# CERAMIC D.M. (not the current one, a year old)



## alsih2o

well, i think i am prepared for another round of ceramic d.m.

 i have had 47 offers for judges and picture pickers, but i have plenty of those. if you are interested in competing, let me know here and we will try to start it up this week 

for those of you new ot the concept, it goes like this- http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=42806&highlight=ceramic


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## Maldur

*Re: are we ready for another round of ceramic d.m.?*

Bumping so people actually see this!


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## NiTessine

As if it wasn't obvious, but... I'm in!


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## Speaker

Your call alsih2o, as far as I'm concerned.  But I'm in if you run it! 

Give me those loopy pictures and the chance to exersize some creative muscles any day.

Cheers.


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## arwink

I'm marking writing assignments for the next three weeks, so there's no way anyone wants me judging.  

In the name of not sleeping, however, I'll volunteer to put my money where my judges hat is and compete.


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## Angcuru

Hey, I have all the time in the world and I'm a harsh critic.  Sounds like I'd be a good judge.


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## NoOneofConsequence

I think this time I'm early enough not to be an alternate. I wanna play!


alsih2o: apologies that I couldn't take up the role of alternate last time, but I kind of fell off the world for a couple of days and by the time I got the notification that I was being called up the deadline had already passed.


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## alsih2o

NoOneofConsequence said:
			
		

> *
> 
> alsih2o: apologies that I couldn't take up the role of alternate last time, but I kind of fell off the world for a couple of days and by the time I got the notification that I was being called up the deadline had already passed.
> *




  none required, real world strikes us all 

 welcome aboard 

 good to have speaker back too, cannot proceed wihtout the reigning champ 

 and brave of arwink to step forward, good for the gander, eh?


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## Mirth

Well, I'm here 

I was thinking that perhaps this time I'd judge if you want Mark. Especially now that arwink can't. However, if you really are swamped with offers to judge, then I'll take a spot as a competitor. Your call.

Jay


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## arwink

alsih2o said:
			
		

> * and brave of arwink to step forward, good for the gander, eh?
> *




The sharpening of knives?  What sharpening of knives 

I fully expect my work the get the but kicking it deserves.  I'm not a fantasy writer, and I made my peace with that long ago.  I'm just going to need a distraction from marking, and humility will be good for me


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## Mirth

Mark,

LOL  I just got your email. Great minds think alike, eh?

Jay


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## alsih2o

mirthcard said:
			
		

> *Well, I'm here
> 
> I was thinking that perhaps this time I'd judge if you want Mark. Especially now that arwink can't. However, if you really are swamped with offers to judge, then I'll take a spot as a competitor. Your call.
> 
> *




 wow, did you get my email asking you to judge and you are being funny or is this an amazo-coincedence?


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## Mirth

alsih2o said:
			
		

> * amazo-coincedence? *




I would say a registered AND trademarked amazo-coincidence at that!!!


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## Maldur

My early bumping, was a sigh that I would love to judge again!

(Just to make sure y'all understood that)


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## alsih2o

maldur, you always ahve a spot at the table


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## seasong

I would like to play, but for the foreseeable future, I will only be able to participate on weekends. If that's not a problem, count me in!

If it is a problem . I'll just catch the next one...

Also, my understanding of this is that pure narratives and gaming scenarios are both welcome?


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## alsih2o

seasong said:
			
		

> *I would like to play, but for the foreseeable future, I will only be able to participate on weekends. If that's not a problem, count me in!
> 
> If it is a problem . I'll just catch the next one...
> 
> Also, my understanding of this is that pure narratives and gaming scenarios are both welcome? *




 indeed, both are welcome. but i unfortunately cannot promise wekend only activity, we need you in here eventually seasong, it is always nice to have someone wearing multiple championship belts


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## seasong

I cry .

Oh well, next time, next time...


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## alsih2o

i will draw you into my nefarious writing cult eventually seasong, you may have escaped this time with help from your punk sidekick "free-on-the-weekends" boy, but next time, next time you will be mine! mwu ha ha ha ha !!!!


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## Sniktch

Oh, gee, I dunno.  My time is limited lately but that never seems to stop me, and maybe I can use Ceramic to kick out of this funk that I've been in.  Sure, Clay, count me in...


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## alsih2o

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *Oh, gee, I dunno.  My time is limited lately but that never seems to stop me, and maybe I can use Ceramic to kick out of this funk that I've been in.  Sure, Clay, count me in... *




 welcome aboard, you rat bastard you


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## Sniktch

lol.  I'm actually having a hat made that has a Rat Bastard logo on it so that people will know who I am at GenCon.  Are you going?  I think I've seen enough pics now that I'll be able to pick your face out of a crowd


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## alsih2o

wow, well, maybe it is too soon, i will leave this up another day and see if we get enough folks


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## alsih2o

last bump to see if we can draw a few more


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## Maldur

He I want to judge so there better be competitors!!


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## Mirth

Maldur said:
			
		

> *Hey I want to judge so there better be competitors!! *




I agree Maldur  Is it because Iron DM started right after alsih2o announced Ceramic DM? Not very good timing maybe? Come on, people! This thing is fun... check out the links in my sig if you don't believe me.


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## alsih2o

bump for mc


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## mystraschosen

I am willing to participate,although I am in iron right now too.I have the rest of the week free.See I can do two things at one.......epic multitasker.


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## Mirth

Well, since I punked out on the ENWorld NPC contest, I've got more time to judge ... let's get this thing going! I can't believe so many people are scared of being judged by me


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## barsoomcore

THUNK

That's the sound of Barsoomcore throwing his hat into the ring.

Sure, I'll have a go. What the heck. Sign me up.


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## alsih2o

only one more needed, how come i only see people who wanna play AFTER the sign up is over or during the competition?


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## Dark Eternal

Well, if you still want one more victim - err, competitor, I'll put my neck on the block.


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## Angcuru

So, who are the torture experts I MEAN judges this time?


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## alsih2o

o.k., i got out an 8-sider and randomly slotted you.


 1st round looks like:

 nitessine vs nooneofconsequence

 mystraschsen vs barsoomcore

 arwink vs darketernal

 sniktch vs speaker

 i am gonna up the time limit to 72 hours, i think some folks felt too pressed by the 48 hour rule.


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## alsih2o

Angcuru said:
			
		

> *So, who are the torture experts I MEAN judges this time? *




 maldur, mirthcard and moi


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## Mirth

It's GO TIME! Torture expert, indeed.


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## alsih2o

all we need now is a check-in by active players to start the first round


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## barsoomcore

Barsoomcore, check!


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## NoOneofConsequence

Concierge: Checking in?

NoOne (looking cool and mysterious in the opening scene): Yes indeed. Tell me has mister Nitessine checked in as well?

Concierge: I haven't heard sir, let me check for you.


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## Maldur

Good luck everyone!!



(pfffft torture experts. * grumble* )


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## Speaker

*Checking in, calling out the rat*

I am here, checked in, ready for the pictures.

Ready to get busy.

So, first round's a rat, eh? 

I, of course, mean rat in the best possible sense of the word.  Not the flea-bitten rodents that unleashed death throughout all of Europe.  Not the giant mongrel rats that used to hang around my house in Indonesia and stare down the dog.  Nor even the cute, fluffy, bite sized rats they have here in Canada.

No, I do not mean to imply you are any of those ratty types, those animals.  Dirty, badly in need of a bath, badly in need of a hair cut, badly in need of other things that start with the word badly.

Nor do I point out all the sayings we have that characterize the rat.  For example, 'like a rat from a sinking ship'.  I believe that would degrade our competitive relationship before it even began.

No, no.  Truly, sincerely, from the depths of my own ratty heart, I look forward to working together with you,  Sniktch.

Just look into flea powder, alright?



PS:  Several close, personal friends of mine are rat bastards.  All in fun


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## arwink

Red five, standing by 

The non teaching period started ten minutes ago, so it's a well timed beginning.


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## NiTessine

Buggrit... When I first signed up, I forgot that my Easter holiday was impending, and that I'd be spending it in Spain. This may or may not prevent me from taking part in this competition. We are staying at a friend's house, and we aren't sure if they have a net access. I will probably find out soon.

So, until further notice, I am out of the competition, as I will be returning on Sunday. If I can get my hands on a suitable computer, I will make notice here.

Until then, goodbye, and sorry. *Sigh*


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## Dark Eternal

"Ancient powers of Evil, transform this decayed form... into <snip>"

*clears throat*

Sorry about that.  My half-fiend housecat made me do it.

Dark Eternal, all engines go.  Ready to begin countdown on mark.


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## NoOneofConsequence

NiTessine said:
			
		

> *Buggrit... When I first signed up, I forgot that my Easter holiday was impending, and that I'd be spending it in Spain. This may or may not prevent me from taking part in this competition. We are staying at a friend's house, and we aren't sure if they have a net access. I will probably find out soon.
> 
> So, until further notice, I am out of the competition, as I will be returning on Sunday. If I can get my hands on a suitable computer, I will make notice here.
> 
> Until then, goodbye, and sorry. *Sigh*  *




Ah...what does this mean for me? I'm seriously committed to this, this time. I've got time off over Easter, I'm available - please.


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## alsih2o

well, until someone else checks in and we find a nit replacement, i am gonna start arwink and darketernal.....





Round 1 

 Arwink vs. Darketernal

 pic 1 of 4


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## alsih2o

arwink vs darketernal

 pic 2 of 4


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## alsih2o

arwink vs darketernal

 pic 3 of 4


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## alsih2o

arwink vs darketernal

 pic 4 of 4

 72 hours from the timestamp on this post boys


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## Sniktch

Sorry, forgot to check the thread yesterday, went to sleep early last night, but I'm checking in...

So first round is a rematch of last match's championship round?  What up with that?  Shouldn't we build towards the dramatic rematch? 

Say what you like, Speaker, I am a rat and proud of it, no matter what you may associate with the term.  And no, no flea powder - how am I supposed to spread the plague if I don't have fleas?

It is good to meet you again in the arena of Ceramic DM.  And now I know I have my work cut out for me...

Bring it on, Clay!  I'm ready to try to outwrite this smooth-writing defending champ here (well, let me drink my coffee first...)


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## alsih2o

sniktch vs defending champ speaker

 pic 1


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## alsih2o

sniktch vs defending champ speaker

 pic 2


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## alsih2o

sniktch vs defending champ speaker


 pic 3


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## alsih2o

sniktch vs defending champ speaker

 pic 4

 72 hours from this timestamp guys


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## mystraschosen

Sorry,was busy yesterday afternoon,I am checking in and ready whenever.


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## alsih2o

round 1 

 mystraschosen vs barsoomcore

 pic 1


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## alsih2o

mystraschosen vs barsoomcore

 pic 2


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## alsih2o

mystraschosen vs barsoomcore

 pic 3


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## alsih2o

mystraschosen vs barsoomcore

 pic 4, 72 hours from this moment competitors..


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## mystraschosen

transmissions recieved. ....*teleports away muttering"Why barsoomcore?,now I am worried*....


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## barsoomcore

Pictures received, o devious one.

*walks away, worrying about mystraschosen... "I don't have a teleport machine..."*


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## Angcuru

can't wait to see the results of this one


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## Mirth

Hey Angcuru, since you're hanging around anyway, why don't you jump in and take over the spot left by NiTessine?


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## Thimble the Squit

*This idea rules!*

I hadn't heard of the Ceramic DM contests before and I just have to say, I love them to bits.  All the stories from the last batch were quality reading.  AlsiH20, you have a creative flair for brilliance and a gift for imagery; I take it you're a photographer yourself?  You've definitely got the eye for it.

Email me when Ceramic DM #4 swings around; I'm in if you'll have me.

Camo


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## alsih2o

*Re: This idea rules!*



			
				Thimble the Squit said:
			
		

> *I hadn't heard of the Ceramic DM contests before and I just have to say, I love them to bits.  All the stories from the last batch were quality reading.  AlsiH20, you have a creative flair for brilliance and a gift for imagery; I take it you're a photographer yourself?  You've definitely got the eye for it.
> 
> Email me when Ceramic DM #4 swings around; I'm in if you'll have me.
> 
> Camo *




ack! we need someone now to fill in for a dropout, can you go now?


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## Thimble the Squit

*Yikes!*



			
				alsih2o said:
			
		

> *ack! we need someone now to fill in for a dropout, can you go now? *




Yikes, er, ok...
(wasn't expecting this but what the heck)


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## arwink

And away we go.

Hmm.  What in hell am I supposed to do with all that?


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## Angcuru

Well, I'll fill the open spot, since timble seems hesitant.

*cracks knuckles*

I didn't consider a career as a novelist for nothing...

EDIT:
....welll I would have, but it just started.  Guess I'll spectate for this one.


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## alsih2o

round 1

 nooneofconsequence vs thimble the squit

 pic 1


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## alsih2o

nooneofconsequence vs thimble the squit

 pic 2


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## alsih2o

nooneofconsequence vs thimble the squit

pic 3


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## alsih2o

nooneofconsequence vs thimble the squit

 pic 4, you have 72 hours to turn in your story...


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## Angcuru

Oh, man I put something together for that SO fast.  Wish I was competing.


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## alsih2o

Angcuru said:
			
		

> *Well, I'll fill the open spot, since timble seems hesitant.
> 
> *cracks knuckles*
> 
> I didn't consider a career as a novelist for nothing...
> 
> EDIT:
> ....welll I would have, but it just started.  Guess I'll spectate for this one. *




 bad timing angcuru, jump in early next time, and i iwll keep your name as a replacement should someone disappear...


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## Angcuru

*shakes fist at sky*
DAMN YOU INTERNET! Stupid microwave oven radiation waves disrupting my wireless internet connection! *EDIT......so that I couldn't respond earlier*. 

I wonder if noone and thimble got the same idea I did...*bites tongue*


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## NoOneofConsequence

Message received and under...consideration?


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## Speaker

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *
> 
> It is good to meet you again in the arena of Ceramic DM.
> 
> *




All late-night-induced ribbing aside, same sentiments here.  I look forward to reading your tale, no matter what may result from this match.

And these pictures are just perfect, alsih2o.  Thought provoking.

Cheers!


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## Thimble the Squit

*I failed my Will save...*

I suspect Angcuru's idea would have been much better than mine but, oh well...

I apologise in advance; I fumbled my Will save on this one.  I just couldn't resist.

Anyway, here's my story:

The Hag and the Hive

I’m the guy with the knife.  Handsome aren’t I?  The girls love me.  I actually love one of them back too, which is convenient – in a slushy, romantic kind of way.

Ophelia.  I’d do anything for that girl.  Except, of course, she’s not a girl anymore – she’s a bug.  A bee, to be exact.
And that’s not so convenient.

Sycorax the hag had decided she needed a new queen for her hive and so now I’ve got to go in and convince the old witch to change her mind – and to change Ophelia back.

Which is why I find myself now, stripped naked in front of her cave, ready to dive into the waterfall, armed only with my knife, my wits and my staggering good looks.  The things we do for love.

I’m not a terribly good swimmer; I don’t see the point in getting wet unless there’s a lady in the pool with you – and that doesn’t happen all that often, more’s the pity.  Ophelia’s a very good swimmer – well, she was, before Sycorax turned her into a honey bee.

Ah well.  I held my breath and grip my knife in my teeth and dive in.  The waterfall gave me a pretty good pounding so I was already feeling beaten up when I climbed out into the hag’s grotto.  Not a good start to a fight, really.

“Do you expect you can defeat me?” the hag cackled.  She held her single eye in her left hand, her right hand was stirring something foul-smelling in a cauldron.  She turned her eye towards me and my knife.  “Little naked boy, you have no chance.  I will shrivel your manhood with my magic.”

“Nah,” I said, trying my best to be cheerful.  “The cold water already did that.  You don’t scare me, witch.”  Well, that wasn’t entirely true – I was bricking it, but I wasn’t about to let that show.  Hopefully, my shaking knees would just seem like shivering from the wet.

“You turned my beloved into a bee – turn her back or I will blind you, Sycorax!” I proclaimed, brandishing my knife at the hag.  I’m one of the best knife-throwers you’d ever meet; a flick of the wrist and she’d lose her eye.

Sycorax said something in a strange language and gestured at me with her ladle.  My knife withered in my hand like a dead flower.  Uh-oh.  I think I said something clever then, like, “Meep!”

“Ophelia wished to be a queen,” the witch said, “so I put her in my hive.  You can join her if you like.”  She waved her hand towards the back of her cave and, with a word, the wall shifted and opened up like a window.

I could see a bright sunshine on a verdant field beyond and, hanging from a lone tree, a hive swarming with bees.  In the heart of that golden honeycomb, I knew Ophelia waited for me.

“You can join her,” Sycorax repeated.

I had to think about that.

To bee or not to bee.


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## alsih2o

wow, thimble! turned in with 60 hours to spare 

 you are like the ainti mirthcard   he has been known to turn in pieces the exact minute they are due 

 as soon as your opponent turns their story in we will begin the judging, good luck!


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## Sniktch

Holy Moly!  And I have yet to put my pen to paper (although the burners are cooking - I have an idea, oh yes, I have an idea )

LOL, good job, Thimble - short and, er, _sweet_   I got a few chuckles out of your tale, good luck on the judgements


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## arwink

Friends Found in Lethargy

It was one of those down times, when I was back in Southport and doing nothing.  This time around, it was due to design rather than coincidence.  I’d finished big job down south a few weeks earlier, earned enough to keep myself in a humble manner for a month or three, so I headed decided to take a brief respite rather than capitalize on my success.  It’s a common enough practice for me; Southport was a place where boredom settled in with the tides and I could drink beer and watch daytime TV until the need for work and money uprooted me again.  

I drove into town and rented myself a room at the Jadran, this run-down hotel a block back from park that separates the city from the water.  It was a seedy enough place, the sign out the front depicting the silhouette of a bikini-clad woman leaning against a palm tree and the whole complex lit up with green lights.  At night I would leave my unit shadowed, lit up only by the television and the green seeping in from outside.  I’d open myself a fresh beer and sit on the balcony, staring at the brick wall view and enjoying the ambient buzz of crickets, cars and the various eccentrics that surrounded me.  The Jadran was that kind of place.  Even among the general exhaustion of Southport’s buildings, it was a beacon to the mildly deranged or outcast.  A place where you could sit, do nothing, and not be bothered by anyone.  It’s one of the reasons I was there.  It was the reason Nick was there as well, biding his time in the flat next to mine.  

I’d seen Nick around before we became neighbors. He was one of those Southport people, those residents that always seemed to be on the edge of your vision.  He was a local landmark, if you will.  Like the guy whose mullet had turned into dreadlocks at the back, always hanging around the local shopping center, or the old guy with tourette’s syndrome that was always on the back of your bus at nine PM.  Nick was a local in the indescribable sense; an entity that everyone seemed to know by reputation rather than name.  The first few times I’d lived here, I’d see him at the local McDonalds buying burgers for that weird Skeleton-child he was always carting around.  Or he’d be sitting in the park, muttering under his breath as he watched the Broadwater slowly drifting out to sea.  It was the kind of stuff Nick did, indecipherable and strange.  

The first clue I had about our proximity was the music, and everything else seemed to follow from there.  I was sitting on my balcony, drinking beer and wearing nothing but boxers.  It was in the heart of summer, and the muggy heat and the mosquitoes were starting to drain all the energy out of the air.  I was listening for crickets, trying to guess the make and model of the cars that were cruising the main road by the noise of their engine.  Then the music starts, winding its way from Nick’s balcony.  It almost sounds like someone playing guitar, except the sequence of notes is more complex than any I’d heard before and the sound is somehow softer, more gentle and lilting.  I listened to the song for a few minutes, closing my eyes and drifting along with the rhythm.  It reminded me of this girl I once new, the singer for a Celtic folk band that broke my heart.  It made me think of red hair and a smile I knew I would never see again, and it was the first time I could remember her without feeling angry or pained.  It took some time to realize that I strangely happy about the way things had turned out, like I suddenly understood more about events and it made everything easier to accept.  It was that kind of music, the kind that made heartache feel distant and worthwhile.  

Nick played for the better part of an hour before I decided to introduce myself, leaning over the corner of the balcony with a spare beer to offer him.  I knew him, as I said, but that didn’t seem such a big deal at the time.  It was the kind of coincidence you expected at the Jadran, to look over to your neighbor’s balcony and see a gray-bearded Southport local identity playing an instrument you barely recognize.  He was still playing, eyes closed and fingers dancing along his instrument.  It was strange to watch– his hands shifting along the two dragon-like necks while his strange skeleton-child perched on his shoulder and plucked at a third set of strings, strung like a harp from the dragons tail that curved from the instruments body.  The instrument was a two man job, but the skeleton child seemed adequate to the task, small fingers moving nimbly to pluck string after string and large ears cocked to catch the rhythm.  

When they finished I applauded, the two beer bottles clinking together softly.  The Skeleton-child ran at the noise, disappearing through the open doorway to cower under a couch.  Nick just opened his eyes and grinned through his graying beard.

“Beer,” he said.  “Excellent.”
“I owed you,” I told him.  “For the show.”
“You liked it?” Nick asked. 
I nodded.
“You got anymore beer?”
I nodded again.  I’d stocked up when I arrived, enough to last several months.
“Why don’t you come over then,” Nick told me.  “I think we can put a dent in your supplies.”
The skeleton-child bore its teeth at me, a mouthful of sharp needles.  
“I don’t think your friend likes me,” I said.  I pointed at its position under the couch, the faint glow of its eyes and the soft hiss.
“He’ll survive,” Nick said.  “Lou is easily startled, but surprisingly hardy.”
I nodded, trusting his word, but I made a point of putting on heavy boots before I went over.  The boots I wear when I’m out bush, and afraid of stepping on snakes.  The boots I wear when I fear for the safety of my ankles.

The unit Nick was renting was a mirror to my own, but showed signs of a fastidiousness I could never imagine.  The kitchen was neatly kept, the lounge sparse and well decorated.  The only potential for mess were the candles Nick kept burning, and even then the candelabra were kept surprisingly free from wax drippings.  Even the faded carpet, with its design that imitated gray mouse-droppings on beige wool, seemed cleaner and fresher than my own.  

“Lou takes care of the cleaning,” Nick explained.  “I don’t have the attention span.”
The Skeleton-child was perched on his shoulder once more; it’s hollow eyes glaring at me.  At his comment, it took to preening itself, scraping a skeletal finger along the edge of a rib, before leaping to the floor.  

I proffered the six-pack I’d brought along, and Nick was quick to twist a lid free and begin drinking.  We settled into plush couches, amiably silent for a time, while Lou batted the twist-top lids around the room like a cat.  After a time, the small creature grew bored of the game, but did stop to lay a tiny hand on my knee before taking its place on Nick’s shoulder once more.

“I think he’s adapted,” Nick said, stroking the creatures elongated, bone ears.  “He’s always pleased when someone brings something for him to play with.”
“Good to hear,” I said.  “I’m Jack, by the way.”
Nick just nodded, extending his hand and introducing himself.  For a moment I got the impression that Nick wasn’t his real name, something about the way he paused before he used it, but I didn’t press the issue.  Jack is far from my real name as well, but I’ve grown more comfortable with its use.

We said little that night, just sat and drank and felt the humidity get worse.  Summer was in force over Southport, and neither of us had much to say.

It was a few days before we spoke again.  Nick was quiet, probably up to something only he could understand, and I went back to my routine of drinking and television.  Eventually I decided I needed to get out, to see something of the old neighborhood while I was here.  When I got home, there were letters stuffed into Nick’s mailbox and a package addressed to him lying on top.  I paused for a moment, considering it all.  The package was small and rectangular, about the size of a human head, and it had the air of something important.  The letters numbered in the dozen, and checking the dates on the postmark I knew that some had been there for weeks.  I’m not known for being a good neighbor, I’m rarely in one place long enough for the effort to be worthwhile, but I gathered Nick’s long-neglected mail and took it to his door.

He smiled when he opened the door, smiled wider when he saw the post in my hands.
“Thanks,” he said.  “Normally Lou gets it, but the past few times I’ve sent him out he’s come back empty handed.”
He paused for a moment, glanced over his shoulder to ensure the Skeleton-child was occupied with its playstation game before leaning in to whisper.
“I think he’s afraid to go the entire way.  He’s been getting into fights with the brute of a cat from Unit 4, and he doesn’t like to admit it.”
I nodded, not much caring.  Nick shrugged and rifled through the mail, checking addresses.
“Come in,” he said.  “I’ve made coffee.  If you don’t mind, I think we’ll say the post was delivered to your address by mistake.  To preserve Lou’s feelings, you understand.  He’s sensitive about such things.”
I shrugged again.  No skin of my nose, and my ankles felt very bare in my sneakers.  

Sitting on the couch, drinking rich coffee, I watched Nick unwrap the parcel.  Paper fell away layer by layer to reveal a picture frame, crafted from red rock.  Nick beamed when he saw it, his face lighting up as he gazed into the frames center.  After taking a deep breath, he held it up for me to examine.  A landscape was set into the frame, although it was so realistic it was enough to take your breath away.  The green, majestic mountains were a stark contrast to the red-baked desert stone of the frame.  When I reached forward to touch the picture, the snow-capped peaks left a cold smudge of frost on my fingertip.

“An old home,” Nick explained.  “I lived there years ago, and a friend thought I might be pinning for it.”
He pauses to sigh theatrically.  Lou stopped hammer the controls of his computer game to establish Nick wanted for nothing, then went back to pressing buttons.
“I do miss it, a little,” Nick said.  “There was a rawness there I haven’t experienced since.  Every day rushed past like a rumbling river.  They held power, eagerness, but there was no time for reflection.  No real meaning.  Not like here.  Here the days flow past like honey, rich but slow moving.”
“It looks like a nice place,” I offered.  “Very wild.  
“I suppose,” Nick said.  “Wild is not always the redeeming feature we expect it to be.  

He stood up and placed the picture on a shelf, next to several small painting and portraits of strangers, Lou and occasionally Nick himself.  He stared at it for a few minutes, then turned towards me.  The lines of his face were pronounced, and I noticed the tip of a scar poking out of his beard for the first time.

“Why do you stay here, Jack?” he asked.  “What is it that keeps you here?”
I hadn’t ever thought about this before.  It took some consideration and half a mug of coffee before I found an answer.
“Inertia,” I said.  “This is the place I come when I can longer be bothered moving.”
“And what do you do when you’re not here?”

I thought about this too, thought long and hard about the tools of the trade still hidden beneath my bed.  It’s rare I feel like talking about work with anyone, but there was a temptation to answer Nick’s question.  Only prudence and practice kept me from answering honestly.
“Odd jobs,” I said.  “I try to fill in the gaps here and there.  Entertaining, sometimes, drudge work other times.”
Nick just nodded, once.  Lou finished his game, crawled quietly into Nick’s lap.  We said nothing for a long time, and eventually I excused myself and went home.

The time to leave came sooner than I would have liked, and I gave my weeks notice the day I got the details of the next job.  There wasn’t much I had to do before I left, but the idea of saying goodbye to Nick loomed in my mind until I finally did it the afternoon before I left.  I knocked on his door with the six-pack of beer I hadn’t yet drunk under my arm, intending to give it to him as a gift for his hospitality.

He was half-dressed when he answered, bare-chested and wearing ragged jeans.  The promise of a scar I’d detected along the edge of his beard was delivered upon on his chest, a mass of ugly tissue and purple lumps.  I tried not to stare as I offered the beer and explained I was leaving.  Nick didn’t seem embarrassed, pointed at one or two of the larger scars with a grin.

“Souvenirs from another life,” he said.  He smiled at me, ushered me in.  Lou was quietly snuffling in the remains of a cheeseburger rapper, peeling off the last of the cheese.  Gobbets of half-chewed burger where spread along the newspaper spread out beneath his bowl.

“He loves the taste,” Nick explained, “But he can’t digest.  I normally don’t let people in when he’s feeding, but you brought beer.”
He shrugged as though that explained everything, sat me on the couch and opened two beers.

“So why are you going?” he asked.
“Work,” I said.  It was a simple answer, and I felt the need to expand on it.  “The rest period is over.  A few months off, then back to the grind.”
“Entertainment, or laboring?” 
“A bit of both, for a while.  I’m heading north, to Cairns, then east towards Darwin.”
“Good traveling,” Nick said.  He held a beer high in salute, grinning through his white beard.  I watched the way his scars twitched as his arms moved.  One of them, longer than the rest, snaked from his belly to his forearm.  I was staring, and once again he didn’t seem to mind.
‘Touch it,” Nick said.  “You may learn something.”

I felt awkward touching another man, but curiosity got the better of me.  My fingers brushed along the tip of the bruise, over the wiry bicep.  I was struck by a sudden image, almost like a memory, of wearing heavy armor and bleeding while friends carried me out of an arena.  It was a subtle thought at first, but then it hit my like some kind of drug – a sudden rush of feeling, memory and pain.  I jerked my hand back, as though bitten by a snake, and looked into Nick’s eyes.  They twinkled a little, like he was laughing at me, but it could have been the beer talking.

“You were a gladiator?” I asked.  It seemed silly, I could remember the experience well even though I’d never experienced it.
“It wasn’t my mistake,” Nick said, “but someone has to pay for it.  Sometimes, you bear someone else’s burdens whether you want to or not.”
 “But you were a warrior, a swordsman?”
Nick shrugged.
“Does it really matter.  A mistake was made.  A life was almost lost.  Someone bears the brunt of that, will always bear the brunt of it until they die.”
“Why take it if the experience wasn’t yours, then?”
“Who knows?  Because fate asks many things.  Because sometimes there’s a lesson in someone else’s pain.”

Nick shrugged again, started on his second beer.  We watched the sun shift along the fence, the rabid dog pace the yard.  Lou paused in his snuffling to peer at me, crawled forward to rest a skeletal head on my shoes.
“If you’re ever back this way, come see me again,” Nick said.  “Lou seems to like you, and that’s rare.”
I promised.  I still don’t know if I was being honest, but I thought so at the time.

I packed the next morning.  Practice has made it a quick process, a simple matter of collecting and compiling my life into two small suitcases.  When it came to the box under my bed, I stared at it for a few seconds.  It seemed less appealing, less necessary than it had the day before.  It made me think of Nick’s scar, the reasons he carried it.  In the end, I lugged it down and put it into the boot instead of under the passenger side seat.  A small change, a different choice, but enough to make a difference.  A strange feeling settled in as I kicked the car into gear, getting worse as I drifted towards the Highway.  I thought about the work to the north, the money it could make and the time I could spend drifting aimlessly after it was done.  I found myself thinking of the red haired girl with her Celtic songs, the one that broke my heart.  I thought about Nick, his neat flat and faithful Lou on his shoulder.  I didn’t know if it meant anything, didn’t really consider it long enough to come to a decision.  I just changed gears, gunned the engine and rushed forward.  The road could take me where I needed to go.  

Ingredients 
Picture One: The image summoned by Nick’s Scar
Picture Two:  The instrument being played by Nick and Lou in the first meeting.
Picture Three: The picture Nick’s friend sends him
Picture Four: Lou.


----------



## arwink

-sigh-
That should read Arwink vs Dark Eternal at the top there.  How in hell did that not get included in the copy and paste?


----------



## Mirth

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *you are like the ainti mirthcard*




Hey! I resemble that remark  I like the Southern misspelling too. Was that intentional, Mark?


----------



## alsih2o

mirthcard said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Hey! I resemble that remark  I like the Southern misspelling too. Was that intentional, Mark?  *




 so little of my spelling is intentional it is almost embarassing 


 wow, everyone is quick on the trigger, arwink pounding it out too!


----------



## arwink

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *\ wow, everyone is quick on the trigger, arwink pounding it out too! *




I'm very bad at interpreting time when it comes to these boards, so I decided it needed to get done fast.  I also knew I wouldn't do a propper edit in two and a half days, so I forced myself to post before I lost the draft to a mess of tinkering and half-formed ideas


----------



## Thimble the Squit

*Quick responses...*

This is the joke police!  Come out with your mouth shut!

I did this kind of thing at college - the rule was to get a story written in only one hour, censoring nothing.  Which is why most of my stories were bad puns.  Well, it was good enough for Asimov (anyone else remember the "Star Mangled Spanner" story?)

So yes, I apologise again for my terrible puns....


----------



## Angcuru

Shakespear is turning over in his grave because of you, thimble...


----------



## barsoomcore

Here's my entry for round one:

The Pigs and the God

Cool mud between his toes forced Titus Nasennius Sylvius to remember. Even as terror maintained its grip, keeping his heart frantic and his eyes wide, he couldn't repress the memories of the girl's screams. The wet sod sank beneath his sandals and more mud flowed up around his feet with each step. His dress finery clattered around him, deafening in the dawn silence.

The trees welcomed him beneath their twisted branches and Nasennius fell to his knees, turning and crawling beneath a low shrub he didn't recognize. His leg ached.

This couldn't be happening. He was going home. They'd won. This couldn't be happening. Nasennius closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. This was all wrong. The screams. The squealing.

They came up over the hill. Nasennius froze, peering through the leaves.

Four of them, two women. Nasennius wouldn't be fooled by that again. At least they weren't mounted. They did, however, seem to know just where they were going and Nasennius watched, glum, as they approached. Too late he realised he'd left a clear trail across the wet sod, mud-filled footprints all the way across the meadow. Nasennius cursed and drew his sword.

The leader, the old man with the extraordinarily long beard, stopped and looked directly where Nasennius was hiding.

"Roman, it will do you no good to flee. You are wounded and will die swiftly. Face us and we will show you the mercy you did not show my grand-daughter."

Nasennius paid no attention. He scanned the hills all around, watching carefully for any other movement. Nothing. The image of those pale, bloated things teased at his mind. He shuddered.

"You know what you deserve. We are no enemies of Rome, to be treated in this fashion. You will give up your life in exchange for the one you took."

The short woman, the one who looked enough like the dead girl to be her sister, stepped forward.

"Monster! We will find you, and we will feed you to the god!"

She stopped her rant as the old man put a hand on her shoulder.

Nasennius sobbed. Running would do no good at this point. They'd come alone. He cursed Vassinus Augendus, and shut his mind to the screaming. Enough screaming. He resigned himself to what he had to do and stood up.

They stepped back at his approach. Nasennius overdid the limp, although this group didn't look like much of a threat. They had a felling axe and a hoe between them. Nasennius still had his sword in his hand.

And they let him get into range. The short woman spent some energy spitting at him as he approached, which distracted the old man until Nasennius went into action.

An upwards stroke sent the axe flying from the young man's grip, and Nasennius spun as he cut the fellow's neck. The farmboy fell to his knees, far too concerned with flow of blood from his throat to be any further threat. Another step and the short woman took his swordpoint in her stomach. Her screech was all very well, but Nasennius was unable to tug his sword free from her body, and her second spasm yanked the weapon from his grasp.

The hoe descended and only by lunging forward was Nasennius able to avoid the sharpened blade. He drove himself into the lean woman wielding the homemade weapon and knocked her down, the hoe bouncing on the turf as he turned to the old man.

They stared at each other. The boy gurgled hoarsely. The short woman grunted. The lean woman struggled to her feet, eyes wide. The old man stared.

"Mercy, Roman."

Nasennius collapsed.

*****

His eyes opened and far too much light charged in. He realised immediately that he was bound, and squinted to make out his surroundings.

Glistening, distended shapes gleamed in early morning gold. The villagers moved among them, turning some with long poles. Nasennius shuddered and heard himself crying out. A voice cackled in his ear.

"You thought it was funny. You thought that Paullus' greed gave you the right."

Something hard cracked against his ribs.

"My daughter! My daughter, you animal!"

Murmurs then, as Nasennius groaned. Another voice, a woman.

"Here is our mercy, Roman. Epiran mercy."

He felt hands grab at him, lift him from the ground. A horrible sucking sound came from all around. Nasennius struggled.

The old man hissed, "Feed my daughter to pigs? We feed you to our gods. They will..."

The voice fell away as a slick, sickening coldness enveloped Nasennius. He tried to scream, to thrash, but the only motion he managed was a slow roll, showing him the villagers watching him with hatred in their eyes. Their shapes were strangely distorted, as though he were viewing them through water. Or clear jelly. He couldn't inhale, and yet felt no need to breath. For a second he had no idea what had just happened.

A faint burning erupted on his skin, all over, on his eyes, in his throat, between his toes where the mud had once cooled him. The mud. The pigyard, the girl's screams, the grunting of the hogs.

The old man smiled. The Roman would take days to die in the belly of the god. And they would be able to watch.

Ingredients:

Image 1: Nasennius
Image 2: The old man
Image 3: The god (ew)
Image 4: The girl and the pig (double ew)


----------



## mystraschosen

Here goes me!

Things don't always end up as they should


"Hail agustus(pic 1)!",Nemo moved to get the grizzled old warriors attention,gathered his long flowing beard in one hand and smiled broadly. "Ah,Nemo(pic 2) so good to see you again my friend.",Agustus made his way throught the milling throng of the market place to grasp Nemo's hand and clap him on the back.
Nemo cleared his throat,"Augustus Remillian,you old dog,it has been far too long since last we have seen each other."
"Ahh,my duties to the king and the knights equitable have kept me very busy.I have only just now returned from Enoa."answered Augustus.

    Nemo threw his beard over his shoulder,"So I  have heard,but perhaps you could find some time to stop  by my villa?I have a matter of great import to discuss with you." Augustus stood in thoughtful silence for a moment,"I have a small matter of importance to attend to at the present moment,but I shall drop by later in this afternoon if that pleases you?"  "Yes that would be most excellent Augustus,thank you dear friend!"
 "Think nothing of it Nemo."

  After exchanging goodbyes,both men headed off into the crowd.As Augustus walked back to the barracks,his thoughts were upon Nemo.Was it just his imagination or did Nemo seem perturbed?Augustus was pleased to have run into lifelong friend Nemo,but worried at the underlying queerness he felt about the encounter.Ah well,he thought I guess it will have to wait until this afternoon to get to the bottom of.With that he turned left onto the avenue of might and hastened to perform h is duties as captain of the Knights Equitable.

During Augustus' journey towards Nemo's villa later in the day,his shoulder began to pain him. "Damn war wound .",grumbled Augustus.His recent assignment to Enoa had been a seemingly easy one.That is until he and his 20 Knights Equitable had arrived to find that a quarter of the great city had been razed,and Enoa's forces had been reduced by 40%.Outriders had been plaguing the city for a months with hit and run tactics.The destruction left in their wake was formidable.

Augustus wasted no time in marshalling 400 of Enoa's best knights along with his 20 Knights equitable to mount a strike deep into the Nelian woods to crush the  halflings.After the better part of a days travel,his forces reached the fringe of the woods.His initial urge was to press on for the final confrontation in the thick of the night.However ,as much as the plan appealed to Augustus' warrior nature,he made camp for the woods were the outrider's territory.They had intimate knowledge of the forest,and trying to strike them in the dark of night surrounded by the trees would be folly.Little did Augustus know that it would have  been the lesser folly.

Augustus was troubled as  he lay in his tent,things did not feel right,a blanket of doom lay across his chest smothering him.Just as he began to rise,a cry split the air, "Hallalalalalahallaheeeeee!"
Augustus ran from his tent to find a force of halfling outriders sweeping down from the forest edge, a mass of wild death,intent on destruction of he and his troops.If not for the very tangible danger of the site,he would have admired the view of them.Close to a thousand of them made the charge,riding the biggest wolves,dogs,boars,and pigs ever to be seen.He saw his knights rolling from bedrolls and reaching for arms,and thus did Augustus release his own war cry,unsheathe  his sword and charge into the midst of his men attempting to rally them.

The battle lasted well through the night until dawn kissed the earth with its warwm breath.Only a hundred or so of the fearsome outriders remained,while Augustus retained only 30 odd Enoan's and 11 Knights equitable.The most able of each's respective forces hacked at each other with their bloodstained swords,seeking to deliver death with every stroke while dancing amongst the corpse littered field.

A fierce halfling heavily muscled,with a multitude of braids in his hair charged Augustus,riding the most monstrous pig(pic 4) ever seen in the lands.August had time for the thought that this must be their leader before thier swords met in a deafing clash.The halfling shouted "Hoof",and his pig lashed out and struck Augustus in the shoulder drawing blood and fracturing bone.Augustus dropped to a knee in pain as the pig rose again to trample him.The leader of the Knights Equitable managed to thrust his sword high above him as the pig drove itself down unto death as the blade sought it's heart.The chieftan rolled off his dead mount and drew a dagger.With a flick of his wrist he sent silver death hurtling towards Augustus.Captain Augustus managed to duck and let the  blade fly high.The chieftan bullrushed and they met blade to blade in a mighty shower of sparks.Long they fought until Augustus gained the upper hand.

With a feint and redirection of his bastard sword Augustus cleaved the chieftan's head from his body.Augustus looked around to count his men and saw the halflings all had been slain.Yet the cost was great for he counted only 3 Knights quitable of his 20,and 6 Enoan's of 400.Faintness washed over the captain ,and he dropped to the ground from bloodloss.When he awoke ,he discovered he was in a house of convalesence in Enoa.Long did Augustus speculate on why the halflings had come to the recourse of force against Enoa.Yet the answer eluded him.

When the memories began to fade,Augustus found himself outside of Nemo's villa.He knocked upon the bronze wrought door,yet he had not long to wait.Nemo greeted him personally,"Well Augustus do come in and make yourself comfortable!"  As Augustus walked into the hall past Nemo he felt the bite of stell slide between his ribs.Augustus hit the floor unable to move coming to the realization that not only had he been betrayed,but that the blade carried a toxin to cause paralysis."Ahh,Nemo why my friend?" As he looked up at his "old friend" Nemo began to distort and shift like a pool  of water,and lo and behold a dark faced man stood before him.

"Why you ask,you fool,Nemo is no more!His visage has served me well however.Have you not any brains at all you brute?I Omelian the dark have been pulling the strings behind this morbid play.I put the outriders in motion to draw you from this city,I then killed that fool Nemo and stole his appearance.As I shall murder you and take your's!It shall be an easy feat to assassinate the king now that shall I look like the captain of the Knights Equitable."  "But why do you do this?',gasped Augustus.Omelian began a incantation and a vision of miles of tubes appeared(pic 3)."Because Augustus I desire the power of your King's windcatchers."

All of a sudden Augustus began to grasp Omelian's end result,but before total comprehension could come the  blade was drawn across his throat.The last the mighty Augustus Remillian saw was Omelian smiling in evil delight...........IS THE STORY OVER?.....IF I ADVANCE YOU ALL SHALL SEE......MWU HA HA HAHAHA HA

Ingredients
Pic 1 (old roman warrior)
Pic 2 (old bearded man)
Pic 3(sculpting the wind)
Pic 4(huge honkin' pig)


----------



## mystraschosen

Dang it,I forgot no editing so please forgive my multitude of misplaced words and grammatical errors. *walks away muttering.....dang barsoomcore's story is very good.The chosen is shaking in his robes in worry.


----------



## alsih2o

1st matchup completed, well, judges are tinkering


----------



## barsoomcore

yo mystraschosen -- it's in the judges' hands now. Your story looks darn good to me and I don't know that typos are going to decide the issue...

Roman names are fun. Hooray!

At least we both finished on time and with respectable entries. Yay us.


----------



## NoOneofConsequence

*My entry - unnamed*

Treffin balanced his fighting knife by the point of its blade on the palm of his hand. It was a trick that he had almost completely perfected and he used it frequently to exude an air of professional indifference; the look of a competent mercenary too experienced to be surprised by anything and only interested in his own aptitude with weapons. At least that was how it had looked to Treffin when he’d seen a mercenary sergeant doing it last summer in the taproom of the Crofter’s Rest. Treffin had been so impressed he’d bought himself a similar dagger from a tinker at the next market day and had spent the winter teaching himself the trick. He felt it made him look very calm and competent, and he only cut himself very infrequently nowadays.

Not that the sage he was working for would likely have noticed, even if Treffin cut his own hand right off. The small, skinny man with the sparse white beard and grizzled face spent the whole day bent over flowers, while Treffin stood guard against wild animals or monsters. It was Treffin’s first real job as a mercenary and while he was glad to be paid, he had no idea it would be so boring. He was to keep watch at the head of the field while the sage danced about from flower to flower, seeking out what he called the Mickelmas bee, which the sage claimed should frequent the flowers of fields like this one. 

Treffin had never heard of the Mickelmas bee before the sage had hired him, but he now knew how the species differed from the regular honey bee, how rare the species was and how the jelly from the insect’s hive was an important ingredient for several rare alchemical recipes. The young mercenary had not wanted to learn all these details, but having spent day after day listening to the sage’s expostulations, Treffin was sure that he could easily pick a Mickelmas bee from a hundred paces. In fact the bee that had landed on a nearby flower was almost certainly was a Mickelmas. Treffin called the sage.

“Oh well done,” said the sage, leaning close to study the bee as it walked across the heavily pollen-covered flower. “This is exactly what I’m looking for. Now I’ll try and find the hive.”

“I should charge you extra, for this,” said Treffin. He was well satisfied with the price he’d originally negotiated, but he’d heard that experienced mercenaries always keep an eye out for extra payment. The sage wasn’t interested. 

Instead he handed his mercenary guard the empty water skin and said, “Be a good lad and refill this in the grotto while I look for the hive.”

Treffin wanted to protest, but realized that his own skin needed refilling, since he’d drunk it dry over the course of the morning. He took the sage’s skin and headed up over the shoulder of the mountain. 

The grotto was a deep fissure in the dark basalt of the mountain rock. From a thin crack about half way up the north wall of the fissure an underground river cascaded to a pool at the grotto’s bottom. The water’s dark surface was in constant motion, and the steep fissure walls kept the whole area cool and in shadow.

Treffin made his way down the rough-hewn path in the grotto wall, heading towards the pool. He was becoming increasingly resentful at being treated like the sage’s lackey and he was certain that no truly professional mercenary would settle for such treatment. As he worked his way down he muttered to himself; “I should definitely charge extra for this.”

Treffin was almost to the narrow pebbled beach at the bottom of the grotto, when he heard the sound of weeping. No more than twenty paces away, sitting at the water’s edge, was a woman. She was facing the water, her long black hair cascading down her back in lustrous waves. Her skin was the color of honey. As near as Treffin could make out, she was completely naked and the sound of her crying carried even over the noise of the falling water. Nearly irresistible visions filled Treffin’s mind; of damsels in distress, being rescued in a proficient, military manner by young mercenaries out for glory and pay, but not above the occasional act of chivalry. He raced across the pebbles, casting down the water skins as he ran.

“Tell me, m’lady,” he called out, trying to sound calm and confident. “What troubles you?”

“The beauty and succulence of youth,” came the woman’s reply, with a voice that sounded like bones cracking against the rocks of a fast flowing river.

Treffin recoiled in horror as the ‘woman’ turned to face him. The honey colored skin sloughed off like an old cloak, revealing a warty green hide. The hair transformed into a tangled, black mat, like rotting swamp grass. The creature’s face was dominated by long hooked nose and her eyes were blacker than the depths of the grotto pool.

“Such a pleasure to entertain so juicy a meal,” the monster said, her breath stinking like slime. Her long, bony arm shot out and grasped Treffin by the throat. He tried to struggle, but the creature’s grip was stronger than deep current and she was inexorably choking the breath from his lungs. He reached for his dagger, but the blinding pain in his head was too much and the blade slipped from his grip. Blackness, like the darkness of the deep pool, rose up in his eyes as he began to feel himself pass out.

From above the contending pair came the sound of arcane language, invoking magic older than the dawn of time. A bolt of eldritch energy, a lightning bolt of emerald and gold, arced downward and struck the monster fair in the chest. Treffin staggered back, released from the creature’s grip. He gasped loudly, sucking in sweet, fresh air. The green-skinned monster screamed in pain and frustration as, high above, the sage intoned another spell. The monster tried to flee towards the safety of the pool, but the sage’s magic struck it down before it could take even a step, and it fell, dead, across the rocks.

Treffin could hear the swift sounds of the sage’s footsteps as he rubbed his sore neck and tried to clear his vision. “Thank you,” he started to say, when he realized that the sage had run straight past him to the body of the monster. He slowly levered himself off the pebbles and staggered over.

“A river hag,” said the sage, his delight obvious. “This is an excellent find, my boy. Do you have any idea what I can do with the skin alone? Then there’s the teeth; the bones; I think I even have a use for the eyes!”

“Lots of alchemical recipes?” asked Treffin.

“Oh yes, rare ones. River hag ingredients are especially difficult to come by.”

“Right,” said Treffin, looking for his dagger. “I’ll have to charge you extra for this then.”


----------



## Mirth

I sent my judgments to Mark for both of the rounds that have been completed so far. How's that for being _ainti-_mirthcard?


----------



## Speaker

*Sniktch vs. Speaker*



> ‘Long have we fought, you and I.  Always waging warfare, subtly twisting the others plans.  At long last, our battle will end.  Ours champion approaches your domain, and we will do battle.  But now we shall play for stakes so great that when this game draws to an end, there is only one victor.
> ‘That, I promise.’




	Wen, royal knight of Argent, felt her breath catch as she climbed the rise.  The warmth on her back did little to console her as she surveyed the icy wastes ahead.  White landscape as far as the eye could see, broken only by the dead vegetation that still stood, defiant against the punishing winds and heavy snow.

	“Incredible.  Just what we were expecting, and yet still a blow.” Wen heard Fell say as he came up alongside.  She turned to look at the mage, peered into the dark red depths of his cloak, and then glanced out at the mighty expanse of snow and hoarfrost before them.  

Fell heard her unvoiced scepticism. 

“This winter will not last, Wen.  With every step I take into this wasteland, the ice witch loses power and the snow will melt away.  I assure you, this land will never again go without warmth.”

Wen turned back to the cold, shuddered.  “I hope so.”



> ‘See a vision of the future, my queen.’
> 
> A picture forms in the air, of a knight in red and blue, young and with a smile upon her face.
> 
> The woman is not alone.  Behind her there are two nearly indistinct figures.  Over one shoulder -- a being of heat, fire so hot it burns white and with a brilliance not unlike the sun.  Over the other – a being of cold, a chill so great that no light escapes, and there is only utter darkness.
> 
> ‘She must choose between us, my queen.  Between summer and winter.’
> 
> (Insert ‘Knight and her companions’ picture)




	Wen stopped abruptly, motioning as she did so for Fell behind her to do the same.  “I see movement.”

	She held herself still, training her sharp eyes ahead.  At first, her vision was hampered by the bright sheen thrown off the glacial white ground, but slowly her eyes adjusted and the truth of the situation became apparent to her.  The snow was coming alive.  Slowly, very slowly, the ground was moving as the sun began to accomplish something it had not achieved in months – the melting of the waste.

	“The winter is about to break.” Fell noted.  “Look, there.”

	Wen saw them at the same moment.  Two great white bears off in the distance, frolicking in the snow.  No, not snow.  Bare ground, with stubborn tufts of old grass within.  With powerful muscles, the two beasts reared up to playfully strike one another, heedless to the changing world about them.  Wen frowned.  “They don’t belong here.  We are almost half a world away from the northern ice isles.”

	“They are the ice queen’s pets.  We will have to skirt wide around them, in case they alert their mistress of our coming.”  So saying, Fell started to walk once more, heading on a path that would take him away from the bears and yet still towards the centre of the ice kingdom they sought.  Wen took one last look at the bears, and then turned to follow the red cloaked mage.

	Behind them, the white servants of the ice queen played on, enjoying the light and the cooling winds.

(Insert ‘Playing polar bears’ picture)




> ‘I am here.  Show yourself.’




               The conflict began without warning.

Wen entered the ancient square carefully, alert for any sign of danger, sword held firmly in hand.

	The palace they sought loomed before them, a massive construction in the midst of the mixed spring and winter that characterized the clash of powers now taking place.  The building had a faded look, made of stone and worn mortar, a bastion that time wore at ceaselessly.  Dilapidated pillars held onto the cobblestones with tired resolve, and the flagstones Fell had nearly collapsed upon seemed on the verge of self-destruction.  

Water ran about everywhere as snow and ice continued to melt.

It was then that Wen realized that she Fell was not following her.  She turned about and saw him.  He was not alone.

“You have come far to face me, you and your friend.” Sneered the white woman, whom Fell faced, her stark features and black clothing the definition of contrast.  “Before you strike me down, perhaps you might want to know the true nature of your travelling companion?”

	Wen glanced at Fell with some measure of confusion at her travelling companion.  “What does she mean?”

	The red robed mage smirked, his powerful features still as he stares at the ice queen they have travelled so far to face.  “I have no idea…”

“I will tell her.”  The white queen spits out in rage.  “You have seen how he melts my creation, how he challenges my power.  No mortal could do what he does.  He and I are no different.  But where I am a creature of cold and ice, he is a being of fire and heat.  You came here to destroy me, but you would put up another tyrant if you replaced me with him.”

Abruptly Wen found herself caught within a vision, in which the ice covered lands she had so recently travelled through were suddenly smothered in smoke.  Fires burned without cease on the hill slops, and ash filled the skies.

(Insert ‘Smoking Hills’ picture)

“Is this what you sought?” the woman laughed, and her voice was chill.

Wen turned to Fell, and asked simply “Is this so?”

Fell smiled, although it was a smile of strain, and his gaze never left the eyes of the Ice Queen.  “I will not lie to you, Wen.  I am a being of fire – who better to fight one of ice? – And my victory is not without a cost.  But where cold may hold a land in sway forever, heat is a passing thing.  When the fires burn out, the land will grow again.  The ashes will feed the soil, and the plants will come quickly.  For fire holds some power of growth.  Watch.”

With that, the red mage shifted his gaze upward for a moment.  In that instant, the air twisted with heat, and vines sprouted from the pillars about the ice queen, surrounding her with flowering roses and green leaves.

(Insert ‘Roses and the Queen’ picture)

The Ice Queen laughed.  “Growth through death.  As if he was alone in that power.  I am winter.  I come every year to many lands, and yet I still depart freely, leaving room for life.  You see, I too can create new life out of death.”  And she too moved her vision, and the flagstones about Fell parted as an equally luxuriant bed of roses grew about him.

“You must destroy her now.” Said Fell.  “She and I are locked in combat, but we are equals.  Neither of us dares move, lest the other gain some opening.  That is why I brought you, so that you might strike for me at this moment, and free this land from the Ice Queen.”

Wen looked about her.  She gazed at the sky, with the sun up high, beating down on the snow.  She looked at the water running through the square, through the myriad cracks in the paving stones.  She remembered the playful bears.

She turned to the two immortals, locked in battle, both of which would never break free themselves, for fear of losing to the other.  Had they really thought that she could choose between two such alternatives?

Then to her suprise, she found she could.

“My decision is made.”  She said.

Then she turned.  And smiled.  And walked away.



> Spring came.


----------



## Speaker

...And that's it.

I told myself that whatever I had by 12 o' the clock, I would post.  Then midnight rolled around, and I still wasn't satisfied, so I gave myself another hour.

I am still not satisfied, and I do not think I would be short of a complete overhual and a rewrite...  but I have a long drive to undertake early tommorow, and I need to get to sleep...  now.

Silly me, leaving things to the last minute .

I look forward to seeing what you put up,  Sniktch.

Cheers!


----------



## Dark Eternal

Here is my submission - only hours before the deadline, I know... (busy weekend!)

Your Worship;

It is my honor to submit this accounting of the events of my recent experience, as requested by your humble servant the Lord Knight of Verithress, Inquisitor of Siell, Our Deliverer, Light of All Creation.  Enclosed you will find a number of illustrations that have been prepared at my request and with my supervision, each detailing a relevant detail of the events proclaimed herein.  It is my hope that you will find these accountings to address and disprove the charges levied against me by His Holiness, the Bishop.  If, however, it is your finding that my actions are deserving of censure, I shall immediately and assuredly submit myself for judgement, in accord with the Sacred Writ.

In Eternal Service to Our Deliverer;

Lerien Steelboure, Holy Paladin of Siell


It was nine days ago that I encountered the strange insect-like creature called Tikakrak upon the road between the High City of Ilradian and the port of Silverwind Bay.  He lay by the side of the road, grievously injured and without awareness.  I discerned no evil upon him, and so in accord with the Sacred Writ, I acted to heal his injuries, in the name of Siell.  Upon recovering consciousness, he identified himself as an adventuring minstrel of the Thri-kreen, and did relate to me his tale. 

A well-armed force of bandits, robbed and wounded, and left for dead had waylaid him.  He was well informed regarding the activity of these bandits, and did provide me with much useful information.  Particularly did he stress the need to recover an ancient and magical relic stolen by these rogues - an instrument named Sirithaene, of which I have provided an illustration.  By his accounting, I determined that this relic should not be left in the hands of villains, and I swore to find the bandits and retrieve Sirithaene.  After accompanying Tikakrak to an inn in the High City, I did go to the fortress there and request the aid of a force of clerics and holy warriors in seeking out the bandits and bringing them to justice.  It is from this that the charges of the Lord Knight of Verithress stem, as I will explain.  



		Code:
	

[color=skyblue][i][b]Sidebar[/b]
Sirithaene
This intelligent double-necked lute was formed from precious
metals and rare woods, and infused with the spirits of two fallen
dragons who had died defending an elven stronghold from a
force of fiends.  A master bard working in concert with an ancient
elven sorcerer created the lute as a gift for his four-armed
student, a rare Thri-kreen bard.  Over two centuries, the lute has
been passed down through seven generations of Thri-kreen
adventurers, and now belongs to the traveling bard Tikakrak. 
Sirithaene is a powerful relic, vastly aiding its possessors Bardic
Knowledge ability, and telepathically warding him against danger,
among other abilities.[/i][/color]


Within two days, I and the force under my command did locate the camp of the bandits that had waylaid the insectoid bard.  In the battle that followed, three of those under my command were felled, and I myself was smote unconscious by a dishonorable strike from behind whilst I did engage the bandit's leader - a wily rogue by the name of Corcair - in single combat.  I was captured by Corcair (in the enclosed illustration, he is the tall and light-haired rogue) and two of his henchmen, to be held for ransom.  Fortunately, by the grace of Siell, the remainder of my forces were able to regroup.  Striking in the midst of night, they overwhelmed the bandit's defenses and effected by rescue.  In the process, I was able to capture Corcair, who has since been tried and executed for his crimes by the Lord Knight himself.  Upon questioning, we learned that the bandits had a contract with a vile wizard by the name of Wurgorn.  In accord with their agreement, they had dispatched a courier to take Sirithaene to him as soon as its magical nature had been determined.

Further questioning revealed that Wurgorn's lair was hidden beyond a mystical portal deep in the foothills.  After the remainder of the bandits were captured, I and the clerics with me tended the wounds of those who had ridden into battle with us, and I detailed a number of them to escort the fallen and our prisoners back to the High City.  The remainder of our number pressed on into the foothills, in search of the portal Corcair had described.  Another two days passed before we located the portal - of which an illustration is provided.  We made camp that eve and prepared ourselves to assault the wizard's lair upon the morn.

The following day, we passed beyond the portal.  We found ourselves within a mountain stronghold, deep beneath the earth.  It was a foul and treacherous labyrinth, stocked with many traps and guarded by strange and deformed creatures from beyond the grave, and our progress was most arduous.  We carried with us the blessing of Our Deliverer, however, and by the grace of Siell, we were able to eventually penetrate the heart of the dungeon.  It is there that we finally encountered the most wicked and abominable creature in the enclosed illustration, which did call itself Wurgorn.



		Code:
	

[color=skyblue][i][b]Sidebar[/b]
The Deformed Halfling Lich, Wurgorn

Born with a hideously oversized head, Wurgorn was once a
halfling known as Durgann.  He was gifted with incredible
intelligence, but persecuted for his terrible deformity.  Over time,
Durgann became resentful and bitter, and in time he fled his
community to pursue the path of dark magics, by which means 
he would earn the respect that his superior intellect was due. 
Over time, he became irrevocably corrupted by the increasingly
evil powers he sought, and eventually he became quite mad. 
Returning to his former home, he used his dark magics to kill or
capture all those who had once scorned him.  The survivors he
performed magical transformations upon, eventually twisting and
deforming them far in excess of his own malformations.  He then
used them to explore the dread realm of undeath, eventually
unlocking the secrets of lichdom.  He transformed himself
 accordingly, and now seeks to master magics that can pervert
and deform the living on a mass scale.  He works with numerous
bands of pirates and bandits, providing them with magical
support in return for the monies needed to further his research.[/i][/color]


Our battle with Wurgorn was an experience in terror.  However, in the face of such lurid evil, the Grace and Divine Favor of Siell did protect me, and though he released magics most vile, I stood firm and resolute.  Regrettably, those who traveled with me were not so well protected.  Calling upon the favor of ancient and horrible powers, Wurgorn did strike down my allies even as I, in the Holy Name of Our Deliverer, strove to smite the unliving wizard.  Enflamed with righteous fury at the demise of my company, I did indeed smite and destroy the creature - but at terrible cost.  For no sooner did I shatter the corpse of the wizard, returning him to his grave, than the dark powers that he served made their displeasure manifest.  A furious shaking of the earth began, and the heart of the mountain stronghold did begin to fall.  Had I remained, and sought out the relic Sirithaene, I most surely would have made my grave there, as my fallen comrades did.  Rather, knowing that my quest was now futile, I did withdraw, fleeing the dungeon as it collapsed about me, and escaping through the mystical portal only moments before certain death should have claimed me.

Thus does the Lord Knight charge me with abandoning a sworn quest, with cowardly flight from duty, and with abandoning the fallen bodies of my comrades.  Therefore, upon his suggestion, I have prepared this letter in my defense, and submitted myself to Your Worship for judgement in the eyes of Siell.  It is my hope that having read this account, Your Worship will understand that the circumstances surrounding my failure did dictate that I could not have acted in any other fashion, lest my own death ensue.

I ask only that you consider these experiences, and that you judge my plight in the wisdom of Siell, Our Deliverer, the Light of All Creation.

Prepared by my own hand, before witnesses and under the Eye of Truth, on this Eleventh day of Highmoon, in this, the Forty Third Year of His Holy Eminence.  In Eternal Service to Our Deliverer;

Lerien Steelboure, Holy Paladin of Siell


_Ingredients:
Illustration One:  Lerien's Capture by Corcair
Illustration Two:  The Enchanted Lute, Sirithaene
Illustration Three:  The Portal to Wurgorn's Dungeon
Illustration Four:  The Deformed Halfing Lich, Wurgorn_


----------



## Dark Eternal

Whew.  Well, that was fun.  Looking back, I find one particular oversight and I curse my spellcheck software for its obssesion for correcting passive voice.  I failed to note that one sentence has been rearranged and now makes no sense.  The first sentence of the second paragraph in the body of the story reads, "A well-armed force of bandits, robbed and wounded, and left for dead had waylaid him."  That should be, "A well-armed force of bandits had waylaid him, and robbed, wounded and left him for dead."

I don't expect that the error will be overlooked by the judges; I just had to post the correction before I could comfortably go to bed.  Otherwise, I wouldn't have felt like it was actually _done_, ya know?  

Been looking at the other submissions so far, and I have to say I'm quite impressed by all of them.  I don't envy you judges, having to choose between them.  Good job, everyone!

Win or lose, it's been a pleasure to be a part of this project.  I hope that you all find my submission as enjoyable as I have found the others!  (Arwink, I'm particularly impressed with your story.  Very bold, and exceptionally well written.  I won't be disappointed at all if your entry is chosen over mine - it's great!)

Thanks, and thanks.


----------



## Sniktch

*Sniktch vs Speaker, rd 1*

“Winter’s Breath”

Cold, so cold.  Numb, can’t move, just laying here, sinking deeper... sweet darkness... warm now, so warm...

It is morning; I am laughing.  The horses snort and stamp their hooves impatiently, but it is morning and I am enjoying Svetlana’s company too much to be rushed.  She says something else; I do not hear the words but I can tell by her tone that she is telling another joke, so I laugh again.  Then the horses are ready and we are mounted and riding through the gate...

It is spring in Irkutsk.  Thus, it is freezing, still weeks away from the brief summer thaw.  But it is a good day to ride, to feel the icy wind whip through your hair, to have the sun overhead and the promise of warmer days ahead.  We go to see the great bears; they are awake again and their mating rituals are in full swing.  The horses sense our excitement and prance across the snowy fields, churning up a cloud of swirling frost in our wake.  

The world flashes and spins before my eyes, moving forward in a blur of images... we are walking now, the horses left behind... the bears are ahead.  I stop, awestruck.  (pic 2) Two majestic males rear on hind legs, locked in an embrace, twisting, pulling, swatting and raking with their claws, their jaws fastened to one another’s throats.  The female sits in the background, watching.  The two rivals dance beautifully and gracefully for her, circling round and round, but neither is able to gain the upper hand.

They take too long.  Svetlana laughs and points, calling my attention to a newcomer, another male who sneaks in craftily while the fight continues.  He finds the female agreeable to his advances, bored by the long fight, and soon the pair wander off together.  Eventually the wrestlers notice and stop, looking around in confusion for the object of their affection.  Finding her gone, they take a last couple of half-hearted swipes at each other before slinking away dejectedly.

We cannot help it; we laugh and laugh at the defeated suitors.  I turn to murmur a clever remark and freeze.  Svetlana is there, the sun reflecting off of her armor and hair, a crooked little smile on her lips (pic 1).  The air is strangely distorted behind her; I see strange, ominous shapes moving behind her and flashing colors, colors like I have never seen, and then a bright, blinding light...

I open my mouth to scream, but I hear nothing.  Svetlana seems frozen, but a dark change seems to come over her.  The color drains from her face and hair and her armor grows dull and pitted, no longer reflecting the sun.  I try to turn and stagger away but I am falling, falling into the snow, wracked with pain, unable to move, slowly feeling the cold creep over me...

I wake without a sound, relief flooding me; it was a dream.  Then I look around - I am lying in snow in brush beneath a tree, my armor rimed with frost.  I feel numb; the only feeling left is the stiffness of my joints.  I sit up and look through a gap in the brush (pic 4); stretched before me is a breathtaking landscape of forest, still buried beneath ice and snow, and shrouded in mist.  I feel nothing as I take in the view; it was not a dream.  And somehow I know where I must go, what I must do...

The horses are gone when I return to the place we left them.  It is a long journey by foot but I trudge steadily toward my goal.  The feeling does not return, and I grow neither weary nor footsore nor hungry.  I march right through the change of seasons, and the snow and ice give way to greenery and an explosion of wildflowers.  I wonder at my strength, for surely many days have passed and I have not rested nor eaten since my journey began, but then I shrug and continue walking.  I am close; I can feel it...

I am standing before a great old palace with towering archways and columns.  It looks abandoned now, falling into disrepair, the stone weathered and cracked and the flowers and vines growing rampant on the building and the grounds.  (pic 3)  I see her, down in front of the building, as if waiting.  She is wearing a sable gown with a hood, woven with an elaborate design of white ruffles and lace.  A silver crown rests upon her brow, and it looks like she is wearing a mask - it must be a mask.  

It does not matter - I know her.  And as I approach, I can see from her reaction that she knows me.  I stop very close to her and call out, “Fiend!  I will destroy us all before I let you have her!”  My voice is cracked and broken from misuse and my words are slurred..

She replies mockingly, confidently, “And what can you hope to do about it?  Look at yourself; you are already dead.  Lie down and accept it.”

I start to reply angrily but then stop, suddenly frightened.  I look down at my arms, my hands; sweet Lord, she is right - the flesh is rotted and falling away, the bone shows through.  As the truth slowly dawns upon me I start to feel myself slip away; a light begins to grow in the distance.  I look back up and she is laughing silently and pointing at me.

My momentary fear melts away, replaced by rage.  I lunge forward, surprising her with my quickness, grasping her around the throat and squeezing, bearing her down to the floor, all my will, all my being focused on one crushing desire before the light takes me away...
Now I know everything.  And nothing.


----------



## Sniktch

Whew!  There we go, all finished.  The picture's just screamed 'cold' and 'winter' at me, all of them, and then I got this funny little idea in my head and just went with it.  I hope it turned out well and that you enjoy it.  As always, win or lose I had a good time flexing my creative muscles.  I'm gonna go read what Speaker turned in now...


----------



## mystraschosen

That is a mighty sweet story sniktch....congratulations on a fine piece of writing.


----------



## arwink

mirthcard said:
			
		

> *I sent my judgments to Mark for both of the rounds that have been completed so far. How's that for being ainti-mirthcard? *




Actually, given you're in the judges seat this time round, wouldn't it make you the anti-arwink


----------



## Angcuru

[Lenny voice on]

Tell me about the rabbits, George!

[Lenny voice off]

I likes a good story in the evenin' yes I do.


----------



## Mirth

arwink said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Actually, given you're in the judges seat this time round, wouldn't it make you the anti-arwink  *




Heh, I suppose it would at that. Now stop sucking up to the judge. _As always, monetary bribes are more than welcome._  

I will pull a bit of an "arwink" now, though. I'm too tired after a holiday spent with the extended family to read anything tonight, so the other two pairs will have to wait until tomorrow. Just wanted to give a heads up to you all, because I _*KNOW*_ what it's like to wait for that verdict to come in. Everybody get some sleep and check back tomorrow.

Jay


----------



## Angcuru

*sniffle* You make me sad.


----------



## Sniktch

I wouldn't worry about it, Mirthcard - Maldur is off at GC UK anyway, so we'd have to wait for him.  And where the dickens is Clay?


----------



## alsih2o

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *I wouldn't worry about it, Mirthcard - Maldur is off at GC UK anyway, so we'd have to wait for him.  And where the dickens is Clay? *




 writing my own judgements, and waiting on maldur, shall i sing to make the time pas more quickly?


----------



## Sniktch

OK, just checking.  Usually you would have bumped the thread before now


----------



## alsih2o

this one seems to be multiplayer bumped, so i was just hanging


----------



## mystraschosen

Hey I wanna help too........BUMP.....BUMP....BUUDUUDUUMP.


----------



## Sniktch

_Any thread you can bump, 
I can bump better...
I can bump any thread better than you!_

sorry; flexing my 'creative bumping' muscles now


----------



## Speaker

*bump*

Nobody saw that...


----------



## Sniktch

What was that?  Did anyone else hear something?


----------



## alsih2o

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *What was that?  Did anyone else hear something? *




 that ws the sound of me choking maldur!


----------



## Sniktch

What?  For signing up as a judge and then zipping off to the UK on holiday?


----------



## alsih2o

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *What?  For signing up as a judge and then zipping off to the UK on holiday? *




no, no, nothing like tha,,,...oh, wait, yeah for that exactly


----------



## mystraschosen

*is bored of bumping,so ties a rocket to the thread and lights the fuse*   sssssssssssssboom and off goes the thread.


----------



## Maldur

Im so sorry.

I did send my judgement to clay .

Sorry again, Im having to much of a good time.


----------



## alsih2o

maldur-

 busy at gencon uk, says noone is his choice

alsih2o-

 thimblethesquit

 this is an unusual treatment for ceramic d.m., all the pictures are used decently well, if not with the most imaginative sense. i definetely laughed at this more than most 


 noone of consequence

  good story, good twists, funny but on topic, i like this one all around. and i like it when someone merges two pics.

  hard one here, but i have to give it to nooneofconsequence.

 mirthcard-

 thimble the squit:

Succinct and to the point. alsih2o says you're the
anti-me for turning in your entry so quickly, I say
that you might be the anti-arwink as well ... not that
length matters. Enough with the jokes, on to the
criticism. I am impressed by a number of things in
your story, but most of all by your strength of voice.
Your nameless protagonist never falters or sways from
the voice that you give him in your opening sentence
and that was enough to keep me hooked throughout. I
feel as if I know him as soon as he speaks - his
cocksure nature, his self-deprecating humor, his
nonchalant heroism - all are revealed with the
precision of a razor in the hands of a surgeon. It
doesn't stop there. Your use of the ingredients is top
notch as well, all are integral to the plot of the
piece, all have purpose and meaning, nothing seems
forced. However (you knew that was coming, didn't
you?), the short length of your entry helps to keep
the use of the ingredients balanced, because you don't
really expound on any of them. You give the reader
just enough to tantalize. That's where this entry
starts to fall apart. There simply isn't an ending.
There's no closure. I like a good pun as much as the
next guy, but come on. That line seems more like a
cop-out. You had PLENTY of time to beef this thing up,
so you can't blame it on the deadline (like I often
do). And now we've gotten to the meat of the problem,
see? I want to know more! How does it end? Tell me!
What does he do? Is the quandry you've put the judge
in a good or a bad thing? Only time will tell ... or
you could just skip to the end and find out. Unlike
you, I have to give an ending - good or bad, whatever
it bee.

nooneofconsequence:

Alas, poor Treffin, I knew him well. What's that you
say? He's not dead? Well, he will be soon enough, if
I'm any judge of character, and I think I am. Now I'll
prove it, shall I? Class, here we have a classic
example of a Ceramic DM entry: the balanced and
thoughtful use of ingredients accompanied by an
entertaining and captivating story. Points continue to
flood in as we examine such important elements as plot
(check!), characterization (check!), voice (check!),
context (check!), mood (check!), action (check!),
heroism (check!), villainy (check!), and above all
nudity (check! check! check!) ... Ahem. I would have
to say, class, that a name change is in order, for if
this entry is anything to judge by, we have found
ourselves SomeoneOfConsequence. But wait, there is one
glaring exception to this otherwise prime example of
an entry. One fudge round to the first person who can
tell me what is wrong with this picture, so to speak.
Yes, you in the back of the class, Mr. Clay is it?
Yes, that's right. HE FORGOT TO LABEL THE PICTURES IN
THE TEXT!!!!!!!!! Here's your fudge round. To be fair,
the other guy forgot as well.

In this extremely close round, I have to give the
bittersweet victory to NoOneOfConsquence for his
point-for-point definition of a Ceramic DM winner
(well except for one point, really

 looks like a unanimous decision for noone of consequence


----------



## alsih2o

baroomcore vs mystraschosen

maldur-
 busy at gencon uk, says barsoomcore for him 

 alsih2o-

 barsoomcore
  rome seems to creep up again and again opn these boards, when are we gonan see the great roman supplement?
 the tension fo thsi story is good and i like the handling of the pig a lot. the tubes as gods digesting the roman is what clinches it tho.



mystraschosen
  i would have liked it better if i had been given more of an insight into the windcatchers, but
i have to say the giant pig mount entertained me greatly. a decent handling of the pictures in a story
with a very epic feel, good stuff

 i have to go with barsoomcore on this one

mirthcard-

barsoomcore: 

The story itself was muddy, and I mean that in a good
way ... mostly. The tidbits about what really happened
that are strewn throughout the story are nice and it
definitely adds to the overwhelming despair of the
piece. As a reader I was sucked into the moment of the
Roman soldier crossing the field. Good descriptive
language, good use of characterization. However, I got
lost a bit when the Nasennius went to hide under the
trees/bushes. The muddy transition here was filled
with too many unknown variables for me as a reader to
understand exactly what was going on. The old man
brought things back into sharp focus and the
interchange between the family members and the Roman
were really well done, culminating in a very nice
fight scene. This clash with its heartbeat pacing is
probably my favorite part of the story, but I was
again lost as to how it actually ended. Another
confusing transition and all of my expectations are
overturned. Turns out the Roman I felt I was supposed
to be sympathetic towards in the beginning is really a
cold-blooded murderer. I think. But I'm not sure. Just
as I'm not sure what the "god" is or many other things
... Vassinus Augendus? Paullus? Epiran? These terms
are thrown about but I have no real idea what they
mean, only my vague assumptions. But when you switch
back to the Roman's point of view inside the "god," I
find myself sucked right back into the moment again.
(The "god" did seem a bit forced also. The other
ingredients were strong, however.) This piece has so
many moments that just needed a stronger cohesive
backdrop. It's a little bit out of focus, making me
feel like I'm experiencing the story looking through
clear jelly. 

mystraschosen:

Hmm ... where to start? I like the details. The world
you've created here seems structured and believable.
You have glorious heroes, a deceptive villain, exotic
locales, a gory battle - everything that makes D&D
such fun. But I wonder if you wouldn't have been
better off writing this up as a game scenario rather
than a story. The ideas seem like they would work so
well as an adventure. As a narrative, however, I
thought it was a bit hard to get through. You've
already talked about the grammatical errors, so I'm
not referring only to those. The problems seem more
symptomatic of an overall structural error. For
instance, you begin with an interchange between two
old friends, a fine choice, and we as readers start to
get a feeling for their relationship to each other and
a sense of who they are as individuals, but then the
scene abruptly ends. Instead of allowing the
characters to evolve naturally or speak for
themselves, it seemed as if you were dragging me from
place to place, action to action. I felt that the
piece was more like a recount of a gaming session than
a story I could lose myself in, and that unfortunately
put me off as a reader. In addition, your use of
ingredients was a bit off, something that is crucial
to winning a Ceramic DM contest. You focused well on
the first picture, but then it seemed as if only
cursory attention was being paid to pictures two and
four (although I must say the halfling yelling "HOOF!"
to the giant pig had me laughing out loud) and picture
three seemed as if it was only in the story because it
had to be, not because it was important. In the end, I
felt your ideas were strong but your execution could
have been better. I hope my criticism here hasn't been
too harsh and I also hope this doesn't put you off
competing in the future. If you ever wanted to write
this up as a short adventure, I would love to use it. 


I give this round to barsoomcore.

 unanimous round to barsoomcore


----------



## Thimble the Squit

*Thanks for the crits*



> _Originally posted by alsih2o and mirthcard:_
> *alsih2o
> This is an unusual treatment for ceramic d.m., all the pictures are used decently well, if not with the most imaginative sense. i definetely laughed at this more than most
> 
> mirthcard
> Succinct and to the point. alsih2o says you're the anti-me for turning in your entry so quickly, I say that you might be the anti-arwink as well ... not that length matters. Enough with the jokes, on to the criticism. I am impressed by a number of things in your story, but most of all by your strength of voice.  Your nameless protagonist never falters or sways from the voice that you give him in your opening sentence and that was enough to keep me hooked throughout. I feel as if I know him as soon as he speaks - his cocksure nature, his self-deprecating humor, his nonchalant heroism - all are revealed with the precision of a razor in the hands of a surgeon. It doesn't stop there. Your use of the ingredients is top notch as well, all are integral to the plot of the
> piece, all have purpose and meaning, nothing seems forced. However (you knew that was coming, didn't you?), the short length of your entry helps to keep the use of the ingredients balanced, because you don't really expound on any of them. You give the reader just enough to tantalize. That's where this entry
> starts to fall apart. There simply isn't an ending. There's no closure. I like a good pun as much as the next guy, but come on. That line seems more like a cop-out. You had PLENTY of time to beef this thing up, so you can't blame it on the deadline (like I often do). And now we've gotten to the meat of the problem,
> see? I want to know more! How does it end? Tell me! What does he do? Is the quandry you've put the judge in a good or a bad thing? Only time will tell ... or you could just skip to the end and find out. Unlike you, I have to give an ending - good or bad, whatever it bee.*




Thanks very much guys!  If I'd been a judge, I'd have given the round to NoOne as well, his story is very good indeed (*_nods to NoOne: good stuff, mate_*) -- but your responses were nice to read anyway, however the voting went; I've had stuff judged before and I never got the impression it'd actually been really read through and analysed.  Mirthcard gives his opinion and backs it up.  Thanks for that.  I'm glad you liked it -- and, I'm really sorry, but there wasn't an ending; that was all there was to it.  My paltry brain didn't bother to see the story further than the punchline.  Glad you liked the style though.

For the next contest, if you'll have me, I promise I'll try something serious...


----------



## NoOneofConsequence

*Doffs cap*

Great round Thimble the Squit. 

My thanks to the judges - your money is winging its way to you via paypal, as per your request. 

Now, to boldly go where NoOne(ofConsequence) has gone before - the second round of Ceramic DM.


----------



## arwink

Maldur said:
			
		

> *Im so sorry.
> 
> I did send my judgement to clay .
> 
> Sorry again, Im having to much of a good time. *




Piffle.  Everyone knows a good judges excuse should have nothing to do with fun - it should rely on a soul destroying overload of work 

Congrats to the two winners, NoOneofConsequence and Barsoomscore.


----------



## Mirth

Just sent Mark my decision on arwink vs. Dark Eternal. I'm working on Speaker vs. Sniktch now. Sorry for holding things up.


----------



## alsih2o

arwink vs darketernal

 maldur

  busy at gencon uk, says arwink wins for him 

 alsih2o

  arwink
   an odd story with some odd characters i liked a lot. i loved the handling of the 
skeleton pic and and its overlap with the dragonguitar pic. i also liked the bravery of 
stepping into the modern realm. the idea of the gladiator image being summoned buy the 
scar was an excellent addition.

 dark eternal
  an interesting treatment reminiscent of "mutiny on the hms bounty". i loved the deformed halfling lich, we all need one 
 the portal was an odd handle for em, but i did like the details on the lute.

 this is a hard one to decide, but i gotta go with darketernal  here, for excellent use of the imagery.


arwink:

I'm not going to beat around the bush, I REALLY liked
this story. Quite the unique approach for this event
and I found my self constantly surprised and amused by
the implied setting which you revealed through very
subtle nuances and details. The style(s?) you employed
throughout reminded me of several of my favorite
writers - Philip K. Dick, HP Lovecraft, and especially
Charles Willeford, which is an odd choice for a
fantasy piece. The length of the story never became a
problem during the reading, which I assumed it would
when I first saw it posted. The fact that my attention
never swayed should be a feather in your cap, arwink.
The piece had a definited rhythm to it, almost jazz
but not quite, almost blues too. This would do well as
a David Lynch short film, but the pacing and dialogue
smack more of David Mamet. Very solid. I could go on
and on, but I'd better bring out the critical eye as
well. You lose several points because, with the
exception of Lou, all of the other ingredients seem to
be incidental to the main story. Nick's scar is a nice
effect and gives some shading to the end of the story,
but it could easily be removed and the story would
function just as well. The same with the guitar - the
song is instrumental in bridging the gap between Jack
and Nick, but what it was played on didn't matter one
bit. The same goes for the landscape that Nick
receives in the mail. Only Lou is truly integral to
the plot, if you removed him the story would change
quite a bit, and for the worse I might add. So is that
enough to bring you down? Wait and see...

Dark Eternal:

Man, do I want to game with you. A four-armed
Thri-kreen bard with a double-neck intelligent
guitar?!? A halfling lich with a brainpan the size of
Cleveland?!? You're like the Spinal Tap of
role-playing goodness. Turn the volume up to 11,
brother, cuz I WANNA ROCK!!!! But seriously ... your
use of those two ingredients is very distinct and
inventive and earns you major points. However, the
other two ingredients, while used semi-effectively in
the plot of the story, do feel a bit more tacked on,
and certainly not as cool. I have a feeling that you,
like _mystraschosen_ above, could have benefitted
from writing this up as an adventure rather than a
story. As a narrative, the piece falls apart in
several places - grammar, pacing, structure (see my
critique of mystraschosen's entry because much of it
is relevant to yours) - but particularly your choice
of voice caused your story to stop dead in its tracks.
Your use of the archaic and modern vernacular changes
like the tide and is very disconcerting for the
reader. I know it was done in order to make your
paladin sound more regal and "proper," but it had the
opposite effect, unfortunately. Perhaps if the voice
had been consistent instead of sounding "put on" then
I wouldn't have minded so much. As it is though, I
kept finding my "willing suspension of disbelief"
failing and I was subsequently thrown out of the
story. In summary, there are a bunch of good ideas in
here that get lost beneath a mass of misplaced jargon.
As I said for mystraschosen, if you ever write this up
as an adventure, I would love to see it.

I give this round to arwink for his alcohol-infused brain-bender.


 2-1, arwink takes it


----------



## Mirth

Just sent in Speaker vs. Sniktch. Again, sorry for the holdup people. I remember quite well how nervewracking it was to wait for those decisions to trickle in.


----------



## alsih2o

sniktch vsspeaker

 maldur, busy at gencon uk says sniktch

 alsih2o

 speaker, good story, interesting and with a neat twist. i like how the rose pic was used especially.

 sniktch, straight from light to darkness, i like the use of the "under shrub" pic, and the mask one is ok.

 2 good stories, but i have yto go with speaker, for his non-active ending that adds a special twist :0

 mirthcard


Speaker:
They call me Heatmiser ... Ah Rankin & Bass, wherefore
art thou? ... Anyway ... I like the balance created
here. And Fell not only smacks of someone from the
Isle of Misfit Toys, he also has a bit of the ol'
Raistlin about him, no? When done well, a subtle
homage like that is not a bad thing. What you have
here is a good solid entry. There's just enough detail
to give depth to the setting and the characters. Very
nice use of ingredients, with the exception of the
polar bears (but I like the image, so I'll go a bit
easier on you). The story also has all the earmarks of
the aforementioned early (i.e. good) Weis/Hickman
gaming fiction. It hard to find fault with what's
here. My only caveat to the whole piece is that the
ending just rings a bit hollow to me. Thematically it
fits, I know, but I wanted Wen to "win" AND for the
other two who used her to get some kind of
comeuppance. That lack of true resolution almost makes
the rest of the story before it pointless ... almost.

Sniktch:
I love the imagery you provide here. The visuals pop
out of the page as I read along. Each of the
ingredients is a well-defined and distinct part of the
story. The polar bears connect us to Svetlana & the
unnamed, undead narrator who in turn connects us to
the landscape of white which brings us to our
antagonist. The flow is good and the underlying mood
of quiet desperation stays with the reader from the
first sentence. Yet there are transitions in the piece
that leave me a bit lost. What happened to Svetlana
and her companion? Avalanche, magical spell ... ? Who
is the woman that is seen at the end? The narrator may
know her but I certainly don't. Death perhaps? The
last sentence(s) seem to speak for the whole of the
story itself: "Now I know everything. And nothing."

Speaker wins this extremely close round only because
his was the less obtuse to this simple-minded judge.

that 2 to 1 for speaker


----------



## alsih2o

so, it falls like this for the matchups-

 nooneofconsequence vs barsoomcore

 arwink vs defending champ speaker

 new round starts in the morning gentlemen


----------



## barsoomcore

ay, ay, ay....

Props to mirthcard for his lengthy and detailed critiques.

*looks over NOOC's entry again, and shudders*


----------



## Dark Eternal

Aaaaand -

I'm out.  

I'm quite flattered that it was as close a call as it was.  My thanks to Mirthcard for his expository - it helps me a *lot* to have such a detailed critique of my submission.  Helps me to identify the points I need to work on as a writer, which I need.  My thanks to the other two judges as well - particularly AlSiH2O (  ) - for their time.  And, most of all - to Arwink, my congratulations!  To be honest, I figured I was sunk as soon as I read your story, dude - it was just damn good.  

Good luck to all of you in the second round - I'll be watching this thread with intense interest.  If the next set of submissions are as good as these were, it'll be great reading!

Mirthcard - I really had intended to submit an adventure instead of a narrative.  Sounds like I should have gone with my gut on that decision... *sighs*  When will I learn to trust my feelings?  A Jedi, I am not.  In any case, look for a rewrite of my submission in adventure form - I'll post it to the board sometime this week.

Thanks again to everyone; it was great fun competing, and I hope to make a better showing next time around!


----------



## Mirth

Thimble the Squit said:
			
		

> *I've had stuff judged before and I never got the impression it'd actually been really read through and analysed.  Mirthcard gives his opinion and backs it up.  Thanks for that.  I'm glad you liked it -- and, I'm really sorry, but there wasn't an ending; that was all there was to it.  My paltry brain didn't bother to see the story further than the punchline.  Glad you liked the style though.*




I actually have taken my judging cues from nemmerle in the Iron DM competitions and our very own arwink her in the ceramic DM, both of whom I think have offered really insightful criticism in the past, so I'm glad you took it in the way that I intended. Also, I wasn't expecting an ending, Thimble, I just WANTED one


----------



## Mirth

NoOneofConsequence said:
			
		

> *My thanks to the judges - your money is winging its way to you via paypal, as per your request.*




Yeah, baby!


----------



## Mirth

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> *Props to mirthcard for his lengthy and detailed critiques.*




Just keepin' it real for my peeps. I gots the 411 on the downlow, G.


----------



## Mirth

Dark Eternal said:
			
		

> *My thanks to Mirthcard for his expository - it helps me a lot to have such a detailed critique of my submission.  Helps me to identify the points I need to work on as a writer, which I need.
> 
> Mirthcard - I really had intended to submit an adventure instead of a narrative.  Sounds like I should have gone with my gut on that decision... *sighs*  When will I learn to trust my feelings?  A Jedi, I am not.  In any case, look for a rewrite of my submission in adventure form - I'll post it to the board sometime this week.*




Sounds good, DE. I look forward to seeing it. Don't underestimate the scenario. For the first two Ceramic DMs I wrote almost strictly scenarios vs. everyone else's fiction and it served me pretty well. Check my sig if you want to see the judge in action.


----------



## alsih2o

SEMIFINALS

nooneofconsequence vs barsoomcore

 PIC 1 OF 5


----------



## alsih2o

nooneofconsequence vs barsoomcore

 pic 2 of 5


----------



## alsih2o

nooneofconsequence vs barsoomcore

 pic 3 of 5


----------



## alsih2o

nooneofconsequence vs barsoomcore

 pic 4 of 5


----------



## alsih2o

nooneofconsequence vs barsoomcore

 5 of 5, 72 hours from this post guys...


----------



## alsih2o

SEMIFINALS

 (former judge) arwink vs (defending champ) speaker

 pic 1 of 5


----------



## alsih2o

arwink vs speaker

pic 2 of 5


----------



## alsih2o

arwink vs speaker


 pic 3 of 5


----------



## alsih2o

arwink vs speaker


 pic 4 of 5


----------



## alsih2o

arwink vs speaker


 pic 5 of 5, 72 hours from this post guys


----------



## arwink

Don't mind me.  Just checking the time-stamp on my post so I can freak out about the time limit


----------



## alsih2o

how you liking that batch o' pictures there old man?


----------



## Sniktch

Just checking in, and... argh!  So close - I'll get you yet, Speaker!   My thanks also to mirthcard for his detailed critiques - that's exactly the type of thing I like to see.  My exposition, or thought process:

Like I said, the images together just screamed cold and ice at me, but unifying them was rather difficult.  In the end, I just let the stream of my consciousness take over and that's what you see here, the ramblings of my fevered brain late at night.

I know I was vague and obtuse in many places, but I think part of that flows from the state of the narrator and protagonist - at the beginning he is dying and dreaming, the confused remembrances of a spirit that refuses to leave the mortal coil.  At the end he is undead and his brain is working in an entirely different fashion than a living man's would.  Svetlana and the masked woman at the end are the same person, although I admit this is not clear at all.  The 'vague shapes and lights' signify some sort of fiendish entity attacking the pair and possessing her, so to speak.  When the protagonist awakes he is a revenant - the details of what happened are not entirely clear to him, but his task is...

In the end, it appears I was too vague for my own good, which was my fear when submitting the piece.  I had fun writing it, though, and fun reading everyone else's work and receiving valuable criticisms.  Congratulations to Speaker on another excellent job, congrats to the other winners for their fine work, and good luck to all of you in round 2.  I can't wait to see how this contest plays out, and I have to admit I especially have my eye turned towards the arwink - speaker match this round...


----------



## alsih2o

you did well sniktch, and you wrote an interesting story, you just happened to come up aainst the wrong writer at the wrong time 

 while i am on this, big thanks to all the contestants, you guys make this sooo much fun.

  i hope to see all of you working here agaian and woking outside of here


----------



## Mark

Best of luck to all of the semi-finalists!


----------



## alsih2o

mark is always so noce to drop in and wish everyone who is participating well.


 everyone that is except the judges and picture pickers, who he just ignores like we are some kind of malignent hired help not worthy of being looked upon!!!!


----------



## Mirth

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *mark is always so nice to drop in and wish everyone who is participating well.
> 
> 
> everyone that is except the judges and picture pickers, who he just ignores like we are some kind of malignant hired help not worthy of being looked upon!!!! *




Word.


----------



## Mirth

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *My thanks also to mirthcard for his detailed critiques - that's exactly the type of thing I like to see.*




Me too. I hope it was worth waiting for, even if you didn't win. 

That brings me to another point - if any contestant wants to talk to me further about their entry, feel free to post it here or send me an email. If you don't agree at all with my decision, please post that too. I can only become a better judge with feedback.



			
				Sniktch said:
			
		

> *My exposition, or thought process:
> 
> Like I said, the images together just screamed cold and ice at me, but unifying them was rather difficult.  In the end, I just let the stream of my consciousness take over and that's what you see here, the ramblings of my fevered brain late at night.
> 
> I know I was vague and obtuse in many places, but I think part of that flows from the state of the narrator and protagonist - at the beginning he is dying and dreaming, the confused remembrances of a spirit that refuses to leave the mortal coil.  At the end he is undead and his brain is working in an entirely different fashion than a living man's would.  Svetlana and the masked woman at the end are the same person, although I admit this is not clear at all.  The 'vague shapes and lights' signify some sort of fiendish entity attacking the pair and possessing her, so to speak.  When the protagonist awakes he is a revenant - the details of what happened are not entirely clear to him, but his task is...
> 
> In the end, it appears I was too vague for my own good, which was my fear when submitting the piece.  I had fun writing it, though, and fun reading everyone else's work and receiving valuable criticisms.*




Ahh, now I see. I knew you were striving for something, but I just couldn't quite grasp it. Perhaps if I had been undead myself, I would have ....  If I'm judging next time, be sure to write *THE TRUTH* on a big paddle and spank me with it.


----------



## Sniktch

Hey, no worries.  If I lose the judges, that's my fault, not theirs   And yes, the critiques were worth waiting for.  Since I plan on joining the next time around, I will prepare a big paddle in case you are a judge


----------



## Mark

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *mark is always so noce to drop in and wish everyone who is participating well.
> 
> 
> everyone that is except the judges and picture pickers, who he just ignores like we are some kind of malignent hired help not worthy of being looked upon!!!! *




You got the love, Judges (exept for alsih)! 

_Damned Picture-Pickin' Potter..._


----------



## Sniktch

Potter?  He hardly knows her!


----------



## mystraschosen

Hi,just checking in. Alsih thanks for your critique,no it was not harsh,and why enter a contest such as this if you are not prepared for your story to be judged?   I will take all constructive criticisim and try to put it to use so that I can come back and submit an even better story next time. It is gratifying to know that the "hoof" command was funny to others as well as me.I couldn't stop laughing when I thought of that one.  

I would not have a problem writing it up as an adventure,if you so desire alsih. Just give me a little bit o time and it shall be yours.

Thanks to all the judges for taking the time to read my entry,and thanks to all the contestants who provided great stories for my idle amusement at late hours of the night! I will now buy sniktch a consolatory beer,so that we may comiserate with each other in drunken lethargy 

By the way sweet pics for round 2 ,I can hardly wait to read the stories.


----------



## alsih2o

mystraschosen said:
			
		

> *
> I would not have a problem writing it up as an adventure,if you so desire alsih. Just give me a little bit o time and it shall be yours.
> 
> *




 sniktch is thinking of starting a thread for rewrites and second attempts


----------



## Sniktch

Hey, MC - I've decided I'm gonna keep writing on this competition despite being knocked out - keep my creative momentum going, you know what I mean?  Want to join me?  

I see Clay beat me to this note now...


----------



## mystraschosen

Sure,sounds good.You tell me what we'll do and I will write something up.I also have 3 days in a row free starting tomorrow till saturday,so I can really put some effort into it.


----------



## Sniktch

I was going to take the pics from Arwink-Speaker and right my own entry as if I had advanced, but maybe we can talk Clay into giving us 5 fresh pics for our own mini-match.  What do ya say, Potter?


----------



## alsih2o

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *I was going to take the pics from Arwink-Speaker and right my own entry as if I had advanced, but maybe we can talk Clay into giving us 5 fresh pics for our own mini-match.  What do ya say, Potter? *




 start an alternate thread and i am on it 
maybe a home version ?


----------



## Mirth

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *Since I plan on joining the next time around, I will prepare a big paddle in case you are a judge  *




Ya Rat B@$t@®d, ya!


----------



## Mirth

Mark said:
			
		

> *You got the love, Judges! *




Right back atcha, Mark! It really was nice to hear from you after every round when I was competing.


----------



## Sniktch

Clay, I started a home game thread right here


----------



## Mirth

mystraschosen said:
			
		

> *Alsih thanks for your critique,no it was not harsh,and why enter a contest such as this if you are not prepared for your story to be judged?   I will take all constructive criticisim and try to put it to use so that I can come back and submit an even better story next time. It is gratifying to know that the "hoof" command was funny to others as well as me.I couldn't stop laughing when I thought of that one.
> 
> I would not have a problem writing it up as an adventure,if you so desire alsih. Just give me a little bit o time and it shall be yours.*




I think you might be talking to me and not alsih2o, if you are referring to the long critique at the end. I just don't want Mark (alsih2o) to take any blame for my harshness. "Hoof!" was indeed funny and I really look forward to your scenario write-up. Good luck in the home game


----------



## Mirth

Sniktch said:
			
		

> *Hey, MC*




Just to prove how clueless I can be, I thought you were talking to me (*M*irth*C*ard) in this post, until I saw *M*ystras*C*hosen's post right below it. So maybe I am partly to fault for being lost after all


----------



## barsoomcore

Yi yi yi...

*studies pics, tries to come up with connection, falls over*


----------



## Maldur

Good luck everyone!

Ill try and do a longer judging than last round this time 

*tries to find something to make a peace offering to the potter*


----------



## arwink

Arwink Vs Speaker

*Lost, Found, Forgotten*

If you buy me a wine, I’ll offer you a story.  I know it’s not much, especially not around here, but I offer it anyway.  There was a time, in the past, when my memories were more valuable than gold.  Those that remain should be worth at least a little wine and a moment of your time.  Interested?  Yes?  Then pour, and I shall begin.

*

“Dawn comes late to Chalice.  It’s because of the vortex, the way it messes up space and time.  Makes it pliable, you know?”

I smile when I hear this, glance across the café to spot the speaker.  He’s short, stocky, with the dark skin of a native.  Not that means anything these days, with the exchange drawing in brokers from across the world.  What he’s saying is a common enough theory about the shadows that creep across the city, but it’s wrong.  Chalice is shrouded in shadows because it’s built in the heart of the rift, emerging from the vortex at its heart.  Sun-blasted mountains loom on all sides, higher than any of the modern high-rise buildings we’ve adopted to house the visitors and the rich.  Dawn comes late to chalice, because it takes hours for the sun to rise high enough to crest the peaks.  The stranger’s theory is plausible enough, I suppose, but it’s still wrong.  The vehemence with which people defend this idea tells you a lot about their origins, whether they’re visitors who have failed to notice the obvious or locals who simply trade their thoughts and memories on the street corners to make rich visitors feel more at home.

I don’t know why I choose to start the story here.  I remember the moment clearly, which should be enough to throw it into doubt.  Anything I remember clearly these days is probably quality merchandise, purchased of someone else during the period when my own experiences were inflated by a touch of infamy.  I have sold so much of the tale, potentially lost so many parts of the story that it may not qualify as such anymore.  Perhaps all I have is the impression of a story, the after-taste of an experience I no longer posses.  Who left in Chalice can claim to be a storyteller, can validate the authenticity of their claims.  It is the nature of the city, and none know it as well as I, so forgive me if the tale is awkward or there are parts no longer remembered.  I offer it freely, a morsel of what could yet exist for profit on my death.  It may not be the story, but it is something.  Cheaper here than you’d get it at the exchange.

*

This next part comes later, I think, although it’s part of the same day.  The memory has faded a little with time, enough that it’s touched with sepia like an old photograph, but it’s still close to exact.  I know enough to remember what happened.  At the very least, it is the true beginning.  I know, because I remember vowing not to sell it no matter what, and it’s the kind of thing I stick too.  

I was sitting in my office, in the private sale booths above the exchange.  There was a time, long past, when I was given respect for my position and my knowledge, in the days of old.  At the time, I was doing my best to live up for the prestige.  My smock was always snowy and pure, unstreaked by the sweat stains and dust that often marked the pit-traders who favored dealing in bulk – those who sold memories of first kisses, moments of birth, spiritual awakenenings or the deflowering of virgins.  I had moved beyond such bulk amusements, worked towards the unique and the extraordinary.  I dealt with the rich and powerful, those who came to the city from the outside world with expectations and traded moments of such value that wealth ran through my fingers like water.

The appointment book was vague, his name written in smudged ink.  It was listed as a private conference, a speculative gesture that may or may not pay off.  The knock on the door was soft, hesitant, and I asked him in with a voice as confident and loud as a dukes.  He slunk into the room, followed by a faint air of deja vu that I couldn’t place.  His eyes held recognition, though, a desire to greet me as an old friend.  Such things are not unusual in chalice.  I wondered if I’d sold my memory of him, or if he’d bought a memory of me.  Either was plausible.

“Gregor Mustapha, yes?” I asked, glancing at the appointment book.  He nodded, scratched at a fuzzy mustache.  He wore a trader’s smock, but it was grubby and bare – a forgery or a long unused right.  “What do you want, Mr. Mustapha, I’m a busy man.”

“I came across something,” he said.  “Something you may be able to use.”
His tongue flicked over his lips, wetted them slightly.  Fingers fished around in his pocket, pulled for a silver orb of light, wrapped in a layer of glass.  He held it forward, an offering.  The first I’d seen in such archaic casing, and a rarity simply in its physical presence in my office instead of a notion, an idea, a barrel of stock held in a downtown warehouse.

“Touch it,” he urged, “You’ll see.”

I hesitated.  I’m wary of unknown orbs, untested material.  Have been since my youth, when my parents first brought me to this city.  My first experience was when my cousin played a prank, slipped me the memory of a Frankish knights last ride.  I can still recall the fringes of the experience, even after my uncle had removed it from my soul.  The hours of aching agony, holding at an arrow wound in my side while a friend held my upright.  For an unprotected soul, a ten year old still at an age when such things are horrifying and untainted by the exoticism the Coil-infatuates seem to give such experiences, it was a harrowing experience.  My uncle had beaten my cousin for his impudence, for venturing to far into the world we were forbidden until our sixteenth years.  A few years back, during the period of infamacy, my cousin sold that beating for several thousand dollars.  A stroke of luck and timing.

Mustapha knew none of this, offered me an untested orb like a child would offer candy.  Excitement was writ on his face, his features shining softly in the light.

“What is it?” I asked.
“Two hours of swimming,” Mustapha said softly.  “With a mermaid.”
“Is there kissing?”
“Some.”
“Any drowning -, accidental or intentional?”
Mustapha shook his head.  

I stared at him for a few minutes, let him sweat.  I feigned indifference, tried to project an illusion of civility and boredom at his find.  Two hours of an exotic dream can be a good find, as long as he wasn’t over-pricing it.  
“What’s the origin,” I said.  “What kind of dream – Delusion?  Archetypal?  REM?”
His teeth appeared beneath the mustache, wide and sharp as a sharks.
“It’s real,” he said.  “Sane.  Fully awake.  Completely tested and signed off as an individual meme-pattern.”
I hid my surprise well.  Such things are my job, after all, but the caution of my childhood left me.  My hand reached out to touch the orb, to live for a moment in the memory of a mermaids embrace.  It washed over me like a wave, for but a moment, until my hand drew back from the glass.  It was true.  There was none of the disbelief, the eagerness or the haziness of a dream origin.  

“What kind of money are we talking,” I asked, and the eagerness creeping into my voice.  He named a figure, but I no longer remember it.  I think I sold it some time ago, to a pauper who wanted to know the feeling of becoming suddenly rich.  

*

My first time on the floor as in the early sixties, just as the market was dying for memories of sex or exotic dreams induced by drugs.  I was sixteen, already aware of the value of what we traded due to my cousins little joke.  I can remember walking onto the floor, my white smock pale and fresh as I pressed into the throng of people who gathered in the central chamber.  My first sale was in mundanities, the moments when nothing extraordinarily happens.  I was one of the first to see that trend, to notice the winds of change that swept through the world.  When real life became tumultuous and wild, while the music started shifting towards rock and roll, the demand for placid memories of home and hearth grew exponentially.  I grew in wealth quickly, trading smart and hard.  I kept hundreds of sex-memories on the back burner, sold to me at phenomenally low prices that garnered an enormous profit in the conservatism in later decades.  I traded primarily in Nostalgia for seven years, walking the trade floor built around the nexus with fists full of memory markers that I bandied around like they were nothing.  I build new markets before I graduated, moved into the upper offices, to deal with the exotic and the new.  

For a time, I held several private collections that were held in high regard.  My favorite were the remnants of explorers minds, often snatched at the last minute while they died fevered from malaria or exotic poisons.  Of all I once had, only one remains.  A memory of being in the Amazon, standing behind a row of pygmy’s while they sang and danced songs that no westerner had heard for an age.  Even now, in my times of turmoil, I can’t bring myself to part with it.  There’s a clarity to the memory, a purity that makes it recognizably not my own.  To give up something so pure, so clearly vivid, is abhorrent to me.  At times I shaved moments off, seconds of either end, but that core image is still with me.  Fresh and new as the day it happened.

*

The mermaid was bid on by rock stars and actors, by wealthy men who had a taste of the exotic.  I was offered wild memories by one of the Rolling Stones for the experience, offered untold years of knowledge by professors of anthropology of lore.  The mermaid went to none of them, simply sat on my desk waiting for someone capable of finding my price.

It was a peculiarity, I admit.  One of those magical moments that the Vortex seems to spit out every now and again, like the memory of a planets birth that Kladdich Omerhyter sold a decade ago.  No-one knows where they come from, but it’s thought that it’s a peculiarity of the Vortex’s power that makes it so.  That same ability to segregate a person’s life into moments, to suck it into a physical form where it can be sold in the Exchange of Experience, leads to random moments stolen from unknown worlds or universes.    The Mermaid was a gift from the gods, whichever gods I once worshipped.  Faith was fetching a good price a year ago, and I sought a way to get back into the game.  I’m sure I thanked someone the memory had made its way into my life, but that thought is long gone.

Mustapha came back time and again, always bringing something exotic and new.  The memory if a phoenix’s death, of floating in the abyss of space without dying, the thoughts of a whale as it sang to the stars.  I bought them all, time and again, paying him top dollar for the privilege.

I remember few details of his visits.  They were valuable, once, and I thought there were enough to go around.  I remember his hands, however, large and pale.  Hands that offered things forward like gifts, jewels of heaven that were priceless in their perfection.  I remember the pale scar he had on one knuckle, the soft touch he had despite the callused fingers.  

*

My fall was swift, violent, probably deadly.  I have sold much of it, although the profit was not great.  I remember shadows, fragments.  The men from another government, dropping in through the penthouse that sat in the heaven above Chalice’s streets.  I remember seeing Mustapha shot, a bullet lodged in his chest.  I remember seeing the man I sold the Mermaid too, pointing a finger at me and wailing.  I think, perhaps, I even remember the faintest sheen of scales over his flesh, or the crease of gills as he heaved the air.  I’m no longer sure.

If you ask around, I’m sure someone can tell you the charge.  Trading in dangerous memories is popular, or unknown thoughts.  Perhaps there was no charge, they were just people from another place, another time, seeking to reclaim what was theirs.  Such things happen here, rarely, and the vortex is often to blame.  Who is going to stop it, though, when the vortex is what makes Chalice what she is.  Without it, we would be a backwater town in the heart of the mountains.  With it, we can be the center of the world.

I remember walking through the exchange, shut down by whatever force had stripped me of wealth and power.  The entire place was empty, for the first time since the white-smocked throngs that sold thought and feeling had entered the place.  It felt unreal, like a dream.  Perhaps it is.  Who is to say such thoughts are mine, rather than some rarity I picked up in the distant past.  Perhaps this is the memory of a construction worker, who laid the pale tiles of the trading floor and then walked home after a day’s hard work.

*

It isn’t much of a story, I know.  When times are hard, the stories are the first things to go.  Chalice is the city of stories, but none of them are permanent.  Nothing is as it was meant to be.  The vortex makes as greedy, makes us dream of having been something different then peruse it as men possessed.  It isn’t much of a story, I know, but there may be a lesson there among the scabby patches and long-forgotten sales.  If you are interested, I may sell it to you.  You can have any part, any experience foreign or intriguing to you, for a cup of wine.  

Pic 1 – The Exchange of Human Experience
Pic 2 – The Memory of the Mermaid
Pic 3 – The memory slipped by his cousin at age ten
Pic 4 – The city of Chalice
Pic 5 – The last memory from the Explorer collection.


----------



## arwink

Not necessarily the story I wanted to post on a round when I'm up against Speaker, but time and other commitments were against me


----------



## arwink

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *how you liking that batch o' pictures there old man? *




Very cool.  Three of five were easy to use.  The other two cause me to swear in polite company


----------



## alsih2o

arwink said:
			
		

> *  The other two cause me to swear in polite company  *





 my work here si done


----------



## barsoomcore

*The REAL Story*

I know what you're thinking, but I'm here to tell you that I wasn't shoved headfirst down a hole by a crazed samurai because I beheaded his brother the Imperial Beekeeper who then turned into a walking corpse and terrorized the province. That's not what happened.

I know, that's what everyone _says_ happened. But who are you going to believe, Haro the pig farmer or me, the guy who's _currently headfirst down a hole_?

Look, let's cut a deal here. I tell you what _really_ happened, and if you believe me, you pull me out of this hole. If you don't, off with you and a thousand curses on your head for making me waste my time telling you the truth. Though I have to admit I don't actually have anything else to do, being currently upside-down in a hole. Never mind. Fine. Here goes.

First off, don't think I wanted to be High Lord Imperial Executioner Flibberty-Gibbet. No, sir. Who would? It's not like I'm some all-serious, mystically inclined chap looking to perfect my technique, walk the road of demons or anything like that. I cut people's heads off. It's not pretty, it's not sophisticated. It sucks.

Seriously, this is like the worst job in the world. I only got stuck with it because I was late to the meeting and all the other samurai had already decided. Bastards. So here I am, Lord High Cutting-Off-Heads-Guy. I don't even get to be on Iron Chef. The _other_ samurai get the cool jobs. When they're done work they can gather around the samurai water cooler and swap stories about duels they've fought or fair maidens they've rescued.

I've met 73 single women in the last two months. Single. Ha. Each of them is now in two pieces.

"Hey, Executioner! Learn some jokes, they'll laugh their heads off! Har har har."

Hilarious. I hate those guys.

Okay, so Grand Executy Poobah versus the Imperial Beekeeper. Here's where everyone's story is all mixed up. I didn't cut the guy's head off.

Well, I did, but only after he was dead. Look, I don't know if you knew the guy, but the Imperial Beekeeper wasn't exactly the sharpest blade in the saya, if you know what I mean. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the guy was a schmuck. A dope. A doofus. I mean, he was the Imperial Beekeeper, for crying out loud. What kind of a dork gets himself saddled with a title like that? He's the biggest moron in the whole empire.

Okay, he got three golden tael a week and a house to keep all the wine, women and song he could buy. The Imperial Grand Executioner sleeps on the stairs behind the palace. So perhaps he was the second-biggest moron in the whole empire. Let's not get into it, okay?

So this putz, who of course in the five years he's been Imperial Beekeeper has never so much as seen a bee, decides one day he's going to play with the bees.

Just take a moment and think about that. Play with bees. You want to argue the moron bit any further?

Reason I know what he was up to is because he stepped on me on the way to the gardens. After resisting the urge to punch him, I followed the great oaf down the stairs to see what he was up to.

You know, I could probably tell this story a lot better if I were right-side up.

Just saying.

Anyway, Beekeeper To The Shogun strolls into the garden and starts looking for bees. Under a bush. He starts calling them.

"Here, bees, bees, bees..."

I sit on the steps because obviously this is going to take a while. I'm actually worried I might die of thirst before El Keeper Du Bees finds a single honey-producing insect.

But no, turns out if you want to find bees, you call them. In a couple of seconds I hear Bee-Head give a little yelp and there he is, standing in the middle of the garden, with a bee perched on his eyebrow. At first I think he's going to smack it, and he nearly does, but something holds him back and he stands there motionless, the fuzzy little thing crawling about above his eye.

Then there's two. Then three.

Look, I can't explain it. Well, actually, I can, but I'm not going to tell you yet. Sense of mystery, pal, you never had a story told to you? Hey, if you're not even going to pull me out of here, I'm going to tell my story any way I like, alright?

Pretty soon this clown is covered in bees. I mean covered. He looks like he's wearing a fuzzy black and yellow hat, one of those winter hats what you tie down around your ears. Bees all over his head.

I can't help it. It's creeping me out big time. I stand up and call out to him.

"Dude, that's not right!"

He jerks, and I guess he startled one of his wee pals, because he suddenly yells and smacks at his own cheek.

Important safety tip: if you ever have your head covered in bees, and one of them stings you, take it like a man. Cause bees, they hate it when somebody smacks one of their sisters.

He screams and starts dancing a frenetic jig, eventually dropping to his knees and trying to, I guess, beat his head against the ground and knock the angry bees off. Unfortunately, he beat his head into a rock and keeled over right there. I took off then, not because I was freaked out (seen a lot of people becoming dead, thanks awfully), but because by then those bees were like drunk sailors just looking for trouble.

But I figured that was the end of it. Guy stung to death, cracks head on rock, end of story. Hire a new Imperial Beekeeper. I was polishing up my resume for the vacancy when Samurai Fred came to me. He posed in front of a useless stone lantern. I hated him right off.

"Imperial Lord High Executioner."

"Yo."

"I crave a boon, my lord."

Note: they only call me "my lord" when they need a favour. Which is usually, "Could you pretend not to notice that the adulterous countess you've been ordered to decapitate looks like a frightened servant girl with a gag?" You can say what you like about adulterous countesses, but they're always popular.

"Uh-huh. Adulterous countess?"

"No, my lord. It concerns the most shameful death of my brother, Yagumakihagagubi."

"Yagu-what?"

"The Imperial Beekeeper. He has suffered a most shameful end and brought grief upon our family."

"Right, with the getting stung to death by the little suckers he's supposed to be so good with. What do you want from me?"

"I want you to cut off his head."

"Isn't it a little late for that?"

"Please, my lord, I implore you."

"You do? How do you do that, exactly? I've always wondered."

"As yet, nobody knows of his death. I wish for the land to believe he has been executed."

"Getting decapitated as a common criminal would be less shameful than being stung to death?"

He just looked at me.

"Right. Okay. But you're asking me to desecrate a corpse. The gods forbid such an act with the strongest of taboos. I would be damned for all eternity if I were to perform such a heinous deed."

"Here are ten golden taels."

"I've never been a religious man."

"Well."

"On the other hand, I have one heck of a mortgage."

"Fifteen golden taels."

"And I've had my eye on this nice bungalow for the last couple of weeks..."

"Twenty taels."

"Which needs a lot of renovations..."

"Thirty. Will you do it?"

I weighed the solid mass of gold in my hand, and considered the righteous anger of the gods.

I don't think I'm a bad man. I don't think, certainly, that I deserve to get stuffed headfirst into a hole. Okay, so I cut the head off a dead guy. He was dead. He didn't have any use for his head. Not that he'd used it much when he was alive.

Thirty taels, one whack with the sword, and that was the end of it. That should have been the end of it, by all that's holy.

You can probably fill in most of the details of the night after I got paid. All I can say is, there's no such thing as too many beautiful girls in one room, especially if they're all pouring you wine and dancing on the table.

There is, however, such a thing as too many undead horrors crashing through the window, scattering beautiful girls in all directions, and knocking over perfectly good bottles of wine. It turns out that ONE is in fact too many.

"Executioner."

"You forget how to knock? What, undead beekeepers don't use doors?"

"You desecrated my corpse."

"Yeah, I cut your... uh... head off."

"Yes. You will pay."

"How'd you get your head back on?"

"You will pay."

"Fine. Here's a tael, have your own party. How'd you get your head back on?"

"The power of vengeance."

"Aren't those stitches?"

"And haberdashery."

"Nice work. You get Suniko the silk merchant's daughter to do that?"

"No. It's not-- Never mind. I am here for vengeance. Vengeance!"

The creepy, loathesome thing lurched forward, hands outstretched. It was totally the grossest thing I'd ever seen. And this is coming from a guy who cuts people's heads off for a living, remember.

But you can get used to anything, I guess. A few bottles of wine and the late Yagu-what-the-heck and I were singing together like old friends. Laughing about those crazy bees.

Which brings me to the sense of mystery I so carefully developed earlier. You see, while we were boozing it up, telling jokes and slapping shoulders (never slap the shoulder of a corpse when you're wearing your brand-new fancy kimono. Ew.), it came out that the former Master of Bee-Fu had actually had a plan when he went down into that garden, looking for bees. His loving brother (and I'm using the word "loving" in what's called the _ironic_ sense, where what I actually mean is "deceitful, murderous, foul-minded freakazoid") had given him what he claimed was a magic lotion which, if he could get a bee to touch it, would render him irresistible to the opposite sex.

Uh-huh. I told you, not the tallest stalk in the rice paddy.

See why I didn't tell you before? Now who's the expert storyteller, you or me? Huh? You going to pull me out of here now or what?

Fine.

So really, that's the story. The late Imperial Bee-Doofus, once he realised he'd been set up, went off and killed his brother the samurai. Apparently they had a big fight in the family garden, with the posing in front of those useless stone lanterns, I'm sure. Samurai Fred dies, horrible undead corpse gets a job parking palanquins over at Mama Sapporo's Groovy Geisha House, and I get stuffed down a hole.

Oh, yeah. The hole. Well, that party I had? You see, I don't normally spend that kind of money, so I wasn't really very good at judging at what my tab had run up to. Beautiful girls dancing on tables don't come cheap, you know. And the manager charged me for the broken windows, and the "emotional stress" to her girls when Yagu-mumble-mumble stormed in, and that undead son-of-a-domesticated-canine pinched my wallet on his way to wreak vengeance on his brother. So she COMPLETELY over-reacted and stuffed me down here.

So what do you think? What did I do to deserve to get treated like this? How come I'm stuffed down a hole, and a horrible undead corpse is picking up tips and making time with working girls over at Mama Sapporo's? Does that seem fair to you? Come on, now, I told you the story, you gotta pull me out of here. I'm going crazy down here, I tell you.

Come back here. Hey, we had a deal. Come back here, I'm warning you.

...

Hey, you. Yeah, you. Come here. Look I'll make you deal. I'll tell you a story and if you like it, you pull me out of this hole. Deal?

*****

Pic 1: The Undead Beekeeper
Pic 2: Our narrator (after getting stuffed headfirst down a hole)
Pic 3: Samurai Fred (posing in front of a useless stone lantern)
Pic 4: Our narrator (before getting stuffed headfirst down a hole)
Pic 5: The Imperial Beekeeper, shortly before his ignomious end


----------



## barsoomcore

I got the first sentence walking home from work, and then the conversation with Samurai Fred, and the rest was just typing.

*starts twiddling thumbs, looking up at the sky and whistling*


----------



## alsih2o

i hope it is coming well for our other competitors, i am not a literature expert, but i do believe i have put together the toughest final round ever.


 be forewarned


----------



## alsih2o

less than 8 hours to go and 2 competitors yet to be heard from, i am nervous....


----------



## NoOneofConsequence

*A prayer that I'm not too late.*

“As you can see, the mickelmas bee is naturally quite docile,” said the sage happily. “As long as the queen is not threatened the hive will not treat you as any danger at all.” As he was speaking, the bees in question were crawling all over his wrinkled face, along the steel frame of his spectacles and even up into to his thinning hair [pic 5]. Treffin found the entire thing extremely disconcerting, regardless of the Sage’s breezy manner.

It was only two days since their encounter with the river hag and Treffin’s nerves were still raw. He jumped at random noises and hadn’t slept more than an hour straight. Now he found himself wedged into a narrow fissure of rock, with a lamp attached to his helmet, while above him the Sage pottered around a natural chamber filled with stinging insects. In spite of the Sage’s assurance that the bees’ hive would be easy to find, the climb through the deep winding tunnels to the hive’s exact location had worn Treffin’s nerves thin.

“And this,” continued the sage, holding up a thin lump of glowing flesh. “Is the queen. She glows like this to light the way for the rest of the hive in these dark caves.”

To Treffin the queen looked like an overgrown glowworm and not at all as dangerous as the sage seemed to think. Then, with a gasp of terror, the sage dropped the queen. The droopy little monarch turned end over end downward into the shaft where Treffin was jammed uncomfortably. It flew past his face and on down. Without thinking, the young mercenary thrust out his moccasined foot and caught the queen between the top of his shoe and the rock wall.

“Oh good catch,” called the sage. “Just be careful that she doesn’t sting you. The venom is most….”

Treffin heard nothing more, as a magmatic wave of pain cascaded up his leg from the top of his foot, the queen’s venom burning through his veins. As the heat in his body rises, his heart slows down, beating in his chest like the clenching and unclenching of a gauntleted fist. His eyesight darkened to black and the tight rock walls fell away. The burning of the venom infected every aspect of his being; he heard burning in his ears and smelt it in his nostrils; he tasted fire and his eyesight was an agonizing cinder black.

Then there was nothing; no sight, no feeling, no sound. Treffin wondered if this was death.

“You are not dead,” said a voice heavy with weariness.

“Who said that?” asked Treffin, surprised to find that he had a voice.

“I did; you did; we did.” A figure emerged from the darkness, as though the shadows were mist that had simply dissipated under the warmth of an unseen sun. Dressed in a simple robe of white homespun, the individual was about Treffin’s height and seemed vaguely familiar. But he was frail beyond description, his skin hanging on his frame. His long hair was bleached white by time and his eyes had sunken deep into his skull. In spite of the lightness and simplicity of his clothing, he seemed weighed down, as if by crushing burdens. [pic 1]

“What?” asked Treffin. “I don’t understand.”

“Because of the supernatural powers of the queen bee’s venom, I have this one moment to meet with you here,” answered the ancient.

“Where is here?”

“That is not important. What matters is what I have to show you.”

Around Treffin the darkness he perceived gave way to light, to images of life, though there was no sound to hear. He and the ancient figure stood in the village square of Treffin’s home. The morning sun was up and they were looking south, towards the small stone shrine. Standing in front of the shrine, Treffin could see himself; or at least an older version of himself. He was dressed in an expensive looking suit of exotic armour. He was standing proud and Treffin was pleased to see himself so well adorned and clearly successful. Mercenary life seemed to agree with him. [pic 3]

“Marvelous,” he said admiringly.

“Do you think so?” asked the ancient figure. “So did I once.”

The viewpoint of Treffin’s vision shifted and he was suddenly looking north from where he had just seen himself standing as an older warrior. Scattered about the square were armed soldiers, equipped as he was. Also amongst them were several bald men with white painted faces and heavy, dark robes. They looked like priests of some kind but there was something frightening about them. As he watched, Treffin saw two of the robed men emerge from the village festhall. Between them they led the headman’s son, Treffin’s life-long friend, his hands tied behind his back with stout cords. 

They dragged him to the middle of the village square. They forced him to his knees, with his head pressed against a butcher’s chopping block. With a single stroke a third priest sheared the prisoner’s head from his shoulders. Treffin could not believe what he was witnessing. As the man’s lifeblood soaked the dusty ground, the vision faded from sight. [pic 4]

“What is this you’re showing me?” he demanded of the ancient. “Why am I overseeing the execution of my friend?”

“Because they paid you,” was the reply. “And you’re always on the lookout for more money. That’s why you took the contract with the cult in the first place, and why you persisted with them, even after their orders began to destroy you within; your lust for money crushed your conscience, your soul, all that is good about you.”

“How can you say this?”

“Because I am you, you fool,” said the ancient. Treffin could not respond to this, as the darkness crowded in again. The weary figure explained himself. “Service to the cult, and others like them, will make you the most successful mercenary leader that history has ever known. But in being so, you will do evil things, unfathomable things, and the people of the lands will come to loathe you. Eventually your career of violence will be ended and you will be accursed, with immortality.”

“Immortality doesn’t sound like a curse,” said Treffin, trying to make sense of the story he was being told.

“Does it not? I dwell every day in a stone cell cut into the rock of this very mountain, with walls of adamantine. I pray for death daily yet I know it will not come. I am over seven hundred years old and it is over six centuries since I have laid eyes upon sunlight.”

“You are me?” asked Treffin, the horrible realization of all he was witnessing making itself unavoidable. The ancient had one further statement to make before he vanished.

“Do not waste this chance,” it urged. “Listen to the sage and live to one day die.”

The blackness gripped him again and his eyes burned beneath clenched lids. A wave of something cool passed through him and the fire began to abate. The soft sound of bird calls wormed its way into his head and he realized that he was lying on the cool, shaded grass outside the entrance to the caves of the mickelmas bee hive. Daring to peer through squinted eyes for just a moment. He caught sight of the sage leaning over him for just a moment before the pain of the afternoon sunlight caused him to shut his eyes again.

“Oh well done lad,” said the sage. “You’re going to live, I think.”

“I am?” Treffin asked weakly.

“Oh yes. Very clever of you, by the way, to go limp like that; most people fit under the influence of mickelmas queen venom. If you’d done that the threat to the queen would probably have gotten us stung to death. Very clever; I guess I’ll have to pay you extra for this.”

At the mention of payment, Treffin’s vision flooded back in all it’s horror. He forced himself into a half sitting position, in spite of the pain, and he gripped the sage with vice like fingers.

“That’s alright,” he said tersely through gritted teeth, his bloodshot eyes blazing ferociously. “No need for more money; it’s all part of the service.” Then he collapsed backwards onto the grass, unconscious.


----------



## NoOneofConsequence

Picture 2 is in paragraph four. In my rush to finish my story I forgot to reference this one directly.


----------



## alsih2o

wow, no response from speaker, seems unlike him....i will now choose to worry.


----------



## Speaker

Worries well founded, I am not happy to report.

I cannot meet the deadline, folks.  In fact, it seems I have already not met the deadline...

I had left off until the last minute, hoping things would resolve themselves in time for me to write...  but they didn't, and I couldn't.  I take full responsibility, and apologize profusly to the judges-- Maldur, alsih2o, noone of consequence, and Mirthcard -- as well as my fellow competitors -- particularly Arwink and Sniktch.

I enjoyed writing my first entry, however much I was forced to rush the ending.  I only wish I had been able to contribute to the second round.


----------



## arwink

D'oh.  I was looking forward to seeing the end result of this round too 

Maybe we can convince clay to do a re-draw or something.  I'm happy to go again


----------



## barsoomcore

As an interested observer, I too support the notion of a redraw. Hate to see a forfeit.


----------



## alsih2o

arwink said:
			
		

> *D'oh.  I was looking forward to seeing the end result of this round too
> 
> Maybe we can convince clay to do a re-draw or something.  I'm happy to go again  *




 someone exoplain what you mean by a redraw...i have all my pens out but don't think that will help...


----------



## barsoomcore

I was assuming it meant 5 new pictures for Speaker and arwink, another 72 hours for them to produce new stories.


----------



## Maldur

Id say redraw as well!

Im sending My judgement to clay as we speak ( eh... post)


----------



## alsih2o

lets see if we can scare speaker back up...i can repost some photos (of course)


----------



## Maldur

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *lets see if we can scare speaker back up...i can repost some photos (of course) *




did you get my mail clay?

(My computer is being weird??)


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## alsih2o

Maldur said:
			
		

> *
> 
> did you get my mail clay?
> 
> (My computer is being weird??) *




 i got ya' thanks


----------



## Mirth

Sorry everybody! Had to go out of town unexpectedly and just now got back. I'll judge the NOOC & BSC match as soon as I've unpacked the car, put the kid to bed and had a 5 minute lie-down. As for the AW & SP match, if arwink's up for it I say let em go again. Very gracious on your part arwink, but let it be known that I won one Ceramic DM because of NiTessine's generosity 

Jay


----------



## Mirth

Looks like that 5-minute lie-down is gonna last all night  Just wanted to let NoOne and Barsoomcore know that I'm not gonna get to judging until tomorrow midday. Sleep well, I know I'm going to....


----------



## Mirth

barsoomcore & NoOneOfConsequence,

I'm having a REALLY hard time deciding between both of your stories. I've read em 3 times each and I still can't make up my mind. Have the other judges decided yet? I guess the wait is on...

Sorry for the tease of an update,

Jay


----------



## Maldur

Get on with it!


----------



## arwink

Just a FYI, regardless of which ends up happening (re-do of the last round, or the progression to the next).

I'm going to be at a Con from Friday Night to Monday morning, so I'll be without computer access.  If the round has to be run then, I'm happy to forfit in order to keep the event moving.


----------



## alsih2o

that is the finals, we will wait for you if mirthcard doesn't check in soon.....where the %&# is he?


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## Mirth

Just sent in my judgment. Didn't beat AROUND the bush on this one - I beat the bush and I beat it hard.


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## alsih2o

maldur (back from gencon)

  barsoomcore-The first thing I had to think about when I read his story is Samourai Cat
in the real world , and I love samourai cat! Th surrealistic madness of
mixed times and concepts! fantastic!

NoOneofConsequence did add the additional difficulty of continuing his
earlier entry, but It did n't really work for me. Its a nice story, But
barsoom core had me laughing out loud on several occasions.

  Barsoomcore for me!

 alsih2o

 barsoomcore- this isn't what i expect from a ceramic d.m. entry, and i loved it. the story sounds
like the working mans complaints to me, and the bit about calling bees cracked me up. "useless stone lanterns" may now just be
a catchphrase in my little world. entertaining without sacrificing any story elements. i could have kept reading this for pages...

 nooneof consequence- amateurish mercenary sees visions. i personally think no matter what happens in ceramic d.m. this story needs to eb continued in the sh forum. i really like what
you are doing with this.

 in a close match, i have to go with barsoomcore.

 mirthcard

 I could go on and on about what I like in both of
these stories, but the real decision comes down to
what I don't like, so I'm going to focus on that in
both critiques, making them both shorter than normal.
I want you both to know that this was a hard decision
for me because I liked both entries so much. Okay,
let's begin. 

barsoomcore:

Your comedic protagonist was at times funny and at
times annoying. It was hard to stay focused on the
story of an asian executioner when I kept hearing a
weird combo of Seinfeld and Shecky (sp?) Green in my
head. Also, I really can't stand opera or musicals, so
when you make reference to the Mikado, the score drops
slightly. 

NoOneOfConsequence:

Ah, the return of Treffin. I'm not sure if you made
the right decision bringing him back or not, but
what's done is done. This story doesn't flow as well
as the last one and some of the use of the ingredients
seemed a bit forced. Also, the plot device of having
Treffin's older self talking to him (whether real or
hallucinatory) was a little contrived. 

In an almost split decision, I give this round to barsoomcore.


 looks like everyone like noones, story, but the round goes unanimously to barsoomcore!


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## alsih2o

barsoomcore vs arwink, the finals!!!!!!

 pic 1 (of 6, mwu ha ha ha ha)


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## alsih2o

barsoomcore vs arwink

 pic 2


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## alsih2o

barsoomcore vs arwink

 pic 3


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## alsih2o

barsoomcore vs arwink

 pic 4


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## alsih2o

barsoomcore vs arwink

 pic 5


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## alsih2o

barsoomcore vs arwink

 pic 6, last pic of the last round.

 72 hours from here, good luck with your bad craziness


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## Sniktch

Yeah, good luck, both of you - looks to me like the potter is trying to feeblemind some more victims


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## Maldur

Good luck to you both!!

Pics are scary this time!!


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## barsoomcore

Wait! Wait! What key is it in!? Ah....

Sheesh, I haven't even recovered from the judgement and here I am facing... huh? What? She's all hairy.

...

help me

*rolls up sleeves and gets to work*


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## NoOneofConsequence

*tips cap to barsoomcore*

I agree with the judges on this - far from my best work. I'll make all the usual excuses; I wrote it in two hours and didn't even have time to proof it, I was worried about my family problems, I was tired - ah who am I kidding, barsoomcore wrote the better story. All the best with the finals.


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## arwink

Checking time stamp.  Panicking.

Dammit Clay, you had to start this on the wed/Thursday rush didn't you


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## barsoomcore

Yo, arwink. Let's you and me show these judges what pictures are for.

NOOC: that was a nailbiter. Next time, let's be on the same team.


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## alsih2o

you guys are just lucky i didn't find this before the orund started!


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## NoOneofConsequence

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> *Yo, arwink. Let's you and me show these judges what pictures are for.
> 
> NOOC: that was a nailbiter. Next time, let's be on the same team. *




There were teams? *slaps self in forehead* D'oh!  

A nail biter all right. It was the bees that threw me.

Ill cheer for you from the stands now.


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## alsih2o

you had 2 really good entries the nooc, i was impressed by them both, but the first especially!


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## NoOneofConsequence

alsih2o said:
			
		

> *you had 2 really good entries the nooc, i was impressed by them both, but the first especially! *




Praise is always welcome, thank you!


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## Maldur

Clay, where did you find the dog/cat armor?
Are there more pics? An animal wearing it?


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## alsih2o

http://www.jeffdeboer.com/portfolio/past.html

 more pics, but none with an animal wearing it


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## Maldur

dang, link doesn't work


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## alsih2o

works for me?


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## Maldur

ok, it does now???

thx


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## Maldur

Clay that guy is fantastic!!

He makes really nnice things


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## barsoomcore

_"There is no other Troy for me to burn"_
--Sinead O'Connor, "Troy"


Dear Albert:

You asked for proof. I leave this here on the chance that some portion of humanity might survive, and one day find a means of restoring you, and you will know what I have done. For you.

I hope you are convinced.

You know I never minded your lusting. You know I never once criticised you. Perhaps I should have. Perhaps you felt unappreciated because I failed to attack you for your behaviour. Perhaps.

I loved you, Albert. I didn't want you to change. Do you understand, now? Do you see my love, Albert? It's too late, you know, but do you see it now?

Did you see it on the beach? You said you could. Do you remember that? Albert, that was the day our love ended, wasn't it? You were trying to say goodbye, trying to tell me that the love affair of Dogboy and Monkey Girl was over. I heard you. But you were wrong, Albert. Our love never ended. And now it never will. Now it is preserved forever. Enjoy.

You took pictures of me. Me in my new bikini. Monkey Girl in a swimsuit, everybody come and look.

You made me feel pretty. Nobody ever... (illegible)

"You're everything to me, Abigail. You're the loveliest girl I've ever seen."

I hate you. I hate you and how you made me believe you, those nights in your trailer, those days on the beach, when all along you were scheming to get at Nissa, that contortionist tramp. I remember sitting next to you, in the wings, the first night she joined the troupe. Her purple tights, her body twisting and folding in on itself. You were spellbound. You stared like a teenage boy.

I laughed. Dogboy with a crush on the new girl. I should have been more concerned, shouldn't I?

I wasn't then but I am now, Dogboy. I am very concerned indeed. How does it feel to be responsible for the end of civilization, you bastard?

Your marriage was a sham, you know that? Little fake ears on the NORMAL girl's head, spare me. She never loved you, Albert. I hope you realise that now.

You can't say I didn't warn you. Right there, as you were posing for your photographs, I came to you, Albert. I told you.

"I have no present for you. But what I will give you, no one will ever forget."

You laughed at me, then. Contemptuous and certain of your superiority, weren't you? Who's superior now, Dogboy?

Did you suspect, the day the first ice block fell from the sky? Did you consider, as you read about it in your morning newspaper, over coffee with your sweetie, that it was only the harbinger of what was to come? Of what I was about to do?

I have to admit I was surprised at how easily everyone took it. A massive block of ice falls from the sky to land in a desert crater, and nobody bats an eye. Didn't you see the picture? Didn't you wonder?

It was me, Albert. It was my first effort. I've learned a lot since then, wouldn't you say?

"You and I, Abigail, we belong to each other. Nobody else will have us."

Do you remember that? Do you remember saying that to me? How can you stand there, silent and unmoving, with that in your memory? Now, as your body begins to ice up, do you remember?

I followed paths no one alive knows. I explored secrets and hidden worlds that I alone have witnessed.

In the icy waters of the far north I found my answers. I floated free, massive slow walls of silvery ice to either side of me, the sun a watery gleam far above, and I heard voices. Voices, Albert. They spoke to me. They showed me what was possible. What was impossible. In the deeps they keep their secrets, but for me and my love, darling, they made all this happen.

Because I begged. I begged. It was my love, Albert, that convinced them. Convinced them, even though you refused to see it.

You see it now, though, don't you? Don't you? Now that Nissa is gone, turned to ice, like all the others. Now that your body is freezing, hardening, turning white and stiff and dead, you see it. You see my love.

All this I have done for you, darling. I dropped ice from the sky and I unleashed the power that is turning our world into winter. Nothing but winter for us now.

My fingers are cold. I miss you, Albert. Dogboy.

Why don't you love me?

*****

Pic 1: The marriage of Albert and Nissa
Pic 2: Abigail's first effort
Pic 3: Abigail's revelation
Pic 4: Abigail on the beach
Pic 5: Nissa on stage
Pic 6: Albert ending


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## arwink

Appologies to everyone involved, particularly Barsoomcore and clay, but I'm going to have to forfeit.  Work went insane over the past couple of days, and with Bris-con on this weekend I've had to get everything done before the weekend.  

Sorry


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## alsih2o

well, barsoomcore, that puts oyu in the top dog spot. endurance counts 

 altho i must say, i did like your story, strange, but strange is what was called for  

 congrats goes out to barsoomcore, and thanks to everyone else who participated, judges and writers alike,a s well as the friendly input from spectators


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## barsoomcore

arwink: I'm sorry to hear that. I was sure looking forward to pitting stories. 

Next time.

Thanks to all the judges for putting so much effort into their critiques. Nothing could be more useful or appreciated.

Wow, that was fun. Guess I get to put "Ceramic DM Champion" in my sig now, huh? Cool.

What round of Ceramic DM is this, anyway?

Clay, you are a fiend. Those pictures were terrible! I have less hair now than I did (and that wasn't so much), thanks awfully. Thanks for all the effort, that was great fun.

Do I get a key to the Champions' bathroom now?


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## alsih2o

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> *
> Clay, you are a fiend. *




 um, you forgot the r in that word....

 put it in your sig man, this is round 4. 

 the champions bathroom is an outhouse here in the tennessee wilderness, there is no key, but we do give you a special stick the racoons are afraid of


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## barsoomcore

Those Tennessee racoons better stay clear of my Champions Stick!

Especially when I'm in a hurry...


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## Mirth

Just pee on 'em. 

You haven't lived until you've peed on Mark's Tennessee raccoons 

Congrats barsoomcore! (Your sig isn't nearly obnoxious enough, though. Mine was about 3 times that size for several months. Before the raccoons got at it, that is.)

Better luck next time arwink, I know what it's like to be behind the eight ball.


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## NoOneofConsequence

Congrats to barsoomcore - nice to know that it took the new champ to knock me out of the race. 

No doubt ve vill meet again, barsoomcore. You are a vorthy adversary, da!


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## barsoomcore

NoOneofConsequence said:
			
		

> *No doubt ve vill meet again, barsoomcore. You are a vorthy adversary, da! *



*bows*

No doubt. Worthy adversaries are to be treasured. Thanks -- it was sure fun!


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## LostSoul

Barsoomcore rocks.


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## Maldur

Grats, barsoomcore!

Luckily we didn't have to choose between your and Arwinks

Im looking foreward to next time!

(sorry for the late judging at the start )


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## Mark

Congrats to all of the participants and especially the new champion on yet another fine round of the Ceramic DM!


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## ledded

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> *bows*
> 
> No doubt. Worthy adversaries are to be treasured. Thanks -- it was sure fun!



Congrat's man, I absolutely loved all the stories and I have no idea how the judges found it within themselves to choose; your victory was well-earned and well-deserved.  

You and NoOneOfConsequence's give-and-take reminded me of something I read once, I think Zedd from the Sword of Truth said it: "Enemies are the price of Honor."

Good show guys.


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## Mirth

ledded said:
			
		

> Congrat's man, I absolutely loved all the stories and I have no idea how the judges found it within themselves to choose; your victory was well-earned and well-deserved.
> 
> You and NoOneOfConsequence's give-and-take reminded me of something I read once, I think Zedd from the Sword of Truth said it: "Enemies are the price of Honor."
> 
> Good show guys.




If you want to check out more Ceramic DM goodness, the first two competitions are linked in my sig. Have fun


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