "scene setting" writing here.  The way the oracle just.  Stopped.  The nervious mannerisms of the protagonist's master:







> Pual nods. Paces. Then he plants his feet and heaves a big sigh. Not a good sign. Pual never sighs.



The mood is set, the action is clear.  And the ending is.  Good.  A circle with a revealed "ending as a beginning" always works for me.
*****************
I'm not a judge, so my opinion ain't worth a hill o' beans, but I'd say the round should go to *Speaker*.

Both of you did very.   Well.


----------



## Speaker

All constructive criticism is good criticism.  So thanks for chipping in, Nail!

Pual…  all right, I just said it out loud a couple of times.  The word does not exactly roll off the tongue.  A bit rough and awkward…similar to Pual’s personality? J.  I am sure he would not mind if you pronounced it Pall rather than Poo-all.  Reminds me of how hard it was to get used to some Indonesian names.  Zainul for example .

About the small details…  agreed completely!  There are several loose ends scattered throughout the story that really do not belong without explanation.  Perhaps a future expansion is warranted.

Glad you enjoyed the. tale.

alish2o, there is a chance that I will be a few hours later checking in on the final results on Sunday, due to an upcoming trip to Vancouver.  The delay should not be overlong, however!

The suspense kills me.


----------



## Sniktch

Nail said:
			
		

> *Mean and cruel, ain't I?   *




Nah, not at all.  As I said, feedback is always welcome.  I agree that a lot of the story is rushed; my biggest regret in each round was that I ended up with no time to read over what I'd done before posting it, but that's what a deadline does to you 

Thanks for the comments.  I pretty much agree with your assessment, although like Speaker, the suspense is still killing me...


----------



## arwink

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *
> 
> my judgement is done, i have maldurs, and i do not think arwink is the type to have his literary criticisms swayed by the masses, comment away  *




Greetings all.  Just wanted to throw my apologies in for this running so late.  The combination of recent world events and their intersection my thesis topic (and for the sake of the boards, we'll leave that there) has kept me away from a computer for the past three days or so.  I was trying to get this done before monday, but it's not going to happen unfortunately   I'm very, very sorry about this.  

Monday/Sunday is definate though.  The ever reliable gap between classes and staff meetings ensures that 

Sorry for the suspense.


----------



## arwink

Done.  I've sent my comments to Clay, and they should be posted within the next couple of hours if previous rounds are anything to go by 

Congrats to both the finalists.  They put up some damn fine stories, and I'm sorry it took me so long to judge them.


----------



## alsih2o

sniktch vs speaker- final judgemnt

 alsih2o

 sniktch- gives us a really entertaining little tale, i love the image of the giant eating herself a lot, and the house and the old man were handled well.  the climbing ic was handled decently but i really preferred the use of the "diguised" pic. all around a good usage of the pics with some real high points.

 speaker- the wall women is handled really well here too. i also liked the circular aspect of the tale. the house pic was worked in well with the time passage theme.

 in our first all photo ceramic d.m. i have to give the final round to speaker, 2 really strong stories, no major errs by anyone, but speaker sticks his neck just a bit out in front, despite the strangeness of the story.

maldur

 Sniktch: This is your best ceramic entry yet. It has the feel of the
"original" fairy tale I heard a while back (Little red ridinghood, the
bloody, pre-grimm version).

Speaker:
Time reversal, training "slayers", misterious oracles. Great story. I really
like your "twist"

This round goes to: Speaker.


arwink

Sniktch
The first thing that really leapt out at me is the stiffness and modern 
approach to the dialogue. This starts off very much as a "Young Son's Quest" 
that is common to fantasy and mythology, and the initial conversation between 
the old man and the main character doesn't quite ring true for the setting 
being implied. The pay-off of the story also has some problems - if the family 
knows about the rings magic, why didn't the father use it when the giant first 
turned up? It would have worked better if it was a simple ring, an heirloom, 
with powers that proved beneficial later in the story. There are some other 
pacing problems, but this is more the function of the fast drafting problem of 
Ceramic DM than anything else - the story seems about half as long as it needs 
to be, to give the various ideas and events proper space to sink in.

All this being said, I did enjoy the voice being used to tell the tale, and the 
majority of the characters are interesting work. The death of the giant, in 
particular, is well planned out although the absence of real conflict in the 
story (everything comes too easily for the hero) leaves it slightly 
undermined. 

A good story, but in need of more work.

Speaker
Speakers story is well paced, with a well constructed voice that lapses only 
occasionally. The slow revelation of the stories secrets is very nicely 
handled, particularly after the almost misleading introduction which introduces 
us to the lead characters hunt. There are dangling questions throughout, to be 
sure, but many of these leave us an open interpretation of Speakers world and 
aren't essential to the main plot. As a short story, this works well, but it 
may need some rethinking if expanded into a longer tale that sought to answer 
the dangling questions.

There were two main problems that caught my attention. The first is to change 
Pual's name - it looks too much like a misspelling, and this means that it 
seems silly once the realisation hits that it isn't. It's closeness to a 
modern name also lends a certain overtone to the piece that works in its 
favour, but would largely be more effective if just changed to Paul. The 
second was the dialogue of the Prophet. There's an attempt to create a unique 
speech pattern occurring, but it simply doesn't work the way it's written. 
Again, it comes off more as weirdly placed typo's than a strange speech 
pattern, so more obvious breaks between words are needed."

In the end, I thoroughly enjoyed Speakers story apart from these minor 
quibbles. His use of the pictures is very clear and interesting, and the 
initial intro based around the climb is great.

In the end, I give this round to Speaker. Sniktch puts together a great tale, 
but just doesn't hold together as impressively as Speakers does in terms of 
narrative.

 unanimous final round to speaker! the new ceramic d.m. champion!

 all hail speaker!

 thanks to everyone who wrote, judged, commented or read along


----------



## Mirth

Let me be the first to congratulate the new Ceramic DM - Go Speaker! Go Speaker! It's your birthday! 

Well done on both of the finalist parts. I look forward to facing one or both of you in the next competition. 

Now you can go change your sig to something significantly obnoxious Speaker.

What a great Ceramic DM. Thanks so much to everyone involved.

Jay


----------



## Sniktch

Congratulations, Speaker.  It is the verdict I expected to see, and you deserve it.  It was good practice for me and I'll take one of these things eventually 

Thanks to the judges, too, for their feedback; its the most valuable thing I take away from these contests.  Thanks to Nail for pitching in, too.  Feel free to comment on any more of my stuff in the future


----------



## alsih2o

speakerbump


----------



## Maldur

Speaker, a well deserved congratulations!

Sniktch, you entry was good, I expect you to win next time!


----------



## Nail

checking in.....

Say alsih2o:  where do you get the pictures?  I'm thinking of adding some to my story hour thread....for ambiance, etc.  And you've got some killers....


----------



## alsih2o

Nail said:
			
		

> *checking in.....
> 
> Say alsih2o:  where do you get the pictures?  I'm thinking of adding some to my story hour thread....for ambiance, etc.  And you've got some killers.... *




 all over, google image searches, msnbc's the week in pictures, national geographic, art sites, special effects sites.

 if you need somehting in particular never be afraid to drop em an email, i just might have it


----------



## Speaker

Wow.  Ceramic DM.  That's good news, and I am happy to hear it!

Thank you everyone, for the stalwart and admirable competition, the judges for their thorough and well-written analysis each and every time.  Special thanks to alsih2o for the pictures and making this possible.  Thanks to Nail again for the bonus comments!

It took me over an hour trying to get into this site from Vancouver, but I am glad I made it.  The writing experience is fantastic, the idea of genesis from obscure images...  mind provoking.

Sniktch, I look forward to seeing you again in the future in such a contest, although I fear the tales you might muster past me.

Mirthcard...  I know that we will meet again!

As for the sig...  That will have to wait until I can change it in under 30 minutes .

I'll check in again when I get back home on wednesday...

Cheers!


----------

